The room lay still, unmoving, unworried. It had everything it needed; it was happy. It no longer needed anything, it no longer had any pain, any sorrow to weep from. Darkness weathered away corners; a slim light peeked into the room and lit up centers brightly. The monotone heart monitor lay still, mindlessly, soundlessly, not knowing what to do. So it remained, unwanted, not of any necessity any longer; it was put to no use now, and the screen darkened, emitted no shrill beeping of life, emitted no alarms of false message. The bed lay in the middle, still, stuffed between its surroundings, covers torn away from skillful fingers, ruffled in a deserted mess that wrapped around no beating heart, covered over no running blood. The pillow was blank, solitary, of no use anymore. Darkness would eat away the furniture. It'd demolish the bed, the forgotten machines that were no longer necessary of their mechanical use. Now, everything just remained silent. They had always had a purpose; and their last one was to heal and nurture someone else who had their own purpose – but now that their person was gone, their god that kept them busy, happy, occupied, what would they do now? What could they do? And with the absence of their god, the paradise shut away; the grounded heaven shut down and diminished into its own useless self.
Fresh footprints upon the ground were cool, refreshing. It was as if you could lean close to them, and listen quietly with cupped ears to the distant, slowly fading clicking of the footsteps that had been there, that one solemn click telling you of a presence that had suddenly gone recently, swiftly. The haven was now dark, left to be forgotten. It had been so deployed in the past, so organized and well planned out. What had happened? Now it lay, uselessly, monotonously. Its good wealth of inner tranquility had been unemployed along with its heavenly nourishment. So they were forced now, forced to gather a new job, a job with a fraction of a so-called salary, a job that required all-day effort; a job one would know as collecting dust. The cloudy pillows began to cake with misrecognition, and wither away into its own pit of a stomach, swallowing itself in a whole.
Then, there was the nightstand. The nightstand that had never really been of much use; nothing had changed for it. Out of all the lost hopes that now lingered about the room like haunting apparitions, thousands of souls coming here to pay their disrespects of the past, one thing, at least, in the fingers of the surface of the nightstand, something sparkled; something glimmered with hope. It was perfect with curves, short and stout like a teapot, but of much more prowess in beauty. It was serene, filled with a grace washing that supported its infatuation-inducing head. It was perfect in every way; a million stars embedded into it, sewn skillfully and beautifully into its solid, crystallized fabric of glass. It was the glassy vase, and in its open, welcoming mouth sprouted a green body, a body that stemmed into the blue petals of a tiny wish, a tiny sign of hope. The flower, Isis. It seemed almost too beautiful, dwelling in such a dark, eerie place where no one dared to step into. However, sometimes, if just a few people were willing to go through the miles of dark, at the end, they would find an eternity of stars, a forever audience of possibility wishes constantly watching you, constantly favoring you.
Then, at the feet of this beautiful lush ornament, came the austerity loss of a petal, a petal that had been clasped by willful hands, a blue piece that had meant a lot, and had been given with a lot of heart. It was still warm from a proposing touch, comforted and easy thanks to the amazing soul who had touched it. It did not seem sad it was separated from the flower's stems; no, this one seemed happy, happy that it was the only one, the only special one to be touched, and be put down by that boy who meant the world to his friends, who didn't even know it yet. The room had now grown cold, no soul left to protect. This is how he would feel… if he hadn't left.
The desired soul of Kahibi Eric walked stumblingly through the orange hallway, one side of him not quite recovered yet. He moved with a grunt, his steps slowed from the fight just a few hours before. His side shot with pain every other step, his tanned, hard-working hand clutching it to suppress the pain. The determined Minor walked with a wince, paced himself more and more with ground teeth to restrain himself, to keep telling himself that the pain was not real; it simply did not matter. Bandagers wrapped around him in several areas. He seemed somewhat lonely without someone to protect as well, and so he was striving after them now. His feet slid more and more through the long hall. Darkness watched him, bet on him to see how long it would take before he collapsed. Many have shreds of the devious dark had lost their bets all ready.
Slowly he paced himself, past a possible turn, knowing somehow exactly where to go, exactly how to get there. He promised himself that the pain would fade away as time passed. It was true, too. His wounds would become more and more minor as he walked and freshened outside. Seconds later, he found himself halfway to the next necessary turn. Eyes caught at him, clawed at him with a smile so suddenly, so immediately that he didn't notice it happening. "You know, you're not fit for moving," a familiar voice spoke out to him. Eric stopped. He made no noise. Silence slowly rebuilt itself.
Eric seemed to hesitate speaking, waiting a while. The gaze of familiarity continued to stare at his back, unable to be pried off, much too strong. "I'm sure you know that that fact is not going to stop me," Eric said friendlily, slightly with an additional chuckle that just slid in their easily, comfortably. "Don't you?" he asked, his arm still clutched at his side. His clothes had been put on forcefully, on unevenly. There had been no time to care for neatness of wardrobe.
"Supposedly," Hanabikai answered back friendlily. His tone was purely suspicious; just by hearing it could not tell you whether or not he was going to send Eric back to his room for his own good, or send him away, for who knows what reason. The two fire elements found themselves vigilant of each other, careful of each other's voices, words, as well as their own. "And just who do you plan on going to when you get out of here; which Minor team are you going after?"
Eric chuckled once more, lightly, innocently, boyishly. "Honestly?" he said calmly, seriously. "I don't know. I haven't quite decided yet," he answered. Hanabikai made no change of facial expression, made no scowl of disapproval, or approval.
"Yes, you do," Hanabikai answered. Eric remained silent, not quite yet confused. It seemed that all emotions were indefinite now. The boy waited for the older to explain. "Jus think," Hanabikai insisted, walking out of the threshold of the hallway at the side. His body shifted. Silence. Nothing but the quiet vibrations of a faraway morning, nothing but the cooling fingers that had invaded inside in an indifferent intrusion of nightly cease. Thoughts seemed unnoticed, empty. "As you do," Hanabikai broke the silence with a crack of voice. "Just make sure you don't push yourself, all right?" Hanabikai said in a close, light demand as he turned and began to walk the other way, finally leaving Eric be with his own, solemn thoughts.
Eric continued to stall, full of thoughts. He sighed, tiredly. It really had been a long night. And there was just a few long hours left to go. Then, moments later, in a new state of mind, he began to walk, having made his decision.
PoVS
The cold night died away. The apparent eternal distance of the sunlight seemed to sparkle from far away into the horizon's limits. Clouds from far away lit up with the bare sight of a luminary body. The clouds still lingered in their pitch-blackness. Stars had not been wiped away yet; the moon was still bright and powerful, just at the edge before falling to through the reality and dying into a half-day's worth of eternity. Holes that punctured the ground remained as memorials for murderous attempt, enemy still alive, still hot with intent.
Daniel, frantically, fearfully looked around. His eyes used to bear the sign of confidence, an emerald determination that was narrow with meager pain, scarce signs of emotion. Now, they froze with fear, slowly turning, slowly scanning with a broad gaze that couldn't diminish, couldn't suck itself back into its norm. Petrifaction remained on his facial features, draining the color from his cheeks, his once warm, soft lips, and milk, smooth skin. His heart beat with certain panic, a panic that protested its now worthless, surplus fright. Where is he? He thought continually, as if the thought would make him feel alive, would make him feel real.
His hand was still wounded from his own proposed stabbing, to rid fear, a plot that didn't work, not even in the least. It still leaked with blood; an injury that he failed to realize could worsen. The palm of his hand was reddened with a deep, dark scarlet, a brick red of time slowly spreading out, slowly strolling down his fingers, caking the tips with red, a red that made confidence and assurance even scarcer that it had been from the start. Where is he? He continued to think, mind completely disregarded, ignorant of the wound he held, the blood that poured out continually that hung at his side, dripping drops of reddened time and scarlet second to the floor, slowly, time-devouringly. He can come from any moment; any time, the boy recognized. One drop of blood from his fingertips, falling to the grass he, too, failed to give recognition to. Where will he come from? Where!? A second drip of blood from his unknowing fingertips, blood smearing down his middle finger. His thoughts dragged him to the edge, poking at him while he was at the end of the plank, arms tied up and eyes blindfolded, his feet tilting downward on the weak point of the wooden board, hoping, praying for dear life, a rescue, an end to this horrid lack of power.
Where is he coming from?! he continued to insist. Where!? The third, the last drop of blood came down, a soft, thinned rain. This one seemed to come down in slow motion, brightened by the ironic night, falling to its betrayal and landing on the soft, finger of a leaf. It reddened the green, painted it horridly, dramatically as it fell; fell smoothly, yet difficultly down the air. Then, with that silent, unheard drip of liquid, the disturbance began; the heart began to beat higher.
The opponent burst from a new hole in the ground, a new puncturing of dirt. He hissed, he screamed in murder and homicide as he snaked through the air swiftly, so fast, it was threatening, so twistingly, that it was just too abnormal to be considered speed, too abnormal to be called a dash. A crooked claw of a hand that had mutated underground slashed at Daniel. The boy dodged to the opposite side, catching the attack just barely. He found himself unable to move, unable to excuse himself with his legs. His eyes widened as he was shocked himself that he was able to even duck to the side. "You can't beat me!" the enemy taunted. "You're too weak; too scared!" tormented he with the half-worm body and gray, discoloration of skin, as well as a grown, mutated eye at the forehead and grown, monstrous claws. He had changed every time he had gone underground, even if a little!
Daniel froze at the insults. That gave the opponent a perfect chance, which he indeed took. He was not one to waste an opportunity, after all. A punch landed perfectly, causing Daniel to stammer to the side. "Daniel!" Kenneth called out to him in desperation. His desperation soon changed into anger. An agitated scowl grew on his face; a narrowing of eyes took place. Drawing his hand back for a sweep, Kenneth cried out. "Damn it!" he shouted as he swept the air before him, releasing a cold, subzero breeze of ice crystals and wind. The glacial gust whipped against the trees and howled at their greenish heads. The opponent, thinking rather swiftly, retreated and arched back into the ground, drilling his way back in underground with his bare claws. He slithered into his solitary hole. The gust of wind was evaded; all was left was the glassy appearance of ice and snow-caked trees, and the frightened Daniel, who failed to think straight, and instead, thought in curves, twists, splices.
Too… too scared… Daniel repeated the words of the opponent's insults in his mind. The words, the syllables, even the letters seemed to bear a meaning, a meaning that circled him, that taunted him continuously just by showing their presence. And Daniel chattered, he was shaken, disturbed and disrupted. From underground, the foe hissed. He burst out of the ground again, and another sweeping, icy gust chased him back underground. Kenneth scowled, knowing his attacks were doing nothing. "Damn it; Daniel!" his brother called his name, "What's wrong with you?"
"Die!" the enemy burst once again from the ground, now more powerful than before, for he had gone underground again and done something special of his. He reeled in punches. Daniel, somewhat conscious dodged the first two barely, backing up ever so slightly. The opponent scowled. The third punch made its way through. Daniel fell to the ground with a clatter of body and bone. The opponent leaned in. Kenneth quickly came to the rescue, a sweep kick following his quick appearance between the enemy and his brother. The foe gave a scowl of retreat as he withdrew into the ground. Now, Kenneth was closer to his brother.
His brother laid, legs sprawled out, eyes closed for he had been clocked, his body against the body of a thick tree, his glasses fading in their light, as well as he was inside. Kenneth leaned over his body with a face tightened with worry. His thin, slender body was noticeably much smaller than Kenneth's own. "Daniel! Daniel!" a frantic chant of Kenneth came. "Wake up! Daniel!" He shook his brother's shoulders, frenetically chanting his name over and over, and as he did, that slight sliver of Daniel's consciousness that lingered about in his mind began to hear it, began to draw closer to those recognition-worthy chants, and half-mindedly began a thought of the past, a time of random picking from the ties and cases of recollection:
The day was fresh, a bit dull for the Takiato brothers but all the same. Daniel had just been picked on, thrown rocks at; Kenneth, of course, being the protector, had defended him with love, with care. The two were children, Kenneth a mere twelve while Daniel being a childish, shied ten. Their mother had wrapped his head in bandages, so frantically, so quickly as if she had no time to take care of her own children. However, Daniel knew on some level that it was not her fault. She was just too worrisome, too stressed out because she believed she was the reason why her own husband was at war. She always felt that guilt, and Daniel knew. He should have, being the genius that he was.
Light poured in from the glassy window pane, and Daniel stared out, curiously, wondrously. He knew everything about the sun, the sky, the environment. Life had become a bit blatant, a bit boring once you found out what it scientifically, really was. It didn't become miraculous anymore. It didn't become divine with breathtaking sights like the fractional sunset and the light of a new dawn. Everything had become simple, and as young Daniel pondered on how he had gained so much intelligence from just one year of school, barely, he waited, waited for the perfect chance. He hesitated; he knew that, especially that it wasn't a good habit. But he couldn't help it; Daniel knew he was shied out of his mind. He sighed, turning to the fresh, thin air that was not too humid, not too dry, not too cool and not too hot. It was comforting, and put the small boy at ease.
Then, the hot sun above seemed to scold at him, stare at him accusingly. The clouds seemed to distort in horrid accusations, and rather reluctantly, Daniel pulled away. He made a habit of biting only his index finger's nail. His tiny, small glasses were slowly sliding down the slope of his nose of norm. He swallowed hard, even nervous to talk to his own brother, who he had grown up with. Then he decided it was enough; he decided to muster up any of the courage he faked and ask.
Daniel exhaled sharply, hesitantly, doing anything he possibly could to stall. The redhead child took the first step toward the next room. It creaked with a noticeable groan, as if he had hurt the floor, and as if he were guilty, shamed, he pulled away, and swallowed uneasily. Then, he took the next step, more carefully, more secretly. It made a lower, sneakier creaking. Then, a third step, faster this time. A fourth one. A fifth one. Until finally he began to build his own steady pace, one where he did not stall, one where he didn't constantly wait between each single step. The tedious part had been over, and his eyes couldn't seem to peel from the threshold of the hallway. The bright lights of the small, individual house that was lucky to be in fair condition beckoned the boy, supported him in comfort.
Soon, the boy found himself barely in the next room. His naked feet touched the smooth, wooden ground with ease, feeling the particles he knew so much of at his soles and toes. They seemed to tickle him, play with his small, innocent toes. They were peachy, painted an innocent, patronization-inducing color. They stepped forward once, twice, more uneasily now as if he were just beginning to walk. He bit his bottom lip in indecision. Maybe he should just go back and walk the other way and just forget about the question. Or not. He stumbled unsightly, and stared at his brother's back at the other side of the room. He was so distant, so untouchable. It seemed hard to reach him, when all you really had to do was just go up to him and tap his shoulder once, or, if you preferred, twice. But that kind of thing seemed so hard for Daniel, so uncomfortable. He wondered why, many times in fact. Which is why he had to ask the question now. He couldn't linger in the shadows and hope to be unnoticed forever. He had to get over this. But on the other hand…. Daniel swallowed in vacillation. He faltered; and he knew it. And he hated it, despised it. It was like a curse he had hoped long ago that would wear off but, in fact, it never did. He felt to scowl, but he was too self-conscious to.
Soon, his other side grew impatient, intolerant of his selfish coyness any longer. It took over him, and just said it, blurted it. "Kenneth nii-san," small Daniel called out from across the room. No answer. "Kenneth nii-san!" Daniel demanded, a normal voice now. No answer. Daniel began to slouch in his own humiliation. He began to turn around and leave in disappointment when just then –
"What is it Daniel? I heard you the first time. I was just playing with you," Kenneth's small voice stopped his little brother in his tracks. The redhead boy turned back around with wide eyes. "It took you long enough to say something. You've been standing there for ten minutes, you big goof," he played around with his brother. Daniel seemed hurt. "Did you have something you needed to tell me?" Daniel swallowed hard. This was his chance.
"Yeah," he choked out in his childish, small voice. "I… I wanted to ask you," he stammered, feeling the wrapped bandages on his head for the recognizable fabric. Kenneth seemed all ears. "Earlier today… how did you…" he was still unsure. "How did you manage to get so confident? So strong?" He felt foolish for asking the question. It just sounded completely incorrect.
Kenneth seemed to hesitate and think for a while. "Hey, what kind of question is that?" he asked, amused. Daniel choked on his own breath. Kenneth could hear the raspy suffocation of his brother. It made him smile. It always slightly entertained Kenneth whenever his brother acted so coiled up into his ball of uncertainty. "To answer your question, I really don't know." Daniel seemed disappointed. "Where to start, that is." The redhead lifted his head in hopes. "I guess it's because of dad," he explained. "He borrowed all that money from people, all of that just for the sake of mom. Then, he had to go to war because he knew what was right; it was his only method of repaying the people who were just getting tired of him."
"How does that influence you at all?" Daniel asked suspiciously with a pout, a pout just asking to get patronized.
"Because, he cared about mom; he took a risk for something more than his own gain. He borrowed that money from people so that he could pay for mom's surgery. Otherwise, she would've…" Kenneth explained. There was a long, stern pause. Kenneth decided to go on. "It's just that, after he did that, I realized that you had to watch out for that one person you cared about the most. It's not worth having a person that means the most to you if you're not willing to protect that other person. That's why, I'm protecting you. You're the most important one to me," Kenneth turned his head around and faced his brother from across the room, and smiled his large, young smile. Daniel seemed shocked; he blushed on the inside. He was also surprised at the answer, as if he hadn't expected it; he had sometimes believed that Kenneth didn't feel as close to Daniel as he could be, and him saying those words just made all the difference. "By the way, don't tell mom," Kenneth smiled, placing a shushing finger close to his face guarding a large, clean smile. And Daniel smiled back. It was one of the many smiles that he would get from now on.