Children of the Armor:
Part Seven: Sewing the Threads of Fate
By Debbie (Dai-chan)
The foliage was silent, except for an occasional rusting of a small Digimon sneaking through or a swaying of the branches and leaves by a breeze. It was natural, of course, as nature was. But, sometimes, Nature can be unnatural, such as the coming of the multicolored butterflies.
Many tiny butterflies, each a different color, fluttered through the foliage. They were glowing with a beautiful white light, and it was strange since no butterfly had the ability to glow with that kind of light. Also, the butterflies were not natural, for they seemed to take no notice of the trunks and leaves. If you watch them carefully, you would notice that some butterflies flew right through the trees! Even they passed through branches and leaves, and the foliage did not even stir at their movements. As if the butterflies were not real.
Or perhaps they were, and the plants were not real.
The butterflies slowed down to a small clearing and settled down, many wings unfolding and folding in flashes of colors. One by one, they glowed brighter until they were like firelight. They appeared to mass together, standing on one another, until they appeared as a figure of a tall man. The butterflies then mingled as one, the colors changing to bright white, and a human male stood in place.
He was all white, not glowing, but in clothing of perfect, stainless white - an ankle-length trench coat, pants, and boots. The only differences were his pale skin of beige and his hair that came down to his shoulders like black rain.
He walked again through the foliage; this time, he was solid, pushing back branches. His mind was on one object that he was searching for. He didn't need to know where; the object was already his when he became one with the Digiworld. A faint smile played on his lips, a rare smile that he learned to show his happiness. His dark black eyes were calm in mood, showing only patience. He already learned that kind of patience a long time ago, but now that he was 'immortal' in a way, he had all the time to be patient.
He soon noticed that the surroundings appeared different. The leaves were withered, turned brown, and the dead grasses beneath his boots crushed into powder. The soil was so dry that the slight breeze lifted dust into the air, turning the air into a sandy cloud. The trees themselves were black, burned by the attack of the Vampire. He grimaced with sadness as he gazed at the sick land. He did his best as he could, but not even his energy could completely restore the Digiworld. He was worried that he would not keep his pledge, but his intimate and soul mate told him not to worry; the Digidestined and Digimon were doing their best to save the worlds, too.
He still feared that the living darkness was too strong for them, but he just had to keep on hoping.
A flash of something shiny capture his gaze, and he went there. He knelt down, and he plucked the object out from its half-buried dirty grave. Around his fingers, a brass necklace winked in the sunlight, cool to the touch, and dangling from it, there was a hexagonal-shaped pendent, also made in brass. Inside the dirty glass screen, he identified a jet-black crest, as dark as polished obsidian, and a skull-crossbones symbol lined in white. Skull-crossbones were often the symbol of poison, suffering, and death. He knew what pendent was.
The Crest of Silence, the only wild crest that cannot be tamed by a Human, Digimon, or even an Unmon.
Well, except for one.
He closed his fingers around the crest and closed his eyes, concentrating. Rays of black began to shine between his fingers, seeming to struggle against the man's strength. He was tolerant, pushing himself to tame the crest. Slowly, the black rays changed into pure white beams, almost as bright as his clothes.
Smiling with pleasure, he looked down to a new crest, tamed by his energy and destiny. He knew it can be tamed because no one knew that the crest was actually his. He wasn't Human, Digimon or even an Unmon, which explained why he was able to tame it. The crest was in the color of simple white, cleansed of its darkness and wildness, and the symbol was also changed. The symbol was now a simple perfect circle with a bolt-shaped crack, splitting the circle in half diagonally.
The Crest of Faith.
Oikawa Yukio, the Martyr of Faith, made a content smile as he donned on the necklace. The crest seemed to glow on its own, but perhaps, it was only a trick of light. He felt complete, and he was ready to aid the Digidestined whenever they need help. Giving out a burst of delighted laughter, for Laughter was his Heart-Name, Oikawa raised his arms, and in a flash of a wink, he burst into fluttering, multicolored butterflies, flying away up in the sky.
***
When she woke, she found that she had absolutely no energy to move her limbs. Palmon found herself laying on her stomach, laying limply, and even though she was aware of herself, she couldn't move. She stared in the darkness, wondering what had happened. All she could remember was . . . the battle! She remembered that blue-black attack, 'Veil of the Night' and the attack draining her energy dry. It came out all of a sudden and she couldn't remember anything after that because she was blacked out. She wondered how long she was unconscious.
Slowly, she felt energy coming back in her limbs, not very much, and she languidly sat up. She felt dazed for a moment, sitting in the pitch blackness, and she felt very alone. She decided to call out, "Hello . . . ? Is anybody out here?"
No one answered in the darkness and Palmon was worried. Where was she? What happened to her?
She heard a voice. A familiar voice from across and a bit from her left. "Palmon?"
Her heart hammered with relief at Agumon's voice. "Agumon! Oh, I thought I was all alone."
"Are you alright?" the dino was sounding utterly concerned.
"Yes, I think so . . ." she tried to see in the darkness, but the blackness was too dark. She couldn't even see herself. "Where are we?"
Agumon grunted with unhappiness. "I woke earlier, and I searched around to see any light. I couldn't even use my fire; I'm too tired . . . I think we are in cages."
"Cages?" Palmon crawled forward, really slow in movements. It seemed that she had just enough energy to talk and move to one place before getting heavily weary. She moved far enough, she thought, and felt around with her hands. She felt something cool and smooth. It was a thin vertical bar, and she felt a few more. "I'm in a cage, too . . . What happened?"
A new voice muttered from her far right, sounding very weary, "I believe that we'd been diginapped."
"Tentomon?" she looked to her right, reaching out. More bars blocked her. "Are you okay? You sound tired."
Tentomon replied with a light growl in his throat, unlikely for the passive bug, "That's because I'm exhausted, drained of my energy. I'm so tired that I couldn't even flap my wings."
"We all are tired, too," Agumon said. "It's strange, though. I'm not feeling hungry, just tired. The attack just drained us, I believe."
Palmon agreed. She knew that whenever they lose energy, they tend to get hungry and need to eat to regain energy. She didn't feel any hungry, either. Just exhausted. Then she heard a grunting from across and at her right. Gomamon.
"Aw, man . . ." the seal was heard muttering to himself. "I couldn't keep my eyelids open. Would anybody please explain what happened?"
"We honestly don't know," Palmon answered, then turned to Agumon, wherever she thought he was. "Agumon, if four of us are here, would the rest be here, too?"
"It won't be any surprise if it's true. Try feeling around the cages."
She went to her left, trying to find the bars. As she did so, she heard Tentomon calling, "Hey, I think I found Gabumon!" It sounded like he was shaking something. "Wake up, Gabumon!"
Gabumon responded with a warning growl, "Let go of my horn!" A faint rustling of the air, and the wolf muttered, "You are giving me headaches shaking my horn."
"Sorry, Gabumon."
"Gabumon, can you see us?" Agumon asked. Gabumon, Biyomon and Tentomon had the keenest sight among the Digimon, Gabumon the best.
There was silence, and then the wolf said, "I can't see anything. It's too dark."
As Gabumon asked where he was, Palmon found the bars and reached between the bars, feeling around. She couldn't feel anything, and then she stopped, feeling something weakly touching her hands. She waited, and the hands came to hold on it as if her hands were the only things that kept the hands aware. She felt the hands; they were soft and feathery.
"Biyomon?" Palmon whispered. "Are you alright?"
She heard her voice from near the ground, very feeble in tone. "I don't know . . . I'm so tired."
Palmon wished the bars were gone so she could comfort her. But she only could do so by patting the wing-hands. "It will be alright, I promise."
She continued hearing new voices responding with groans of tiredness: Elecmon and Iyumon. Iyumon, being the guarded one, growled and was heard gnawing on the bars. But she stopped and remained silent, and Palmon knew that she was scrutinizing for a way out. Elecmon was surprised, not had been in situations like this.
"What the . . . ?" he said. "Man . . . I should've known that you're always getting in sticky situations like this."
"Hush!" Iyumon cut him off. Palmon could feel the tension in her voice. "I think I hear someone else in here."
"Me, too . . ." Gomamon was suddenly serious.
Palmon strained to hear anything, but she heard nothing except for her and Biyomon's breathing. She couldn't even hear the other's soft breathing, being too far.
Agumon said, "Look, I know we're tired, but we have to break through the cages."
"You all are too weak to do anything."
The voice was amused, and it startled the Digimon. It was hard to forget the voice. The voice belonged to the monster that they fought recently.
"Vampdevimon . . . " Iyumon growled.
"But how . . . ?" Biyomon whispered.
"Oh, hush," Vampdevimon said, disgusted. "You sicken me with your concerns and questions."
Palmon was puzzled. Somehow, Vampdevimon sounded . . . smaller. His voice wasn't booming and loud as he was, but sounding calm and steady. He sure sounded small, as if he was in a smaller body. Gabumon noticed it, too, eyes finally adapted to the darkness.
"You aren't Vampdevimon," the wolf said with doubt. "You look too human."
She could hear Vampdevimon grinning. "Ah, I see that you noticed my human form."
"Human form?" Tentomon repeated.
"I was gifted with Human DNA, just like Arukenimon, Mummymon, and my little sister, Verzyemon."
"What?!" Agumon was disbelieved as well as the others.
"All shall be revealed in time. Now, before we drift into another meaningless conversation, my mother wants you to stay out of her search for the crest, and I was requested to have the plans done on you."
Mother? Palmon's bewilderment increased. What was the meaning of this? Who was this 'his mother'? Digimon do not have parents. They was born from Digieggs and lived on their own ever since they were born. They could choose a close friend and call it a sister or brother, but not a 'mother' or a 'father'. Who was the mother?
And what was this about a crest?
She heard Elecmon growling. He sounded outraged and he snarled at the hidden Digimon, "What in the blasted Digiworld do you want with us? If you ever dare to harm any of us, I swear you will find my teeth in your human neck!"
There was frightened silence, then Vampdevimon spoke, deathly calm and disappointed, "You shouldn't have threatened me, Elecmon. Allow me to give you the first gift."
Suddenly, there was a sound like static, loud and screeching, and she heard Elecmon gasping as in shock. She couldn't see anything in the darkness, but she could feel his fear as he was choked at something. Somehow, she could feel something change in the air, a change of data, like rebooting. It came from Elecmon's direction, and she grew frightened. Then silence. She heard a quiet thud as Elecmon collapsed to the floor, probably unconscious.
"What did you do to him?!" the dino demanded.
"He deserved it, threatening me," Vampdevimon simply responded. "Actually, what I did to him was not of my doing, but of his doing. I simply gave him a new body."
Then, at a hidden gesture, the light came in, very dim, but enough for the Digimon to see the Vampire sitting before him. His appearance was still of the Digital Vampdevimon, although more human. His skin was thick and the blackest brown shade with the faintest of grease, and his black hair was short and coarse. His clothing were neat but worn, a heavy trench coat and pants underneath, both colored dark red, along with black gloves and boots. His face was beastly and somewhat rugged; he would look handsome if he didn't have his fangs and glowing golden eyes.
The Digimon was shocked, staring at the Vampire with disbelief. Palmon took a quick gaze to Elecmon where he fell and a gasp escaped from her lips. To her incredulity, Elecmon was like Vampdevimon; he was in a human body. The unconscious Elecmon was a long-limbed human boy, appearing 14 or 15 years old, clad in red and blue clothing that characterized his fur. His pants were dark red with blue stripes, with a small bandanna tied around his left knee. He wore an opened vest, dark red with blue stripes. On his reddish-brown skin, there were blue stripes, as well. His hair was short, dark blue and spiked.
'Oh, no! Not again!' Palmon was terrified.
Vampdevimon laughed and swiped a hand in the air. Palmon gasped in light pain as she saw her own body in static. She felt her data stretching and ripping apart and she groaned in pain. The other Digimon experienced the same, bending over, struggling against the static and changes.
Before her wide eyes, Palmon watched as her vine hands transformed into human hands, delicate and soft. Her green skin was now beige-pale with the faintest jade color, very soft to the touch. Her body was clad in green clothing, a pale green tank top and ankle-length skirt, along with vine-like sleeves bound around her forearms. Her head was now covered with hair, soft and pale green, curling down to her waist, with the pink petals over her head like a cap.
The static took out almost all her energy in transformation, and Palmon fought against the exhaustion. She fell into a dreamless slumber; her last thoughts were of dread and helplessness.
***
Her emerald eyes darted that way and other way as she searched. Amayamon can't believe it. How did that the Digidestined vanish in thin air? They were gone, completely gone. Right after the battle. She remembered that she lost conscious after Vampdevimon sent his strongest attack, 'Veil of the Night.' She could feel her energy being sucked out, leaving her heavily sleepy. She didn't know how long she was unconscious, but then when she woke up, she was speechless at what she saw. She was alone. The only other Digimon left were Akemimon and Prophetmon. The Digidestined and the Destined Digimon were gone. The three Digimon were alone in a field of charred trees. Even the Bug Digimon were gone, possibly deleted.
Amayamon can feel presences of every Digimon, one of her Fate powers, keeping track of them, and she sensed with her mind that the kids and Digimon didn't leave the Digiworld. They were still here, somewhere. But she cannot feel them, cannot find their whereabouts. Prophetmon, at that point, became frightened. He mentioned that the Digidestined must be found and taken to safety before Daematermon found them. Amayamon had never seen Prophetmon so worried like that. It was like Prophetmon would do anything to keep the Digidestined ready for the Final Battle and even so, it seemed that he didn't want the Final Evil to find them. Amayamon wondered if Prophetmon had ever told them about Daematermon.
Amayamon and Akemimon offered to search for the Digidestined while Prophetmon went out for more help. For a few hours, Amayamon and Akemimon searched without any success. It was obvious that the Digidestined might be hidden or taken away to somewhere far so that they cannot be found. She knew that she was searching for only hours, but it felt like years. She was concerned, too, that the Digidestined might be injured or even dead. What happened to them? How did they disappear? She wanted to know the answer.
Amayamon slowed down into a floating stop, her skirt settling around her legs. She drifted above the forest, noticing a familiar town settled among the thick trees. Digi Chinatown. It was hundreds of miles away from the battle scene and the Fate Digimon were able to cover up miles in a few minutes with a blink of the eye. She knew she had powers like that, and she rarely used them unless it was necessary. Now, this time, she used her powers to find the Digidestined, wherever they were.
She saw her brother walking out from Digi Chinatown. He looked stoic, but his body was stiff. "Brother!" She drifted down to land in front of him. Her face held hope. "Have you found them?"
Akemimon's face slowly contorted into agitation. His voice was shaking. "No . . ." He suddenly grunted in frustration as one of his large fists clouted in one of the entrance walls. Amayamon slightly jumped at that. She knew he tended to be stoic and cold, but his protection for the Digidestined was noticeable. "It's useless," he said, his head shaking. "The children are gone and we can't find them. No mater how long we search, time is running out."
Amayamon sighed and rested a hand on his bulky arm. "Brother, we can't give up . . ."
Akemimon's emerald gaze met her emerald gaze. "I know we can't, but we can't help them until we find them. I know that Fate will eventually lead us to them, but I doubt we have the time and patience." He looked down to his fists. "Only if we can do something . . ."
Amayamon also bowed her head, trying to think of something possible for them to help. 'Those poor children,' she thought. 'They might wish to be home by now, to be back with their families. I wonder what is like to be a family. I know that Akemimon and I are twins because we were born from the same Digiegg, but it's different from the human families. They have a mother and a father. We the Digimon don't. I wonder how they feel when they know that their children couldn't come back. I wonder how the families feel about that. Would they have to worry so much that their children couldn't come home?'
She watched as Akemimon sat down on a bench, his eyes closed, seeming to think. 'Poor families. They are so worried . . . Only if we can help and tell them not to worry. Their children will be fine. But it's a lie. The children are not safe when they are here. They know they have to face the Final Evil . . . I wish we can do something! But what? How can we give them more time so they can be prepared? Tell the families not to worry about their kids? In the past, they never knew about their children going to the Digiworld because the time there was not synchronized . . .'
Amayamon raised her head in realization. 'That's it . . . Time. The time can be changed . . . It would give the children more time and help the families being not aware of the dangers . . . It's very perilous, but this is the only thing we can do to help at this moment . . .'
"Akemimon," she whispered, turning to him. "We can do something. We have the power to control time."
Akemimon's eyes widened in alarm, staring at her. "What?"
"Listen to me. We can help the children with this. We can speed up our time so the Real World's time seems to slow down. Their families will not have to worry about them. That way, the children would have much more time to defeat the Final Evil."
The Male was silent, his gaze holding incredulity, and then he slowly shook his head. "Sister . . . are you aware of the very risks by doing this?"
"Yes, but - "
"Then you do know it's absolutely absurd to achieve what you suggested!"
"Oh, shut up, Akemimon!" Amayamon snapped. Her brother was startled, expressing astonishment. Amayamon clenched her fists, glowering. "I want to help! I don't want to feel so powerless! I want to do something and this is it! By doing this, we can give the children more time! Life is at the sake!"
Her anger draining, Amayamon hugged herself as Akemimon stood up to her. She heard him whispering her name, and then his arms came around her, pulling her to him. She felt his warmth and was grateful. She listened as he spoke gently, "I understand, Sister. I want to help, too . . ." He then raised her chin so he could look in her face. She could see his brotherly love for her. "I owe them my life for freeing you from Daematermon. I'm grateful. Yes, I do want to help. But . . ." His lips frowned. "You must know that we are not as strong as we were before Myalomyotismon's darkness weakened us and the world. I don't know if we can do this."
Amayamon stepped out from his hug. "We have to try . . ."
"How?"
"I can give you my energy. Just enough for you to adjust time."
Akemimon looked hesitant, gazing at her with pleading, but seeing the confidence in her face, he lowered his arms. " . . . Amayamon, are you positive of this?"
Amayamon briefly nodded and Akemimon made a small sigh. He held out his right hand, gloved with a red gauntlet. Amayamon rested her right hand on his. Their energies connected. She felt it, so strange. Their energies were so similar that she almost didn't tell the difference. They may be the same, but the color was different, as well. Her energy was black, like the symbol of Yin, and his energy was as white as Yang. She felt her energy flowing into Akemimon's energy, black waves mingling with white waves. Abruptly, she cut off the flow, already feeling feeble. She sat down on the bench, keeping unmoving so the dizziness lessened.
Akemimon looked at her worriedly and Amayamon just answered back with a tired smile. Taking another worried gaze, he then stepped to where the entrance led to a small clearing. He rested his hands on empty air and began to type. Wherever his fingers touched the air, small squares appeared and faded suddenly, like he was working on an invisible keyboard, only can be seen when touched. Data only can be arranged by using a keyboard. That was how Akemimon worked, working on a keyboard like a person worked on a computer. Amayamon could feel the data moving around her. It felt like ripples in the air, waving against her in small, faint surges. Ripples came out from Akemimon's fingers, spreading and spreading until the air was full of chaotic ripples.
He was changing time.
Amayamon looked up to the twilight sky. It was still cloudy, but the rain had stopped. Then she noticed something odd. But she has noticed it before and the cold fist tightened around her heart. 'It begins . . .' she thought miserably. The trees around Digi Chinatown were changing. It went slow, but Amayamon can see it easily. The leaves were blue with a tint of pink, stooping in the air. She could see something creeping in the color of the leaves, something black and grey. The leaves looked like they were dying, changing their blue color into grey-black. The world was changing. It was Daematermon's doing, she knew it. She can feel the darkness here.
She was once touched by Daematermon, possessed her, and ever since she was freed, she still had the contamination inside her. It pained her often when the living darkness was near. She perhaps had the added ability to sense the darkness. It was awful for her when Myalomyotismon spread his darkness. She thought she would die from the crushing sensation of the force.
Amayamon hugged herself as she watched the blue leaves changing into the dead black color. The trees seemed to lose persistence and life as their branches drooping as if in grief. To her, the world seemed to be sad that its protectors were gone. She knew the dangers for the children to face the Final Evil, but the Digimon needed them. She thought to herself, her eyes misting, 'Children of the Digital, you must defeat her. You are our last hope.'
***
Prophetmon thoughtfully studied the warrior before him. He almost didn't recognize him at first when he looked for him. He was changed, not in appearance, but in personality. He seemed so quiet, listening to everything, seeing everything. Prophetmon found him standing at the same beach where the Digidestined once faced Vampdevimon. He first wondered why the warrior showed up there, but he then remembered that that warrior was a formidable Digimon. He liked to fight. Perhaps he came to drink the scents and sights of the battle. The sun was already setting, and the orange-pink light bathed the warrior's armor. He was watching the ocean, the orange light painting the waters magnificently.
Prophetmon patiently sat on a rock when he found him. He didn't want to disturb him during his watch. He was quiet, waiting for the warrior to notice him, and obviously, he did, not turning to look at him, but speaking out as if Prophetmon was in front of him.
"Do you feel it, Prophetmon?" the warrior whispered. His voice was bold, new and full of interest. "The world is dying. I can feel it. You might not notice that, but the plants are withering, the oceans are drying up, and the air is getting unclean."
Prophetmon glanced sidelong to the plants that were at the boundary between the beach and the charred trees. The trees were not at the blast of the attack, and they were lucky just to get burned. He then shrugged and looked over to the warrior, seeing only his back. "Even though you are made, you have a strong bond with the world, stronger than mine."
"That's because I learned to accept life." The warrior turned to face him. His golden eyes were bright, not touched by the dusk light. "Thanks to you."
He heard the thankfulness in his voice and Prophetmon shook his head. "Do not thank me. Thank yourself for accepting it."
The warrior was silent for a moment, considering his words, then looked back to the water. His voice was questioningly. "What do you want from me?"
Prophetmon made a chuckle. "You still have a warrior's heart. You can't stand long talks."
"We haven't any time," the warrior reminded him. "The world is dying."
The Prophet knew that. Clutching on his staff for comfort, he said, "The children are separated all over Server by Daematermon."
"And you want me to find them?" the warrior simply added.
"The children must stay together, or we have no chance to save the worlds."
The warrior seemed to pause in his thoughts, and then turned to him. His expression was confusion. "Why do you want me to do this? You have other Digimon to command."
Prophetmon frowned. "I do not command. I ask." He rested his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his hands. "The Fate Digimon already agreed to help. I want you to help, too. I trust you."
The warrior appeared lightly surprised at his words and lowered his gaze. "You trust me . . ." His words were covered with tenderness, as if he was never trusted before. He then realized something and a pensive look appeared in his eyes. He whispered, "Will they trust me?"
"They will." Prophetmon gave him an encouraging smile in his eyes. "They will have to trust everybody in the end."
The warrior reflected on his words, gazing at him for a moment. Prophetmon kept on smiling, his own eyes pleading. The warrior slowly nodded and stepped over to Prophetmon. He whispered in an understanding voice, "I will do what you ask of me." He then leaped up in the air, gliding into the darkness.
Prophetmon nodded. "Thank you, friend." Now he went to visit someone that he hasn't seen for a long time.
***
The ancient tortoise was chopping a blue-colored apple of some kind. He looked funny, a tortoise in a dark green robe. He was short and twice as wide, standing on short legs. His back was covered with a thick, plated blue-lined shell. Small eyeglasses covered his black eyes, his time half-closed and relaxed.
For the briefest moment, he stopped, sensing someone in his cottage, but made no move to be obviously aware of the presence. Quietly, he putted down the knife and wobbled over to the hearth where a griddle stood in the fire, cooking dumplings. Crouching, he checked to make sure they were ready enough, and then stood up.
"You know better to sneak in," Vesamon said. "I'm too alert for that."
"I know that, Vesamon." There was a smile in the voice. "I want to see if you are getting senile."
Vesamon let his gentle face frown as he turned to face the presence. Prophetmon stood by the door, easily hiding in the shadows, not using his own shadowy cloak. His azure eyes were soft and glad as he smiled to the tortoise.
"I may be as old as the Holy Beasts," Vesamon said, his arms akimbo, his black eyes intense, "but by the Digi, I know I'm not senile! Why aren't you being polite to your caretaker?" Even though that the Prophet called him senile, Vesamon's heart warmed to see him back. He was so glad that he tried to hide a lonely smile.
Prophetmon tilted his head to one side. "You know me."
"Yes, yes, I know you." Vesamon turned to continue chopping the fruit, finally smiling. "Why are you here?"
There was surprise in his voice as Prophetmon questioned, "You don't know?"
"Of course, I do!" Vesamon replied, casting him a sharp gaze. "I know what is going on out there. I'm asking you why you are here."
Prophetmon somehow paused to say something. There was a twinge of grief for a moment in his words. "I'm here . . . to . . ." He cleared his throat, regained his composure. "The world is in danger and I want you to get to a safe place."
Vesamon closed his eyes, his heart clenching in coldness. "It's not the only reason why you are here."
" . . . Vesamon . . ." Prophetmon pleaded, his voice thick.
The tortoise turned. Prophetmon was hugging his staff, surprisingly just like a human child, his eyes misting. His face was heartrending. He was grieved of something. Vesamon knew why. "You haven't found him?" he said softly.
The Prophet shook his head. "He is gone . . ." His eyes closed and Vesamon could see tears streaming out, running down his cheeks. His voice was small and tearful. "Grandpa, I miss him . . ."
Vesamon felt his eyes misting, but he didn't let the tears come out. He pulled the Digimon into his grandfatherly embrace as Prophetmon silently wept. The green-clad wizard clung on him, burying his face in the robe, tears flowing out. Vesamon said nothing, just letting him crying, feeling the shaking body in his arms and trying to comfort him by rubbing his hand upon Prophetmon's back. He did that often when Prophetmon's profound grief broke through his tranquility. He knew that Prophetmon was very grieved and would never be fully recovered from his mourning. Vesamon only can be there for him to comfort and let him cry once again.
Soon, Prophetmon stopped crying, but remained in the tortoise's embrace, resting his head on the arms. Vesamon cooed, "It is okay, little one. Even if he is gone, he is still in your heart."
"But it's not the same," Prophetmon whispered unhappily.
"No, it is not, but it's better than none." Vesamon nudged him into a sitting position. He used his sleeve to wipe away tears. Old memories returned, remembering of him wiping the younger Digimon's tears. "I remember you come here, weeping your heart out when he died."
Prophetmon bowed his head, his floppy hat falling off onto the ground. "And I wasn't there for him . . . I didn't get to say good-bye."
Vesamon paternally touched the long blonde hair, feeling the texture. "But you broke through."
Prophetmon looked up. "Thanks to you. If it wasn't for you, I would be out of my mind."
Vesamon didn't want him to mourn too much. He'd done that and he knew that mourning too much wasn't good for the heart and mind. He simply smiled at the youngster. "Well, I'm glad you came visit me. I'm getting lonely."
"Ridiculous." But Prophetmon managed to smile through his tears.
Vesamon stood up and picked up the green hat. "Now, wipe your tears, boy, and come sit and eat with me."
Prophetmon cast him an apologetic gaze as Vesamon walked to the low table. "I'd love to, but I can't. The world is in danger and the Digidestined are missing. I can't find them, can't call on the Watcher. Time is running out."
Vesamon placed the hat beside a plate he had set and smiled to him. "But you can spare time for me."
Prophetmon's voice was hot as he spoke, "But, Vesamon, I want to stop my -" He abruptly stopped himself, shutting his mouth in sudden realization. He looked away, continuing with a stiff voice, ". . . her."
Vesamon said nothing, knowing who he was talking about. He couldn't dare to speak the name in fear that he would be found. The tortoise turned to move the dumplings onto a platter. "She will be stopped," he mentioned positively. "But you can't force Fate to hurry up. Fate acts on its own."
"Fate is no longer important. Life is," he bluntly said.
The tortoise sighed and placed the platter on the table. Then, he gazed carefully to him. "Prophetmon, you may see Fate, but you cannot force Fate. You cannot."
The wizard averted his head, his bangs clouding over the azure eyes. Vesamon sat upon the pillows and tapped the table. "Now, sit down and eat."
Defeated, Prophetmon knew that nothing can crush Vesamon's patience. He nodded with a gentle smile in his face as he sat at the opposite of the table. Vesamon watched as Prophetmon took a dumpling and quietly ate in it. His eyes were lowered as though he was deeply thinking. Vesamon suddenly remembered him eating that way, he and his twin. He suddenly felt lonesome, and he shook his head to forget the solitude. He may have chosen to be a hermit, but once in a while, he yearned for company, particularly for Prophetmon's. He also ate in a dumpling, tasting the meaty and grainy tastes.
"You say you want me to leave here . . ." Vesamon said to break the silence.
Prophetmon didn't look up, staring at his half-eaten dumpling. "Yes, to Destiny Island. Once we find the Digidestined, we will take them there."
Destiny Island . . . Vesamon grimaced, remembering about the Destiny Island, where the First Battle begun and the Villains that ruled the Digiworld were first born. He remembered. He was one of the few Digimon still alive that was born before the First Battle. "Why there?" he questioned.
Prophetmon looked up, almost in puzzlement at his question. "It's the only safe place left."
"No place is safe anymore from her."
He noticed the flinches shaking Prophetmon's body and he lowered his gaze at the dumpling as if in guilt. Vesamon sighed and reached over to pat on Prophetmon's hand. "Don't worry too much. You take too much responsibility. Let the Digidestined work on what they can do. Let Fate act. Everything will be alright."
"You know that the Final Battle will decide the future, no matter how," Prophetmon said, frowning. "Either way, we will live in light or in darkness."
Vesamon rested his elbows, patiently eating his dumpling. His black eyes were closed, oddly, in a sagacious appearance. He appeared undisturbed. "That, I'm aware of, but I have faith. It's important to have faith in each other or all will be in vain."
He heard lightly awed silence from Prophetmon for a moment, then he spoke, "Yes, Grandpa."
Vesamon opened his eyes, grinning, putting down his dumpling. "It's a while since you called me that."
Prophetmon was looking at him like a child, wondering and inquisitive. Though, he asked carefully, "It pains you?"
"No." He smiled appreciatively. "My children may be deleted a long time ago, but I'm not grieved. I still have you as my other child."
Prophetmon stared at him in mild surprise. But he could see the lonesomeness in his azure eyes, along with strong fondness for Vesamon. The wizard seemed at a loss for words, and he looked down to the dumpling, his gloved fingers lightly stroking the surface. Vesamon knew how he felt, although he'd never been through what the wizard suffered. Vesamon was raised with love. Prophetmon was raised with neglect. He had lost the two people he cherished the most in his life and Vesamon was the only one left. Perhaps the Watcher was part of his life, as well, for he showed great care of her. Vesamon wondered how terrible his life could be since he experienced no love.
***
"What?! Are you insane?! Leave the temple to the darkness?!"
Sanimon, the Guardian of the Digidestined, was not happy. Her golden eyes blazed intensely at the green-clad Digimon standing before her. She didn't like the sight of him giving her an apologetic look, meant to calm her down. She hardly got livid, being a reserved Digimon, but when Prophetmon simply entered her temple and told her that she had to leave here, she got mad.
"You are asking a request that I cannot do!" her voice raised an octave. She stood in the center of the room where the crests were engraved on the walls, glaring at Prophetmon who stood by the door. "I'm vowed to protect this place!"
"Sanimon . . ." he quietly spoke.
"And you want me to go to Destiny Island?" She shook her head in disbelief, her golden eyes elsewhere but on him. "It's madness!"
"Sanimon!" Prophetmon barked, his tolerance finally snapping. Sanimon whirled to him, daring to retort back, but his azure eyes somewhat changed into midnight blue, very sharp and forebodingly that she controlled down her temper. Prophetmon then sighed, striding closer to her. "Now, Sanimon, you must be calm." He held up a hand to stop her from speaking up. "Listen to me. I know what I ask from you is absurd, but the corruption is already spreading. Digimon are trying to find safe places from it, and I'm willing to take them to safety." He stopped there, gazing protectively at her. "You are my friend and I want you to be safe."
Sanimon bit on her lower lip and gazed around at the room. "But leaving my home?"
"Nothing will touch the temple; it's protected. But you know that you won't be safe inside. You don't want the corruption to touch you and delete you."
The red-robed Digimon kept on shaking her head, averting her head.
There was silence from him, then he whispered insistently, ". . . Please?"
Sanimon was surprised to hear the appeal in his voice. As much as she knew him, he hardly showed his emotions. His voice was touching to her, but she was also uneasy at his emotions. Why was he showing his emotions? Was the danger the world was in that bad? Sanimon glanced sidelong to Prophetmon, questioning, "What about the Digidestined? Do they know?"
Prophetmon lowered his gaze. "Unfortunately, Daematermon has separated them and they are scattered somewhere in the Digiworld. I can't find them. I already asked the Fate Digimon and the Dark Warrior."
"Oh, dear . . ." Sanimon whispered in astonishment. It was bad. The Digidestined were somewhere, hidden, and not even the psychic Prophetmon can find them. And he had to ask the Fate Digimon for help? Even the Dark Warrior, the one that she thought she would never see alive? It was serious, too serious. The world was in total danger.
Prophetmon then pointed to the Tapestry that was hanging from a ceiling. "And it's urgent that you bring the Tapestry to Destiny Island."
Sanimon cast him an astounded look, her eyes wide in disbelief. The Tapestry was one of the portraits that expressed the Digidestined, the one that characterized the New Kids with their powers. The Murals on the walls above the stairways were the same, showing the Old Kids' powers. The Tapestry was one of the cherished objects, and Prophetmon wanted her to take it to Destiny Island?
" . . . What?" Sanimon spoke.
Prophetmon looked back, a bit puzzled at her reaction. "The Digital Warriors need to know about their powers. We cannot delay any longer." He then headed for the door.
He seemed so hurried about something, she has noticed. "Prophetmon," she said with a frown, "Why are you hurrying? It's not like you at all."
"Sanimon, it no longer matters," he said, not stopping in his walk. She hurried after him, listening to his words, her disbelief growing. "The Final Battle is coming. The Digidestined must be prepared. We must take them to safety and help the Armor Children learn their powers. We must find the Fallen Children and -"
She can't believe what she was hearing. She can't believe that Prophetmon was like that. She didn't know what happened to him. Sanimon paused in the center of the hallway where the stairways were and calmly said, "No."
Prophetmon stopped just before the doors and turned to her, perplexed. "What? You know we are supp -"
"I know what I'm supposed to do," Sanimon said firmly, looking every inch as a Guardian. Her face was sharp, determined. "As a Guardian of the Digital World, my duty is to guide the Children in their goal to defeat the evil. That's it." Her voice softened. "I will leave here to Destiny Island. I will help the children. But I will not take the Tapestry. They must learn on their own. I will not force them to find their powers beforehand the Final Battle."
Her voice hardened. "I will not help you force Fate." Seeing the tenacious expression on Prophetmon, she sighed, stepping close. "Prophetmon, I don't know what've got in you, but I know that we cannot alter destiny. I know that the Armor Children will learn their powers, but in time. The Fallen Children will be found, but in time."
Prophetmon exhaled a soft sigh. "I'm sorry, Sanimon." He turned to look up to the murals. Sanimon also looked. The nine murals were draped on the walls, each of them showing each of the Old Kids in their new clothing.
The two paintings had changed four years ago when the younger Digidestined left the world for the safety of their world. Sanimon knew that the paintings were supposed to demonstrate the Old Kids. The Saint and the Savoir had left their circle of the Nature Children and joined the Armor Children, and in turn, two new Nature Children joined in the circle, filling the positions.
The painting that once held the picture of the Savior was now carrying the soul of the Keeper. Clad in a long snow-white trench coat and orange shirt and pants, the Keeper was standing in the background of night blue, like a snow angel guardian. His grin was bright and confident, with a sparkle of mischief in his hazel eyes. Sanimon didn't meet him yet, but she can suspect that she would enjoy his company. The painting frame was now tinted white.
The last painting in the middle, where the Saint was supposed to be, had already changed. Its frame was no longer pink, but now a soft purple color, like a lilac color. It had a new face, the face of the Watcher. She was clad in black: a black denim jumper with a white shirt underneath. She also wore a dark blue blazer jacket with red, black and golden stripes on the hem. Around her waist, there was a sash of some kind, colored with every shade of the rainbow, tied on her left side and curling around her legs. She was sitting in a pose that radiated sadness, sitting with her left side facing outward, her arms around her pulled-up legs, her head bowed, and her eyes half-closed as if in grief. When Sanimon first saw it, she was so surprised at the pose that she wondered what would happen to the Watcher in the Final Battle. She didn't want to know what Fate had in for her.
Prophetmon did notice the new mural of the Watcher and a great sadness came in his face. Shaking his head, he returned to whatever he said, "The Final Battle is coming, so close, and I feel I have to do something . . ." He stared down to his hands. "I'm the source of all the prophecies of the Digiworld . . . Each of them came true . . ." Then he looked back to Sanimon. "This is my last prophecy. It's the only one that I cannot see the end. I can't tell if we will live in peace or not . . . "
Sanimon enfolded her hands within her sleeves. "Then why do you feel afraid of the future?"
"I noticed that I didn't predict any new prophecy after this one . . . nothing . . ." A bewildered and pondering feature crossed on his face. "I wonder . . . Is my duty finished after the Final Battle? Will I be no longer needed? Is it possible that after the Final Battle, I will . . . die?"
A terrible dark premonition struck Sanimon, causing her skin to blanch. She clenched a hand upon his arm, looking up to his azure eyes. "Don't think that way . . ."
He cast a sad smile. "I can't help it . . ." He then took a breath, looking up to the murals for a moment. He again asked, "Sanimon, will you go?" His hand squeezed on her hand.
"Yes."
Prophetmon made another smile, this time grateful. "Thank you." He was about to turn to walk out when he stopped his tracks. He tilted his head as if was listening, and then she noticed a sullen frown on his face.
"What's the matter?" Sanimon questioned.
"Gennai Unmon," he answered. "He contacted me. He wants to talk with me."
Gennai Unmon? The Unmon who was the mentor and guide of the Digidestined? Sanimon wondered what reasons why Gennai wanted to talk with him. She took a glance at him, pondering about the responsibilities he has faced with. She wondered if he will be all right, that with the eerie words he just spoke of his death.
" . . . Will I see you at Destiny Island?" she asked, looking hopeful.
Prophetmon didn't look at her, facing the doors. "Probably. I have so many things to do."
"Be careful, okay?"
The Prophet simply nodded and disappeared into the dark forest that surrounded the mansion. Sanimon watched him going, once again feeling the apprehension shivering her. She knew what the future of the Digiworld was. She wondered what the future of Prophetmon was.
***
"Greetings, Avenger."
Gennai turned his head from his standing position. He was at his lake, watching the pink water rippling in the dawn light. It was his home for thousands of years, as long as he remembered. His house was hidden underwater, sheltered by a force field of his making. Some Unmons thought that it was odd to live underwater, but he found it better and safe to live underwater, away from his enemies, away from his friends, away from himself. But now, as he saw recent events happening, he thought it was better to leave. He wasn't sure where should he go, but he knew that he will find out what to do later.
When he heard the voice, Gennai frowned at Prophetmon who stepped out from behind the bushes. He didn't hear him coming; he must've been too engrossed in the waters.
"I believe I did request you not to call me by that cursed name," Gennai muttered.
Prophetmon tilted his head, his mouth hidden by the high collar, so he couldn't tell if the Digimon was smiling or frowning. "Yet, it's your rightful title."
"Rightful, my foot," Gennai disagreed. A hand clenched into a fist. "I so desired to avenge their deaths, but I cannot, because of 'destiny'." He spat the last word with dislike. He turned to watch the waters. "Never the Avenger, I was. Never will."
"I'm sorry you felt that way."
The Unmon didn't answer, standing alone in the breeze, his robes softly flapping.
Prophetmon moved to stand beside him, leaning on his moon-staff. He kept his eyes on him for a second, and then said, "You did ask me to meet here."
Gennai crossed his arms, eyes closed. "You can read my mind. What I'm going to say shouldn't be that surprising to you."
Prophetmon sounded stony. "I believe I'm to be scolded for my recent actions, isn't that right?"
"You promised your brother."
This time, the Digimon didn't answer, turning to watch the waters, suddenly silent. Gennai looked at him, lightly puzzled of his sudden silence. He also seemed remorseful in a way that it surprised him. Gennai never saw him that sad.
"You forgot, didn't you?"
"No, I didn't."
"Then why did you do it?"
"He asked me."
Gennai was concerned. He rested a hand on the Digimon's shoulder, voicing quietly, "Prophetmon . . . You have to accept it. He's dead, and he's not coming back."
Prophetmon quickly shook his head, looking back. There was sad hope shining in his azure eyes, sad that he knew it was true and hopeful that he still believed otherwise. "No. He's waiting for me. We promised we won't leave here alone. We were born together, and we will die together. We did promise that."
Gennai withdrew his hand, looking sympathetic. He did believe that way, but now, he gave up on hope. He turned his gaze at the waters. "For a long time, I felt the same. I constantly hoped against hope that my friends will come back, and everything will be the same as before. But it won't happen. Never will. I accepted that they are not coming back." His voice broke and he blinked back tears. "But, yes, it hurts, Prophetmon. It's supposed to hurt when you lose your friends."
Prophetmon watched him with sharing sympathy. "We do understand each other," he whispered. "Your grief must be greatly burdensome."
Gennai was transformed back to his bitterness. "Don't make me talk about grief." He glared hotly at the waters, and Prophetmon noticed his mood. He just said nothing and watched the waters. For a moment, the Unmon and Digimon stood alone and together, each in their grief. Then Gennai cleared his throat. "There is something else I request of you. I want you to give the Golden Lens to me."
Prophetmon jerked his head at him, eyes flashing with rebellion. His gloved hand went to his neck and curled protectively over the small gold stone.
Gennai said frankly, "I know it's your rightful place to guard the Golden Lens, but you wrongfully tapped in its power to digivolve, regardless of the danger." He wasn't there to see the recent battle, but he had ways to know what was happening. He was an Unmon. Unmons had the ability to know thing, much like . . . gods. Sometimes, he found it distasteful to know precious secrets of the Digidestined without letting them know, but sometimes, it was important for him to do that. It helped him understand them better.
Prophetmon lost the rebellion in his gaze, but his hand still held the stone. He spoke carefully and emphatically, "Are you aware that we do need the Digidestined to save the worlds?"
Gennai was silent, and then responded soberly, "What if we don't need them?"
" . . . ?"
"Have you ever noticed that no matter how they fight the darkness, it keeps coming back? There's no way to stop it, not will be any way! Those children fought for nothing, suffered for nothing."
The Digimon remained silent; his eyes hazed as if he did hear what he was saying, but instead of looking at him, looked at the past of the Digidestined's battles. He was like that for a moment and it made Gennai uneasy. He heard that when Prophetmon looked dazed, that meant he was looking at the future.
Then Prophetmon directly looked at him, and he was no longer sad or angry. He looked like he knew something new. He then said softly, "If we cannot fight the darkness for the future . . . then we will fight it for the past."
Gennai widened his eyes at the words. Those words sounded familiar. But where did he hear that?
Prophetmon noticed his astonishment and nodded. "You do know what I mean. Although, we both wish not to face the past . . . it's meant to be." He carefully took off the Golden Lens and placed it in Gennai's hands. It faded in the glow, in a half-Digimon's hands, but still glowing. Prophetmon continued, "Yes, I did predict facing the past, each of us will. It's up to us to face it. Will we welcome it?"
The Digimon silently disappeared in the bushes, leaving the Unmon alone with the Golden Lens faintly glowing as if radiated by his words.
***
It was an hour later when he arrived at the Temple of the Digivice.
Gennai stepped around a corner and stood in the chamber that held the altar used for the high honor of the Digivice. The drawing of the Digivice was on the far wall, colored white, and the chamber seemed to glow with its light. Often, he thought it was ridiculous that the Digimon would worship that piece of junk, but he acknowledged that Digimon lived for battles and power. They were restless and searched for a quick way, such like the Golden Lens, to digivolve to relieve their desires. Very few were passive enough to serve the mystical powers of the Digital World.
Even after thousands of years living in the Digital World, Gennai still didn't understand the undying thirst of bloodshed of Digimon.
He walked across the room to the stone altar. It was empty; not many Digimon had visited lately, due to the increasing darkness in the Digiworld. He touched one of the runes that engraved on the altar, recognized it as digicode. He can read it fluently, but he wasn't here to read them. As he touched the rune, a small hole appeared in the middle of the altar, appeared out of nowhere. He placed the Golden Lens in the hole and again touched the rune. The hole closed over the Golden Lens, and he hoped that he found a good hiding place for the Golden Lens. If the Final Battle was true . . . He feared it. He hoped that it will never happen, but if it was real and was coming, the Golden Lens must be hidden at all costs.
Gennai rested a hand on the surface and sighed. "How long have you been here?"
"Long enough. You keep forgetting that I'm the Guardian here."
He turned back to see a large, ancient Centarumon walking inside. His old friend. He didn't realize that the Digimon was very old. Digimon do age, just differently from Humans. Digimon don't die from age, but can get old and old as long as they live. As they get old, they get more powerful. Gennai recalled that Centarumon would be the same age as him, so that meant the Digimon was very ancient, born from a different time during the early years of the Digiworld. Centarumon was a fighter, but he chose to keep and guard the Temple.
Gennai's mind flooded with sad memories of his friend and again sighed.
Centarumon walked closer, but stayed in the center. "I haven't seen you in a long time, old friend. Why didn't you visit me lately?"
"I have some things to attend," he answered, and then turned to eye the Digivice symbol. He wasn't curious of it; he needed something to keep his gaze off his friend. Seeing his friend was too painful to remember.
"What are you thinking about?" Centarumon asked as he silently stomped to his side. ". . . You don't seem yourself. What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
Centarumon shook his head in disagreement. He putted a large hand on Gennai's back, just like when they were younger and when Gennai needed a hand to comfort him. "Gennai, I know you more than you know yourself. I know it's something wrong. Just remember, I'm chosen to protect you at all times."
Gennai was suddenly bitter as he glared back. "Right, just like you Digimon Guardians were supposed to protect my friends?"
Centarumon didn't say anything, digging one of his hooves in the dirt, his red eye watching him.
Gennai kept on saying sourly, "I don't think it's a mean of protection anymore. You'd seen those children. They had to fight for the survival of the others and themselves, using whatever they had. They had learned to survive, as I had done. It's a mean of survival now. Life just got meaner, Centarumon."
The Centaur Digimon just watched back, silent. Gennai sighed, brushing his hand through his short hair. He then held on the large hand, feeling the rough skin and gentle touches. "I'm sorry, old friend. I just got upset about everything lately." He rested his forehead on the hand for a moment, then let go of it. He sounded weary. "I don't even want to talk about it."
Centarumon just nodded. Seeing that the horseman wasn't saying anything, Gennai exhaled and turned on his way out. But his Digimon stopped him before he could leave.
"Just to let you know . . ." Centarumon said as Gennai looked at him in puzzlement in the hallway. "Citta visited me earlier."
Gennai blinked at the name. He hadn't heard that name in a long time, and his chest contracted with emotions. "Citta? Why? What was she doing here?"
"She came because she remembered me," he answered.
"She . . . remembered?" When the Digimon nodded, Gennai was disbelieved. "But it's impossible . . ." He paused, thinking. "Centarumon, what about . . .?"
Centarumon shook his head. "No, I haven't seen Liu or Isyn lately. But if the prophecy is true, they will come."
Gennai rested a hand on a wall to steady himself. He didn't want to believe his Digimon's words, but the hope that he wrapped around tightly with doubt and sorrow and buried deep in his mind began to struggle and break through. It was possible. The Final Battle was coming and he might have a chance . . . to avenge his friends' deaths.
***
As anybody was concerned, there are always two sides on a coin. The coin could be compared to anything, such like light and darkness, which was an ancient belief ever since the dawn of time that you can't have light without darkness. You can't have happiness without sorrow. You can't have life without death. You can't have one without other. Ancient people were really clever, perhaps more than we ever thought. They may be primitive in our point of view, but often they were right in natural events and mental actions when we worked too hard to find the right or one answer to solve everything. They were related with themselves so well that they seemed psychic.
It may be an odd or a stupid question, depending on your outlook, but do you really believe in light and darkness as reality? Do you really think that the darkness is all bad? Or to change the question a bit, do you think the light is all good? Yes, there are two sides on the coin, but it seems that the coin may have more than two faces. While the coin has the faces of light and darkness, often, the light and darkness have two faces of their own.
Light is good and bad. Light helps you to see your way, but can also blind you.
Darkness is bad and good. Darkness blinds you from your way, but can also teach you to find your way using other possibilities.
Reasonable, huh?
Logical or not, it's the truth. It's all about how you depend on light and darkness. Ancient people know that. They learned to respect light and darkness because they were there. Belief may not be reality to you, but at least, you have the capability to understand how the world works and use your imagination to believe, regardless if your belief is true or false. You believe or you don't believe. If you don't believe . . . well, how can you believe in reality, then?
Learn to use your ears, eyes, touch, and everything else to listen, and you will be surprised at how the world talks. The world would say that it's in danger or just feeling dandy. It would not talk at all. It's just up to you if you want to listen.
It won't hurt to try.
To be continued.