dreamcrystals | dreams are a window to the soul

Entry tags:

dreams are a window to the soul

Sender: Martel Yggdrasill
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive dream recording
CW: Combat, blood, death, racism, genocidal ideology, fate worse than death POV

You stand on a field that looks as though it's seen better days. Plants are sparse and dry, yet before you a battle seems to be underway for this very place. You're a few yards away from the action, standing behind your three longtime companions who you've been in this situation with many times before. You begin focusing your mana, gripping your staff near your chest with your right hand while it builds. When the moment arrives, you thrust it forward and high with both hands.

"Acuteness!"

Light briefly surrounds the others. There is a teenaged boy with shoulder length blonde hair wielding a rather large purple sword. He has glowing, translucent rainbow-colored wings floating over his back, and he hovers above the ground as he battles. There's also a man with long blue hair that's been pulled back who wears a cape. He fights with a very unique double-ended blade that's bigger than he is. Finally, her third companion may be easily recognized by you as Kratos. He's battling with a sword and also has shining wings, though his are blue.

The small force that opposed you is all but defeated, but an armor-clad individual who clearly leads them takes an opening and rushes past the others in your direction. You feel a deep sadness for an instant. At one time, you trusted them, but yet again you've been betrayed. That feeling is soon replaced with great panic. Although from the look of this area there's nothing worthwhile here, something behind you must be protected at all cost. You know disaster will befall everyone if this person reaches their goal.

Almost impulsively, you rush into their path, stretching your arms out in a defensive move.

"Stop this!"

Without hesitating, they draw their blade and plunge it into your stomach. You lurch forward, your staff clattering against the ground as pain overwhelms you. Your opponent has finally stopped, but only, it seems, to retrieve their weapon from your abdomen.

As they pull out their sword, they growl at you hatefully. "Out of my way, you filthy half-elf."

The next few moments seem to be mass confusion. You can feel your blood gushing from the wound and lose all strength in an instant, toppling over backwards. You can hear screaming voices quickly drawing nearer, but it's hard to make out if they're saying anything. For a moment, you close your eyes. Against your quickly cooling body, your tears are almost painfully hot.

The sounds of a scuffle come from next to you, and when you open your eyes your companions are above you. The teenager and the man with blue hair are on their knees on either side of you, and Kratos stands closely next to them. They're all three horrified and devastated; the boy is already crying. "Kratos, you have to do something!" he exclaims, turning to him.

You know it's in vain, and from the looks on the others' faces they seem to suspect as much. Still, Kratos holds out a hand and a healing light surrounds you, but you can't even feel it. After a few moments he stops, closing his eyes and dropping his head grimly.

"No!" the teen sobs, turning back to you and looking at you desperately. The other man seems to be fighting tears of his own.

You feel such sorrow right now, and so guilty for leaving them like this. You recall the words your killer spoke, words you've heard countless times over your lifetime. That makes you the saddest of all. With the last of your strength, you manage to speak. "I wish that one day...I could see a world...free from discrimination..."

Your eyes close one last time and all drains from you. You're dead. It's all over.

And yet it's not, because you're suddenly able to see and hear everything going on around you again.

"...Sis! ...How could you?!" The boy still kneels next to you as he addresses your killer.

The man in the cape has stood up. "...Human! Your kind must not be allowed to live!"

Kratos is also glaring daggers at the assailant. "...How far are you willing to go to take control of the mana?"

The teen speaks again. "I'll never forgive you... You humans are all the same!"

They prepare to battle, but your thoughts drift to a time long before this. You were with the younger boy, as always.

"Hey Sis, is it weird that I feel bad for them? Even though they hate us?"

You feel yourself welling up with pride. "Of course not, Mithos. All of this prejudice and discrimination is truly sad."

"Yeah, because when it comes down to it, we're really all the same! It'll be nice when we can all live together and not think about that."

"Right!" You're grinning from ear to ear. "So let's keep working towards that peaceful world and not worry about what they think right now!" You believe what you're saying with every fiber of your being.

But Mithos' smiling face fades. Now, you're in a strange chamber filled with odd machines. You float over most of the room. You can see and hear everything, and your emotions are intact, but there is literally nothing else you can do. You have no body, no mouth. Already you feel such overwhelming sorrow.

In the room, you can see Kratos and the blue-haired man wearing the cape. There is also another man with long blond hair in a tight white and yellow outfit. The viewer won't have to question his identity, as those same rainbow-colored wings of light are a sure giveaway.

"Since we're switching over now, I've realized something else we can use the declining world for. I'm thinking of building a ranch."

The others seem concerned, but confused. Finally the man in the cape speaks. "...You mean to solve their food problems?

The older Mithos almost scoffs. "No. To solve the exsphere problem."

"Mithos, you can't! You must know how wrong that is!" Your horrified cries only reach yourself, echoing uselessly in your consciousness.

Although he continues speaking, the other two are already clearly aghast. "Our supply is already low, and if it takes another 3000 years we're definitely going to run out of Cruxis Crystals. The best solution is putting those humans to some use. Of course, we have to give them some hard work to do to fuel them properly, but this way we can keep track of them and harvest them as necessary."

"No!" The third man shouts as though he'd just boiled over and couldn't hold back anymore.

"Something wrong, Yuan?" Mithos scowls at him coldly. With his attention fixed elsewhere, Kratos looks in your direction with a concerned frown for a moment.

Yuan seems to be having a lot of trouble controlling his temper. "Yes, all of that! It's sick! You can't do this!"

"Please stop him, Yuan..." You're not desperate in your futile imploring; it's more supportive than anything. You know he's too dependable to give up easily.

"You're saying you intend to stand against me?" Mithos seems surprised, but he maintains his imposing demeanor. "When I'm doing all this for my sister?" The emphasis definitely implies something, but it's so obvious to all present that there's no explanation.

"That's not– I'm–!" Yuan angrily stumbles over his words for a few moments. He, too, shoots a pained look in your direction, and finally seems to get his thoughts in order. "I'm against your ranches, Lord Yggdrasill. That's what I'm saying!"

"It's a good thing it's not your call, then," Yggdrasill replies condescendingly. Yuan immediately storms out of the chamber, and with an annoyed sigh he continues. "At least Sylvarant is your responsibility, Kratos..."

Kratos clearly doesn't like this either, even though he hasn't said anything. As Yggdrasill turns to look at a device, the man gives you another pitying frown.

"Say something to him, please." You know he probably won't, and that's nothing to hold against him. He wouldn't make Mithos feel all alone when he's been suffering so much.

"So we'll get the Desians to handle the dirty work..." Yggdrasill continues explaining his scheme for a bit longer. "But we can discuss this more later." With that he gives Kratos a dismissive wave, floating off to check another machine.

Kratos grits his teeth, and though he speaks quietly it's not hard to miss when you don't have ears. "I'm sorry... This..." He hurriedly leaves with all his troubles.

You're not at all angry or resentful that the other two hadn't talked him out of it. You don't blame them for anything. All you feel is a horrible sadness. You want to sob, but there's no way to do so in this state.

"Please remember, Mithos... Remember what we wanted!"

The despair can only build up where it is, having nowhere else to go.

"...Maybe, if people like us never existed, things wouldn't have–"

It's over. She must have woken up.

[ooc: You may wake up crying if you particularly got into the emotional aspect of this. As another note, if you feel like your character might pay attention to irrelevant things, you could notice she had a ring on her left hand during her death. You'd really have to be into details she's not focusing on, though.]

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[Not longer after this recording is finished, Martel pens a message to the journals.]

I'm so sorry if you saw that. Please try to not dwell on it.

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[While van Zieks wasn't unaware of the approaching presence, he hadn't... exactly... prepared a response, given his unexpected difficulties with the fire had caused him to tunnel vision, as is sometimes his wont.

Nevertheless, straightens up and resists the urge to clear his throat, cloak returning to its usual drape to conceal much of him before he turns his proud posture towards her and bends into a deep bow.]

I am. Miss Yggdrasill, I presume.

[Feeling temperature is optional for her, so she doesn't mind.

She definitely enjoys seeing the cape. It makes her think of Yuan, but this one seems more decorative than for practical purposes.

Martel nods right after he speaks.]

That's correct! I appreciate your concern, but I hope this isn't too much of an inconvenience for you.

[While the cloak certainly has its details in line with the rest of the man's overly-decorated aesthetic, it's also warm, ok. He's not immune to the cold like angels are, sadly, and London winters are the worst.]

Pray think nothing of it. At this hour I'm typically tending to my plants regardless.

[Which gives him an idea, but perhaps he shouldn't expend his energy and focus on concentrated sunlight when he's supposed to be listening to this woman's difficulties.]

... Shall we sit?

Oh, are you a farmer? That's so nice.

[Not that it's the time for chitchat, but she's used to turning the topic off of herself. And can wind up with really weird assumptions like this.

She nods at his offer to sit and does so. Pray forgive her discourtesy of not starting the conversation, but again, this is not a typical conversation plan for her.]

[The remark brings a vision to mind of himself in the garments of one of that profession. Unsettling, to be honest.]

In a sense. I am a vintner.

[You know. Grapes and a couple of fruit trees. That sort of thing. Or maybe she doesn't know? It would not be a surprise if such things are unknown in a world where half-elves are trapped for thousands of years or something? Right, now how to go about this...]

Your... sorcery. [There was a staff and flashing light? He only has so much information.] Was it something you practiced as a profession, or only as a matter of necessity?

[They have them somewhere, if only because bars definitely exist.]

My, that must be a lot of work!

[But yes, the actual conversation she was supposed to be having.]

Mostly as a necessity, for things like battles. I suppose some may have used it as a profession if they charged for their healing. But humans aren't able to use magic in most cases, so it's usually limited to certain situations.

[He offers a simple nod as well as:]

As much as it is rewarding, [to conclude the topic. As much as he enjoys speaking of his work here, there are more important things at hand.

Her answer certainly isn't uplifting, but neither is it unexpected.]

To be forced into such confrontations, even for the youngest of you... the circumstances must have been dire indeed.

[And... well, losing his brother to a similar blow at twenty-something essentially poisoned his own heart for a decade, so he can easily imagine a child taking it that much worse.]

[Leave it to a lawyer to be able to stop her diversions...]

It was a very turbulent time. Half-elves had been persecuted from all sides for nearly a thousand years, and there was also a very bitter war being fought between the two most powerful nations. And we had to defend ourselves against monsters, of course. So it was practical to work on magic and find ways to become stronger.

[By the end, her tone is more conversational.]

[He's got a one-track mind, Martel.

Van Zieks doesn't imagine the cause of the war to be all that important, in the grand scheme of things. To those in her world, surely the reasons were meaningful. But here, and to her, what's likely more important is the impact it had on those forced to fight—to perish—and on those left behind.]

But this war presumably came to an end. [Hopefully? Within that three thousand years???] Though not without the toll such conflicts take.

[She thought it was a pretty meaningless war. Fighting over controlling something before it ran out while simultaneously using up the rest for the fight when everyone should be working together to save it...]

That's right. Once my brother had pacts with all of the summon spirits, we got the fighting to stop. But the war had been over the dwindling mana supply, and all of the new weaponry used the rest of it up. There was still a chance to stop the world from dying completely, at least, but...

[The potential death of a world does sound... significant.]

That is what you were attempting to accomplish when you encountered that armored swordsman?

Yes. We'd been allies at one time...

[If there were any more details about that available, she may have gone into some of them.]

but there were still those who wanted to control the world's mana supply. We were keeping them from reaching the Great Seed so it could still germinate when I– when that happened.

[She's relatively open about what happened to her when it comes up, but at the moment Martel isn't really in the mood to live it yet again.]

Your true allies did succeed at that time, despite that. [It's an assumption, but he's willing to take an educated guess. Still, his tone is appropriately sober.

For one to be caught in some sort of odd purgatory, unable to depart from the world of the living nor communicate despite being aware of the mortal realm to some extent... well, that sounds like a hell of its own.]

I admit I cannot imagine what the course of hundreds of years held under tragedy, let alone thousands, may do to change a person. ... but I am familiar what it may do in the period of a mere few.

Well, not...exactly...

[Honestly this is harder for her to talk about than the whole dying thing.]

My brother fused my Exsphere to the Great Seed in order to keep my consciousness alive. He wants to make a new body for me, but...that would just lead the world down the path we'd been trying to prevent in the first place. From what I've been able to tell, it's become worse there.

[She's basically at max despair right now, so she uses the opportunity to shift some focus.]

I'm very sorry to hear you're familiar with this sort of thing. I hope you've had people to support you through it.

Edited 2024-02-22 04:47 (UTC)

[Van Zieks shakes his head, both to answer the sentiment and dismiss it. He, in fact, did not exactly have or accept the support he needed, although this place has allowed for a few unique opportunities in that vein.]

... Your brother has not succeeded.

[And so the world has continued to live, even if it may be in dire straits... Van Zieks may not always be an optimist, but he can see the good in people. He chooses to trust that there are those with the determination to avert this disaster.]

Your comrades may yet make it right... even if the path to that end is a painful one.

No. He almost did just before I found myself here, but it's as you said. There are people trying to make things right. One reminds me of my brother before all this happened, actually.

[This makes a ghost of a smile return to her expression. For a moment, at least.]

I hope they can stop him. I even tried speaking to him then, when he had forced me into another body, but...he wouldn't...

[That gets the tears going. The fact that not even she could reach him anymore was just devastating.]

[The expression on van Zieks's face softens, marginally—a subtle shift that's almost difficult to detect, even for one whose vision isn't impaired. Regardless of whether it's visible or not, he reaches out to place a gentle gloved hand on her shoulder.

Saying much of anything would feel pointless. No offering of condolences ever served to lessen his own grief... and even now, he still sometimes struggles with thoughts of what ifs regarding his own brother.]

[She doesn't react much to being touched, so it doesn't bother her. She starts doing her best to wipe away the tears from her face and collect herself. Martel really doesn't like troubling others.]

Ah, I'm sorry. You're right, no matter how many people have suffered, there's still hope so long as the seed isn't lost.

[Her brother's number of victims probably couldn't even be counted using the stars in the sky...]

... I know it is poor comfort.

[It's not like van Zieks is an expert on grieving—he went a bit far in the other direction, compared to Martel. Still, he would never suggest that someone suppress their anguish for his sake, regardless of the circumstances. He keeps his hand where it is, for now.]

But sorrow and hope are not exclusive of one another. I believe... grieving for those lost is equally important as acknowledging the potential for a brighter future.

[Yeah, what is it with you younger brothers when your much older sibling dies an untimely death?

She nods and does her best to try to smile, even though she hasn't been able to completely stop crying.]

That's true. The future is the only thing we have any control over, and you can't do anything without hope. But we must still accept the past, no matter how painful it is...

[~~Sorry, it was the brother complex.~~

It's a saddening thing to see, that this woman is trying so hard to appear bright and unhurt even as the evidence of her troubles has been laid bare on her face and in their minds. Even with an age to come to terms with her situation, it's clear none of this comes easily.

The realization brings him to expel a slow breath through his nose. Even time can only do so much.]

It shall be a struggle for us all in some manner or another... [For as long as humanity or a similar set of beings exist, he's sure.] Which, I suppose... makes it all the more important to share these burdens while we're able.

[That sure is something he's had to work on the past few years. Van Zieks likes to think he's made progress.]

Right.

[She nods again, and it seems like the brunt of her troubles is finally lifting from her some again.]

Thank you. You're very knowledgeable. But I suspect it comes from a place of experience, right?

[Martel looks at him sympathetically.]

Not that you have to tell me anything.

[Of course she's curious, but she won't push someone to talk about something that's probably very painful if they aren't up for talking about it.]

[Van Zieks's initial reaction is a slow turn of his gaze elswhere and a vaguely agreeing:]

Mmh.

[But he would be a hypocrite to clam up now, he knows. At times here, it feels like he's gone too far in the opposite direction from his decade-long practically-public mourning—but then, in a place where he's suddenly a nobody and his family history is known to all of four people rather than the whole of the settlement, it becomes much, much easier to fade into the background.

After a slow breath, he gathers himself and returns his gaze to Martel.]

... My brother was killed twelve years ago, now. That tragedy... left me with an indelible feeling of betrayal. And until recently, I shunned all those around me as a result.

[There was no sharing of burdens during that time.]

[Martel gives him a sympathetic frown, the sort she's so good at making. She's heard and experienced a lot of tragedy in her existence, but at least it's still completely genuine.

The basic story is all too familiar and definitely makes her think of Mithos. She has wondered what might have become of him had he done what Barok just mentioned, and how much worse it might have been had he felt totally alone the entire time.]

I'm so sorry... I know that's a common reaction to loss, especially if it's so sudden and violent. It seems like you've been able to make steps away from that, at least.

[Almost reluctant to agree:]

Small ones, perhaps. Ones that I would not have taken if not for the persistent efforts of certain others... despite my protestations.

[But he's being a bit humble; compared to his old self, he's practically a social butterfly now. It's easy to think of your own accomplishments as unremarkable when you don't have an outside perspective, no matter what they are. He turns his attention back to her.]

Do you have anyone to confide in, Miss Yggdrasill?

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dreams are a window to the soul

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