Winds of Nostalgia-
Chapter 6: Pleasant Dreams
When Miria opened her eyes, she felt the cool breeze on her naked skin. The air was warm... far warmer than the air of Pieta should be. She blinked awkwardly to see a sky that was blue and warm, with soft clouds drifting lazily by.
Miria sat up in place, feeling the discomfort of sharp rocks where she sat. She ignored the biting pain of the sharp rocks against her skin. She looked down and saw that no clothes covered her body. But stranger still, she was not in Pieta. Wilderness surrounded her, lush and green. Leaves and rocks, not soft snow, crunched beneath her as she stirred. She had woken up in a clearing in a forest somewhere. Her skin felt aglow in the warmth of the sun.
Miria eyed her surroundings with cynicism. This must be a dream. The last I remember, there was snow and wind... Miria's eyes widened. I was fighting! She remembered the warrior, the one Clare had identified as "Teresa". I tried to cut her down. Miria remembered.
And that was where the memories ended. Now she was here. Or am I here at all? This must be an illusion. But as Miria looked around to the forest around her, and felt the pain and pressure of the rocky ground beneath her uncovered legs, she knew it was too vivid to be a simple dream. She even felt a slight pang of hunger.
When that Teresa woman touched me, it must have trapped me in this place. For it to trap me in an illusion this vivid, it must be a being of extraordinary power... a technique that sealed an enemy within a fantasy world would be very powerful. Miria breathed deeply, feeling her lungs fill with sweet-smelling southern air and she concentrated on her strange circumstances.
Miria knew that she had to break the fantasy. If she remained for too long, it could endanger her. She was comforted by the fact that she still had her consciousness that she probably wasn't dead yet... unless this was an afterlife. That's crazy, there's no afterlife, Miria thought to herself. It surprised her sometimes just how much her subconscious yearned for an afterlife, or the God of Rabona. It went to show that at her core, Mirira still clung to some irrational sentiments.
Miria squeezed her eyes shut and tried to break the fantasy with sheer force of will. WAKE UP! She thought, mustering as much willpower as she could. She had no time for pleasant dreams. Her comrades needed her in the north and conscious.
She opened her eyes again. The air was still warm. The surroundings were still green. She heard a bird chirp in the distance before fluttering over her head. A leaf twirled lazily down from a branch above. It was no use.Miria was struck with the sheer frustrating absurdity of the whole thing.
Coming to her feet, Miria stood, naked in the sun. Illusion or not, I felt pain, and I feel hunger. I need clothes. It's possible that dying in this place might destroy my real mind as well.
First, she needed to find out where she was. She needed a vantage point in this woodland dreamscape. Miria climbed the nearby hill, pulling herself up mossy rocks and steel hills of tangled roots. She reached the summit just as the sun had started to set, she phantomed into the branches of a tall tree. The horizon seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions. The expansiveness of this dream world impressed Miria. The scope of this area is amazing. Maybe I actually was transported or taken to this place. It all seems too real to be a construct of someone's mind... Focusing her eyes, she scanned the horizon, lit by the blood-red light of the setting sun, and saw smoke rising in the distance.
The smoke rose lazily from the cleared area, but the level of smoke seemed normal, from stoves, smiths, and other normal human activities, not from battle.
She was lucky that a town was nearby. It would help her get her bearings.
She waited until the night was full before she broke in to one of the houses and stole a robe to cover her naked body. She strolled from the town, keeping her eyes and hair hidden from all the humans that passed her in the dark. She wanted to remain invisible for now.
At the edge of town, she saw a sign that marked the town's name. Astaga, it read. Miria re-read the sign. Astaga was razed by Yoma ten years ago. There should be nothing here but rubble and bones. Miria glanced to the town, which appeared to be bustling and pristine. Is this a past? An illusion of the past?
She was locked in an illusion from which she couldn't escape. It was possible that as she dreamed this, her real body was being slowly killed by a Yoma in Pieta, or cut apart on an operating table by the Organization. She felt another surge of frustration and urgency, but the illusion showed no signs of fading.
Miria took the road north, walking in the darkness. She had no particular reason in mind, but her instincts guided her that way. Miria had commanded long enough to know that while a well-devised strategy could turn the tide of a battle, the true spark of command came from within, from the faintest of feelings that pointed the way in times of chaos and crisis. Only the best commanders knew to listen.
She did that and walked the northern road for a few days. It was near dawn of the second day that she felt a distant Yoki, barely a whisper. It probably would have been safer to hide or flee from the Yoki, yet it called to her. Miria obeyed her gut once more. She felt curiously drawn to the Yoki, and decided to remain on the path. She drew towards it, the presence of the Yoki growing. This was a dream, after all, Miria had little to lose.
It was approaching her, heading the other way on the road. Miria kept her head up, eyes watchful down the long road, the sensation of the Yoki foremost in her mind.
A figure approached, silver armor glinted in the setting sun. As Miria recognized the woman in front of her, shock hit her like a bucket of cold water. She stared at the beautiful illusion. The Claymore was marching briskly, her eyes warm and observant as she walked. She approached Miria. Emotions overwhelming her heart and mind, Miria closed her silver eyes.
"You are traveling lightly for this road, human. Do you need help?" Hilda said with innocent concern. Miria hid herself in her robes well. Hilda thought she was a human.
Miria breathed slowly, cursing the cruelty of the illusion which brought the dead back to life, and re-opened her deepest wounds. A mix of joy and confusion danced inside of Miria as she listened to Hilda's soft voice. Miria struggled against the emotions.
"You do not need to fear me. My name is Hilda. I was raised in Pilaya, just east of here. I want to help you." Hilda was used to being feared. It was all part of being a half-Yoma. Hilda had helped many humans as a Claymore. She'd established something of a reputation. Sometimes people did not shrink away from her in fear. Sometimes, the villagers did not lock their children away when she passed. Sometimes they smiled. Those moments, when the humans did not hate her, were Hilda's favorite moments.
Hilda doesn't recognize me... then that means we never met. Miria thought to herself. How do I explain? Being confronted by her old friend left disoriented Miria. This should not be happening. Is this the fantasy I'm locked in? A fantasy with Hilda? If invoking Hilda in this fantasy was a ploy to keep Miria distracted, it was an effective strategy. Miria felt nearly powerless to the strong urges which tugged at her... to hold Hilda... to apologize... to confide in her again.
Miria tried to bludgeon her feelings with rationality. She doesn't recognize me. This is not the Hilda I knew. Things are not as they were. This isn't real.
Illusion or not, lying to Hilda would be dangerous. Hilda was an empath-type Claymore. She'd see through the lie immediately, and it would raise her suspicion.
Pulling back her hood, Miria revealed her platinum blond hair and finally opened her eyes.
Hilda was surprised. She hadn't expected that the woman in front of her was a Claymore. Still, the Claymore did not seem to be a threat. Hilda's momentary shock faded rapidly. "You are good at hiding your Yoki. I thought you were human. I don't recognize you," she said with an embarrassed smile. Hilda was just as Miria remembered, beautiful and happy, radiating an infectious warmth that Miria found difficult to resist.
"Are you headed south on a request? I sensed no Yoma there." Miria tried to sound cold and confident, like the Claymore she had become, but her eyes betrayed her, exposing her feelings. Miria turned them slightly away, hoping to hide them from Hilda.
"No," Hilda said with a shrug. "I just like to walk. It's beautiful country and a dangerous road for humans."
She walks the road to protect humans. She's probably saved dozens over the years, but she wouldn't be the type to say so. She'd consider it bragging. Miria smiled softly, but forced the smile from her face.
"My name is Miria."
"Strange, I've never heard of you, yet you look like an adult warrior... You look tired Miria. I know a place just up the road where we can light a small fire and rest. Since you're a guest in my province, it'd be my pleasure."
Miria nodded.
The two quickly set camp. Hilda gathered a few rocks in a circle while Miria snapped a few dead branches from a tree. The sat down on opposite sides of the materials as Hilda sparked the kindling with flint. The showering sparks scattered on the dried grass. They curled and smoked at first, then a small flame began to grow. There was silence for a few minutes. Miria continued to eye her old friend curiously, as she wondered just what might have caused this strange dream. Even if it was fake, seeing Hilda again filled Miria with an almost intoxicating nostalgic joy. It almost made Miria want to stay in this fantasy. But, deep down, Miria knew she couldn't. She hid her passions beneath her cold exterior, as she'd done for many months now... as she'd taught herself to in order to become strong... to get justice.
"Miria... you said. It's time to tell me what's going on. Who are you and why are you here?" Hilda said. Her voice was not threatening or cold, but nonetheless, she was firm.
While Miria had the appearance of a Claymore, there were half a dozen things suspicious about her... the clothes, lack of weapon, being on the road in Hilda's province just to name a few. Hilda knew something was wrong. She would be stupid not to know.
Still, she hadn't sensed any deception or threat in Miria. Had she sensed either, she would have cut her down already. But she hadn't, so Hilda gave Miria a chance to speak.
Hilda's question broke through the comfortable fantasy. Miria didn't want to talk or think about reality. She wanted to just sit with Hilda for a few moments, in peace. But Miria knew she needed to answer. For the first time in a long while, she spoke untethered words, confiding her thoughts as they flowed through her head.
"I can't say. When I woke up a few days ago, I was naked and alone in a forest I'd never seen before. And from what I've seen, it's as if the world itself has changed. You said you didn't recognize my name. I don't think I'm supposed to exist here."
She told Hilda every detail, from the beginning. By the time Miria got to the awakened hunt where she'd unknowingly killed Hilda, found out about what Ophelia had done. She described the rage and pain that had possessed her. And how, in anguish, she'd partially awakened. Even as her body was composed, and her tone steady, her eyes swam with moisture. She closed her eyes for a few moments, calming herself.
But she kept talking. She talked about Clare, Deneve, and Helen. She talked about Pieta. And then she talked about her desire to topple the organization. She talked about what her investigation into the organization had uncovered. And then Clare's vision, the Claymore in the night who had knocked her out, and how she'd woken up naked in the forest.
By the time she'd finished, the fire burned down to small glowing embers, but Hilda still sat, patiently listening.
Miria looked with a sad smile into Hilda's gentle eyes. "I don't even know if you're real. I never thought I'd..." The tears were gathering in Miria's eyes now. She didn't bother to wipe them away. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again, Hilda."
Hilda rose, and approached with soft, graceful steps, her face flickering with the orange of the flames. Miria's expression was locked on her, her eyes windows to her pain and her regret.
"You... are filled with so much pain and determination," Hilda said. She reached out and squeezed Miria's shoulder. The touch felt as though it were touching Miria's soul directly. Miria relaxed beneath her touch. It felt like Hilda was absolving Miria of the weight that rested on her shoulders. But Miria couldn't let all of the weight go. She couldn't be absolved yet. She still had a responsibility that she could not run away from.
Miria pushed Hilda's hand away. "I need to snap out of this illusion. I have a team that depends on me," she stated.
"Miria," Hilda said, kneeling in front of the distraught warrior so her eyes could lock into Miria's, "I was raised here and lived here. This world is real." Hilda gave Miria a serious look. "If the Organization is guilty of breeding the Yoma, we need to put a stop to it."
"How can you trust me?" Miria asked, shocked that Hilda had not completely rejected her story.
Hilda's eyes stared into Miria's, open and blank, as if they were soaking in Miria's thoughts and feelings. "I can feel the power radiating from you. If you wanted to kill me, it would be easy. I don't even think Rosemary could stand against you. And.. only a few things can wound a person as deep as the pain I felt within you, Miria. I believe you."
"I'm sorry I killed you, Hilda," Miria said.
"It's the future that is important."
(Two Months Later)
"They're not ready. They haven't even received their numbers yet!" Orsay exclaimed.
Rimuto, the leader of the Organization's project, sat in a large chair, akin to a throne, hands thoughtfully massaging his temples as he listened.
"Nevertheless, this situation must be dealt with in such a way that the odds of success are acceptable. Dae, you have taken an unnatural interest in the trainees. Are they ready?" Rimuto asked, glancing questioningly to Dae.
"Clare and Teresa could both defeat our current number one, Rosemary, single-handed," Dae answered, the healthy half of his lips curled up in a smile.
"Then deploy them. We need this situation contained," Rimuto commanded.
Dae saluted and turned to leave, but stopped himself, remembering something. "Irene and Clare's fighting power are both increased significantly when they fight together," Dae added.
"Fine then. We deploy Clare, Teresa, and Irene. They will join up with our current number One, Rosmary, our current number two, Aquilia."
Giving a half-hearted salute, Dae left the meeting room. He set off for the training facility so he could administer the orders personally.
"The three strongest trainees, and our two strongest warriors will be enough to destroy this rebellion," Orsay said coldly.
"Have we traced the one who leaked the location of our Yoma-producing facility? I want that traitor flayed." Rimuto said.
"We believe it's Rubel. He didn't report in as planned. He probably fled."
Rubel... that smug, sunglass-wearing bastard. I should have known, Rimuto thought.
"Orsay, Find Rafaela. Convince her to take a number and have her join the rest of our forces. We'll need her for what's coming. Also, I want you to set loose as many Yoma and awakened beings in the south as you can manage. We need to remind them just how much they need our protection."
How did Hilda find that Yoma-producing facility? With that knowledge, she could convince all the organization's warriors to defect. We're lucky that the rebellion has been contained to the south.
xxxxxxx
In the middle of the night, Clare was waked by a loud click as the door to her cell unlocked. Two robed men from the Organization's men walked in and told her to follow them. Rousing herself from her bed, she obeyed.
When she followed them into the hallway, Clare saw that they had roused Irene as well. The two exchanged confused glances, but said nothing.
They were quietly escorted down the hall where two more guards and Teresa were already waiting. "Good evening comrades," Teresa said with a smile.
The three top-ranked trainees were taken down the hall, past the training room to an armory. Inside, the walls were covered in armor, weapons, and other equipment. "Equip yourselves with a set of armor and a Claymore," one of the guards commanded in firm tone. Quietly, they suited up. The Claymores and clothing they were given had no symbols.
And that was when Dae entered, flanked by two more guards and gave his instructions.
"There's been a rebellion of warriors in the south. You girls are to assist the current number one and number two in resolving the situation. Take the southern path to the town of Kirz. Clare is in charge of the operation. "
Clare nodded. The other two remained quiet.
The trio set off through the gates of just as the first rays peered over the horizon.
They passed the grassy plains which surrounded the Organization's headquarters when the morning was still young. The small, yet rolling hills spread out in all directions. The grass was mostly green, and flowers spotted some of the ridges.
The further south they marched along the dusty road, the greener things seemed to become. For a few hours of their journey, a small stream followed their trail, it's crystal clear water babbling among the shining rocks. A wheat-field stretched out beyond it.
It was beautiful. At least, it was more beautiful than the desert and rock that Clare had been stationed in in her other life. Another life. Another time.
Clare stopped for a moment and eyed the stream, and the many differently-colored rocks beneath, smiling softly. Irene stopped beside her, and the two girls took in the beautiful stream, shoulder to shoulder. "Nature can be so beautiful," Clare said longingly.
Irene smiled beside her. "Indeed."
The forests grew thicker and greener as they trod onwards, but it was getting dark. As the sun set, Clare stopped the group and found a clearing on the side of the road to set up camp. Teresa began work on a fire.
Clare watched her, and suddenly remembered the last time she had seen Teresa setting up a fire in the moonlight. Clare had been a little girl, hopeless, pained, and lonely. She followed Teresa even as the soles of her shoes wore through, and her feet had began to crack and bleed. Clare had fallen behind that day, and just when she thought she'd lost Teresa, she'd seen the light of Teresa's fire.
That light had allowed Clare to make it to Teresa's campsite. That light had brought her to the bandits who ambushed them. That light had set in motion events which had led to Teresa's death.
Clare shook herself back to reality. Things are different here. There are no bandits. And Teresa... still doesn't care.
Clare turned her back on the campfire and walked out into the dark forest alone, her metal boots cracking twigs and crunching crispy leaves with each step. Eventually, she found a large river deep within the forest, it's steady current glistening in the moonlight, it's glassy surface a mirror for the stars. Clare stood, in full armor, her long straight blond hair ruffling softly in the breeze.
"Clare," Irene said, walking to her side. Despite the fact that Clare didn't hear Irene approach, Irene's voice didn't shock her. Clare had gotten used to it. Irene and her had fought together many times and spent many days laughing and talking. She had learned to trust her implicitly. For some reason, when Clare was with Irene, the pains of her past didn't seem to bother her as much.
Clare sneaked a glance at Irene. She was serious, as always, radiating strength. Irene was always so strong, so constant. In an uncertain world, Irene was always there. Her silver hair and her soft pallid skin seemed to shine even brighter in the moonlight. She was so beautiful... so strong... so mysterious.
Clare felt the heat of a blush on her cheeks and she looked away, her head feeling light. It was the first time that they were ever truly alone together.
"Want to spar, Clare?" Irene asked.
"Good idea. We need to adapt to the swords," Clare replied.
They both drew their new swords, facing one another on the grassy shore of the moonlit river. Irene stepped in first and swung predictably. Clare had seen Irene open matches with this same attack a hundred times already. She blocked as she always did, but she was surprised as Irene's Claymore clattered to the ground. She dropped it?
Clare could hardly react before Irene stepped in again and wrapped Clare in her arms, pinning her arms against her body and pulling her close. Clare struggled against Irene's tight embrace, letting out a gasp of exertion but couldn't lift her sword arm. Irene's smooth arms wrapped tightly around her body, their bodies pressed tightly together, too tightly for Clare to wiggly free.
With Irene's warm body pressed against her's and Irene's hot breaths moistening Clare's neck, Clare could feel Irene's chest heaving quickly. She's breathing fast. Clare thought. Then, Clare realized that she was breathing quickly too. She looked up into Irene's face, and her dilated eyes. Clare relaxed in Irene's embrace.
"Let my arms free," Clare whispered huskily.
Irene loosened her grip, but her face hovered close to Clare's. As soon as Clare's arms got free, she pulled Irene tightly against her and their lips hungrily joined.
They fell to the ground, their new armor clicking as Irene fell atop Clare, kissing each other with wanton passion. Clare wrapped her legs around Irene's slender body as she ran a single hand through Irene's smooth silver hair.
"Clare," Irene gasped.