however strong the storm may get [open//01]
Ishimaru Kiyotaka was dead.
So far, there was little evidence to prove it, but it wasn’t like he could summon the energy to try disputing it yet either. It was hard enough already just trying to pull his eyelids open and gasp harshly at the cold air as it rushed into his lungs; seizing in pain while his mind grappled with the burden of awareness before he even understood how long he’d been without it.
Just a few minutes earlier, Ishimaru Kiyotaka found himself awake and seated stiffly atop a cold bench under the first open sky he’d seen in ages, head throbbing and body tensed in leftover remnants of dreadful apprehension. Considering what little he could recall of his last moments before everything went black, and after what felt like a lifetime of the deepest sleep imaginable between now and the waking nightmare of his days at Hope’s Peak Academy- what else could have happened to him? But somehow, the drastic change in scenery and the sudden onset of consciousness managed to be altogether more disturbing to him at the moment than the instinctual knowing that he really must have been murdered by another one of his fellow students. If it were true, Ishimaru thought, he would try not to take it too personally- if the residual heavy ache held in his chest was any indication, it was quite possible that he had expected it and had been anticipating it for some time anyway.
Waking up confused and stranded in a strange place he had never seen before was a situation which, unfortunately, should not have felt so unfamiliar to Ishimaru. Memories of that time were trickling back to him steadily enough that he could remember bits and pieces of it quite vividly now- he remembered the demented robotic bear for a headmaster, the terrible rules, the bodies, the trials, the blood. He remembered trying to fix it all, trying as hard as he could to understand what was happening to them and why. He remembered his first successful friendship, and his first successful friendship’s end.
He remembered not sleeping, and blinking back vacantly at everyone’s worried faces, and the sound of Naegi’s shaky fingers clicking at the laptop that shone bright with the pixelated portraits of the programmer and the biker whose deaths he could only blame himself for.
He remembered forgiveness.
Several moments passed as he stared solemnly from the platform and contemplated this, allowing the full impact of what he witnessed to finally reach him now that he had been whisked away from it all. Sitting straight and sturdy as he could (considering that various halves of his body were still unresponsive and numb and that he was halfway through something like an anxiety attack), Ishimaru studied the environment around him; memorizing the train tracks that slashed through the foreign landscape like he might be tested on them, waiting patiently for breathing to come naturally again. Some of the water collecting on his face felt stickier and warmer than the rainfall, and it was only when he reached to smear a damp sleeve over his ruddy cheeks did he realize how hard he had been crying this entire time.
Ishimaru could’ve sat there all afternoon in the rain, trying desperately to focus and organize what he needed to know between accidentally letting his thoughts drift from painful replays of his short time with Mondo and Chihiro and the rest of them to the increasing paranoia that this was just another setup; but none of his questions would be answered if he continued to let the past haunt him this way, and he knew it. Even the classmates he watched die could be here, probably not being forced to murder each other, maybe even in need of his assistance! He wouldn’t even know it just from sitting here feeling sorry for himself!
With a furrow in his brow and chewing his bottom lip in determination, Ishimaru decided that he could function well enough by now to get to his feet and find out what was going on for himself. Readjusting the laces on his boots and dusting off his (strangely, yet appropriately and pridefully immaculate) uniform trousers, he stood and marched inside with guarded .
It appeared that he’d found himself in a train station far older than most he had visited in person, yet not so outdated that it felt unfamiliar. Worn and peeled signs lining the walls and hanging from the ceiling welcomed him to a place called Asphodel Valley; various symbology sprinkled here and there lent to his theory that he must be somewhere near the ocean, but hardly anything relevant to why he was here could be gathered from the vague information detailed on them.
Eventually Ishimaru made his way to the entrance and found himself in awe of the amount of people he could see outside. Did all of them end up here the same way as he did? Some surely looked more out of place than others- and maybe even just as confused as he was.
The rain did not cease, and yet the clouds parted just barely enough to let some sunlight illuminate the glittery pavement as the former hall monitor walked into the streets towards the center of town, ready to discuss his arrival with anyone who would approach him.
