Prelude of Sandrock
"So do you understand now?" Adri Milap asked his smile reaching his eyes, shining in the dark depths. Quatre turned his thoughtful look on the instructor. They were sitting in the most secluded garden the pair could find. Inside the copse of trees it was shady and pleasant. Quatre played with the strips of grass entwined through his fingers.
"I think so, but I don't understand why I need to 'shield' myself."
"Well, Quatre," Adri began, pulling his dark hair loose and then combing it back to retie, bangs falling well into his eyes, "Right now, your skill is limited to people you are close to, both spatially and emotionally. When you develop empathic skill, you'll be able to pick up emotions of people who you aren't near and people you don't know as well personally. Too many emotions from other people can overwhelm you and keep you from being yourself and doing your own things. So to keep such things from happening, you have to shield yourself, to keep out some feelings. You'll still be able to use the skill, it's like . . ." Adri paused, trying to think of an appropriate simile, "It's like a radio. You set a radio to pick up certain frequencies and you don't pick up the others unless they're really strong."
Quatre tilted his head to the side, "I guess that makes sense. I think I know that. It's like when I feel something, I can concentrate on the feeling and make them stronger so I know what's going on. You want me to learn to do the opposite." Adri grinned at him, slapping his hand against his thigh.
"That's it, Quatre!" Adri leaned over and ruffled the blond's hair. "You're pretty quick, ya know." Quatre only smiled sheepishly. Adri sighed with contentment, taking a leaf off an overhead tree branch. "Now when I get back I'll make sure I keep prodding you. I want you to try and shield out my telepathy as much as possible. Okay?"
Quatre nodded. "You're leaving?"
Adri bowed his head once in answer. Looking down at the leaf in his hand, Adri began to strip the leaf apart, piece by piece. Quatre caught a sensation of strong feelings from Adri and began to slowly filter them out. He didn't like practicing this technique, he much rather focus on the sensation and try to draw in what the emotion was, but apparently, he'd had enough practice at that and need to develop this one.
"Quatre," He looked up, Adri still had his head bowed at the leaf stem, "What do you think about the colonies?"
"The colonies? What about them?" Adri Milap pulled another leaf off the tree and began to strip it vehemently.
"About how we are controlled by the Alliance. How there is no communication between colonies. How the colonies are kept from making their own choices about the lives of their citizens. How the leader Heero Yuy is not in the history books that you are taught from."
Quatre's brow furrowed. "Heero Yuy? I've never heard of him."
Adri sighed, "Look him up. He is the best kept secret from the youth of our society, but I remember. I met him, just once, when I was very young." Quatre settled back against a tree, watching Milap with a quiet intensity. The dark eyes gazed out from under dark hair, before a feral smile grew over his lips. "Heero Yuy was the pacifist leader of the colonies in 175 AC. He was assassinated and the murderer was never found. Some believe that the Alliance was behind the murder, because Heero Yuy would have destroyed their control over the colonies. Ever since then, there has been no communication between the colonies, to keep another Heero Yuy from appearing out of space's masses. He united the colonies in a single goal of establishing peace." Adri plucked a new leaf to strip down.
"The Alliance has deleted as much information about Heero Yuy as possible from the people's lives. They say it's to avoid upsetting people with the misfortunes of history, but it's just another method of control. They don't want people to know about Yuy because they don't want rebels like me standing up for Yuy's beliefs. Standing up for Yuy's beliefs and more importantly; Taking action."
"Rebels like you?" Quatre's eyes met Adri's dark ones again. "I thought that you were a pilot and engineer. Not to mention just out of training yourself." Adri's feral smile returned.
"Yes, Quatre. I am still rather young and I am a pilot and engineer. But I do what I can to help the people. Not just here on your colony, but on all the colonies. I teach, so that I get a chance to meet with young people like you and tell them what I know. Tell them the truth about our shared past." Adri's eyes glittered with passion and power, the feelings Quatre began to receive were strong and intense. "I'm leaving for a few days to do what I do best. I pilot supplies from this colony to other nearby colonies. But while I'm doing that, I take letters back and forth from each colony that I visit. People are not allowed to communicate between the colonies in a traditional sense, so I make it possible for families and businesses to find out how each other is doing. It's a small thing, but it can get me into a great deal of trouble none the less."
"Why did you tell me all of this?" Quatre asked a few moments later as Adri Milap stood. He looked down on the small blond.
"I trust you to know the right thing to do. What's right and wrong isn't dictated by the Alliance or your father, Quatre. The only one who can decide what is right for you is you. I trust you and I believe that you already know what 'right' is in your heart. I trust that heart, Quatre, you should too."
Adri walked away without another word. Quatre remained seated, unblinking as he absorbed the pilot's words. Trust. Right. Wrong. Trust, that word was something new. Why had he used the word trust? He was just a little boy and . . . . 'right and wrong isn't dictated by the Alliance or your father' Not by his father.
By him.
Quatre's face suddenly lit up. Adri was right and he was right. His father's right could be his wrong. It was all a matter of perception.
"This is Command calling Pilot 1. Come in Pilot 1." The voice came out rough and brassy over the speakers, but Quatre recognized it immediately. His face, previously contorted in fierce concentration, softened to a smile.
"Pilot 1 here! Ready for instructions!" Quatre said uploading his data on the assigned simulations. There was a pause while the data was received and Adri looked over the readings.
"What the? These say you finished the simulation section five days ago! What are you doing in there?"
"Father has an hour blocked into my schedule for simulation. I knew he wouldn't believe me if I told him I'd finished the assignments, so I've just been in here."
Adri snorted, "Well, get your butt out of the cockpit! Do you have any idea how excellent these results are? You're a natural, kid!"
Quatre hopped down the two-foot drop. "Really? I'm a natural?" Adri threw his head back and laughed. Grinning impishly at the approaching boy, he threw an arm over Quatre's shoulder.
"You don't know the half of it! These readings are crazy off the charts for a beginner, especially your tactical maneuvers. Have you studied this stuff before?" Adri watch as Quatre's brow knitted up and he shrugged, "Not in a formal sense, huh? Well then, you just have awesome tactical skills. We'll develop those, you'll be unstoppable. We'll work on the mechanics of actual operation and a little mechanical engineering on the side. If I do my job right, by 15 you're going to be an expert pilot. Oh, and how are your other studies coming?"
Quatre's features were suddenly screwed into tight concentration. The angle of his left brow intimated there was something that wasn't right in this area of study. "Father. I simply cannot shield myself from him. His anger, it is intense and near painful, and sometimes I really want it away from me, but I can't keep it out." His fingers were knit into the pages of his book, clutching the binding tightly. Adri's eyes slid to the binding. It was a book on the basics of genetic engineering. He met the perplexed aqua eyes again and offered a wry smile.
"There will always be exceptions to the rules, Quatre. People who are very important to you are most usually the exceptions. It can work the way you experience it now, where you can't keep them out, or it can work in the opposite, when you can't read them however hard you try. You simply will need to learn to cope with the unavoidable effects of these people. And I can assure you, your father will not be the last one that will be immune to your empathic power."
Amazingly, Quatre smiled, "Thank you Adri. I feel much better. I though that something was really wrong with me, since I couldn't shield myself from him. It always makes me feel wrong, that I can't do things right." Pangs of guilt ran through his system. Regret and anguish. He was worthless, replaceable and always doing things wrong. Why didn't his father just make a new heir? He always found fault in Quatre, what could be easier than altering the genes from his embryo slightly and creating a better son?
Adri put a hand on his shoulder, breaking his reverie. Stunned turquoise eyes questioned dark colorless ones. "You, Quatre Winner, are far from worthless. You are one of the most skilled and genuine people I have ever met. I have heard you play, you are a gifted musician and you're extremely intelligent. Most students take weeks to learn what you have in the twelve days I've been gone. Your strategic skills are unparalleled. That is a sign of ingenuity and extreme mental prowess. I've spoken with your fencing instructor and he tells me the same things. You're not worthless."
Quatre gazed up at Adri blankly and suddenly, the man's voice filled his head again, without his ears. You are important, and before I leave here I am going to do my best to make you understand: You aren't worthless as you have learned to believe. Not worthless at all and not replaceable. Not to me or anyone else who you are important to.
"Sorry I'm late, Ms. Martin. I was finishing up a lesson with Mr. Milap and it took longer than we had anticipated." Quatre panted as he made his way into the room set aside for his tutoring sessions. The severe, dark-toned woman looked up from her desk and snorted elegantly. Her voice was dry and harsh.
"I'm sure, Quatre. See that you're on time this afternoon. You've been wasting far too much of my time gallivanting off with that pilot." Ms. Martin scoffed as she berated her student.
It had been a year since the man; Adri Milap had invaded the Winner home. In all her years tutoring the Winner children, she had never seen such a drastic change in her students for the existence of another person. Quatre had always worn a meek and reserved facade after the tender age of four. Yet in the year since Milap's arrival the Winner heir had begun to change drastically. He wasn't as moody or reserved and now went out of his way to be friendly with other people, instead of simply polite. It was obvious to the entire household he adored Adri Milap and truly looked up to the man. The pilot and engineer had coaxed out a playful, loving and genuine side of Quatre that had not been completely buried, but had been repressed over the years. The colony was better for the change in its heir, but for the current Winner head, the adoration his son had for Milap, well, no one knew what effect it had on him.
"Did you finish your essay? Pacifism is an important tool of this colony and I hope you did the subject justice." Helen Martin watched Quatre bite on his lower lip nervously before answering.
"I did, but I don't believe that what I wrote is what you would like to hear, Ms. Martin."
"What do you mean by that? Explain yourself."
"Well, you told me to write how I feel towards pacifism within the colonies. I believe that I understand the concept and how it is used currently and under the circumstances of the colonies that we have discussed, I'm incline to disagree with the method of pacifism within the colonies presently. For twenty years the colonies have been using pacifism and it has yet to produce results. I feel the time for more aggressive forms of resistance may now be necessary. What use is any method of resistance if we get no results from it?" He paused a moment. "I understand the virtues of pacifism and agree with its use. I just feel the current circumstances of the colonies require more."
Ms. Martin sat there, staring at the unblinking child for a moment. Pacifism was the way of the world around him in every sense. Where did such a wild idea ever enter his head? "Pacifism," She began in countering, "Is the only means that the colonies can use. We are without weapons and under the Alliance's control; Military supplements are not available. There is no other way."
Quatre shook his head, looking his teacher right in the eyes. "I don't agree. There are ways to retaliate, ways that do not involve terrorism and are the aggressive extension of pacifism. The best way to describe the pacifism of the colonies is inaction. The time for inaction is over. We need to make our desires visible."
Helen Martin slammed her palms on her desk as she stood, glaring at Quatre openly. "Who put these ideas into your head! Aggression will only lead to trou---ble." Realization dawned onto her face, "It was that pilot wasn't it! He's been filling your head with ideas. I knew he couldn't be the perfect instructor he seemed. Always interested in your studies and then stuffing your head with impossible alternatives!"
"NO!" Quatre cried out, "It's not like that! He tells me how he feels. I just happen to agree with Adri. He tells me things and he lets me make my own choices based on the circumstances and options! He teaches me to think analytically. It's not what you think!"
Ms. Martin snorted at Quatre. "Stay here! I'll be back. I believe I need to speak with your father on these issues." She stormed out of the classroom, locking Quatre in behind her. He pulled at the doorknob and pounded on the wooden barricade for a few moments, crying out incoherently.
"No . . .please . . . not my father . . . Adri will get in trouble . . . please, no . . ." Quatre whimpered, sliding to the floor. He wrapped his arms around himself tightly, beginning to feel. He hurt, not outside, but inside and the ache grew. Adri would be fired for sure. His father was a strict pacifist and since he trusted Ms. Martin's opinion and Adri was little more than a newcomer his father would fire him on such a word from Ms. Martin without even asking Milap. A choked sob escaped him, his he bowed slightly. It wasn't fair. His entire life was controlled by others opinions. Finally Adri was teaching him to think and feel for himself and now Adri would be taken away. He just knew it!
He began shivering; his eyes were bright with tears. Desperately, Quatre tried to push together a shield. His father would surely be angry and though his father would burst through any shielding, he needed to try. At the very least, he'd have to keep others from feeling his pain. It wouldn't be fair.
Though 'fair' was a word that Quatre had learned to hate with a passion.
Fire and ice consumed him. Storms of anger boiled in moment only to be washed away by floods of self pity and contempt. He remained in turmoil. Time grew slow, sped fast, disappeared and then returned to taunt him. His fire was quenched by sadness and exhaustion overtook him.
When the door reopened it was his father. Mr. Winner looked down on his spent child. He spoke slowly, anger held with tension in his voice.
"Mr. Milap has been released. He has chosen to leave tonight. You may go and give him your regards." He turned heel and stomped out quickly.
Quatre sniffed one last time and brushed away his tear stained eyes with the heel of his hands. Standing, he wobbled on unsteady, rubbery limbs. Grasping the edge of a table, Quatre held himself still until his legs regained feeling. With heart broken weight, the blond left the study room. How he ever reached Milap's quarters was beyond him, but it hardly mattered. He pressed his hands against his face briefly and shook his bangs out of his eyes before knocking.
Adri opened the door with a quiet smile and led Quatre in. He gestured to the bed before turning back to his suitcase. Quatre sat and just watched for a few moments before his abused vocal chords moved of their own accord.
"I'm sorry." He whispered hoarsely. Adri stopped and looked up at Quatre.
"It is not your fault, Quatre. Your father was bound to find out about my activities eventually and that would have certainly got me released far faster than this. But the fact they have allowed you to believe you are at fault is inexcusable. I made my choices. I could have told your father I was a pacifist also and kept this job. But I want you to learn and grow too. Lying like that wouldn't be right. I need to stand up for my beliefs, just like you were strong enough to do."
He paused for a moment, turning away and pulling some books off of his shelves. He opened the top book: a hardbound book with a dark blue color. Taking a pen from its pocket home, Adri wrote something on the inside of the cover page. Finishing, he closed the book and gave the pile of volumes to Quatre, setting them in his lap. He knelt beside the bed.
"I knew this day would come and these are for you. I don't know how long it will be before your father replaces me with a new instructor, so in the meantime, you can learn from these books. That is, if you choose to continue studying what I've taught you. You have every choice in the world, Quatre. No one can take those from you but yourself. Remember to believe in yourself. You're gifted, in many, many ways. And it could be a long time before I ever meet anyone with as much to offer as you. It could be an equally long time before you find any other people who are newtypes. Remember to shield yourself. Don't forget there will be others like myself and like your father. Other newtypes are rare. As rare as people immune to your gifts." Quatre's eyes watered over again and he pulled Adri into a tight, desperate hug. No more words were spoken between them and the air.
Don't apologize to me or to yourself, Quatre. Be yourself. Live your life; Don't let others be your choices. You have every choice in the world. Find the one that is right for you. Your father and the Alliance don't dictate right and wrong. Do what you can and do what you feel. Don't be afraid, Quatre, trust in your uchuu no kokoro. I do.
I will, Adri. Thank you. Thank you for being my friend! I won't allow you to be forgotten!
Quatre released a harsh breath. Adri Milap had led him through one of the toughest phases of his life only to be torn away. That rip was the catalyst in a series of events that had lead him here and to Sandrock, to leaving home for his beliefs. For his own right. . . . He looked into the vastness of space he loved so dearly; the space that Adri had fought for and the space that he would now fight for as well. He spoke softly.
"Adri, look at me. I listened, I haven't forgotten. I'm still here, still learning and finding my own right path. I'm doing what I believe in. I wish you could be here . . . I wish . . ." Quatre voice wavered as he changed his course ever so slightly, "I wish you had survived."
A cry of shock and horror escaped the boy as his eyes flew open. His body shook and jilted as he was thrown into a stunned wakefulness. He breathed deeply, unable to catch his breath. He went through the motions of rising from a nightmare when none plagued him. Quatre slowed his breathing and pulled the wild, incoherent feelings into himself.
He forced a calm over himself. He sat in his bed in the center of his room, the place darkened with night. The very dead of night. Slowly, almost unsure, Quatre patted his face and neck, finding himself drenched in perspiration. Something was happening, he felt it in the very deepest part of his heart, and here he was: in bed, safe at home. Very, very safe.
A shudder crashed through him. Aqua eyes became wide, immobile and unfocused. Pain tore through him, ripped him open, burned through flesh and bone equally. He was but a paper doll to the pain that tore through him. It was not his own either. Someone important was in excruciating pain, they simply had to be for pain to strike him this strong.
He found himself hyperventilating, his own panic and fear tossing into the mix of distressingly turbulent emotions. His arms were wound tightly around his stomach as the young blond tried to calm the emotions, raging, searing, tearing pain shot through his system.
It stopped.
No explanation or cause, the agony tearing through him simply ended. Wide, shocked eyes darted around the room, expecting . . . something. At least, more than the emptiness he suddenly found himself in. He felt abnormally empty.
Quatre gripped his blankets in half fright. This was new; he'd never felt this emptiness, this void before. Crawling out of bed, Quatre slipped through his room to the bookshelves. The shelf was tucked into a corner of the room, but there was enough space between the wooden unit and the wall to fit one, well sized book. From this niche, Quatre pulled the blue hardcover book from his mentor.
The book was actually a diary of the things Adri had learned in his own training, everything written out simply, legibly and in an organized fashion. Some areas were vocabulary and others marked the significance of different objects. The very back was a record of a number of Adri's own experiments and experiences.
Sitting in bed, Quatre turned on a small light from the nightstand, flipping through the book for something to explain the emptiness he was suddenly plagued by. Something within him brought the blond to leave the book open to one page in particular as he slowly began to read the text. Shivers returned, racing through him at an increasingly more frantic pace.
DEATH: Always marked by a feeling of loss. Can be preceded by intense emotions, usually panic, fear, anger and pain. The more violent the death, the stronger both the emotions preceding death and the feeling of loss afterward. Has the power to flood newtypes, most particularly empaths, and cause unconsciousness if the sensation is very acute. NOTE : Very good reason for constant shielding, all newtypes are more susceptible to feeling the effects of a death, not just empaths.
Quatre allowed the book to slip off his lap as he turned back to seriously hyperventilating. Trying to calm the feeling, the blue-eyed boy dropped his head down to his legs and concentrated on breathing. Someone important had died. Something wasn't simply wrong; someone was gone. But who? Who was dead? It had to be important. Was his father dead? Could that be it? Was his father dead?
Curiosity began to overshadow panic and the young boy regained control of his breath. The blond crept into the hall of shadows, making his way to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Tiptoeing through the soft carpet, Quatre's heart pounded in his ears. Stealth formerly unknown to him allowed the child of twelve to slide silently into his father's room.
The man in question laid in silent, unmoving slumber. Quatre was fairly shaken by the stillness of the dark room, the shadows becoming larger and more fearsome before his eyes. He stole to the bedside, watching his father's even breathing. A feeling of relief washed over him, soothing his anxious nerves. His delicate hand touched pliant, warm skin, finding a strong pulse. The boy let loose a sigh before creeping back to his own room. All other questions eroded from his mind in the face of the exhaustion he now felt. Sliding between the sheets, Quatre almost immediately returned to slumber.
Quatre tightened his grip and leaned all of his body weight into tipping the rapier towards his opponent. His eyes were steadfastly locked on those gray ones before him. The angle of the blades changed slightly, bringing the pair hilt-to-hilt, locked in a contest of pure strength. Quatre kept his gaze hard and unyielding to his older opponent, keeping his full weight on the locked weapons. His stance was open and loose and his free hand kept him from losing balance.
The rapiers disengaged each other and the young blonde fought his body to keep from staggering. He lowered himself slightly to center himself, bringing his free hand up to join his other, keeping only the one on the metal.
His instructor thrust back in, engaging Quatre again. Instead of locking them together the young blond twisted the blades against each other in a tight arc, intending to wrench the weapon from the other's hand. The elder countered the move, lifting up the rapier and turning with it, bringing himself to where Quatre had been. The lithe boy had caught the tactic early on in the execution and matched the move.
The other blade broke away from his own and immediately returned, forcing Quatre against a wall. He thrust again and the trapped youth deflected the motion. The tip of the rapier touched the wall, the thin metal bending before the other could retract the blade. In the seconds that the rapier touched the wall, Quatre scampered out of the way, thrusting at his instructor, forcing him to jump back out of the blade's reach.
The pair continued to spar, each countering the other fluidly and easily. It was usual to engage in verbal banter during such fighting, but the only sounds were metal on metal. The young apprentice avoided speech for the sake of concentration; the elder avoided it in respect for the opponent's need of that engrossment. They continued in the intricate, unchoreographed dance, the touch of the rapiers their music. In and out the pair thrust and countered each other in turn, their movements the elegant parody of the art of deadly war. It wasn't much longer before the elder tapped the tip of his rapier to a small shoulder to end the match.
Almost gratefully, Quatre removed his mask and brushed his damp bangs from his eyes. Taking a drink of water, he looked up for his instructor to hear his take on the match and continue the lesson on the areas he felt Quatre needed improvement. He found the graying Cyrus Bane at the door speaking with the steward. Seeing this, Quatre snapped on the radio. Bane and the steward would easily talk away the rest of Quatre's lesson if he let them.
. . . In more local news, a group of Alliance Rebels avoiding space control were caught last night. They were found leaving the L4 cluster and claimed to be carrying cargo to the L3 cluster by way of a newly labeled No-fly zone. Number 004320. A unit of Space Leos found the two ships and after confirming the identity opened fire to force the Rebels into surrender. The Rebels surrendered after the second ship was severely damaged. There were loses on both sides, but minimal. The deceased are as follows: Bryce Lo-wind - Alliance cadet; Zeke Orlando - Alliance Cadet; Adri Milap - Rebel; Jethro Kahn - Rebel; Haven Guthrie - Rebel . . .
Quatre stopped listening, he stopped thinking, moving or breathing. The beats of his heart pounded in his ears. Adri was dead? It couldn't be possible, he'd only left two weeks before. He couldn't be dead. Suddenly Quatre threw his senses in all directions, searching for Milap's strong sensations. They couldn't be found.
His breath became ragged and unsteady. That was who he'd felt die. Adri Milap was dead. He was dead. The words echoed through Quatre's mind, echoing the painful words, twisting and contorting him in agony. Unable to handle the realization, Quatre fled the room, crashing past Bane and the steward. He barely heard his teacher yelling at him to come back. He ran blindly.
Adri couldn't be dead, he simply couldn't. Worn out, Quatre dropped to the ground, only able to make out the vague outline of green and brown around him through watering eyes. He knew where he was anyhow, his secret corner of the garden. No one would find him here and Quatre began to sob in abandonment. He didn't want to believe it, but everything in his heart said it was true. Tears cascaded down his face as he mourned the loss of his best friend and mentor. The world reduced to his heartbeat, repeating over and over the same phrase.
Adri was dead . . . Adri was dead . . . Adri was dead . . .
Adri Milap had been dead three years. His death had thrown Quatre into a world of pessimistic self-torture and deep depression. Quatre was already walking a tightrope of insecurity before his death, it was simply the last straw. The death was a catalyst of immense proportions.
It was not much later before he'd run into the Maguanac Corp. and Instructor H. The two parties managed to undo some of the damage of Adri's death. They both pushed him as his mentor had pushed him. They gave him self-value, self-confidence and most importantly: Pride.
Quatre closed his eyes and recalled the moments of battle inside the Maguanac Mobile Suit he'd borrowed from Rashid. Using everything that Adri had taught him and flying that suit had been a thrilling moment for him. It suddenly made all that Adri had told him of his own skill real. Every word of praise that Adri had ever given him suddenly became more than simply words of encouragement. They made him believe in himself. Adri was right and the Maguanacs were right. He needed to develop pride in himself.
That was what he did over the last three years. With Instructor H's help, Quatre's Sandrock had been created and he would be able to do as Adri had done.
Adri had once told him he rebelled by way of transporting mail because it was what he could do. He'd once told Quatre that there would be things that he could do also. This was what Quatre could and would do. He would fight as Adri Milap had taught him with a special Gundanium Mobile Suit made for him. It was the most he was capable of for his cause. He would give no less.
Breaching the edge of the Earth's atmosphere, Quatre toyed with the controls, adjusting the angle of his entry. The pressure rose and Quatre's heartbeat rose in demand. This moment is it.
He passed through the upper layers of stratosphere and his world calmed. The blond pulled up the ship's radar, Quatre scanned for the coordinates Instructor H had so recently given him for the Maguanac Corp. Opening a visual feed Quatre's aqua eye met a world of golden sand, crystal blue water, verdant greenery and endless horizons. He found himself breathless at so great a view of his ancestral home and yet understood so little of it all at once. The magnitude of its beauty astonished him. For some strange reason, his hand strayed from the controls to the case at his side. Fingers ran across the scared violin case.
"This," He found his own hushed voice reaching his ears, "Is the beginning of everything." In his mind, he found himself adding to the statement. The beginning of everything and the end of nothing.
Quatre took destiny into his hands, preparing to land his craft and begin anew.
All that came before was only the introduction to the song. He stood, playing the very tentative first lines of the tune's theme. The song was changing and his life even more so. He imagined those first steps on the Earth's surface that he was so close to taking. Yes, this was the real beginning for him, for his purpose. Everything before wasn't the melody or overture of the songs in his heart and life. What had been was only the prelude. This would be his melody and his song.
The song of freedom.
