THOUGH A fraught quietude is what succeeds the clash of faded sapphires for the taller, uncannily familiar (familiar is quite a bit of an understatement) one, an unremitting deluge of memories from a (not so) distant future past is what arises from this odd rencounter for the little boy in green, vivid recollections of a most frightening battle (though that can be said for most, if not all, of his frays) that leave his hands shaking, his heart hammering, and his mind more befuddled than it already is.
     Suddenly, his feet are no longer firmly set upon solid earth, just as how his ears can no longer catch sound of the faint susurrus of rustling grass, and how his eyes can no longer espy golden locks and viridian apparel. No, what he sees now are vermeil orbs and wispy skin, what he hears now are breathy pants and purling water, what now lies beneath his feet are granite tiles and ripping water, and a downwards glance at himself tells him that he is no longer in the tiny body he once possessed.
     (No, no, this can’t be happening–)
     Distraught heart palpitating even further, the boy without a fairy draws a sharp intake of breath and staggers backwards, clammy hands instinctively rising up to unsheathe both blade and shield from quivering back. Wheezy respiration is cut short when the horrifying realisation that shoot, he doesn’t have any weapons hits him again, and now his head’s swimming and he can’t see straight and oh gods, he’s gonna die, he’s gonna die, he’s gonna die–
     The ❛shade❜ draws ever closer at the sight of his panic-stricken form (no, no, no, no), steps leisurely and painfullydeliberate, something that only fuels and prompts the child’s agitation and dread to grow and grow and no, leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me A L O N E!
     ❝S-st–❞ stay away, is what he desperately wants to say, stay away, stay away, stay away, but he can’t; he can’t move his lips, he can’t move his tongue, heck, he’s barely breathing! The pure terror running thick in his veins makes it so the air he practically gulps down (or, well, tries to) doesn’t even pass the entirety of his throat before it’s out again – he’s simply inhaling too much and exhaling it all far too quickly!
     But then his reflection ceases all motion, and he isn’t even given a moment to wonder w h y before his consternation flares up again – the darker one resumes movement, though not in the same, or even similar, manner the boy had been expecting them to.
     The song of a sword as it is (slowly) returned to its scabbard echoes within the boy’s tapered ears even long after the sound has dissipated into nothing, a prolongation that nearly precludes him from hearing the question that comes not a few seconds sooner. Nearly.
     ❝A-are you…okay?❞
     And just like that, the dark-tinted glasses crack and the spell is broken.
     He’s back in his tiny body again, standing upon solid earth, ears picking up whispers of the breeze instead of water, and eyes descrying hibiscus gold and comforting, comforting green. Suspiring is still very difficult for him and his heart has yet to really calm down, but the tightening in his chest has slackened (if only slightly), he can visually affirm that he’s safe (he’s safe, he’s safe, he’s safe), and…honestly? That’s all that matters.
     ❝’M…❞ I’m okay, is what he desperately wants to say, I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay, but he can’t because damn it, he can’t breathe, come on, come on–
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