Blood streamed down the skin of his face, circling round his eyes and dripping from his chin. The exposed slash mirrored that of the fracture in his helm, quiet rays of light passing through and colliding onto his dreaded facade. Ash seeped into the gash alike that of his underlaying fear; a guilt for have ever brought them with him. Remorse wasn't an option anymore. He stood on a battlefield. A battlefield for the bereaved. His face trembled no longer; his eyes remained aloof and his heart stayed vigilant. To ignore one's inexorable demise eases one's soul; to accept it, is to convalesce through loss. Restoration came to be his embodiment, chaos.. had been his opposition's.
"Extraordinary. A human capable of Elemental-Based manipulation."
His grip was sharpened and his senses rose to precision. Feeling the soft caress of the cold wind that gardened the arrival of drizzle, the tears in his armor exposed the fabricated inner layer to oxygen. With a fragment of his remaining rigor, he hooked the release of his helm with his shaken fingers and ripping it from it's stature, revealing his scarred visage to his opponent. Silently, they stared down one another's eyes. A pair with one that enveloped hubris, and another that seized resolve. Blood from his torn face trickled down the curve of his chin, dragging pieces of debris along the stream.
"You are far more special; far for unique, than anybody in your short life has ever made you seem."
His own objective was made clear to them both. Falter his progression, reassuring his friend's safety, letting them escape to renew the trichotomy, attempting once more in attaining the triumph necessary to ensure the Between lives on; to ensure that their sacrifices weren't in vain. The legacy of the elementals lived on in a soul that wasn't. Centuries of warriors, cowards and patriots rested in the grip of his hand. Warriors, cowards and patriots whose morals resided in him: whose morals built him; whose morals were him.
"You're an Elemental!.. you are everything you ever dreamed to be!.."
A crown. An accessory of one's helm with a sole purpose to exemplify their stature or importance to anyone that comes to behold their image. A show of great strength, valour or leadership. A piece of others perception of them, not to be taken by the faint of heart. A crown represented their capability to rise above their defeats, stand fixed in the face of great darkness and to fight on despite the world pushing them back. Their crown represented fluidity, stillness and resilience. Attributes which he never came to receive. He wasn't an individual deserving the right to be a leader.. even this was clear to him. With such consistency, he would fall after every encounter, his mind in persistent trepidation with every inevitability and his body aches with every battle that was thrown at him. The consideration of being crowned was--and always had been.. futile. But despite these falls, he rose above them with excellence. Despite his arbitratious dismay, he never ceased to sharpen the rest of his body. Despite his inability to retain persistent strength with every conflict, he raged on like a forest set ablaze.
Keeping a solidified grip, he grasped down onto the hilt and materialized a steel of his own fortitude. Each particle of metal spiralled round in a helix, forging the sleek and elegant blade that was now his own. Fire traced the sword, searing into the air its light and kindling a spark that would echo this culmination through time. A bright flame scorched the ash round him. A bright flame, that finally became him.
"That isn't who I want to be, anymore.."
Rose-red energy siphoned off the base of his countenance, curving and creating an accessory of his helm with a sole purpose to exemplify his stature and challenge to whom had now beheld his presence. It's scarlet edges severed the air, the shimmer of the ornament gleaming onto the blood that painted his wound.
"and I don't need you to tell me.."
A crown cast of the purest red, crackling and as ruptured as fire had been. A beautiful, intricate effigy, not constructed for the show of strength, valor nor fortitude.. but a softening, calm likeness to his inadequacy, and the actions he has taken to exceed them. Weaknesses, now a bygone of his former self.
Falter his progression. That was the only thing he needed to do. His final objective; a final promise for restitution.
