[Escutcheon, Cranagan City] [February 15th, MC 081] [2143 hours]
The night was silent, broken only by the intermittent hoots of owls and the buzz of nocturnal insects filling the air. The pale, full moon hung in its heavenly cradle, its ageless eye gazing down upon the mortals below. A chill, stiff wind blew across her face, brushing her midnight-blue hair lightly. She was alone on the east-wing roof of the base, her favorite spot in the west-wing having been destroyed by the recent attack. Strange though it might sound, she found the darkness welcoming, hiding her within its shadowy embrace away from the scrutiny of others.
From below her, tiny sounds could be heard as foremen barked orders at their workers to clean up the area. A glaring beam of light from a heavy-duty spotlight used by the maintenance crew flashed briefly across the roof, temporarily wiping the cloak of darkness off of her. She recoiled as if she had been struck, retreating from the edge to fall back into the darkness once more. Her breathing quickened and sweat beaded on her forehead. Disorientation gripped her, nausea churned her stomach, and she trembled, her hands and knees feeling weak.
Leona stumbled backwards and managed to clutch the side-arm of the bench, stabilizing herself before she tripped over. She took a seat and, with a mighty effort, calmed herself, drawing one deep breath after another.
Breath in, breath out, she chanted the mantra to herself. It was slow, but eventually her breathing returned to normal. Her heart stopped pounding madly against her chest, and she ceased to tremble.
Still, her hold on the bench’s side-arm was steel such that the whites of her knuckles could be seen.
What is wrong with me? she thought silently. Hair wetted by her sweat clung to her face like newly spun spider’s silk, but she could not be bothered to remove them. Instead, she covered her face with both hands, as if by doing so she would be able to smother the feeling of unease that had hounded her. It was very unnatural and rare for her to have such a tremendous moment of weakness, something that she had not experienced in a long time. The last time it happened, it …
Leona decided not to revisit her memories. But, it was without doubt that there was a clarity with which she had felt the same urge rising up from deep inside her: a hot, fiery rush of something that had lain dormant within her, awakened on the moment she had not expected. With the swell also came a horrible pain that she could not feel physically, but it wracked her body and left it weakened, just like what happened moments before—an intense feeling of nausea and confusion, as if she was about to release whatever monster inside her through her very mouth and, in the act of doing so, would find her mind no longer hers.
Yes, she was very certain she had experienced the same thing before, yet she knew not the reasons why.
Something was bottled up within her, sealed by a force that contained the unknowns through her will. Something terrible and forgotten, like ancient beasts of the darkest nightmares, rattling deep within the cages of her mind. The sentries of her mental fortress had fallen asleep, a deep magical slumber that diffused through the chill, stiff winds of the winter landscape. Upon the frigid wasteland of her mind, the familiar black tower rose above the steel-gray skies, its pinnacle lost in the far-reaching mists. No one was around, and none was expected to be, for this was her mindscape.
Slowly, she trudged forward to the tower, the deep snow impeding her movement not in the slightest. She soon reached the front of the tower, and she stopped, gazing at the enormous doors that shimmered golden in the feeble sunlight. There was but a single lock that barred her access into that realm, but it had no keyhole with which she was to unlock it. Neither did she have the key if she intended to.
Faint recollections gave her no impression of what was hidden within, yet her conscience warned her of the dire ramifications that would follow should she be slave to her immense curiosity. A dark, stifling aura emanated from the prison, and any typical creature would be wise to stay off from its vicinity. Yet, she moved lightly forward, ignoring the threatening atmosphere. Against her conscience, Leona was curious, wanting to see what was locked behind the looming black tower, which she was sure would answer everything …
There was no need to unlock the doors. Two thin, covered slots were located equilaterally on each door, and if she could find a way to push it away lightly, she would be able to glimpse inside. Surely, this would be very safe, and then everything would be all right …
She tiptoed to reach one of the slots and, with one hand, gave a little push …
Yes! It was easier than she thought. The cover gave way with very little effort. It was clear now, and very slowly, she peered through the opening …
A horrendous shriek ripped through the winter wasteland, a bloodcurdling scream of horror that would chill listeners to their cores. It was Leona who uttered the shattering cry. She fell backwards, landing on her back painlessly, and screamed, her lungs bursting for air. Clumsily, she clawed her way up and ran as fast as her feet would carry her. Everything had become clear in that instant even though fragments of her memory remained unfound. Still, she understood now, of what was troubling her so much it was living agony. Tears streamed down her mental self, mortified at her discovery. So immense was the dread and revulsion she witnessed that she fled, away from the golden doors, away from the tower …
And away from the gazing crimson eye that bled fire …
Leona snapped her head so hard that her neck cricked, but she felt none of it. Huge, surging waves of the same sinister feelings drowned her, choked her so deeply that she thought her lungs had failed to function. Her entire being was being suffused with overwhelming dread, her body trembling so violently she must had cried out loud, though she was not entirely sure at all later if she actually did. For one frightful moment, she felt an instance of lifelessness, of her heart stopping to beat for a full second, denying her body of vigor, and her spirit entering a gaping abyss of no end.
In the trice, she was sure she had met Death in its darkest glory, a shadow so complete it devoured all else around her.
And as soon as that ghastly imagery had appeared, it vanished, returning colors to Leona’s world. It was dusky and gloomy, but there were vague hues she could identify other than absolute blackness. Though it took longer than the first, her erratic spasms stilled after some time, and she could once again focus in the real world. Dews of sweat trickled down her hot cheeks, but the cool night wind soon brought her warmth back to normal.
The spotlight turned in her direction again, illuminating the roof with its powerful beam, and in its light she could see the purple of morning glories, the gold and yellow of chrysanthemums, the red and pink of roses, and the spring green of young leaves. For the first time in her life, she was appreciative of these small, little things she had never considered important before.
Something dropped out of her left hand when she relaxed it, before which she had clenched very tightly during the episodic attack. It glimmered like a tiny star and hit the ground, producing a sweet, melodious tinkling sound. It rolled some ways before falling to its side, tinkling once again and then became silent. Leona made no move to reclaim it, sitting quietly on her bench while her eyes gazed at the distant object that shone silver in the dark.
As she sat there unmoving, her mind began to trail again, though recent events came to the surface instead of the harrowing journey back into the recesses of her memory. After the meeting, which was made shorter by Tesla’s brilliant stratagem that received everyone’s approval immediately, they had left, attending to their own duties and doing their own things (and Gabriel got the nap he desired).
Like the others, she was exhausted, after keeping up well into the night yesterday to get the records and examining them until late in the morning. Something, however, kept Leona’s mind occupied. She slept on the makeshift bed (in the large tent that the Wolkenritter had temporarily took residence), but slumber did not come easily. Dreams haunted her, dreams of wild lands, breathtaking civilizations, and unbelievable occurrences. She then flew across Mid-childa, witnessing various events unfold through her own eyes. Most she could recognize immediately, some were vague shadows without outlines, and there were even blank voids of emptiness. There were wisps of sounds and ribbons of colors, and she heard and saw things she never remembered actively participating on.
And, at the final leg of the lifetime-long journey-like dream, she returned to the War Room where they had just concluded the day’s meeting. The Book of Dawn floated gently, its master nowhere in sight. The pages were open and, in the same exact presentation this afternoon, had a small sphere of light aloft, displaying the unified sigil of the original people.
Argeissa Valiana.
Yet, there were some differences to this scene. There were voices, but they were not the voices of those who were present in the meeting today. Instead, there was a sort of hymnal chant, light, mesmerizing, calm. It was soft and enveloping, a warm and soothing feeling that cloaked its listeners in a serene embrace. And ever so slightly, the sigil would shimmer with a gentle luminescence of its own.
Why am I seeing this? Leona silently asked herself, as if her mental self was alive. Strangely, when she did that, she really felt as she was
truly living at the moment and not as a mere shadow of the mind. In any case, she did not remember having seen this before. At least, she thought she never had.
Two shadows moved behind the soft radiance of the sigil, one seemingly kneeling before the other. Try as she might, she could not walk forward and close the distance between them. It was as if when she moved, the entire room moved with her. She gave up and just stood where she was, watching the scene from afar. To her surprise, the shadows spoke, and it was louder than the whispers of the chant she heard just now.
“Schatten regieren eine schwankende Welt. Erhebe dich mein Kind, das vom Lichte auserwählt (Shadow’s reign a faltering world. Rise my child, chosen of Light),” the one standing said, her voice sonorous and deep.
“Unseres Vaters segen, Seine heilige Macht (Our Father’s blessing, His sacred might),” the one kneeling responded.
Is this some sort of oath or a blessing ceremony? And it’s in … Belkan? Leona was taken aback.
“Sendet euren Schrei, unseren göttlichen Ruf. Glaube und Wahrheit schützen euch, unseres Mutters Engel (Send thy cry, our divine call. Faith and Truth guard thee, our Mother’s angels),” the first one spoke again.
Finally, the one being blessed concluded:
“Wandle den Pfad, ehrenhaft und furchtlos, und die Hoffnung wird die Unheiligen zerschmettern. (Walk the path, honored and fearless, and hope wilt shatter the ones unholy.).”
With that, the matriarch took the blessed child’s right hand upon her left, and very gently, slipped a glittering object onto the index finger. At that particular moment, the floating sigil blazed like a white sun, so bright and intense that Leona was forced to close her eyes tightly and bring her hands up to shield against the blinding brilliance.
And she opened her eyes some time later to find herself awake, no traces of the mystical experience remaining. She blinked several times, trying to get her focus, and she had to concede that she was really awake.
Wyrd informed her that it was 1726 hours, which meant that she had only slept for an hour. The thoughts of what she had just witnessed kept appearing in her mind; as much as she wanted to return to her sleep, she knew that it was long foregone. No one was around in the tent, so she pulled her blanket away and walked into the base, following a spiraling stairwell up to the roof, her mind a whirling turbulence as she wondered about the ‘dream’.
She was halfway up when she reached a landing with a window and silvery moonlight filtered through the glass-pane. What was supposed to be a quick glance to the world outside became something different altogether: the vast moon had become the sigil, enormous and radiant, but the skies took on a startlingly bright crimson tone … as if it was a sea of blood. A strange dirge filled the air, mournful, sorrowful. There was a deeply heartrending and lamentable overture in the entire panorama, but without knowing why, Leona could only feel utter, unadulterated horror at the sight.
She closed her eyes, shying away from the window and trying to shut the image out of her mind. A minute had run past before she slowly opened her eyes, one at a time, one tiny crack after another. The moon had resumed its natural form, a sagely muse of the night. The skies were dark and thickly clouded. There were no peculiar shapes and strange discolorations anymore. No weird hymns that came out of nowhere. Leona blinked several times, and the world remained normal. Shaking her head, she dismissed the scene just now as mere figments of her imagination, illusions built by her physical and mental exhaustion.
She collected her cloak together to keep herself warm and resumed her journey upwards. She reached it shortly after and, turning the knob slowly, she drew open the door. The place was empty. Slowly, she moved towards the wood-paneled bench, basking in the calm and tranquility of the area. Despite having adapted to life in the city, Leona was a naturalist at heart, and she enjoyed the respites offered by such escapes from hectic urbanism. In fact, she was thankful for the ingenious architects who designed the base and seamlessly integrating such sites within its sophisticated walls, however small those nature-filled spots were.
A tiny chatter caught her up short in her pace, and she scanned the place around. A small shadow scurried quickly from behind a potted plant and stopped when it saw her. The furry creature stood on its two hindlegs, observing Leona with its luminous eyes, determining her hostility. When she did not move at all, the creature blissfully returned to its activity. It ran to the nearest pot of climbing legumes, planted there and diligently taken care of by the cook, and began digging, apparently looking for food.
Leona rarely smile, but this was one such special occasion when she did. She did not expect to see a squirrel on the roof; it must have wandered into it by accident. Then again, there was plenty of food here, so it might not have been coincidence. Nevertheless, she went to another pot, which already had maturing seeds sprouting around the pole support. She thought the cook would not mind having several strings of beans taken, which would be far better than having the entire pot destroyed, so she took what she needed and then returned slowly to the creature. Gently, she knelt on floor, and picked the beans apart, taking only the seeds out. Then, she extended her hand forward silently.
The squirrel’s sensitive nose picked up the smell immediately, but hesitated when it saw the seeds on the hand of a human. It waited patiently, surveying her with its bright eyes. Moments passed before the squirrel finally decided that she was not hostile and happily, it came down from the pot it was digging and hurried to her. Within seconds, it was up on her hand, chewing on the seeds voraciously.
Leona smiled. “Little squirrel, there are enough seeds here for you and your family, if you have any,” she spoke gently with the furry rodent. “After you’ve eaten your fill, you can take these back to your drey. Don’t go eating through the potted plants, or the cook will be very angry when he finds out. It won’t be a very good thing if he does.” She stroked the bushy tail lightly, enjoying her quiet solitude with the little creature.
She was not sure how much time had passed, or how many of those seeds the squirrel had eaten, but very suddenly, it bristled as if it sensed something extremely unfriendly. With a high-pitched cry, it snapped and viciously clawed Leona’s hand, scattering the collected foods into the dim-gray darkness. It darted away and vanished into the corner, its chatter soon lost. Leona was so surprised she did not know how to react, and was reduced to gazing listlessly as the squirrel went out of sight.
She turned back, trying to find the source of the creature’s agitation. Her hand was bleeding from the wounds by the squirrel’s tiny but sharp claws. There was no pain. She brought it up closer for inspection, turning it around to see if anywhere else was hurt. As she examined the back of her hand, the vivid image of the ceremony in her dream returned, and this time another image came together.
The hand of the wounded Templar called Grandia Estrediel Paladien, his finger bearing a ring she had thought very familiar.
There was an immediate spark of recognition, painfully lucid such that Leona hesitated for a moment, hanging in the delicate balance between belief and doubt. Her memory was sluggish, but fragments of it were slowly trickling from a secret hold within her mind. She was sure of it now, of why she had thought the ring looked so familiar, of why she had fallen during the battle against the Templars when she took a fleeting glance at the design, of why did she feel the burning pain that lanced through her mind like a cruel spear of fire …
Through memory, she drew a symbol in the empty air, tracing a mystical circle with one finger. Magical energy flickered along the lines. When she was done, there was a small, brief burst of white light. She cupped her hand that had drawn the symbol, and something shiny fell out of the dimensional pocket into the cradle of her palm.
There was no mistaking it. Leona felt weak then, totally overcome by her own self. Great waves of fear throttled her, clutching around her heart like the death-claws of a demon. Everything was becoming so clear, so closely connected it was futile to deny. But, she was afraid, extremely afraid to the point of rejection. She trembled like a newborn awaking to an alien world, and sweat that beaded on her forehead fell like drops of dew onto the windswept floor of the roof. And she lay there, alone, like a child abandoned, crying to the night sky.
How long she had remained there, she was not sure, but she pulled herself up later, agonizingly slow. The bleeding had stopped itself, and even if it did not, she was not bothered by it in the slightest. She ambled forward, the object clutched tightly in her hand, and took a seat on the bench. A chill wind blew, rustling the leaves and blooming flowers. Her hair fluttered slightly before settling down again. Leona’s deep, dark eyes were solemn, sad even. And then …
“Dear everyone …”
It took monumental effort to begin, and an even greater effort to continue. She clutched her chest with her other hand, trying to calm her heart that was hammering against her bosom. Mixed feelings tore through her mercilessly, smothering her in their suffocating breaths. The stiff night wind stung her eyes, and she fought back tears that had misted her eyes. She was tremulous; she was scared. There were many things better men feared that she did not, but for now, she was facing her greatest one. And with a somber tone that she tried to keep neutral with much difficulty, she narrated the story in her mind.
Time passed along, its seconds marking the past, present, and future assiduously. Eventually, she was done: the record was finished, saved in her device.
She had then called Kratos, and asked him to bring Xeno and Gabriel to the roof. The silver-haired vice-captain had sensed something, but he did not question. Their communications closed, and Leona waited patiently, walking to the edge of the roof to watch the world below, and her episodes recurred, though much briefer than the first, perhaps because she was getting accustomed to it.
The object glittered innocently on the floor. Sighing, she pulled herself up and picked it up. At that moment, the door to the roof opened, and Kratos walked in with the other two. “You wanted to see us, Milady?” he asked peremptorily, though it was really redundant, since he was the one who was requested sent Xeno and Gabriel the message. Still, it was a good move to open a conversation that was expected to be awkward, and Leona appreciated that.
“Yes,” she replied, rising up from her kneeling position. “Come closer, and have a seat.”
Silently, the three obeyed. Then, Xeno’s sharp eyes noticed something. “Are you hurt, Milady? Your hand, it’s bleeding.”
“Ah … it’s nothing,” Leona said, having forgotten completely about her wounds.
“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Gabriel retorted. “There could be infection or something if you don’t close the wounds quickly. And what about the thing that cut you? Do you know what it was? Kratos, please take a look at Milady’s wounds.”
Kratos needed no instruction to do that. He had already taken her hand in his and a gentle white glow was enveloping them, repairing the cuts. “… A squirrel,” Leona replied softly.
“A squirrel?” Xeno was incredulous. Then, he grinned. “’ever noticed any around. Must’ve been a lucky encounter.”
“Xeno, I don’t particularly know whether your brain is damaged or your humor is downright foul,” Gabriel scowled darkly. “Milady’s
bleeding because of it, and you say it’s a
lucky encounter?”
“Well, I do think so, yes. In a manner of speaking, you need to go into the restroom to do some big business once in a while, and though it’s terribly annoying while you were enjoying a view or a movie or something, it is
wise that you go. It’s the same concept, but differently worded,” Xeno countered mildly.
Gabriel was flustered. “That’s two
entirely different things! Answering nature’s call is normal, but no humans want to bleed
naturally.”
“But, if they did, it’s not a terribly bad thing, either,” Xeno said, his everpresent grin infuriating Gabriel more and more as their exchange continued. “Something about replacing old blood cells with new ones, am I wrong?”
“Yes, but that can happen naturally. You don’t need to get hurt for your marrows to replace your blood cells,” Gabriel returned.
“Ah, then the squirrel must have been the catalyst to accelerate that process. Ain’t that good?” Xeno said.
“… One of these days, I’ll personally make sure you bleed all over so that you can have the blood replacement you need so badly,” Gabriel seethed quietly.
“Why, that’s very generous of you, Gab,” Xeno replied, his grin widening. “Make sure to find a hospital handy with enough supplies of A- and O-type blood. Mine’s A. It’ll be very bad if you happen to be the only one with blood compatible to mine. I’d hate to suck so much of your blood for my own. I might become a foul-tempered vampire, and
that is really not good for business,” he continued, winking mischievously.
Gabriel was on the verge of exploding with irritation when an expected laughter brought them up short. It was a rare, melodious laughter, one that was filled with genuine hilarity, yet at the same time inexplicably poignant. Even Kratos was surprised, his eyes looking wonderingly at the person who had chuckled.
Leona was laughing like a child, innocent and pure. And none of them had seen her like that before.
“I’m so sorry,” she said after she stopped. A smile adorned her pale face. “It’s just that you two have not changed much after all this while. You still like to go for each other’s throat when you’re together.”
“Well, tell
that to the oaf who constantly agitates me,” Gabriel fumed.
“Oh? But, a monkey should learn not to take the banana laid as bait,” Xeno returned mildly, grinning again. “It’s sad to know that this monkey doesn’t learn after all,” he said, shaking his head in theatrical dismay.
“Oh, come off it, you two!” Kratos said irritably. “The both of you should act your age. Especially you, Xeno, since you’re older than any of us here.”
“Thank you very much, Kratos!” Gabriel said, grateful for the backup.
“Oh well, obeying orders, Vice-Captain,” Xeno replied, bowing in a dramatic fashion. “It’s just so much fun poking at the runt.”
“Who are you calling a
runt?” Gabriel raged, shaking his fists.
“Ah, no one, actually,” Xeno said. “Unless, of course, you think you’re the one.”
“Oh, god, not again,” Kratos muttered, rolling his eyes. “Will you two monkeys stop prattling about so that we can listen to what Milady has to say? We’re not here to see you two perform gags, you know.”
“Kratos,” Leona said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“You know, I never realized it, but you’re definitely meaner than Xeno if you can say what you just said so casually without realizing it. I’m very disappointed in you,” she said, shaking her head.
“Wha—?” Kratos was taken aback.
“Just kidding!” She gave him a mischievous grin and winked devilishly. Kratos’s expression became blank, almost as if he had been struck dumb. Xeno and Gabriel howled with laughter.
“That was truly unexpected. You really took us by surprise, Milady. Our vice-captain here looked like he’s seen a pink crocodile,” Xeno commented after he managed to stifle his mirth. His grin, like always, was present.
Kratos was slightly indignant. “And I don’t see anything so funny about that.”
“Well, it is,” Gabriel said, gasping in between chortles. “It’s not often to see
you getting the stick, and it’s truly refreshing.”
“No truer word has been said, Gab,” Xeno agreed, nodding sagely.
“Ah, it’s just not my luck today. I’m getting socked by two brash monkeys,” Kratos sighed.
“You can always become one of us so that you’ll be spared,” Gabriel said, laughing.
“That isn’t too bad,” Leona said. “Kratos’ll become the gorilla king and you two will be his faithful servants … well, mostly plucking fleas from his fur,” she added with a serious face.
The four of them burst out laughing, throwing all care to the nightly winds.
“It’s been a while since we’ve been cracking silly jokes like this, hasn’t it?” Kratos said wistfully.
“Yes, it sure is,” Gabriel concurred. “It’s quite nostalgic.”
“Not like we haven’t been doing it regularly,” Xeno said. “It’s just more restrained. Nanoha-san and the rest are fine, but there are just some things that we find more comfortable within our own circle. I mean, imagine saying all those nonsense in front of Signum-san. I think we’ll die a gruesome death.” As soon as he finished, he shivered, though whether it was truly because of the night’s chill or not, no one could guess.
“There’s no doubt about
that!” Gabriel laughed. “I have a feeling she’ll roast us over slow fire, though.”
“Oh, get a grip on yourselves,” Kratos said exasperatedly. “You shouldn’t be saying things behind people’s back. Especially one who’s a higher standing than you do.”
“If I remember correctly, you did something similar about the commander, though,” Leona said, smiling. The wind blew from behind, causing her hair to billow in front of her face. Her cloak fluttered like a black shadow. For an instance there, the three of them saw a deep sadness welling within those midnight blue eyes of hers, though they were not sure if it was just their minds playing tricks on them. Leona raised her hand to pull the vagrant strands back, and they saw it no more.
“W-Well, yes,” Kratos admitted glumly. “But, I was really suspicious at that time. You know, you and he were …”
“I know. I’m grateful for it, but I’m sorry …” Leona apologized, her voice heavy. Kratos and the two looked at one another. An unspoken message passed between them: it was definitely not just their imagination this time.
“You don’t have to apologize, Milady,” Kratos said. “It’s not like it’s your faul—”
“No, it is mine, and mine alone,” Leona cut across him quietly. Her face was downcast, her eyes reflecting great sorrow. There was a thin smile, filled with regret and melancholy, a blend of bitter and sweet. “I’m sorry. So sorry …”
“Milady?” Gabriel asked tentatively, unprepared for the changes that had taken over Leona. “You look pale. What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
A slight inclination of her head was her only answer.
“You should probably sit down,” Xeno offered, his voice anxious. His usual grin was gone. He moved to help her, but Leona stopped him with one raised hand.
“No, it’s all right …” she said weakly. “I’m fine.”
“You neither sound nor look like one,” Kratos persisted.
“Please …” she pleaded. “Let me just gather my thoughts and courage …”
The same thing sprang into the minds of the other three.
Thoughts and courage? They knew immediately that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
They could do nothing, and so silently obeyed the wishes of their lady. Though it pained them to see her suffering inexplicably on her own, they dutifully stood quietly there, as if they were three stoic sentinels watching over her. Kratos wanted to put a comforting hand on the distressed Leona, but hesitated, and then reluctantly pulled his hand back.
“Thank you …” Leona finally said after the long silence. All three of them watched her intently. She was aware of what they were thinking and slowly, she raised her head up, trying to placate them with a weak smile.
It failed.
“What is it that’s troubling you, Milady?” Xeno asked. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell us. We’ll be sure to help you out.”
She gazed at the tall, lanky man, their eyes locking for a moment. However, instead of Xeno who usually averted his eyes after some time when they did that one time or another, Leona was the one who turned away. “I appreciate the thought, Xeno, but I’m afraid no one can help me out … I don’t think I can even help myself …”
At this point, Gabriel snapped. “Will you tell us what the hell is wrong already?”
“Gabriel!” Kratos warned. “Watch what you’re saying.”
Leona stopped them with one hand. Turning to Gabriel, she smiled. “I’ve always liked you this way, and I mean it truthfully. You’re honest and blunt to a fault, with a temper that complements those traits well. Thankfully, you don’t always lose your head in battles.”
Gabriel faltered. “Why are you saying this now?”
She turned her back toward them. “Everyone, how long has it been since we’re together?” Leona asked quietly, ignoring Gabriel’s question.
“Four years,” Kratos answered simply. “We met when we’re in the academy.”
“Three for me,” Xeno said. “Well, three-and-a-half, to be exact, if you include the time you’ve been out hunting for my hide and helping me out in the process.”
“… One year and seven months,” Gabriel muttered.
“We’ve spent quite a bit of time together, it seems,” Leona recollected solemnly. “Many things have happened, both good and bad. We’ve laughed together, cried together. We’ve eaten Kratos’s burnt steaks, listened to Xeno’s soul-soothing songs, made good use of Gabriel’s electronic and mechanical expertise …”
“Yeah,” Xeno said. “Those were the good ol’ days …”
“But, I’m feeling terribly guilty for having lied to all of you all these times …” Leona’s voice was tremulous when she spoke.
“What do you mean?” Kratos asked. “If it’s about things back then, you don’t need to. We completely understand—”
“No, you do not understand,” Leona said, shaking her head slowly. “I am … not who you think I am.”
“Huh?” Gabriel was perplexed.
“You’ve known each other for a long time, and you know well enough to understand the other’s feelings and personalities, even the particular foibles and, to a certain extent, secrets you’ve never told anyone else,” she said. “Kratos is always the far-sighted thinker, the calculative one; Xeno, smart, optimistic, witty; Gabriel, brash, blunt, hasty, but very protective and gentle in nature.” Then, she turned, her cloak swirling around her like dark shadows. Her dark eyes were depthless, her expression was indecipherable. “What do any of you know about me?”
There was no particular emphasis for correct answer on the question, but they hesitated. Leona’s queries were getting stranger and they were not quite sure what was the meaning lying in between her words. They sensed something was amiss, as if the Leona they were talking to was a completely different person. No longer was she the quiet, soft-spoken presence who had guided them, but a new enigma, with shadowy mysteries abound and an elusive character overall. Not only that, they seemed to feel a disconnection between them and her, which alarmed them. They had never felt this way before, and it was a horrible, sinking feeling.
“Milady, please …” Kratos whispered. “Just tell us what’s wrong …”
Leona smiled sadly. “The wrong thing is that none of you actually know me. It’s in not in any way your fault, however. I am simply the better liar, the more accomplished charlatan. I lie without batting my eyes, I cheat without fidgeting in my stand. There are no clever guiles, no forced duplicities. I simply do it; there are no considerations of remorse, no compunctions of morality. Everything I’ve said are effortless deceits, trained and honed through the years, repeated again and again until they are branded upon my mind, living as I lived with them. Everything that you know of me are lies, illusions wove seamlessly to mask the truths of who I am.”
“… I-I … We don’t understand …” Gabriel said haltingly. Most surprising to them was the fact that her voice was oddly steady as she explained, cool even. And they felt very uncomfortable with this sudden change of her demeanor.
It scared them.
“The ‘me’ that you know is not the real me,” Leona said, her tone disturbingly benign. There was no emotion, only detachment. “I am an illusion, a façade. I do not exist as this Leona Aurora Seraphina Tyriel because I am her, but because I am
made to become her by my own hands. Reactions expected of me—laughter, cries, joy, anger—they are all manifestations of
counter-reactions imprinted in my mind. If I am expected to laugh, I laugh, but I do not share the mirth in such an action. I cry and tears stream out of my eyes, but I am not sad. Anger, grief, all those emotions do not register in my mind.”
“I … I don’t believe it!” Gabriel gasped, horrified. “… You must be joking, right?”
Leona shook her head. “In truth, I am completely indifferent, unfeeling, emotionless. I display such social requirements only because they are that: required. My mind acts to accommodate such sentiments to hide the real me. I cannot even feel pain. If ever I was stabbed in the heart, I would die without realizing the pains that accompany those brief moments of life’s end. Isn’t that laughable?”
“What did you just say …? Are you mad?” Xeno was silently livid. His gaze became flinty, almost hostile. Of all things that Xeno despise, it was people mindlessly contemplating throwing their lives away. And hearing it coming in Leona’s own words, from the person who went through the extra miles to bail him out of more terrible fates, made it doubly so detestable.
“Try me if you don’t believe it,” she challenged.
A tense atmosphere rippled between the four of them such as the air seemed to crackle. Then, a solid smack swept across Leona’s face such that she spun around. Xeno was strong, and he slapped her hard enough to topple a typical woman, possibly even Signum if such a situation ever occurred. Leona staggered from the force of the blow, stabilized herself, and looked back at him, completely unfazed.
“… Do you believe it now?”
Xeno expected her to jump at him and start tearing him into pieces, but she merely stood there, her expression distant. There was no hate, no anger, no malice, only the blank coldness of detachment. It was very rare for Xeno to be agitated, but the sheer indifference given by the person he respected and cared for was too much. He vented his frustration at a support beam. His punch shook the wooden shelter where the benches were situated underneath, rattling some of the potted plants nearby. Gabriel looked wild-eyed at them, completely at a loss of what to do. Kratos merely stood there, unmoving.
Silence fell, a deep, strained quiescence that was usually the calm before the greater storm.
“Why are you telling us now?” Kratos whispered suddenly. Pain needled his heart; by that question alone, he was sealing the irreconcilability of the situation—that Leona had been concealing things and lying to them. “After all this while, it would’ve been perfectly all right that we are oblivious of your true self. Why now? What makes you do it? You said that everything was a lie. Is there not the tiniest grain of truth in them? Were what you did for us lies too?”
It was truly a peculiar matter; humans were, after all, creatures of secrets. Yet, when they knew that the people they cared about so much had been hiding so many things from them, emotional turmoil ensued, relationships suffered, and friends could become enemies. At one point in time, Kratos would have scoffed at the possibility. Even if something like this had happened, he was sure he would be able to tough it out and would probably be able to help others through it.
After tonight, however, he was not entirely sure anymore—rationale apparently always took the backseat when emotions were involved. In his analytical mind, Leona’s revelations were not terribly outrageous. After all, he had shared a history of bad blood and murderous intents with Xeno, what else could unsettle him? Rather, it was the attempt to come to terms with the disclosures that was the most difficult to do. There was the inescapable moment of shock and uncertainty, of the meticulously constructed mental schemata being heaved and destroyed, shattering the image of the person one had long held to be such. The balance was lost, and regaining it would be horrendously difficult. Such was the truth about truth.
// Score: Hear Our Prayer / Composer: Kajiura Yuki / Anime: Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles //
Leona gazed at them silently, those deep, dark eyes of hers looking them up and them as a doting mother would her children. In between those midnight irises, they thought that they could see sorrow, regret, but there were also hints of confusion and loss. Those were the tiniest sparks of hope for them in the vast abyss of darkness. “To be honest, I am not entirely sure. For a very long time now, I’d always been alone. I seldom interact with people, and even if needed, they were never face-to-face. As such, emotional displays were not required of me. However, when I came here, it became rather complicated …”
The winds blew, chill and blustery. Owls hooted their nocturnal calls while insects droned. In the accompaniment of those natural sounds, the unnatural journey of the young woman who was neither alive nor dead was regaled, formed from patches of memory that could be gathered readily. There were no embellishments, no exaggerations, only pure and honest reminiscences of her life. There was pain, great and towering; losses, deep and agonizing; histories and events; unexpected relationships and connections; and twists and turns of various incidents that shocked and baffled them. There were notable discrepancies at some parts of the recount, empty gaps between certain events, which Leona admitted to not being able to remember clearly, but they tentatively bridged those using speculations and links within reasonable limits, thus completing her life’s story in a most likely form.
When it ended, they felt as if they had been thrust out into the world of fables and legends. Never once did they imagine someone’s life could be so fraught with adventures beyond their wildest dreams, living through days after days of torment in quiet solitude, torn apart from the rest of humanity. They could not think living was at all possible in the nightmarish realm that Leona had traversed. There was sympathy, shock, anger, of unnamed emotions coming together in huge, suffocating waves. They understood better why Leona became who she said she was, a mechanism to ensure her own survival in the cruel world. It was not something she voluntarily did, but when she did, it was irreversible.
The fates had chosen the cruelest path for her to walk on, and such measures were, if not dire, necessary.
Yet, it was still nigh unbelievable. Even if she spoke with such oratory conviction and sincerity, there were still doubts and reservations for open acceptance. If anything, they were not able to immediately choose which side of the coin to believe in, and if they placed their faith there, would they be able to accept it? The decision hung precariously on the balance, and it was ultimately difficult to make.
“I’ve told you everything I know to be true, and any speculations made are to remain that, speculations,” Leona said. “Whatever you decide to believe in and what your actions are henceforth, I will not begrudge you for that. I simply ask that you choose what your conscience tells you to, not because of our relationships and the emotional ties associated with them. I seek neither forgiveness nor understanding. If necessary, kill the ‘me’ that you have known for these years in your mind, and decide anew. Do what you must do, not what you wish to do. That is my first, and probably my last, request for the three of you.”
Silence fell like a heavy curtain, blanketing the four who stood there, motionless. Somehow, the night had gotten colder than before, and the winds were flightier than before. The moon’s gentle light had vanished. The owls and insects had abandoned them to their devices, their sensitive awareness warning them of the changes in the world, and they had since sought shelter. The clouds rumbled, their bellies burgeoning uncomfortably with vapors awaiting release. A short whip of light cracked in the the sky, illuminating them briefly with its harsh brilliance.
A storm was coming.
“Kratos,” Leona called quietly. The silver-haired man looked up expectantly, hoping that there might be changes with which they could make their decisions more easily. His heart sunk; there was none. Instead, Leona walked toward him, determination twinkling within the depths of her eyes.
She took his hand gently in hers. Her touch was electric—it felt cold, but at the same time, warmly familiar, like the first time she had held his hands. A sharp pang of nostalgia struck him like the full blow of a sledgehammer and, despite his outer resilience, his eyes began to mist, a permanent sense of loss taking over him.
“Here, keep this,” Leona said silently. She placed on his hand a single glittering object. It was half a ring, the silver band having split in two, and the jewel embedded on it absent. “I am truly sorry that I have to place this additional burden on you, but you are perhaps the most suitable one among the three.” She closed his fingers with hers and squeezed his hand lightly, wordlessly conveying her great, but unspoken, regret for forcing unto him the unenviable task.
“Also, I have recorded what I’ve revealed to you three today in my device,
Wyrd.” She looked down and withdrew from within her nightgown the silvery chain that hung around her neck. The crystal gleamed in spite of the darkness, but it seemed dimmer than usual, as if it, too, understood the gravity of the situation. “If something were to happen to me … please take it. I trust you know what to do with them.”
“… Must it come to this?” Kratos whispered hoarsely. His throat was dry, his lips parched. In the shadows, the mists that collected at the edge of his eyes formed a tiny translucent pearl, and without notice, fell soundlessly around the crest of his cheeks.
Leona did not reply immediately. Then, she murmured, “I believe it’s the best for all of us.”
“Milady …” Gabriel whimpered, grief paralyzing him.
Leona turned around coolly without looking at them. Gathering her cloak around her, she began moving briskly towards the exit, coming out from under the hand-painted wooden shelter.
A large hand grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. “Are you sure about this, Milady? Is there no second thought?” Xeno asked.
“I have given it many thoughts, Xeno, and perhaps would have given it many more. But, when you’ve been thinking for so many times that you lost count and still couldn’t find a path out, the hidden road often leads to a selfish decision. I am one such lost traveler, and I am too tired to look for a path back toward the crossroads of choices,” Leona said silently. “I know I sound hypocritical when I say this, but please … forgive me.” Though nothing more than a tiny whisper, her words were final.
Xeno quietly let go of her. They watched Leona disappear down into the entryway, a fleeting phantom of the night. When the door was shut, their hearts closed with it, along with their memories of her.
And then, with the single rumble of a mournful thunder, the heavens wept.