Gundam SeeD: The Whisper of History

Written by Spiritblade

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam SeeD, its characters, or its franchises. As stated before, do not send those irritating lawyers or the Assassin Orders on my trail.

This is a short poetry type story that I fabricated during my vacation. It's a bit short – sorry – but once it came in, it refused to go out. It details the stories of each of the characters, and how their lives echo in the pages of history. Without further ado, let us begin.

Prelude

Come with me for a little while.

Sit with me under the light of the moon and the stars.

Open your heart and mind,

And listen to the story that is whispered upon the wind.

Behold the vista that you see,

And remember the age when Man was finally able to soar amidst the stars.

Though yet to reach the zenith of His power,

It was but it first tentative steps to claim a great destiny.

But, even so, like angry ghosts, Man's flaws would follow him from the cradle of the Blue Star,

Threatening to shatter that dream.

You know our bloody requiem.

You have listened to the stories told of our race.

You have seen it written in books, and seen it in pictures where the past is brought to the present.

You know of our sins that we brought from our exile from Eden.

Ignorance might have been bliss,

But in this era, or in any other, it is but an invitation for past mistakes to be done again.

The 4 Aspects of the Scarlet, Black, White and Emerald Riders,

Yet 8 in total, have thundered across Creation ever since

God forged His Grand Design.

An original, perfect dream, that could only be made perfect through imperfection.

And so, the One Above watches his most favoured child,

Stride through the ages, bearing his burden that he has carried since he was cast out.

From that fabled Age till the present,

Man has ever been doomed – nay, damned – to make the same mistakes.

Behold then, the seeds of a new conflict sowed by Man's own unending desires.

In their quest to attain the perfection equal to the Celestials,

They acquired the desire to master Creation itself, to nurse that perfection from womb to birth.

Thus, were the Enhanced Ones born from Science's cold womb.

Stronger, faster and smarter.

They were everything that the Naturals hoped to be.

What came easily to the Enhanced Ones was won only through great struggle for the Naturals.

With such ability, however, came pride.

And because of that pride, and even before their arrogance was made manifest, their Natural siblings from whom they were born, were jealous.

That cancerous seed grew then.

What was once sown in a shared desire for ascension,

Soon grew a blood-red rose watered in jealousy and hate, and fertilised by resentment.

It listened not to words of acceptance from its nurturer,

But to his desire to exact retribution.

'God made Man,' he said, 'in his image. And by His Commandment, Man is forbidden to soil His Creations. Thus, the Enhanced Ones are an abomination. They must be destroyed.'

And so, it was done.

On a day dedicated to lovers,

Became a day that would be one remembered in sorrow and shame.

Written was it that that fateful day would set afire a conflagration not of love, but of war.

The harsh cry of the Pale and Scarlet Riders echoed

In the hearts of Men, and shook the fabric of Creation in their march.

In that defining moment, unseen by many save a wise few,

Saw that no matter how far Man would go,

No matter how much he had achieved,

No matter how far he tries to run,

The Curse spat upon him by the Adversary and the Creator remained eternal.

A Curse that is many forms and many names, and with each, a panacea to wash it clean.

A Curse that left its mark in the psyche of all born into mortal life,

And whose embers need but a spark, to set it alight once more.

The Imperium of the Naturals against the Kingdoms of the Enhanced soon set against each other in conflict.

A bloody storm rises as ships of iron and titans of steel paint the starlit skies in blossoms of fire.

Calls for restraint were ignored.

Pleas for mercy were drowned out by the twin furies of Hate and Wrath.

Nations that watched aghast tried to stop the conflict,

For they knew that should it continue, they, too, shall be drawn into the fire.

It is during times like these,

When the song reaches a crescendo,

That heroes rise.

Not perfect, storybook heroes that Man has written and dreamt about for ages uncounted,

But flawed, imperfect heroes whose footfalls are akin to those of titans,

And whose actions made perfect an imperfect race.

God makes not the story, but sets the stage and bears witness.

Man is the one who writes his destiny, and sets his finale.

The One Above bears witness, as from a bloody Requiem,

Rises a song of defiant glory.

From the Imperium of the Naturals to the Hourglass Kingdoms of the Enhanced,

They come, each bearing upon his or her person a song that is theirs, and no other.

This Requiem in blood has its crescendo, and brings with it

Its wild-eyed fanatics,

Blood spattered madmen,

Revolutionaries,

Would-be conquerors,

Generals,

Soldiers

And the common people.

This is not the song of the dearly departed, my young charge, oh no.

This is the Symphony of Man at its finest, and at its worst.

Come, sit with me a while longer, my young charges, and I shall tell you of them.

I shall tell you of the flawed, ghost-haunted heroes of the Ship of Angels.

I shall tell you of the hate-driven fanatics who desire supremacy by re-enacting the Sin of Caine.

And I shall tell you of idealistic realists who know the price of their ideals, and who are willing to pay the ultimate price for their dreams.

Come.

The night is long.

We have, my young angels, until dawn.