The Lost Feather

[Iesu]

The Lost Feather

She was nice to me?

His words echoed softly across the long halls, the linings of velvet silk fanned slowly with the motion of the softest of winds; the cloth waved with the sounds of cool breezes, a funnel of air echoed in a sound of a flute-like orchestra, whispering sweet nothings to the air. The brightest of light that moved through the long room, this sanctuary of a fortune, a goddess that stood upon a golden throne, wrapped around her in the form of strands of wings, fleeting and playing with the air?s whispers. The skies around this heavenly place filled with clouds of fluff, swirling in a canvas of a sunset?s final story for the day; the yellow shine turning slowly to a hue of scarlet, peeking just beyond the horizon like a child trying to listen in on the sweet musings of her parents.

No sweet musings were for this day, only a man kneeling before the goddess, scarred and beaten, it would be hard to distinguish the man behind the scars and wounds, some gashes still fresh with the deepest of crimson tapping almost a bit too loudly on marbled floors. He held his head down, breathing heavily almost of a man who ran a thousand leagues, maybe more, perhaps climbed the towers of Babel, to heaven itself, or perhaps close to it. Torn leather chest piece moved with every heave of his chest, a gasp or two for breath withheld by the animal hide.

The goddess had stood silent, the smallest sorrowed smiles playing in her lips, an expression almost motherly, where no other word was uttered did her command, more to her wish, came to truth. The attendant beside her bowed slowly before running towards the youth that knelt across the halls, falling beside the wounded figure, hands reaching to his side where the buckles of his chest guard held it in place, flipping the metal clamp to release, a heavy grunt, almost a sound escaping his lips before the small attendant flitted back beside the throne, bowing low with a flourish.

The leather fell with a dull thud, a hand quick to reach upon his chest as he drew in the deepest of breaths, taking in all the air that he could almost to think that this was the last air he would ever breathe. He hastened quickly, almost forgetting who he was or where he was, in a motion that would betray his state; if only at the moment did the panic from being before such a being fell over him. He reached behind his belt, upon the broken blade that wrapped around his back, an artifact of power, but a corrupted power that was already broken and no more than the smallest of enchantment, and curse, in the blade held; it would never sharpen nor dull.

But he was weak, he felt it while he tried to move the weapon from behind him, his motion to present the broken sword towards his host could only push the steel barely an inch or two before him, but he dared not look up. A moment passed before he heard the lithe footsteps of her attendant, the same attendant that had freed his breath, move up to take the blade. He tried to peer up, to steal a glance, to try to obtain a bearing of the figure before him only to realize that it was not the attendant but the goddess herself.

?Yuuko-sama?? he could barely utter the words, barely speak, but he tried to raise every painful letter, every tone clamoring to make some sense, any sense to reach the shortest of distances.

She waived it off only to smile knowing that while the young man stared upon the marbled floors, her motion would truly mean nothing. She looked over the blade for a moment, a query forming upon her eyes though slowly to bring her breath to silence the question in her mind.

Another question formed, though, as she slowly knelt to move closer to him, moving the wrapped blade down by his side, a gentle finger running lightly upon the top of his head then a palm, the same sad smile played slowly across her lips. The pass of her fingers brought the smallest sense of life into him, wounds that were opened stopped their bleeding waterfalls and closed wounds scarred up slowly until only calluses remained where the fall of blood and flesh to open air once were.

?For that, you owe me a story.? She spoke in a tone both motherly and playful, a gentle hand running lightly upon his shoulder, urging him to sit up, to look upon her, stubborn as his eyes were to stay cast down to the floors.

The young man hesitated, placing his hands lightly upon the leg guards of battered steel across his thighs and legs, perhaps there once was more to protect him, one would wonder, but now only the steel lower armor held, almost to shake his head, the motion of the goddess gently placed a hand upon his with another slow touch moving gently to his chin, a mother humorously scolding a child, ?I am not omniscient, you know. You have met the princess; that is all I could see. Please, fill in the gaps for me. I believe this to be fair as an introduction to what you would ask of me, is it not??

He nodded slowly, hand upon hers moving away to the blade to the side, the scraps of cloth that bound it as a scabbard slowly peeled to reveal the broken blade, the runes upon it faded and the only the smallest scent of darkness left into it, his voice raspy and tired, ?Believe it or not, the blade has little connection with her.?

She noticed the gentle familiarity of a friend upon his actions with his motion that slowly ran to reveal the blade, an amused smile playing upon her lips, the chatter of her attendant in the background falling over from her perch on the throne, shouting out confused, ?Then what?s with the knife?!?

He ignored the question, slowly trying to regain his composure, smiling at the joke he mused, sitting cross legged before the goddess, the blade back to the floors with the soft clang of steel, ?I was a blacksmith??

?I lived in the small town of Faard, near the edge to the ruins of the tower of some ancient warlock that time had forgotten though apparently scholars have not. Each day, a mustached gentleman would enter my shop with a band of his merry men, with picks and hammers and axes and blades that needed fine tuning for the work they would perform. Their money was good, their task noble, in my thoughts, and with no reason not to, I accepted the work. It had fallen into place since I inherited the small shop from my parents, and I was glad for things. I had work, I had food, I had plenty of interesting people entering my little shop in the edge of civilization; it was a good life.

?Please do not put into your mind that I was some master craftsman, perhaps I wasn?t even that good of a smith, but I was the only smith in town; or as one of these fine mustached gentlemen would say, my work had character though my conversations left not-so-much-but-still-substantial to be desired. I fixed their equipment, and what trailings and shavings were left I would gather, melt and shape into music boxes and toys for little girls and boys of the town and passing caravans, work that left me with nothing in my pocket but a satisfied feeling.

?The single day that would change my life, I found, was when one of my favorite customers, a young girl about five or six in age, time must?ve left me, came into my shop, shouting playfully even before I could turn, ?Oni-chan! It broke!?

?I remember that particular piece, one that I am proud of if I do say so myself, though one that you may not find that much for your eyes. An orb that opened up into a flower with a crudely drawn dancer, or what I remember of a dancer for such plays I have not seen in years, in an eternal turn to the soft music of Raindrops on the Sea Moon, a lute song that I could not play perfectly for the life of me, but turned out perfectly transcribing it into the mechanism of the music orb.

??Don?t run around with it so much!? I shouted back, a play in tone with my turn from the backrooms, wiping the soot of my arms with a dirty cloth, the little girl moving into my view with the evident ring of the bell that sat atop my door.

?With my entry upon the receiving area, I froze for a moment as the voice of my favorite customer was followed with another surprise, held in her hand was the music orb and in the other was a young woman, ?Oni-chan! Meet my friend! She?s pretty, isn?t she??

?I smiled and nodded slowly as she gave a deep bow, voicing softly, a silken tone that was sweet in its motion, ?It?s very nice to meet you.?

?I nodded a grunt and moved to silence for a moment, rubbing a hand on the back of my head, the awkward silence moved between us, though the little girl was still jumping up before me, shouting out, ??ni-chan! ?ni-chan! My toy!?

?I nodded slowly, leaning down towards the little girl, my favorite customer, pinching gently a cute little cheek, soot following my every touch, my free hand reaching for the orb in its silver, copper and iron incongruous mix, taking the little girl as well with a roar from my throat, almost like a monster, lifting her up to sit upon the stool just before the counter.

?She sat with a giggle, patting the stool next to her towards the young woman, a smile curling the edge of her lips, waving her body around in a sort of song in her head as she voiced, ??ne-san, sit!?

?She smiled slowly, running her fingers lightly upon her pale skirt, the hem with the brocade embroidery of silver flowers adorned and accented by the ivory color of her slippers, walking with a bit of grace in a few steps, patting my favorite customer in the head with a smile to me, her brown, a little red or it?s just the light, maybe auburn hair waving for a moment with the weave of the sunlight that flowed through my windows, a broken window, but a window non-the-less.

?I sat upon the bench across her, tinkering with the small gadget, making soft clinks and even softer swears which I dared not speak especially in front of company. The both of my audience watched intently, perhaps in thought that what I was doing was akin to a doctor?s hand or a mage?s weave of a spell, intent in every motion as the mechanism formed back to as good as it was before, though that is not saying much.

?A click and a flush of dust, perhaps a bit too much scraped from my own tinkering, brought the small orb back to life, the dancer in the middle playing her eternal turn around to impress a man she loved with the song that bards would play on the night of hearts festival playing against the background. The little girl?s eyes lit up slowly as did the young woman?s, where I had just noticed she had moved my favorite customer from her seat and embraced upon her lap.

?The little girl smiled, the young woman smiled; it felt good.

?A moment of listening to the tune, the little girl yawned almost in unison with the young woman, the little girl leaning back against her form, her eyes moving back up to me, a tired expression as it was, the mumble on the little girl?s voice, ?I wanna nap, ?ni-chan??

?I nodded slowly, pointing the young woman at the couch, fairly clean upon the meeting room, rarely sat upon for who would wait a half-a day for the repairs of his steel goods and metal trinkets in this old shop? A small couch that usually was just a resting place for my favorite customer on her afternoon visits and my bed those tired nights where going up to my room would be too cumbersome.

?She moved slowly, holding the little girl in her arms, plopping to sit, her eyes wavering for a moment, though she tried to give me back another smile. She pulled up her legs, holding the little girl like a pillow, allowing the small, pig-tailed head to rest upon her shoulder, leaning her head to the cushion and closing her eyes.

??I?ll try to work quietly?? I whispered from the distance, barely enough so only we could hear.

?She shook her head slowly, placing gentle hands upon the little girl?s ears, trying to look upon me with the sweetest of smiles and gentlest of motions, ?No, please. Work as you would. I wouldn?t mind and I?ll keep the noise from reaching her.?

?I could not voice a reply while she returned to rest, my eyes upon the two, a faint smile playing upon my lips, a voice almost forced itself out of my lips as I traced the wisps of hair upon her face, carried gently with the winds that rushed into my home through warped wood walls and broken glass, ?You?re right, she is pretty??

?I could not work that afternoon, but I didn?t mind.

?The evening came with the sound of my favorite customer?s mother and a basket jingling with goodies for myself and my guest, an afternoon?s reward, the voice of the mother reaching out to me with the usual, ?I hope she wasn?t too much trouble.?

?I waived away the thought, taking a cream puff, peeling off the top slowly to reveal the creamy center then tapping the sweet filling lightly upon the nose of the little girl, a giggle playing from her lips as she took the pastry, trying to lick away the goo on her nose. The young woman beside me laughed softly as well as the mother and daughter moved out of the door, the ringing of my bell atop accenting their exit with the little girl waving the cream puff, cream side towards us. The young woman waved back slowly, the sincerest of smiles I have ever seen upon her lips, almost moving to a sadder expression upon the parting.

?She fell silent for a moment, in thought as she stared down upon the floors, upon the wood parallels that lined the bottom of my little shop. I scrounged within the basket for a moment bringing out a chocolate scone, a cone-like pastry I gently placed upon her head similar to some sort of party hat. A laugh reached her lips with a smile that played upon my expression.

?We spoke for that evening and late into the night, about nothing that I could clearly remember, but I remembered she had a wonderful smile, and I had caught myself trying to think of something, anything, to make her happy. The late of night came and she sorrowed in her expression.

?I shook my head slowly, a shrug moving my shoulders with my voice that rang out almost carelessly, ?The inn is full right now with the relic hunters...? I took in a breath, tapping lightly against my chin, a stretch and a yawn to stare upon the ceiling for a moment, then back in thought, ?You could sleep upstairs, I just changed the sheets this morn??

?Everything else was a blur with her gratitude quickly turning to a hesitant look, tilting her eyes back to the couch, turning her gaze to the ground. I almost knew what she had thought, what had crossed her mind, placing a hand lightly against her shoulder with a shake of my head. I jumped upon the couch, bouncing a bit, stretching my arms with an expression of over-acting extreme comfort, leaning back into a fake sleep.

?She almost wanted to speak but I muttered in an imitation of sheepish voices, though I would think my mimic was a very bad one, ?I?m sleeping, bother me in the morning??

?I could?ve sworn I heard a soft laughter from her, the wave of her skirt moving her with the sound of the winds accenting her grace while she turned for the stairs. I opened single eye, the smallest peek as she stepped slowly up the stairs, perhaps a sight that is branded in my brain for what it was and how the scene had played. The half-moon?s light pierced through the skies, through the broken portions of my windows and the warp holes of my walls, gaining light with the fizzle to silence of the sole candle that kept our night illuminated. She stepped once, a wave of her dress and a tilt of her hair, the moon?s caress shining lightly upon her skin, gently flowing upon the light of her face to the pale crimson of her lips, the smile that curled upon her lips, that played upon her expression. Another step and the moon had reached her eyes, reflecting through the silver light the slightest of shade, the tinge reflecting from her eyes across the room.

?Slowly, she moved away from sight, up to the room, a one bed room with nothing else but that bed and a closet. I wish I could?ve given her more.

?That late into the night, staring into the moon from the hole just upon the corner of my wall, I could not bring myself to sleep. Try to close my eyes, all my thoughts would not stop, the rush from some form of bliss running through my chest would not give me a moment?s silence. I sat up from the couch, shaking my head for the shortest of moments, a moment fleeting and quick in passing with my stand from the seat, stepping off to the back room, to the anvil and smithy, taking care of each step to fall into silence. The small part of the night was spent on gathering scraps of metal, though finding none to complete a work, my frustration moved me to the ground, sweat dripping upon the warmth of the room.

?Upon the moment, my eyes fell up to the old blade that sat across the room, resting silently against a barrel, a gift of a mustached man of a carbon steel blade enchanted before with a minor dark gift from an imp or some other minor demon, maybe a goblin, now purified by a priest from the past, now the same mustached relic hunter. Half would be enough, a good blade whose quality would not deteriorate nor will it increase in quality no matter the technique used. Half would be enough, I brought into my thoughts, into my musings.

?The sun rose slowly before I could even notice with my tinkering on the work bench, filing the metal molded through the night, fixing the springs and sprockets, the gears that turned and the threaded steel that wrapped. The fatigue had almost taken over, perhaps I was just a man after all, but that morning as the softest of lights reached into my small waiting room, upon the end grain of the counter slowly reaching towards a cracked top, just upon my softest cheers of accomplishment, I heard footsteps from above, gentle footsteps down the stairs.

?Her figure moved upon my sight, playing with the light of the new day, the hem of her skirt waving slowly with each step as she met my glance with a smile and a wave. I almost smiled back when a rush came from the door.

My little bell on top of the door that would ring so clearly was now broken, shattered with my heavy door, the red wood splintering and spilling to the floor, a tall, agile man rushing in, fist quick to reach around my neck, wrapping around my collar, shoving me to a wall. I gasped for breath as a robed figure moved through the broken doors, shaking his head with a heavy sigh.

?I could barely hear the small utterance, ?Kyuu~?

?The ninja and the magician.? The goddess spoke almost knowingly, tracing a finger lightly across his forehead, upon the scar that opened up with his excitement over the conversation, the trickle of blood upon his face quick to disappear with the flourish of a healing light.

He nodded slowly, bowing a small thank you, falling into silence once again, his eyes trailing a tuft of clouds that reached across the distance, a feather into the sky reaching up to heaven only to disappear slowly into nothingness.

She nodded slowly, the goddess standing from the ground turned upon the motion to return to her seat, gently leaning back upon the throne a small smile playing across her lips, her eyes half open in thought, her voice now barely a whisper, ?Thank you for a wonderful story.?

?I wanted to help her?? it was all that he could say, tightening a fist with a clang against his thigh guards, the voice through gritted teeth with the slowest shake of his head, ?But I knew banging on metals and peddling baubles was not enough??

?And you came to me.? She spoke softly, simply.

?The feathers?? he spoke calmly, standing upon his feet, the white shirt stained with crimson falling limply against his form, broken blade placed back within the secure strap on his belt, and the smith?s hammer that dangled upon his side, almost in unison to speak the intention, ?I want to find them.?

The goddess bit her lip, eyes cast down upon the floors with a sorrowed expression upon her face. Her attendant was about to speak though she would not hear any of it, waving the words off with a light hand upon the winds.

She whispered softly, gently, a hopeless tone upon her voice, her breath moving almost labored in the weight of her words, ?You have nothing of worth to trade.?

The young man?s shoulders moved to a slump, a truth he knew since he began this fool?s errand, a truth that he knew would come to haunt him now that he was here. It played in his mind, fighting the goddess, defying her words and demanding what he desired but he quickly dismissed it. She had shown him nothing but kindness, and what did he have to bargain with but a broken blade, an old hammer and a soul of folly; nothing worth the time of anyone, much more a goddess, a fortune of heaven.

He turned slowly, taking a step upon the marble floors, a slow and agonizing step to the ends of the hall, hundred or less more then to the edge, to the steep descent, from the heavens down the tower of Babel. He clenched his fist with the frustration that had filled in his heart, but he knew there was no more to gain here.

?He gave up, just like that?? the attendant whispered a bit too loud upon the side, a quick shush from the gentle goddess though it would seem he did not hear, or he just did not care enough what was said now and hereafter.

His steps were slow, cured of his cuts and wounds, of the spill of blood from everything in him, he was still tired, but he moved with each step toward the ends of the hall.

The goddess stood up slowly from her seat of gold, the reflection of the last sunlight fading slowly into the moon?s full light, a few quick steps before she spoke, ?Where will you go then??

He paused from his step, thumb running lightly upon the rounded edge of his hammer, eyes falling to the ground with a voice almost losing all sense of hope and faith, clenched fist trying to hold back the tone of his voice, a resulting monotone of what he had tried to convey, ?I will find a way to get those feathers to her??

She shook her head slowly, a tear rushing down her cheek, a labored breath deep into her chest with another step towards him, her voice faint, almost a pitiful cry for him to stop, ?You understand of the impossible.?

?I will not let her die!? he shouted loud across the halls, his voice reaching echoes through the pillars and sheets of silk that waved with his cry, fluttering up to the skies and falling slowly, limply to silence, the winds seeming to run away from his words.

?I lied?? she whispered softly, a closer step and a moment that silence moved through, enough of a moment for the wind to pass through once again, ?I am omniscient. I could see the spans of time only when time permits.?

He turned slowly, about to speak though quick to be silenced as she raised her hand, her voice a bit hesitant with the realities of the extent of power, even for the heavens, ?I could see how the feathers would be obtained, though not all of them.? She urged him closer, to move nearer to her, to come and hear a secret so fragile it would shatter were it spoken louder.

The young man made his way forward, moved towards her in a slow step.

Upon a step or two closer to her, the goddess whispered softly, ?I could also see one feather where the storms of confusion and shadows of fate render me impossible to see through.? Her eyes fell sadly upon the floors, tracing the intricate design upon the edge of the walkway, ?Guarded by a hellhound in the darkness of the underworld, chained upon the strands of destiny that keeps it locked away, and I fear that it feeds on the strength of the mystic in one?s soul.?

She took in a breath, turning to look out upon the endless skies, the endless sea of stars with the moon as the lone boat rocking along the waves, ?I could see that you would not, could not obtain any feathers.? She drew in a lump from her throat, the truth spilling out perhaps a bit too difficult, even for the divine, ?But you could clear the path to this one feather, you could do what could kill her and her companions in trying.?

The confused expression in his face brought a sense of panic in her eyes, shaking her head off an imaginary headache, whispering softly, ?Your soul is of no great heritage nor of mystic strength.? She bit her lip for a moment, trying to fix her tone to such a way that would reveal the words without insult, finding only the truth the right way to speak, ?Your soul is that of a lesser man, and perhaps in this would be your strength. The hellhound would not be able to draw from you??

?Show me the way.? He spoke in between her words, a resolute tone, a straight fact of what had to be done, what he should do, nothing more but a reckless abandon.

She had never heard of such a tone, his tone, a resolute silence and assured motion, he would not falter, perhaps he could even survive, the foolish though crossed her mind, and in one way or another, she might have believed her words.

No more of such words were needed, she turned quickly as a dark doorway opened from the center of the audience chamber, a motion to hide the tear that rushed once again down her cheek, no words could sway him, no more words other than the final advice, ?The left front paw??

The young man, the blacksmith, nodded his thanks, almost gaining a demonic haste and strength, perhaps truly a demon to stand against the demon. He leapt into the open arms of death, the portal dark and brooding, souls reaching out to him just upon the step; pure walls of the heavens against the lift of velvet silks that played with the skies and cotton clouds like fluff of pillows quickly replaced by a wall of souls, a dark wall of the tormented, reaching towards him, shouting, screaming at his ear.

He pulled away quickly; he knew what had to be done.

Blade in hand, he rushed to the other side of the fields of darkness, heat blistering warmer than the largest forge in a capital city armory, thorns of rocks, or more of blades and spears of hatred, littered the fields with their maddened tips cursing the skies. Swirls of flame rushed from across the open air, whirlwinds of fire pulsing, crushing through the world as each moment a quake would rush through.

He breathed in the smoke, the heavy air that rushed deep into his lungs, the memories of the endless nights in the forge rushed into his mind. Sulfur, the scent of rotten eggs and spoiled milk filled his nose, his mouth, his throat, but it was as if he had come to live in such a world of ceaseless warmth and endless suffering.

A tremor rocked the worlds and he fell against a pillar of rock blades, a heavy gash running through his shoulder, the blood a splatter to steam with their motion upon the grounds of the madness within this creation of the darkest ends. Another tremor to fall upon a man, half his body stuck under the earth, clamoring to him, begging him to take him away from the torment. He pulled away quickly; his mind had nothing else within, nothing to hold him back, nothing to keep him from what he would do.

The long stride to the hellhound caught him by surprise, the beast three times his size with the fangs that could tear men into shreds, had been behind a blind curve from a blade pillar, and the dark creature had tasted blood, his blood.

The hound roared loud against the endless screams of the tormented, stamping a foot upon the floors with the spit of liquid flame rushing up and of fire swirling and spiraling. The blacksmith twisted his form, his back pierced by tiny pellets of sharp rock, crimson liquid rushing from behind him, though he was not quick enough. The flames singed through the side of his arm, the scent of burnt flesh wafting over him, breathing against him in dark spirals.

But he was gone, it was no longer him that moved through the swath of blades that pushed up from the floors, not him that rushed through the flames, soot and ash covering his face and form, not him that tumbled with each tremor that rocked this death for a world.

It was no longer him but a desire.

He will not let her die.

He rushed with a roll, below the belly of the beast, the clich?d Achilles heel, the left front paw had a soft spot of flesh just winking and praying to be done with by the broken blade. He could almost feel the steel rush with anticipation as he struck through the flesh of the beast, piercing soft skin and muscle, through to the bone.

The hellhound screamed to the skies of black, falling to the side, taking the blacksmith in his fall, lifting him off the ground, the beast wailing and screaming, rocking back and forth through the madness of this world.

He pulled the blade and leapt upon the beast?s head, a stab and a rush through its eyes sent its screams crushing upon his ears. He pulled the blade as he leapt down, only to meet a heavy paw jabbing at him, throwing him off to a pillar, he could almost hear the crack of his ribs, had he still the ability to hear. With his fall, he could feel the rush of the hellhound, a limping charge towards him with every amount of rage rushing upon the blacksmith, a bull?s parade.

Upon the moment, he saw it, the feather that hung silently upon the lock atop the rock formation of some sort of evil lord which held the hellhound by the leash; the beauty of such feather, the stark contrast of white and the purity as to grace this world of madness. Upon his fall, he twisted upon the ground, turning on the floors towards the beast, his blade quick to rush up against the jaw of the mad dog as he rushed through him, the momentum of the run had taken it to a quick flip over and above, its form falling heavily towards the spike that had cracked the blacksmith in half, the tip of the point falling to the beast?s belly, impaling the hellhound in place.

It squirmed for a moment, pathetic yelps forming upon its jowls, foam upon its mouth through a rush of flames that swallowed through the flesh of the beast.

The young blacksmith stared upon the carcass, still moving from the warmth of air wafting above and below.

He blinked once?

He turned his head across the distance, upon the feather that fluttered just above the diabolic statue, a rush of blood escaping his lips, down into a crimson steam off the ground.

He blinked a second time?

The world had gone to silence with the madness of tormented souls screaming almost gone into nothing more than whispers of echoes, all he could hear was the softest of her laughter, without a world in sight, and without a world he could see.

He closed his eyes?

The blade fell from his hands, hearing the voice of the goddess soothing upon his mind,

A feather for a feather, that is the bargain
The feather that bears your memory
And of your memory to the world
For the path to the guardsman?s feather
The old guardsman who stood by her door each night
The guardsman who would sing an old poem while she slept
A feather of you when gone would be of no need
A feather she needs not to live
Each soul will forget your existence
Each soul will live on without you
The world will move on without your memory

The voice, gentle and kind, choked upon the end, barely forcing out the words, ?I?m sorry.?

The pain rushed through, but he could not shout. He held across his belly, across the heavy gash and the dark liquid that had spilled, trying to hold back what was left.

As he felt the darkness wash over him, losing all feeling in himself, slowly, silently, he smiled.



A crash echoed across the encampment, a young woman looking over an orb that held within a crudely crafted dancer, such a statue that only one who had not seen a dancer in years could craft, twirling softly in a hauntingly slowed theme, a melody that had slowed with the damage of the crash, singing softly, sweetly, the tune of Angel?s Wings, a melody that fell to silence, with the final twirl of the dancer, her eternal dance would never come to see the light of the world again.

She held her breath as tears rushed from her eyes, drops of moisture falling upon the grounds. She held herself close, staring upon the rubbish, the shattered pieces of the toy, the sphere that held the dancer from imagination and the song of a thousand wishes of the heart.

She whispered softly to herself, through the tears, asking for the reason for the sorrow that wrapped around her heart at such a moment, of the sorrow that fell upon her at such a moment.

Three figures rushed from behind her, looking down upon the ruined toy.

A heavy shake of the head from a tall, agile man followed by his voice accented a tone of separation, ?Looks like it isn?t really much of anything really.?

?Kyuu~? the robed figure stepped forward and leaned down beside the young woman, looking over the collection of twisted metal, ?It was made of subpar metals, and the construction was shoddy at best. Do not worry, there are better such trinkets out there. I?m sure we can find you the best one.?

A young man placed a hand on her shoulder, looking sadly over the pile of scrap, whispering softly, ?Don?t worry, it doesn?t matter anymore. We?ll get you a new...?

?It does matter!? she shouted, gathering the pieces in her palms.

In haste, she pricked the side of her hand, though the red that trailed down to the floors did not matter, her tears falling upon the collection of metal, the words moved through her lips from the blur of tears, ?It does matter??