So sleepy... @queen-seren - Tumblr Blog

May 13, 2024

A Laurance Zvahl Character Study

Just a fun Laurance study I slapped together of his life before becoming a Shadow Knight, the final section being a sort of a optional ending, as I thought up the scene and really wanted to include it.

Please enjoy!

Dissension

“Do you have a dream?”

It’s dark, nothing but the cold light of the moon peeking through the pulled back curtains along each of the windows lining the large room. The slow, rhythmic breathing of the other sleeping children is the only sound that fills the silence that lurks between me and my bedmate.

I tread that fine line just on the cusp of sleep, yet my mind entirely too busy to finally catch some shut eye.

“We all do.” I whisper in response, peeking my eyes open to peer at the girl next to me, her name entirely lost to time. I can hardly make out her face, only a lone, disjointed voice in the depths of my memory. There are too many orphans to keep track of, so many that we often share beds to accommodate.

The younger ones don’t mind it so much, thinking it to be an eternal slumber party. Little are they aware of how sick you can start to feel of it the more the time goes by. But, whatever. It's likely they’ll be adopted long before they can feel the discomfort—the restlessness of it all begin to seep in. Before the grounds of the orphanage engrave themselves on the back of your palm, like a branding that never quite leaves.

This girl is young, easy enough to tell by the way she slurs her words and that sweet, high pitch of her voice. I can’t help but wonder what’s kept her awake this long.

“But, do you?”

“Of course I do.” I answer easily, knowing too well what to say. “What’s yours?”

“Mine?”

“Yes. Yours.”

“I… I want a family.”

Isn’t that always the case? Ask any orphan around the place, and surely enough you can piece together their answers, just to find that their wants meet back in the same place where it all began. A longing for what was taken from them so young—a lone call in the dark starless night. A frightening notion that we will always be alone.

She’ll likely find her family soon. And if she doesn’t, then she’s welcome to join the club. She’ll find she’s met with whispered gossip amongst the workers, and worry that is useless in meaning. He seems so grown for his age. Do you think he’ll be here until he’s an adult? All in good nature, I’m sure. Doesn’t seem to sting anyless, though.

“You have one right here.” The words find me, spoken so often on my tongue that I’m beginning to imagine they have a flavour—something bittersweet. No matter how many times I say it, I struggle to believe it myself. Perhaps, that's merely a testament to my selfish way of life.

“You really think so?”

Clever girl. She sees right through me.

“Of course.” I turn on my side to face her properly, just barely able to make out the curve of her large, doll-like eyes in the dark. I reach out a hand, estimating where the top of her head is before I pat gently at her hair. “We’re all family here.”

“What about your dream?” Sleep seems to overtake her words, exhaustion finally catching up to her.

I pause—sucking in a deep breath through my nose, slow and steady. The truth sits itself in the palette of my mouth, stuck, never able to quite find the right words to capture every emotion that locks itself away in the facade of a warm expression and a stupid smirk.

Even if it's only a small girl asking it of me, likely to forget my response by morning.

“What I want..?” I repeat softly, as if to remind myself what the word dream entails. To be an orphan is to be a dreamer, the two seem to go hand in hand. A dream is nothing more than a want that seems so out of reach, that you feel the need to kiss it into shooting stars, and hope Irene herself hears it.

I want a family too.

“I want you to sleep.” I chuckle, tugging the girl into a warm embrace, hoping to lull her off. She doesn’t fight it much, snuggling up and getting comfortable before murmuring out one final time as her breathing slows.

“I hope… You find one too.”

I spend the night staring at the wall behind her—sleepless. Rolling her words over in my head again and again, as if there were another way to read them.

There isn’t.

By morning, I find myself being adopted.

—

“Cadenza! Don’t just run off like that!”

The summer heat of Meteli is sweltering, sun glaring down on my shoulders as I pant, attempting to catch up to the girl who is so fond of scurrying about. The air is always thick when the heat picks up, a trait that comes with the village being situated in the marsh. The adults tend to complain the most, no good solution in place to the stench that tends to radiate off of the murky waters, and the cry of the cicadas at night when summer hits its peak—but the children can’t be bothered, taking the first chance they can to sink into the cool waters of the river hidden just down a cobblestone pathway behind the village.

“It’s not my fault you’re too slow, Laurance!” She giggles, hands grabbing at her dress, tugging it upwards as her feet dip into the running water. From behind, she’s nothing but a head of fiery red hair, curly and frizzy amongst the humid weather.

“You’re older than me, you know?” I whine, sweeping back brown hair doused in sweat. “I’ve been training all day too.”

“You’re really becoming a guard?” By now, she’s found herself a spot to sit, keeping her dress perfectly dry with her feet submerged underneath the waters. Irene forbids she ever get her clothes dirty.

A wooden sword fills the scabbard at my side, just having started training as a guard. An idea that still perplexes me. As if picking up a blade was nothing more than a thoughtless task, perhaps I really am just bored. I had started practising on my own in secret, having snatched up a sword from the rack in Joh’s home, thinking he’d never notice one gone from the plethora he’d amassed. Still, to trick a Lord was a difficult task. To trick your own father, an even greater one. It didn’t take long before he caught me swinging at nothing in a small clearing in the forest, arms too weak and wobbly to properly hold the sword I had chosen.

Of course—a few slaps on the wrist were expected.

"A real sword?" My adoptive father questioned incredulously, and all I could do was sheepishly grin back up at him before I received nothing more than an admonishing sigh. “Boy, tell me. Why do you swing this sword?” Joh held the polished blade in his own hands, keeping it from my reach as he towered over me. He gripped it with a practised hand, always ready to pick it up and fight, to defend himself. Yet, his posture was always relaxed—too relaxed. Perhaps, that was what made him most intimidating.

To grow the son of a Lord, I had learned two things.

One, the role of a Lord is vital to the village. They are who keep the village alive, and running. Without a Lord, a week is all it would take for a village to descend into disarray.

Two, the role of a Lord is minacious. Nothing more than sitting cattle should they let their guard down. Lords tend to cycle in and out rather quickly, never staying the same for too long in smaller villages that dot the outskirts on the eastern coast of Ru’an. A Lord’s life is always in danger.

“I want to protect everyone,” I answered with what I thought he’d want to hear.

“You cannot protect everyone if you are a guard. Who will you point your sword on then?”

“I…” Warmth bloomed across my face as I glanced away from his gaze. The truth was simple, yet it seemed too selfish to speak aloud. Yet, my adoptive fathers gaze burned into me, neither of us would leave before he received that answer.

“Who is it you wish to protect?” Joh questioned once more in a sharp and steel-edged manner that I’ve only ever seen him use with the trained guards straight out of the academy, bowing their knees and requesting to become his soldier.

“Um…” I sputtered, “Innocent people?”

There was a moment of pause—and it was times like those where I could never quite read what was going through his head. His gaze lingered on me, as if to peel away at me, to unveil my truths and lay them bare himself. For I was an orphaned child, trust would never come easily. Even to the man I called father. The truth would always find itself stuck between my teeth, thicker than the sweet taffy that Cadenza snuck from her fathers home and shared with me.

Joh knew this.

“Try again.”

“Huh?”

“Your answer isn’t sufficient enough.”

“But I—!”

“Then come back to me when you have a better one.” Joh turned his back, blade in hand as he began his march back down the path he came. With a pause, and his back facing me, he spoke once more. “For now, use the training swords in the guard house.”

Not sufficient enough…?

I struggled for a few moments to wrap my head around the implications of his remark. Mulling over his question, I began to frown. Swept beneath a rug—not good enough. It irked me, made my blood boil beneath my skin as his words ran me for loops, as if spoken in a foreign tongue.

“—rance… Laurance!”

Cadenza’s calls tear me from the thoughts I hadn’t realised I had gotten entirely lost in. She glares at me, expectantly—Cadenza hates being ignored. Perhaps, it came with her upbringing, cherished and coddled by Hayden. Of course, the reason she sought out my company of all people was due to our similarities. Her and I both orphaned and adopted, many of the other children would never understand the severance it brought with it. That thick, heavy feeling that plagues us at night, urging us that we ought to grip our blankets tighter should we wake up in another bed by morning.

“What were you asking?”

“Seriously? I asked if you’re really becoming a guard.” She frowns at me, and perhaps a part of that frown is her worrying over my safety. She really should look after herself—a flower of a young girl. She’s likely to be sought after endlessly once she’s of age.

I shrug, kicking off my own leather shoes as I approach the river bed. “Probably.” I respond, sinking my feet into the cold water, holding back a shiver that dares to creep up my spine. “Then I’ll be able to protect you.”

“So romantic, Laurance.” She rolls her eyes, but a smile dances on her lips. “The ladies will surely love you if you keep that up.” She’s clearly teasing, but it pulls a bright smile onto my face, unsure how else to respond.

“I’ll be a heartbreaker before you know it.” I continue the bit, hands dipping into the water and launching some at her—only for her to shriek as it hits her.

“Ugh! My dress!” She moans, thoroughly drenched as she hastily stands from her spot to follow him deeper into the river. Clumsily, mind you. Almost slipping on the rocky stones beneath their feet. “You’re such a ladies man!” She returns the favour, dousing me generously.

This version of Cadenza is my favourite. Broken free from her expectations of a dainty little girl, staying docile and pretty in hopes to find her place in the home that Hayden has provided her. She seems to forget just how much the man cherishes her, losing this spark whenever she roams the village. Happy, free and feral. It's a look that suits her. I can only hope that she will one day learn to embrace this side of herself.

I laugh and laugh. Soaking from head to toe, the wind is cool against my skin, but the sun is burning overhead. Her laughter reaches my ears as well as I toss more water in her direction. I never want this moment to end.

Joh's remark from earlier lingers.

“Boy, tell me. Why do you swing this sword?”

A reason? Yes, I suppose everyone has a reason for what they do. I must as well.

It's later that night that I approach Joh, having finally understood his question. He seems to know what I’ll say—a newfound resolve found in the stride of my walk as I enter the Lord's house.

He asks again.

“What do you wish to protect?”

I answer something along the lines.

Moments like these.

I wish to protect this family of mine.

—

“Easy now…”

A low sound rumbles in the beast's throat, wounded and abandoned in the forest behind Joh's home. Its eyes dark as coal but deadly, ready to bite my head off my shoulders dare I take a step too close.

Alas, this is no ordinary beast. Anyone would only need one glance to know this creature is otherworldly, covered in golden scales. With its long snout that holds sharp teeth, baring them in my direction. But, the trail of blue blood dotting the grass up to its spot is indication enough that it's injured. It seeps from one of its large wings, left unfolded against its side, likely stinging with an aching pain at every unnecessary movement.

A wyvern.

It's said that none have been spotted for hundreds of years, yet here is one in my own father's backyard.

Its black, beady eyes burn holes into me as I slowly take a step closer, and then another—gently, gently, gently so as to not scare it. As if approaching a wounded dog, although, this creature would do much more than any dog could ever.

“Let me help you.” I speak in the softest tone I can muster, wondering if it even understands my words. I reach into my satchel, pulling out the lunch Cadenza had handed me earlier, chiding me for practising all day without any food on me. It's a sandwich, not much really, but it's a peace offering I give, holding it out to the wyvern with a steady hand.

It observes me for a second, the low trill of its growl dying out for a moment as its large eyes stare down at my hand.

Until it turns its snout to my lunch.

“No good?” I chuckle, wrapping the sandwich back up and placing it back in my bag. Still, even without the food, its demeanour has shifted. It seems a bit calmer, sniffing at the wound on its wing before snapping its attention back to me the moment I attempt to take another step closer. My heart crashes against my ribs, nervous down to the tips of my fingers where they buzz with life.

For a moment, I’m reminded of the time Cadenza chastised me for being oh so horrible at dealing with stray cats around the village.

“Like this,” She had sighed, taking my hand herself and holding it out towards the cat. “It will come to you when it's ready.” I had stared at her for a few moments, her own eyes trained on the cat in front of us. And yet, before I knew it, I felt a small tickle against my skin as it had begun to rub its face against my hand.

I wondered, if perhaps, I too were like a stray cat in her eyes. If she had used such tactics when drawing me in and tearing away at the walls I had placed between myself and everyone else once I had been adopted. Always a hot head, I was stubborn, lonely—afraid. Perhaps she saw a bit of me in every stray she beckoned, and even a bit of herself as well.

I find myself absentmindedly following her advice once more, reaching out my hand with a twinge of hesitance. Realistically, I’m nothing more than prey in this moment, pinned down beneath the heavy, deep black of its eyes. Pits in its skull, as vast as the space between stars that splatter the night sky—attempting to drag me in. Still, I dare not look away. Our eyes meet, still as the surface of a lake, hard as crystalline diamond.

I suck in a deep breath, and wait.

It waits too.

We wait and wait until my arm begins to grow tired, and I find myself wanting to laugh at how foolish I surely look. And it's only when I close my eyes for the slightest of moments, the glare of the sun becoming a bit too overwhelming, do I feel cold scales brush against the skin of my palm.

my heart reaches my throat, thrumming wildly as the beast presses its snout further into my palm, quiet—submissive. At least, that's what I assume until I open my eyes to meet its gaze once more, audacious and cautious. Ever so familiar, it's a look I once held in my own eyes—still do.

Wordlessly, it speaks to me—snagging onto a bit of my soul.

You and I are the same.

His name is Ungrth.

—

Sasha sinks into the magma before my own eyes, her face frozen in an indescribable agony that surely rips across her entire body, burning her down to the bone—and then some.

All I can do is stare for a few baffled moments, the sword at my side so new I can still hear the rhythmic clang of the blacksmith hammering it down into a blade. The air of The Nether is impossible to breathe, sweltering heat practically melting my armour off. My heart pounds against the drums of my ears, head on the verge of bursting.

I’m petrified.

As if it were my own life flashing before my eyes, my mind wanders. It wanders and wonders, back to a time where Sasha had slapped me across the back the moment I had returned to Meteli from the guard academy, dragging me into my first night shift with her down by the docks.

“Are you ready?” She questioned, her eyes trained on the lone moon. Its light fit her complexion nicely, she had always been a beauty of the village. Hair as pale as porcelain, eyes as deep as obsidian. Steady, calm, but ever elusive.

"For what?" I responded.

She looked at me, knowingly with a gentle smile. She knew I had the answer, competent as I was. So, she refused to respond, instead, holding her hand out for a moment towards the moon, a golden band adorning her ring finger. A pledge of love.

She would marry her fiance soon.

Her question resonated once more in my head as I stared down at the calm waters.

Are you ready?

Or, perhaps.

Are you willing to put your life at stake?

“Go!” She cries at me, her voice mangled and raw—attempting to rouse me from my stupor. It takes Ulrich grabbing me by the arm and dragging me away from the sight before my legs find feeling once more and sputter to a momentary stop.

“No! We can’t just—”

“She’s gone.” He reasons sharply and pulls at me until I give, not an ounce of emotion in his voice. Yet the set of his face says a thousand words. He had watched her grow as a young girl. He would be the first to break the news to her fiance.

Sasha’s groans of agony reach the cusp of my ears, and the purple firmament of the portal barely brushes my nose. Ulrich tugs me past the film, and I snap my head back to glance at her one final time.

A figure cloaked in red stares down at her writhing form, nothing but a head of black hair from what my eyes see.

Until the world yawns back into existence.

—

“You want me to dye your hair?”

The wound of Joh’s death still lingers in the pit of my chest, festering and bubbling into an unending black maw that drains and drains. I feel an ache in the same spot the arrow had pierced him, as if the tip had shattered and taken root in the centre of my own heart.

It’s my fault.

“Yeah, just… Do whatever you want with it.” I glance up at Cadenza, sitting down on my bed. Surely, she sees the bags under my eyes, yet she says nothing, only looking at me similarly as she did the day we returned from The Nether without Sasha. She reaches into her own deerskin purse, pulling out a small wooden comb she’s kept on her as long as we’ve known each other—a keepsake from her mother's vanity before she was orphaned.

She sits herself down on the bed next to me, reaching for my unabashedly dishevelled hair. I haven’t brushed it since—

“Do you want to cut it?” Cadenza hums, beginning to work her way through the knots in my hair. It's moments like these where she feels like the mother I’ve never had. Yet, it's bold to call her such with no point of reference—so instead she remains my sister, even if not by blood. She has no qualms in the matter.

“No…” My eyes trail down to where my hair ends at top of my chest, I hardly remember why I grew it out so long in the first place. It must have been cut last on the day I left for the guard academy. Joh had sat me down with a pair of scissors and snipped it off himself. One of the few moments I can recall him being something of a true father.

The memories ache like bruised skin, a feeling not unfamiliar, stinging more the further I press on them.

We sit in silence for a few moments, nothing but the sound of her comb, occasionally catching on a knot where she gently tugs at it until it comes free.

“So, what will you do?”

“I told you, do whatever you—”

“Not that. You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

I bite at my bottom lip, brows setting in harsh lines against my forehead.

“It's not your fault.”

But, her reassurance means nothing. Not when I had sworn to protect him. The Lord of Meteli. The man who had adopted me. My father.

“Then who am I meant to blame?” My voice catches with emotion, agony—longing. A wish to turn back time that will never be fulfilled. “I’m not fit to be anyone's guard. Not even yours.”

“Nonsense.” Her hand pauses for a moment, and her tone finds a sternness she rarely takes with me, “You are one of the most capable guards in this land, Laurance. But, you are only human.”

Only human…

“Must I become something inhumane then to finally feel like I’m enough again?” The weight of my words fracture me like glass, scattered down to the depths of my soul. Yet, they are better spoken and set free than left to decay me any further.

“No, Laurance…” I can hear the frown in her voice as she reaches to hug me close to her chest from behind. Cadenza doesn’t say anything else for a long while, but I somehow know the sentiment that echoes in her mind.

You will always be enough for me.

—

Aphmau… Aph-ma-u… The name seems to linger on my tongue as she walks towards Hayden's home. Something about it is uncanny, in the same sense that water does not flow upwards, nor does your reflection wear a different expression than your own.

She seems ambitious enough, beautiful in a way I can’t quite place. It's not the slope of her nose, nor the shape of her eyes that draws me in. No, not even the plump of her lips. It's her entirety that's alluring in a way I almost want to describe as otherworldly—unnatural. All this I’m aware of, yet I have fallen still.

Enough so to make a blundering fool of myself with nothing but un-noteworthy words of grandiose and corny invitations to dinner. It is all I know to do, a familiar face I’ve adorned when speaking to women of the village. No one likes someone who is too pushy. It's the best I can do to avoid their machinations.

I want to study her, want to know what draws me towards her like no one else ever has. Peel away at her for as long as she allows me to—which doesn’t seem to be very much—just so I can find the root of this feeling festering in my chest. For her countenance is entirely ordinary, yet I have become a moth to a flame—for she is like the sun.

She returns the next day, tension high in the village, my own mind spinning circles around the disappearance of Cadenza. I cannot move from my post, fearing Kenmur and Hayden may rip each other's heads off should I leave, already at eachothers throats attempting to claim the position of Lord—Cadenza’s absence only adding fuel to their fire. So, Aphmau is something of a godsend when she agrees to search for Cadenza in my place.

One of many favours I will be indebted to her for.

—

Okay, okay…This isn’t good.

Scratch that.

This is awful.

The smell of The Nether, charred and burnt—brings back enough memories to turn my stomach—yet the urgency of the moment wills me to push forward. Now is no time to freeze up, not like last time.

I just need to get Cadenza and leave.

Sasha…Sasha, she’s alive somehow. Or is alive even the right word to use? I saw her with my own two eyes in Pheonix Drop. Yet, mere moments ago I had passed the spot she had sunken into the magma on that fateful day. Tried my best not to stare at it, a battle both in front and behind us, Aphmau’s voice beckoning for my help (she hardly even needed me), but I stuttered only for a moment to glance.

Surely enough, there was nothing to see but bubbling lava.

“Go, Aphmau! You need to leave!” I urge her—the spectre of The Shadow Lord pounding against the barrier Castor had quickly scrambled together.

“What?! I can't leave you here, Laurance!”

“Take Cadenza and leave! Now!”

Castor, of course, grabs Aphmau by the arm and begins to drag her down the stairs in which we came, Cadenza in hand. I just need to buy them some time, and then I’ll make an escape—surely.

I wonder how Sasha felt in her final moments as the lot of us sprinted to the portal, leaving her behind. She was already gone, I know, but I’ve spent nights mulling over the image. Her figure haunts me in my darkest dreams, cold, dead, ghastly fingers gripping at my shoulder, alongside Joh. A reminder of the weight on my back. The duty I serve.

So, this is the least I can do, right? The highest honour a guard can receive is to sacrifice themself. Well, that's what I was always told at the academy. Battered and bruised every morning and every night, they’d remind me what I’m fighting for. What they believed I was fighting for. The guard academy never questioned its students why they were there, everyone had a reason. All they assumed is that you’d chase honour just as the rest do. To a guard, there is nothing more important. Whether or not I fully agree with it… Whatever, surely now isn’t the time to dwell on it.

I can hardly breathe by the time I escape the fortress, the heat cooking me from the inside out. A group of mindless Shadow Knights skirt along my heels as I push past what my body deems capable in a full sprint towards the portal, and soon enough it comes into sight.

I made it. I—freeze to a halt at the sight of another man by the portal. His eyes are a striking green, much like my own, and I can almost make out something of an apology in them as he reaches to tamper with the purple warp that would guide me back home.

“What are you…”

It shatters. It shatters into a million pieces, as if it were the thinnest glass tempered. The portal lays there bare and empty, my exit gone.

Something within me fractures—slowly, at first. So slow, until I begin to feel the gaps between myself as if they were beneath my own fingertips, hardly noticing that I’ve been dragged off away from the portal, back into the fortress.

…

It’s difficult to piece together the moments of lucidity from that point on. I taste nothing but blood in the back of my throat, as pain finds its way onto every inch of my skin, stinging—burning. They bleed me out onto the warm, deep red floors of the fortress, and my mind begins to wonder where my blood ends and the ground begins in flash seconds of clarity. It's a miracle my heart still beats.

The fractures widen.

Sasha visits me in the prison alongside another man, my eyes bleary and mind disjointed. I can’t piece together how long I’ve been here for, how long they’ve tormented me.

“Just get it over with, Gene.” She glares at the man next to her, Gene, and he smirks.

“What? Can’t stand to see him this way, Sasha? Feeling sentimental?”

“No.” She retorts, jangling a key in her hand which presumably will open the door to my cell. “His blood is stinking up the place.”

“Do it yourself then.”

She scowls, unlocking the door to the cell and waltzing in. I’d move if possible, but more bones in my body are broken than I can still count. So, I simply stare at her. Watch her every move with sluggish eyes. Whisper her name in a broken plea. As if she were the Lady Irene herself—I beg for salvation.

She doesn’t seem to hear it, or perhaps, she doesn’t care to.

She pulls me up from my slump by the hair, taking a moment to glance me up and down before a bemused smirk finds her lips.

“You look awful.” It’s difficult to tell whether she’s talking about the orange hair, or the countless gashes across my skin.

I muster enough energy to spit blood at her face, leading her to recoil and drop me back onto the floor. My mind howls, yet my lips barely twitch.

“What? Wanted to look a little bit more like Cadenza?” She snickers in disgust, wiping my blood and spit from her cheek before digging her shoe into an open wound on my thigh. “Mommy can’t save you now, Laurance.”

No matter if this woman wears her face, this isn't the Sasha I once knew.

Further and further apart, the space between the shards reflect back a darkness in me I never knew.

"Shall we proceed then?" Gene questions from behind her, and Sasha takes a step to the side, generously lifting her foot off my wound, to allow him passage. "Looks like you won't hold out much longer if we just leave you here."

He crouches down to meet my gaze, and what I had assumed were black pits for eyes reveal themselves to be a deep, cerulean blue. For a moment, bleeding in sepia, I imagine myself back by the docks in Meteli. The fresh air, and the scent of salt wafting along the wind and through my hair. Reminded of the cool stream of the riverbed, Cadenza's figure perched along the grass, toes dipped in the water. I take in a deep breath—suffocated by the heavy, hot atmosphere of The Nether.

"Let me ask you, Laurance, why did you become a guard?" Gene questions, a menacing, blood tinged greatsword in his hand. The tip of the blade rests against my chest, right above my heart.

Every nerve in my body lurches, begging me to move. I can't.

"What's it… To you?" I muster out, voice hoarse, throat torn and dry.

"Just thought a reminder would be nice."

I stare at him for a few moments, perplexed. Until something about my gaze is so hilarious that he can't stop himself from laughing.

"Oh, no, not for me." He grins, "You're the one that's going to need it."

It's nothing but a moment of sharp pressure against my skin before the blade wedges itself into the centre of my heart.

And it stops.

What was once whole now shatters, two sides of one mirror—split apart. A few lone pieces scatter off into the abyss, memories and fondness that will never return, forever lost. The nothingness seeps in to fill the gaps, and the world itself is rendered to an absolute—agonising, euphoric and finite. The corporeal slips away, and the mind splinters down to the soul. A severance so deep that it cuts through the ligaments, separating the body from the spirit. All to make room for a new found darkness in the hollow space where the heart lies caged between the ribs.

And it starts.

Your body feels wrong. Every inch of your skin, every bone beneath. Every cell in your blood, every beat of your own chest. Its rhythm is wrong—you are wrong.

“Do you have a dream?”

So, so many. Yet they’re nothing but blank canvases once you glance back at them.

“Boy, tell me. Why do you swing this sword?”

You… You can't seem to remember.

"Are you ready?"

Have you ever been? Knowing this would be your fate, what answer would you have given her then?

“Must I become something inhumane then to finally feel like I’m enough again?”

How ironic to think back to that in such a moment. You have always been the nostalgic sort. But, most cruelly, a lone voice swims in the pits of your mind, so familiar, so soothing. Her voice that of a swan song. She sings her response which you never heard to begin with.

"You will always be enough for me."

Cadenza is safe, far far away from The Nether. For that, you may at least be proud of yourself.

Ah, right… That is why you swing your sword. To keep her smiling in every shining memory. Protecting your loved ones, a task you deemed to be ever so noble as a small child. To covet those moments, safely locked away in the soft spot of your heart.

Cadenza… Aphmau… The prospect of her alluring beauty somehow a guiding light in your disembodied mind. A lone dove in the darkness, a white, pure feather. Ethereal, delicate—intangible.

She would be prettiest pierced by the edge of your own blade.

Rest.

For this is only the beginning of your neverending strife.

—

(Time passes.

So much time passes.

You hardly recognize the person you started as before the entire journey began.

The world has shifted fifteen years. The trails you ran along as an orphaned boy now grown over and forgotten, the river you played in now dry, only its husk remaining. The town you once called home now a desolate ghost—an inconsolable wasteland of your once cherished memories.

Yet, you struggle to cherish them the same as you once had all those years ago.

So when Aphmau (Irene bless her lost soul) approaches you, asking for your advice in this war as she had done so before, you no longer have the words that will solve her issues. Not a single solution finds your tongue—for you are a wanderer, a mere rabid dog, leashed by devotion, just itching to bite.

The gaps you feel within yourself never seem to close up, no matter what you do.

All you can tell her is that you have no clue what this war will bring, and what devastation it will cause, but that it can only end in bloodshed.

Anxious, always on the tips of her toes, and eyes constantly over her own shoulder, her weariness begins to bleed in. She's exhausted, she dares not admit it—yet her eyes will never lie to you.

She asks you why war seems to always follow her.

You tell her that war will always wage, no matter where she goes or where she looks. Should she eradicate every threat that taints this land, there are other wars to worry of.

"Where?" She questions.

However, her face shifts in a painful understanding before you can even utter a word.

She seems to have found the answer herself.)

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