My face is not on that wall.
They think I am dead. They hope I am dead though they must know that I am not. But nonetheless, my face is not on that wall.
I don't need to have stepped in the school to know it. My face is not on that wall, not at all. I would know if it was. But I wouldn't want it on that wall, anyway, not knowing what being on that wall means. I'd have always been worth more to them dead than alive, and even then, I didn't want that. There were so many things that I didn't want to happen, but happened anyway. So many things I wanted, but never got.
But somehow, I have reached fifteen years after that year. Enough time for me to have been reborn and lived to the same age I was back then if I had actually died, and if rebirth was indeed possible. Though, if the world can end and then begin anew, why can't people? I suppose, though, that is beside the point.
Even though it is here I was born, I did not die here, as they might have hoped.
And now, fifteen years later, I am still living. I am here, in the forest, closer to them than they could ever imagine or fear. I am here, watching the school as it changes and grows and yet somehow remains exactly the same. And in watching it I have started to realise that maybe, just maybe, I should want a picture of my face to be on that wall, for my name to be printed underneath it.
Because if it was, that would mean I was acknowledged.
Because that's the reason I am not on that wall, even though it would be a relief to them to consider me dead. They'd never truly be able to forget me, my name would still be repeated by people, carried by new generations of students as something to look up to, to aspire to. They could underline the chapter of their lives that had me in it, officially, and then secretly try and clear up the doubts that they had left. Because they have doubts, I know that they have doubts. But those doubts, and the reason for them, are beside the point, really.
The point is, they didn't want to draw such a clear line under me. If they did, that would still draw attention to me. People would still be thinking about me, and then they might wonder about me, and just who I really was. And the answers would lead them back here, to Asgard Academy, and back to Niðavellir. It would circle back here, over and over, just like the cycles of life and death and rebirth. I, a single person, would have the power to expose all the cracks in the perfection. Not necessarily to make things fall apart. But once the cracks are there for all and sundry to see, anyone else could easily get a foothold and pull the pieces apart. I am sure of it.
And they don't want that. They have never wanted that. Especially not now, with this Principal Asakura. He is not the Principal Asakura I had, back then, but that matters little. He knows who I am, because she would have told him. And I know from what I overheard that this year's Niðavellir will show her my face. Yes, it will be a face half-misremembered, details only seen through the coverings, distanced by the years. But I know that when Niðavellir tell her about their encounter with me that she will recognise my face and that means that he will, too. And maybe this means I should flee, now. I should go back to where I had been before finding myself drawn back to this forest, but I will not.
Instead, I will wait. I know I am not alone at the moment, but the boy who is here has no idea of my presence. I will wait, and watch him, and work out who he is and how he might play into any plans I have. Because I do not have plans, not really. I have only ever been here to watch, drawn here by the past and the hope that maybe I was acknowledged in some way, possibly even missed. But I want my face on that wall, and the acknowledgment it means. I want my name spoken like all the others. I want to be lamented the same way Marin and Leif are. I want to be missed. Why am I not missed?
Why?
I may not have died here, but I was born here.
I was born here, and that should have counted for something. It should have, but it never did. When they thought they could twist that fact to their own purposes, they gave that a try, and then they discarded me, hoped ardently for my death and chose to believe it. And I am done with hoping. Now, I will make plans. I will watch this boy, perhaps use him as I was used once. Or perhaps I will be kinder, but one way or another, he will be used. Now, I will burst back into this place I once dared to call home. I will expose all the cracks, give the rest of the world a foothold to tear it all down. And perhaps Niðavellir will be one of those people tearing at it all with their own hands. It would be fitting, it would be poetic justice.
But even if they don't, even if nobody does, I'll expose those cracks. I'll tell the world who I am, what I am, and what this place really is. I will burn it all down, and I don't care if I burn with it, not anymore. I have always been worth more dead than I have been alive, and so I may as well go in a blaze of glory. I may as well be worthy of the wall that I want to be on, even as that burns too.
And perhaps, this time, I will actually be reborn.
Well I have had a lot happening in my life recently, but those things have settled now, somewhat. So I'm back to working on this again. But I will also be starting work on another project (a Danganronpa one, if anyone's curious, though no uploads have been made yet), so updates for this will definitely slow down.
Anyway, who on earth could this POV be, I hear you wonder (or I hope I hear you wonder anyway)? Well, you will find that out in due course. And there's lots more revelations and other things I've got planned, so stick around for those. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this little interlude!