The Digital Edda
Book One
The Dark Ocean
Prologue:
The right digimon in the wrong place
Leomon watched Batuhan prepare the fish and vegetables for kebabs. The human was older than the Destined Children; a man in his early twenties judging from the firmness in his face and the sheen of his hair. His head coming to the lion-man's chest, Batuhan stooped for the potatoes and leeks and the salt Elecmon had set aside, near the flat stone that served as his cutting board. Taking a filet in one hand, he removed the pin bones using his thumb and utility knife. Calloused, strong fingers held the vegetables before the chop, chop, chop. He sprinkled them and the fish with the salt. He skewered them on wooden sticks. Reaching into a vest pocket, Batuhan drizzled a honey-stained liquid from a silver-plated flask across the five kebabs, tipping his hand on the last one.
"You should go," Centaurumon whispered to Leomon, regarding him with his single, red eye. They watched Batuhan stake the kebabs a few inches from a modest fire. "They're going to need all the help they can get."
Leomon averted his gaze down at the sand. "I don't know," he whispered back.
"Leomon," Centaurumon urged, placing his hand on the lion's shoulder. He gestured towards Elecmon, who scurried around Batuhan's feet like a rabbit, cleaning up the trimmings and running up the beach into the forest that neighbored the beach to bury them. "This island. This place. It's not meant for a digimon like yourself." Centaurumon looked behind them. The ocean was mirror calm, reflecting the pinks and oranges in the sky. Soon the sun would rise, and File Island's visitors would leave with or without him. "It was not meant for Ogremon, either. You need to be out there making a real difference," he said pointing towards Server. The Champion of File Island said nothing. He looked down at the sand beneath his feet—the same sand he had walked on for year after year. His gaze rose, looking past the fire at the figure lingering outside its light.
She was a Leamon, Batuhan's first partner. The other half of the Leomon species, Leamon were digimon hunters; specialized fighters that used a combination of their feet, claws, and throwing javelin to defeat the toughest, armored Champions. She purposefully kept her distance from Leomon the entire visit, standing close enough for him to see yet too far for conversation. She kept the fire between them at all times. Leomon did not rise to the bait, but Centaurumon's constant badgering ate at his resolve. He muttered a empty curse under his breath.
The kebabs started cooking. Caramelizing sugar wafted throughout the makeshift camp. Water boiled out of the fish meat, dripping and saturating the potatoes beneath them. Batuhan rummaged through his pack sitting at his other side. He pulled out a long-necked, silver decanter and called for Leamon, personally named Menhit, to fill it with fresh water from the stream nearby. She nodded, taking the object and turning for the forest. As she bent for it, her gaze met Leomon's. Those dark, red wine eyes elicited many suggestions. Join me, she said, holding the stare for another heartbeat before disappearing.
Centaurumon, seeing the connection, nudged Leomon in the ribs. The lion-man glared up at his friend. Cursing again underneath his breath, Leomon rose. "Excuse me for a moment," Leomon said to Batuhan. The human nodded and Leomon pursued the lioness, quickly losing sight of the fire through the thickening forest trees.
Confident that the foliage blocked prying eyes, Leomon picked up his pace. Through the canopy, the sky was turning a bruised orange, and the woodland possessed a bit of twilight still; shadows obscured the underbrush enough for him to navigate around brambles or the jutting tree boll. His ears lead him, using the soft gurgling of the stream like a compass. Emerging onto the bank, Leomon scanned for Leamon. She was further up, scooping ankle-deep water into the decanter. His heart double beat. He stood there for a moment, watching, committing her image to memory.
Orange dawn poured through the canopy highlighting the Leamon's brown fur, setting the matte color aflame. A length of dirty blonde hair, her mane, ran from her forehead pulled back into a ponytail tied with leather strips. She hunched over the stream, propped on the balls of her feet, balancing like an acrobat on stones slick with moss and clay. Her modesty was covered in an athlete's leather jerkin and pants trimmed in the same tribal stitching as Leomon's. But what caught Leomon unaware was her eyes, red, thick like blood, mischievous. She looked up at him, smiling.
"So," Menhit began. She straightened to full height and stepped onto the embankment, holding the decanter in both hands. "Are you coming or not?"
"I'm not sure."
The Leamon nodded. "That's fair," she walked towards him in long, graceful strides. "It's not every day a human appears in the Digital World."
Close up, she was thinner than Leomon. Maybe an ear shorter, but her eyes neither rose or fell meeting his gaze. "He's definitely not a Destined," Leomon agreed.
Menhit laughed. "It's a little unorthodox, I guess," she said, regarding him with those huntress's eyes, wearing him down. "Our situation is rather, unique." She began walking towards the camp, beckoning him with a crook of her simple tail.
"How did you even meet?"
She glanced back at him, smile broadening. "We met in the real world," she replied matter-of-factly. "It's a really interesting story, but I'm afraid there's just not enough time in the day."
Leomon opened his mouth but shut it, catching the obvious before it escaped. His surprise must have reflected in his expression. Menhit's smile went wider, revealing a picket of predator's teeth. "Oh," he said, flat-footed. Despite his mental distancing, he felt the gap between them closing and, in these few moments alone, unable to resist the mystery playing against him. "Does that make him a Destined?"
"Nope," she said. Her tail possessed a will of its own, dipping, bobbing, and weaving behind her in hypnotic subtlety. "His digivice was made by humans. It comes with more," she paused, thinking for the right word, "perks than what the Destined are packing."
Their walk, a meandering through the lightening forest, slowed even more. "Like two partners," Leomon surmised.
Menhit nodded. "No crest gimmicks. No messy prophecies. Just us and one stubborn human."
The lure of digivolving struck a chord in Leomon. He remembered being SaberLeomon; remembered how the scenery blurred in every sprint; remembered the power coursing through his body, like countless pistons firing at once; remembered the awe and respect of his visage to the down-trodden digimon; and, more painfully, remembered sacrificing that tremendous gift to protect a girl in a pink cowboy hat. Leomon felt the heavy loss even after rebirth.
His stare grew hard, seizing hers like a grapple. "Do you really mean that?"
Menhit's expression faltered, as if taken aback. "Uh, yea," she flustered. "I reached Champion after a few weeks of routine training, why?"
Leomon sighed, closing his eyes. "I reached Mega, once," he steadied himself, letting the decision roll from his mouth. "And I want to do so again."
"Woah," she breathed, incredulous. "You actually did it? When?"
He sighed. "A long time ago."
The Leamon's expression had changed from subtle to shocked. She leaned close, whispering, "Did you—?"
"Die?" Leomon said, loud, almost snarling. She recoiled from him, as if struck. He grimaced. "I, I'm sorry," he said, running his massive hand through his mane. "I've never really got over it, I guess. One of the Destined was going to be killed and—"
"You jumped in the way," she finished. Leomon turned away, pushing those eyes out of his mind. A hand, so gentle he could mistake it for the breeze, gripped his shoulder. "That was a very noble thing you did. There's no shame in that," she said. Summoning his courage, Leomon turned again. Menhit stood within an embrace. Her eyes had gone soft, sympathy radiating from her stare. She placed her hand on his cheek, gently rubbing. "But you have to ask yourself, what do you want to do with your life?" Leomon worked his jaw, but words failed. "You can stay here in the safety of obscurity and watch the sun rise and fall day after day, or take the risk and live again."
He averted his gaze. The path beneath his feet was familiar. The dips and valleys worn into the soil matched his feet. The trees bored the indents of his knuckles, some decapitated at the trunk. The aroma of wild-grown honeysuckle and lilac tasted as sweet today as yesterday, three years ago. He gazed up at the canopy, feeling nothing though the emerald leaves danced in an invisible breeze. Minutes passed. A sigh escaped his chest from deep inside, where his heart resided.
"That's a good question," Leomon admitted, nodding.
The Leamon reflected. "Let's just say I've practiced what I preach."
"I would like to know," he said. One look into her eyes and Leomon's resistances crumbled. They were strong, scarred, like his. "Maybe, later tonight?"
Menhit paused. She squinted at him, absorbing his words. Her muzzle twitched, expression cycling between disbelief and joy. Leomon restrained from laughing as he watched her process in real time. Deadpanning, she shifted the decanter into one arm and poked him in the chest with a claw. "If I heard you correctly, you better be serious. I, I mean it—no take backs."
Leomon laughed. "Weren't we having a moment?"
The Leamon planted her free fist on her hip. She tried being coy, but her excitement flustered her posture. "Well, yea. But, it's just—you better not be lying. Everything is crazy outside File Island. Shinjuku's not some bungalow-on-the-beach on some quiet island. Human cities are actually bustling with people, ya know?"
"Convincing me to stay?" Leomon playfully asked. He gestured to take the decanter.
Menhit rolled her eyes. She handed it over, sighing. "Thanks," she said. "It means a lot, trusting me—us, I mean."
"It should be me thanking you," Leomon replied.
Menhit regained some of her composure, regarding him with a half-lidded, semi-formal expression. "Maybe, tonight."
Leomon flashed her a grin. "Anything for those eyes."
The Leamon snorted, wiping at the blush on her cheeks. "You dork," she mumbled into her wrist. She hooked her hand into his other, tail mimicking. "Batuhan will be amazed. He was going to bribe you with a meal and a coffee, but I guess that's a bonus at this point?"
Leomon blinked. "Coffee?" Menhit chuckled, tugging him forward. They began walking towards the camp. "No, seriously," Leomon began, "is that like a dessert or something?" Despite his honesty, his new partner's chuckle turned into laughter. "Menhit? What's so funny?"
OOC: I don't own Digimon.