#neshirys

[mowseries]

Writer Journal Entry

{Thursday, December 19th, 2019T}

//Being friends with artists as a writer is like

—T.

[mowseries]

Snow: It’s Lady Neshi! Yaaaaay! Hiiiii, Lady Neshi! 💖

[He didn’t have the chance to see her as often, but he knew that Felix (( @unluckyadept​ )) sometimes talked with her and her associates.]

Snow: You feel like sunshine! You have a nice presence.

[It had a distinctly different feel to it than most of the other dimension walkers he had seen over time; it was very abstract and vast, to start with. And she specifically felt a lot like sunshine.]

Snow: I hope it’s nice and sunny outside where you are, too!

Snow: Do you like ice cream? I can make ice cream! ❣️ I’ll make your favorite flavor for you, if ya want! It’s fun to make ice cream.

Snow: 💖

[unluckyadept]

Character Journal Entry: Felix

{July 15th, 2021T}

[The page is marked in a very unusual way:

The (bright red) symbol of a (the, rather) Dragon with arrows pointing up on either side and two lines underneath it, followed by a dash, and then the numbers “26-1021”.]

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

It’s Another Long Story.

As I look back on the last year or so, I feel as though I have greatly [aged/grown/matured/wearied]. So much has been stolen.

But I think, to properly tell the story, I must start from where the first one left off.

It’s A Long Story, but you know that one, don’t you? The story of my destiny.

Destiny is the mark you leave on the world…

…and Fate is the mark the world leaves on you.

You can defy destiny, but you cannot fight fate.

=-=-=-=-=

[He was very glad he was able to see again. It was still taking some getting used to, particularly since his sight was not exactly stable; the imbalance of energy that caused the blindness was still an issue, particularly under fire in the battlefield.

Still—it was a great improvement from where it was before.]

=-=-=-=-=

You know, the reason that I needed to tell that story in the first place was to explain how the death of Prox’s last Warriors of the Dark Age

=-=-=-=-=

[The memory was all too vivid in his mind.]

[He could still remember those final words.

He crossed out the line and started over.]

=-=-=-=-=

You know, the reason that I needed to tell that story in the first place was to explain how the death of Prox’s last Warriors of the Dark Age

My relationship with the Proxans has always been a bit complex, at least in my mind. Other people view it differently. I know Jenna and Sheba in particular always held a very different view on my relationship with Saturos and Menardi in particular… and I won’t offer excuses for what any of the last four of the great Warriors did… to me or anyone else.

It’s no secret that I disagreed with their methods, and we argued—outright quarreled, in some cases. 

But the whole truth is important to know. Context is necessary to explain to other people why it is that I have the outlook I do—to show them on what I base my opinions.

That’s why I needed to explain—I needed to explain why I was distressed at their deaths, even though they had come very close to killing me.

And to do that, I needed to start with when I first came to Prox—and, well, to go back that far?

It’s A Long Story.

=-=-=-=-=

[And he hoped that someday he would have the time to tell it in full, before his connection to his younger years faded from vivid memory. It was much harder now to remember his boyhood than it was ten years ago… and he knew that the memories would only grow more and more faded as his mind and heart were tethered to his adulthood rather than his childhood.

Yet another intellectual casualty of violence and anarchy…

Once the war ended and order was restored to the continent, he could turn his focus and energy to personal matters… and the completion of his memoirs among them.

The Venus Adept shook his head and returned his focus to the letter.]

=-=-=-=-=

That story is a tale of how I was forced to adapt to a role I had initially rejected—

Well, the first of such times where that sort of thing happened. Or would it be more accurate to say I was never given leave of the role, and it took me a while to accept that fact? That would probably be closer to the truth.

It’s A Long Story. Just one of several. That story began the Year of the Storm—the night I almost drowned in the river (again) and was rescued by Saturos.

I’ve read his journal entry on what happened, and I must say: it was very evident that the loss of so many of his peers had a profound impact on the man. And it was the death of the Kalt Islander that hit him the hardest, for that man was an ally who had chosen to aid them in good faith out of loyalty and solidarity; he was a respected outsider, but still an outsider… not under any obligation to risk his life for their sake, let alone lose it.

Before the storm, it was my dream to become a miner and work with Isaac in the Altin Mines. We would use our Psynergy in secret to accomplish more than a non-Adept ever could, and boldly face danger in the “outside” world, rather than keep to ourselves in the shelter of Vale.

I don’t judge those days harshly; I was only a child, and had no exposure to life outside of Vale except through Kraden, and he focused on literacy and mathematics more than anything else… at that point, anyway. The truth is that we were taught to look down upon “outsiders”; we were taught that we were superior because we had power, and that underlying attitude lent itself to Pride.

Combine that with a child’s limited understanding of the world and a boy’s dreams of independence and strength… and such a mindset was probably the best one could realistically hope for, as it was still based in a desire to protect and to serve.

After the storm—or rather, after I recovered from the storm… I was forced to accept reality, and the reality of the world was far more demanding than my imagination was ever prepared to consider.

When I first came to Prox, we didn’t know what would happen to us. We didn’t know what they wanted of us. And the only thing I knew was that it was my fault to begin with—if I hadn’t been so stubborn and overconfident in my abilities, we would have been far clear of the boulders and no one would have been at the docks when THE Boulder came crashing down.

It was a bitter weight for a child to carry—to know his actions had cost everyone around him so greatly, and may have been the death of his younger sister.

=-=-=-=-=-=

[He paused for a moment, glancing up in thought.

He was getting distracted, wasn’t he?

…Well, so what if he was? He was under no obligation to censor himself on such matters.

Still—he would keep talking in circles if he didn’t keep the point he was getting at in mind.

And he had to let out a huff of amusement at the reminder—

Because that was why he needed to tell that story in the first place; it had all been building up to that moment in Mars Lighthouse.]

=-=-=-=-=-=

It’s A Long Story.

The story of how I came to be in that moment, that dark hour, at Mars Lighthouse. Why I was there, what I wanted, why I cared.

I don’t know if I’ve ever had the chance to state that outright—and it is rather important, so I suppose I best state such things plainly.

=-=-=-=-=-=

[He hesitated for a moment, frowning. A bit of ink bled into the page at his extended reluctance to say the first thing that came to mind.

And even now…]

+=+=+=+=+

"Too slow!”

[Felix looked up angrily, biting back a remark. Karst looked down at him, lowering her scythe to rest against his throat.]

“Always too slow! How you ever managed to catch a Talon Runner is beyond me.”

[Felix was silent. The bruise from the day before was still darkening. He knew another slap might cause permanent injury; Proxans were far stronger than they realized, and did not understand how much damage they caused against someone who didn’t have their perpetual leather-hide armor…

…not that he felt THIS pair would have cared, even if they did truly know it.]

“Let him go, Karst.”

[The touch of death’s blade lifted, the chill of steel leaving him. The unlucky Adept tried to breathe steadily, waiting for permission to bandage his bleeding arm.]

“Now… Felix… tell us what you did wrong.”

[The boy gritted his teeth and spoke sullenly.]

“I tried to block her from hitting my face by bringing up my arm to protect me.”

“Heal yourself before you bleed all over the forest.”

[Felix didn’t need to be told twice. He felt very irritable as he got to his feet—

But Mendari grabbed his cape, jerking the Valean forward as he used Cure on his injuries, briefly startling him in the process.]

“I never said you could stand.”

[He glared back silently.]

“At least you are learning to hold your tongue, I see.”

+=+=+=+=+

[Felix grimaced ever so slightly, placing a hand to his cheek.

And ever so briefly, it brought another memory to mind—]

+=+=+=+=+

[There was a harsh noise as his captor suddenly lashed out—literally—and streaks of pain sliced across the left side of his face. He had unwittingly cringed and recoiled against the pain, so his shoulders and wrists were also left sore, and his sense of dignity damaged as blood ran down his face.]

+=+=+=+=+

[He forced himself out of such thoughts by clumsily getting out of his chair and walking over to the door to lean against it.

It took a moment for such thoughts to run their course enough to come back to the present, and he sighed.

It was considered offensive—not that that meant much in and of itself, given those who found literally everything offensive were far more prolific and prevalent than he had the patience to grovel to—to even mention the existence of such experiences. And certainly, he had a deep empathy for those who had suffered in such a way.

But he didn’t have the patience to keep silent anymore; it was a dark scar of the past, and he would not censor it for the sake of those who would demean him for exposing the damage caused by how he had been treated.

Leaving the writing aside for a moment, he made his way over to a window and contemplated the whole situation.

It had been almost a fortnight since they finally destroyed the outpost at the Gondowan Passage. They had been at open war with the Tolbi Empire since the night they bombarded the city in an attempt to rush in from the flank and overwhelm their prey.

He had since heard that there was a word for such a tactic, as described in the languages of the mountains—

And he had to say, having been on both the receiving end and the initiating end of such a “lightning war”, he was very relieved that his OWN recent military campaign had been successful.

Suffering through the sudden attack on the Western domicile of Lalivero’s capital city was a literal nightmare—his body could sense the large boulders being hurled down at them, prompting his mind to inflict him with reliving the day of The Storm. The enemy was well underway in destroying civilian residential districts by collapsing buildings and setting the streets aflame—well underway by the time he was able to pull himself together well enough to take to the skies with Arizona and go after their war machines they were using to demolish the city before sending in their ground forces.

He hadn’t quite had the experience to serve as context to explain his instinctive UNDERSTANDING at the time, but… when he had seen just how much manpower they had brought with them near Lalivero for the purposes of simply overrunning the city to take a swift victory, he understood that they would not withstand very long if the Tolbi could conduct these “lightning war” tactics via unfettered access to the region. No… they had a massive army, and had deployed a much greater force than Lalivero was prepared to handle. The region was meant to be protected by the river and the desert; bypassing the desert and neutralizing the river in order to swiftly strike at the cultural and economic capital of the only free peoples in that part of Weyard would have been a guaranteed total victory, if it had not been made impossible.

Having learned more about the wars of other worlds, he had a better understanding now of such matters. It was a risky strategy, one that relied very heavily on proper communication and firm discipline—one that was high risk-reward, especially when conducted in a setting where the transport of supplies would be a critically deadly weakness in the case of failing to shatter an enemy’s defenses. 

He was lucky that he was able to take advantage of the downsides of such a tactic, back then; they were not prepared for a counterstrike and were ill-equipped to withstand a counterattack. It was for that reason that he was not only able to quickly destroy the smaller force actually attacking the city, but also cut off the larger force that was stationed at the ready only a few hours away.

It had been an altogether horrible experience, especially considering what happened after the Tolbi got their hands on him. And it was not one he would be willing to try on enemy soil; otherwise, he would not have DESTROYED the outpost at the Gondowan Passage… but rather, seized it for his own.

No; he was willing to take advantage of taking them by surprise in order to cut off their supply chain, but he had no intention of risking any more than that. Not with the current situation.

The unlucky Adept slipped his fingers into his hair, feeling like his eyes were weary. Perhaps that was due to the strain from the blindness, but it almost just felt like he had seen too much in his time, and his own eyes felt exhausted at recalling such visions of terror.

Because he could remember—]

[He could remember the screams, the fire, and the overwhelming sense of all-consuming evil.

He could vividly recall the helpless terror of those around him.

He could remember.

He would never forget. Never.

Two decades from now, and he would still remember that terrible autumn day—

The day they were dragged into war against an enemy that hated them just for existing, and would stop at nothing to terrorize them into submitting to a ruthless, intolerant, brutal, murderous regime of hateful Pride.

He would never forget.

And he would make sure no one else forgot it, either.]

[It took some while for the weight of it to fade, and then he just felt contemplative.

It wasn’t until after eating some dinner and washing up that he returned to his desk; at that point, he just stared up at the ceiling for a while.]

It’s Another Long Story…

[…But right now, there was only one thing on his mind.]

+=+=+=+

"{Keep your spirits up, lad. Too much for you to do to be dwelling in darkness.}"

+=+=+=+

[…Almost five months to the day—not that he learned about it until weeks later—

And he still…]

({…I just want to hear your voice again. Just… just one more time. Just one more time…})

[unluckyadept]

Character Journal Entry: Felix

[The pages in the unfinished letter are not dated, and appear to have been put together spur-of-the-moment.]

=-=-=-=-=-=

{These days are a strange affliction. Within the suffering, we are alive. How can I explain it?

We were backed against a wall and ordered to surrender everything, including our inherent dignity. In refusing, we are constantly tormented by a vicious force that is tyrannical in its Pride. Precious time and resources are being spent to prevent the hateful malice from overrunning us entirely. Lives are lost, livelihoods destroyed in the wake of their wrath—entire communities consumed in fire and looted for spoils, left to descend into lawlessness and ignored by those in power. The order of the Great Healers has lost several prominent members of their order—those who dedicated their lives to peace and service of those in need are unjustly imprisoned for no crime but the peaceful assistance to those in need. Places that were once beautiful and prosperous are but shells of their former selves, and travel to see kith and kin is all but impossible—leaving countless stranded, even to the point of being denied the chance to be with those they love in their greatest joys or final hours. So much has been destroyed, and there is so much pain—and no certainty that we shall be victorious.

The fact remains that I have never felt so alive in recent times. Or rather—I am awake, and not asleep.

I believe that this is the beginning of the end. The true end. For I shall never surrender. And I shall not apologize. I have not felt so free as I am now, for I know that I have no need to be afraid. For I can see such hatred that draws steel against us and mocks us for what it is: a darkness that will never be satisfied, never be pacified, never be sated. No amount of groveling is enough to expunge that which they see as justification to inflict cruelty. I know now more than ever: there is no shame in who I am, and “what” a person is has naught to do with their character. If darkness takes offense at arbitrary things and acts of Light both, then why does that give reason to be ashamed? Am I to be distressed because I am mistreated and ordered to make a choice between groveling and further abuse, or just more intense further abuse? In being told to choose between caving or being broken, I gladly choose to take a stand for what is right.

Understand this, my friend. I would have preferred to live the dream, would have preferred that this evil had not taken so much from us all. And I gladly look forward to the day where I can sheathe my sword and return to the fields, to work in peace as a blacksmith and a carpenter. I stand ready to give pardon to those who have wronged us, for I have already forgiven them. I do not hold hatred toward them—far from it. For when I look into the darkness, I see those who dwell in the shadow, those who have forgotten or have never known the sunlight. I would rather they know the sunlight, that they see it and grow to know the warmth it brings.

I have never been more alive, for I have been cast into the kiln and subject to the torment of hateful Pride that will consume anything and everything. All that is left now is that which is strong enough to withstand such cruelty and hysteria.

We stand on the precipice of great change, for there is no path back except through victory. A return to the prosperous peace is now only possible in victory over the darkness that has brought us to such a crisis in the first place.

There are only two outcomes here.

When all our strength is concentrated and mustered in a rallying charge against the darkness, all bound in a fate to only be conquered by death, it may be indeed that in the end—should it not be enough to turn back the forces arrayed against us—that we are subject to a swift end, freed from their tyranny by virtue of suffering the finality of their intolerance and injustice.

I am not a fool. And I have suffered under them before, enough to understand what it would be like to endure such atrocities again, but to the intended conclusion.

But I know there is another outcome, one I know to be valid.

Whoever falls shall do so in a way that leaves them in complete exhaustion. Should the fire of liberty prevail, we will be victorious in such a way that returns to us that which they have taken from us up to this point. This land can return to the splendor that it had before the corruption of tyranny took root, and when that day comes…!

My friend, when that day comes, you and I shall be in awe of the sunlight. A clear, bright day with endless opportunities for joy and success. We shall be safe, and treated with respect and kindness, unhindered as we work to aid those in need and provide for those close to our hearts.

The darkness presses near. It is all around us. The sun is gone.

And that is why the fire that burns within, the Light that illuminates the soul, is now so vividly visible.

Take heart! For in being true to ourselves, we are free. Those who stand by us are known to be faithful and true to the end—differences and disagreements though there are, for they are not blinded by it.

I look to the horizon and I can picture the sunrise. Take heart, my friend; this storm shall not be eternal, and when the rain ceases and the clouds disperse…

I am confident we shall see the rainbow.}

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

[It would again appear he had fallen asleep at this point, not having been ready to finish what he was saying, let alone have the chance to put it into full context like he preferred.

He must be very besieged indeed, to be so exhausted as to fall asleep very abruptly while writing, going from higher levels of philosophical thought to the sweet oblivion of sleep within seconds.]

[unluckyadept]

Flare of the Morning Star

<<—Previous——————Flare of the Morning Star——————Next—>>

PART V: REASONS

“…Can't… can't remember much, besides… besides the string, and those Shears, the terrible noise they made…”

[Time had lost all sense of meaning.

He’d “seen” it coming, of course. They weren’t quick about it. It wasn’t the first time they’d shot him, either.

He had just enough time to brace himself for the impact—

—which was enough to knock the wind out of him—

And then…

…nothing seemed to happen.

He wasn’t sure why.

But he became even more confused as looked down in a dazed state, putting a hand to his chest—

And seeing shards of Life.

He looked up and out into the darkness, noticing for the first time how quiet it was.

Silent.

He struggled to catch his breath, but found that impossible. The more he tried, the weaker he felt, and he ended up sinking to his knees before collapsing onto the ground.]

[With his hands firmly against the surface, his head bowed as he struggled to avoid passing out…

Honestly, the last thing he expected was to start falling down.

It was as if gravity had reversed itself and Time had lost all meaning. As he continued to fall, he felt weaker and weaker—and the shards of Life became ribbons flowing off into the distance. Vibrant, with ethereal colors that were beyond description—not like any aura he had ever seen before…

…except… …once.

Felix’s eyes widened in shock as the flicker of memory sparked recognition in his mind… and even more as one of the strands glowed with ominous intensity in time to the recognition.

He’d seen something like this before…

…atop Mars Lighthouse, where the Mars Star had showed him the trail of his life, and all the places where it had waned.

His entire body seemed to become enveloped in light, but he knew better as he continued falling—

This was his Life, his experience that flowed through history. It was a stream, his trail, left across the lands.

He struggled to see how it intertwined with anything else, but it was so bright as to become blinding—

And as he reached out in forlorn dread, trying to grab onto something that would keep him from unraveling entirely…

Within his sight—his vision, his doom, his dying dream—

They were all brought together by something far off, wound together until they formed a strong, thick cord.

At first, he didn’t understand… but that ended very quickly.]

[When he saw the Shears appear in the darkness, he recognized what they were capable of. He’d seen them before, after all—and he knew what they could do.

As they closed in across the stream of his Lifetime, rooted deep in his soul, he understood with dreadful clarity that the hands of Fate held his _life_ to be measured and severed from the world.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard such a dreadful sound as the harrowing tone produced as the shears slowly drew together, coldly severing the yarn of Life. As each thread fell away—starting to unravel—the bonds that had hold on him dissolved into nothing, leaving him untethered.

It burned. As the shears cut through the thread of hope, he was left burning with despair.

His hopes and dreams were burning away. All the things he had been looking forward to doing, all the things he had wanted to experience. They were being taken from him—he had failed.

He hadn’t been enough. He had been convinced that he would be able to turn them back, that they wouldn’t have the mettle to oppose such vibrant determination. And he’d been wrong; he’d underestimated their brutality and overestimated their human decency. They’d overtaken him. He’d been weaker, in the end. And now—now he was losing everything. Even if he managed to continue—dead or alive—it would have to be in a dark, dismal world bereft of joy.

And without a doubt, if Felix knew one thing, it was suffering. His was a life of suffering that just would not end. Just when it seemed that he had finally found peace, something or someone would rob him of serenity. This always happened. Always… without fail… again… and again… and again… and again.

And he knew his fate. The weight of the accursed prophecy burned right through the sense of hope.

For his was a terrible fate, a burden one would not wish on any man.

He had lived through so much pain. His misery would compound just as soon as he was reaching a state of peace. How much worse would it get—for him, for those he loved—if he continued?

What reason did he have to live if there was never to be any joy?

What reason did he have to live?

What reason did he have?

What reason?]

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓮 𝓶𝓮…

[He was prevented from falling into the abyss as the last of the cord was severed, for the core of it all had become clear—

A chain.]

𝕀 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦…

[Promise. He’d made a promise.]

=-=-=-=-=-=

[He could see it. He could hear it. Oh, it was so, so close. So close that it _hurt._

More than anything else right now, he just didn’t want to lose it.

He wanted to go home. Home, now, where his friends were. He wanted to prepare feasts before the fire, with rich spices and a bounty so plentiful that all would have their fill.

He just wanted for this madness to end. For the sun to rise, to celebrate their deliverance from such a dark, oppressive shadow.

To dance, to laugh, to sing.]

«Sheba…»

«I promise you…»

=-=-=-=-=-=

"I promise you I haven’t lost sight of it."

[He’d made a promise. He had things to do. People relied on him.

He had a duty to uphold.]

[Even as he was falling, he grabbed hold of the chain—abruptly coming to SUCH a sudden stop that it felt his heart would be torn from his chest.]

[The weight straining on him immensely as everything else seemed to be dragging him down into darkness.

The chain held strong. The Shears had come to a stop.

It all held still.]

[He had something to live for, a reason to continue; there was a duty he must carry. If life was to be a burden to him, it was still his burden to carry—his responsibility.

And that… that was enough. That was a reason. A reason to endure. He could not lay it down, nor cast it away; it was his obligation to carry on, even if he was doomed to suffer.]

[But a chain is only as strong as the weakest link, and the fire of despair was all-consuming.

He was slipping, slipping from the suffocating weight.

He had failed. He had failed his duty, and now—

What more could he do? What good would it be to anyone, to drag out the consequences? He was a doomed man, and his was a life of sorrow and loss. If he couldn’t help others and only compounded their struggles with his own curse of misfortune…

Honestly, he’d rather die than live a life under tyranny. And he’d said as much. He’d meant it, too.

Those had been his last words, when they’d ordered him to surrender—

“{Death first!}”

And he was a man, only a man; he did not have the power of the spirits, let alone of Creation. As indestructible as he was, he was still a mere mortal, with everything that mattered subject to other things.

And even the strongest devotion and willpower in the world could not turn back Death.

His own demise had been a long time coming. Time and again, he’d slipped from the net and evaded his reckoning.

But he was in this situation now because he had finally been outnumbered, and his day had come at last—the last thing he could remember were the archers unleashing a volley. A volley that had to prove fatal.

Why else would it feel and seem as if he were dying?]

Dying… but not dead.

Not yet, at any rate…

[His ever-looming fate was calling to bring his life to a close, to claim him in the fate that was sealed with his doom. But even in such a dreadful hour, against over a hundred armed soldiers, it STILL hadn’t been enough to slay him outright; even THEN, he managed to—somehow—actually survive such a strike, and yet lived… strong enough, perhaps, in each fragmented moment, to endure.

He was having to fight for his life against the weight of the darkness—

But that meant that the fight wasn’t over, and he had the choice to continue. He was badly injured, but was living yet; in order to die, he would have to actively let go.

How long could he hold on? The strain was immense, and the fatigue was atrocious. He was so tired of pain and sorrow; he wanted to rest, to live on in peace. There was no peace to be had in a life of oppression; he’d lived eight years in the wilderness to try and escape such a dictatorship, and STILL his life had been ruled by fear and bitterness. It was only in recent time that he had finally started to escape from the shadow, and had truly begun to heal—

But now, the darkness that pursued their destruction had overtaken him once more. He might never see a time of true happiness again. He might, to be sure—but at what cost would it be? And how long would it take? And even if they triumphed—would the damage be too much to be undone? Was it even possible for them to live a life of prosperous peace?

That was all he wanted, all he wanted for his people. As a Venus nomad and exile, he had no singular nation; his duty was to the Lighthouses—Venus especially—and to the peoples that guard them. His heart and his fate had brought him to defend Lalivero against the brutality of the Tolbi Empire, and Angara was no longer his home. His heart burned with the noble flame of Mars—which was more intense than most of his friends could handle.

And the reminder made it burn in him now.

Venus may be Life and Death, but it was Mars that encapsulated the {[spirit]}; Venus was the vessel that carried the wisdom of Jupiter and clarity of Mercury, but it was the essence of Mars that illuminated the soul with passion and hope.

Venus was the will to endure—to suffer out of obligation to others and an _accepting_ sense of obedience.

And to that end, he had been pushed to his limit.

He slipped further, only just barely hanging on, feeling the desire to let go and sleep REALLY start to sink in to every fiber of his being.

He was absolutely exhausted, and held no energy to muster.

He’d seen more suffering in the last two decades than most would see in a lifetime; he barely managed to force himself through it all, and he had no desire to return to those dark days where his sanity could barely keep hold. He had such heavy obligations he’d have to carry, […] even in a time of oppression and despair. He would have to resist the oppression and speak out against it, refuse to give in to it, enduring the worst of the malice that tyrants could bare. Such torture as he had endured would be inflicted again; there would be threats and violence, and he wouldn’t be the only one to be punished for daring to dissent, to speak out against their Pride-driven evil.

But he would have to do just that, to adhere to true justice; he could not abandon the innocent in the hour of need, and it was his responsibility now to suffer and toil for the benefit of others, for those that came after him. He may never enjoy a life of serenity, but it was his duty to work for such a future so that others may live. For such was the sacrifice that all men are called to; a lifetime of service for the loved and the innocent, that they may know peace.]

[It hurt. A lot. And yet…

He wanted just a little more time…

He wasn’t ready to let go.]

[Tired. So VERY tired.]

“𝓘𝓯 𝓪𝓷𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓾𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼, 𝓲𝓽’𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾.”

[Climb.

He was exhausted. Too exhausted to move, and was only barely hanging on.

But he knew, even as the weight of despair was PULLING him down, down into oblivion, to be dragged through the veil by the Dullahan and tossed into the river, to be pulled into the depths of the dishonored dead or ferried across the waters by Charon—

He was going to HAVE to climb.]

“𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖’𝕤 𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕪𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕚𝕟.”

[He had to.]

[But he was shaking from his weakness, his grip failing him.

The exhaustion—the exhaustion was too much. He just wanted to rest.

If he just… if he just… if he relaxed, he wouldn't have to deal with this anymore.]

𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓲𝓽, 𝓪𝓵𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽?

[So tired.]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕕𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕤 𝕞𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘.

[He had to remember why he HAD to do this.]

[The sense of duty wasn't enough to pull him through this MISERABLE suffering. But it would have to do.]

[Climb.]

[The weight seemed to melt away into gentle relaxation. It made him feel like he was falling asleep…]

"ᴬʷ ⁿᵒ ʸᵃ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ—! ᴺᵒᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵐʸ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ, ᶜ'ᴹᴼᴺ!"

[He had to climb, but he wanted to sleep.]

"ᴬʷ ʰᵉˡˡˢ, ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵃⁱⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵒʳᵏⁱⁿ'; ᴼᵖʰⁱˡⁱᵃ, ˢᵒᵐᵉ ʰᵉˡᵖ, ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ!"

[There was a bright sense of light calling out to him, earnest and kind, encouraging him to hold on. It made him cringe a bit—too bright—]

𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮, 𝓕𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔁…!

[He was so tired…]

𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮…

[He had to climb.]

[He reached up and hoisted himself up, ever so slightly.]

"ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ʸᵃ ᵍᵒ—ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˡᵉᵗ ʰᵉʳ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ⁿᵒʷ, ʸᵃ ʰᵉᵃʳ?! ʸᵃ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᶠᵃʳ ᵗ' ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵘᵖ!"

[And again.]

"ᵀʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ⁱᵗ—ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ᵗᵃˡᵏⁱⁿ' ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ, ⁱᵗ ˢᵉᵉᵐˢ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉˡᵖ—"

𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮, 𝓕𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔁… 𝓲𝓽'𝓼… 𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮. 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻.

[And again.]

𝓕𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔁, 𝓬𝓪𝓷—𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓶𝓮?

[And again.]

"ᴶᵘᵈᵍⁱⁿ' ᵇʸ ʰᵒʷ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵉᵐˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᶻⁱⁿᵍ, ᴵ'ᵈ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ˢᵒ. ᴴᵉ ᵃⁱⁿ'ᵗ ᵒᵘᵗᵗᵃ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒᵒᵈˢ ʸᵉᵗ, ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ…"

𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮…

[A strong cord of lavender was appearing around the chain, and he was filled with a burning desire to pursue it.

He could feel it, he could feel that inviting sense of LIFE calling out to him, felt—felt so good, wanted—wanted more, wanted all of it—]

𝕊𝕙𝕖𝕓𝕒…?

"𝑯𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅—!"

[He strained to keep climbing, couldn't—he couldn't let go, he wanted it so badly—

It hurt, the way the want burned at him, but that golden thread was weaving around the chain as well— he really hurt, but he was so desperate to draw nearer, draw nearer to her—]

"ᴺᵒᵗ ˢᵘʳᵖʳⁱˢᵉᵈ ʰᵉ'ˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ˢᵗʳᵘᵍᵍˡⁱⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ… ᵈᵃᵐⁿ, ᴬʰ' ᴿᴱᴬᴸᴸʸ ᵃⁱⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵉᵉⁿ ᵃⁿʸᵒⁿᵉ ˢᵒ ᴰᴱᴬᴰ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷᵃˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰⁱⁿ'. ᴴᵒʷ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉˡˡˢ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿ?"

𝓘𝓽'𝓼… 𝓾𝓶. 𝓐𝓼 𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓹𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓽, 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓵…. 𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓐 𝓛𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂.

[He couldn't help but laugh at that. Even though he could barely breathe, starting to lose everything as it faded around him…]

"ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ˢᵉᵉⁿ ᵐᵃʳᵏˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗʰⁱˢ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ⁱⁿ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃ ⁿᵘᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵒⁿ ᴴ'ᵃᵃⁿⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵏⁱˡˡˢ. ᴬʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉˢᵉ ᵃʳʳᵒʷ ʷᵒᵘⁿᵈˢ?"

[—but it came back with a vengeance, his grip slipping.]

"{𝕬𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖘, 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓!}"

"𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒕? 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚!"

"{𝕷𝖔𝖔𝖘𝖊!}"

"ᶠᵒᵘʳᵗʸ-ᶠⁱᵛᵉ ᵇʸ ᵐʸ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ, ʸᵉᵃʰ…"

"{𝕱𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝕿𝕳𝕬𝕿? 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊'𝖘 𝖆 𝕷𝕺𝕿 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖔𝖓 𝖎𝖙.}"

"—ᵃʷ ᵈᵃᵐⁿⁱᵗ, ʰᵉ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵁˢ, ᵗᵒᵒ…"

[If he couldn't—]

“{𝕾𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙’𝖘 𝖎𝖙, 𝖍𝖚𝖍? 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖋𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖏𝖊𝖜𝖊𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝕲𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖆𝖓?}”

[If he wasn't strong enough, if—]

“{𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖎𝖙𝖞, 𝖘𝖍𝖊’𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙.}”

[If he wasn't strong enough to protect her—!]

𝓕𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔁—𝓕𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔁, 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽—𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓰𝓸, 𝓘'𝓶 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮; 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮—!

[How could he keep going?]

"𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊 𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖊, 𝚊 𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚗."

[It just couldn't possibly end well. Things like this would never end, and he would drag EVERYONE else down with him, too! So long as he was in their lives, so long as they were attached to him, they, too would share in the pain of his perpetual suffering.]

"𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅… 𝑨𝒍𝒇𝒚𝒏, 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈?"

"ᵂⁱˢʰ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵘʳᵉ, ᵇᵘᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿ' ᵗᵉˡˡˢ ᵐᵉ ʰᵉ'ˢ ʰᵃᵈ ᵐᵒˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱᵍʰᵗ ᴸᴵᵀᴱᴿᴬᴸᴸʸ ᵇᵉᵃᵗᵉⁿ ᵒᵘᵗᵗᵃ ʰⁱᵐ… ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ˢᶜᵃʳˢ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᶠʳᵉˢʰ. ˢᵉʳⁱᵒᵘˢˡʸ, ᴹⁱˢˢ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵗ' ʰⁱᵐ, ᵃⁿ' ʷʰʸ?"

“{𝕾𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖉𝖊𝖋𝖎𝖆𝖓𝖙? 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙.}”

[He was slipping.]

“ˢʰᵘᶜᵏˢ—ᵒⁱ, ᵖᵘˡˡ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵃ ᵇⁱᵗ, ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵖᵖˡʸ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉˡᵖ ⁿᵘᵐᵇ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ, ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʰⁱᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒ ᵗᵉⁿˢᵉ, ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵃˢⁱᵉʳ—”

[His strength was rapidly draining, and he couldn’t keep a grip anymore, slipping further and further down into the darkness. It didn’t weigh down like it had earlier; it made him feel so sleepy…]

"ᶠˡᵃᵐᵉ'ˢ ˢᵃᵏᵉ, ʷᵉ'ʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵉⁿᵈ ᵘᵖ ˡᵒˢⁱⁿ' ʰⁱᵐ ⁱᶠ ⁱᵗ ᵏᵉᵉᵖˢ ᵘᵖ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗʰⁱˢ…"

"𝑩𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈…!"

"ʸᵉᵃʰ, ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵃ ᵐⁱʳᵃᶜˡᵉ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗ. ᴵ'ᵐ ᵃⁿ ᵃᵖᵒᵗʰᵉᶜᵃʳʸ, ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃ ᵍᵉⁿⁱᵉ."

"𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅…"

[So tired…]

"ᴴᵉ'ˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵂᴬᴺᵀ ᵗᵒ ˡⁱᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘˡˡ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵀᴴᴵˢ ᵇᵃᵈ. ˢᵒʳʳʸ… ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ᵈᵒⁿᵉ ᵃˡˡ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ, ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ, ʷᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗʳʸ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ʰⁱᵐ ˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᶻᵉᵈ, ᵇᵘᵗ—"

…𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓲𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓭…

"𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕?"

𝓝𝓸. 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓽 𝓛𝓔𝓐𝓢𝓣 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮.

𝓗𝓮'𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓹𝓾𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮…

𝓘 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓱𝓲𝓶.

𝕊𝕙𝕖𝕓𝕒…

[…but he had to keep. Climbing.]

𝓓𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓾𝓹, 𝓕𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔁…. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓦𝓘𝓛𝓛 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵. 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓢𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓽…

𝓢𝓽𝓪𝔂…. 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮. 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓶𝓮.

[He felt drawn back again, given calm strength to continue as she started singing part of something the ice child had taught her.]

𝓘𝓯 𝔀𝓮 𝓳𝓾𝓶𝓹 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻

𝓦𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝔀𝓮 𝓼𝔀𝓲𝓶

𝓸𝓻 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝔀𝓮 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷?

𝓘𝓯 𝔀𝓮 𝓫𝓾𝓲𝓵𝓽 𝓪 𝓼𝓮𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝔀𝓮 𝓯𝓵𝔂

𝓸𝓻 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷?

𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓮 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

𝓘'𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

𝓦𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓶𝓮 𝓼𝓸 𝓘'𝓭 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓐𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓴𝔂 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓾𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝔀

𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓸𝓴𝓪𝔂 𝓘'𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝔀…

[Fading…

Fading, into…

…dreams…]

((By Neshirys, a kind soul throughout the time and tide of these troubling times))

Once Felix woke from his comatose state about a month later, it was confirmed that he was blind due to the overpowering release of Death energy that occurred as he was dying. Until his Life energy comes into balance with it, he will remain unable to properly see.

That is not, however, quite the end of the story…

Rather, it is the beginning.

<<—Previous——————Flare of the Morning Star——————Next—>>

[mowseries]

Coming Soon…

[neshirys]

Where you can find me

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Thank you for your attention,have a nice day Neshi~

[unluckyadept]

Character Journal Entry: Felix

{May 30th, TUMBLR 2017}

[Felix was deeply engrossed in his notes, just finishing notes on the Venus Clan’s winter lifestyle.]

…

“{…To see those halls, as winter was just becoming strong, when the world was young…

Such halls—where there was, if not abundance, then at least plenty. Varied plenty, from around the world… with the resources to create, where the people worked to depict the world in joy and knowledge, under the leadership of the patriarch and his beloved wife… where there was always a story to be told, and laughter to be a counterweight to screams and tears of sorrow…

A place of plenty, united and varied, that so loved the beauty of creation…

I would sacrifice much, to but only live those days myself, in peace…}”

[He slowly stopped writing altogether. For he could not help but picture it, and imagine.

He cannot help but imagine it—that which he had almost had the courage to admit to one of his closest friends, not that long ago—

His heart’s desire…!

He could see it so clearly—

Walking on foot, a coiled lead in his grasp— with his spirited children following on a stalwart and faithful horse—his deeply beloved (and longed for) wife at his side, staff in hand, the two of them making decisions together…

With many friends—bound by this common interest and devotion to this way of life, choosing to be glad of it, reveling in it—following behind, and all of them together bringing with them cattle, sheep, goats, poultry, swine, horses, birds of prey, hunting dogs and herding dogs, and (of course) cats…

With packs of silk and cotton to be worked into tapestries, once the grand hall was built and there was a fire roaring, and a feast laid out—all that come ahead, once they reached the settlement after traveling across nature’s wonders…

Oh, how dearly he wished it! More than ever as time went on. It was growing to become not just a flicker, a flashing spark of a thought… but rather, a burning, deeply burning desire.

Oh, how he longed for such a thing, such a thing he felt he could not have, and did not deserve!]