Tempus Fugit
@shiranuiisms A gust of wind, a summer breeze; an average day that's simply passing by. Time ticks away, waits for no one, cares not for any person that's still breathing. Ignorance was bliss, and so many were ignorant of how cruel time could be. A shaky breath. Scarred hands push off of a tree, wild blue eyes flickering about. There's movement; one would miss it should they not look closely enough, and should they at all? It wouldn't seem like a man. Clothes torn, still in the very uniform he had died in, black markings are on his chest. And there's panic in his eyes yet movement is controlled, as years of training cannot be undone. Currently, that training is telling the man - is he still a man? It's too much, too difficult - to latch onto something familiar. Something solid, to ground himself within the mess of all things - A yellow flash, the body collides with another, trembling hands gripping onto whatever purchase they can and - And the long dead man falls. Let's out a breath, eyes closing as consciousness fades, as whatever will power he had that let him arrive in this place seems to dissappear. There's - peace. Almost peace on his face, but not quite.
