[Guilty Gear] The Prelude to Trying
Title: The Prelude to Trying
Fandom: Guilty Gear
Characters: Sol, Ky
Rating: R
Warnings: Allusions to dark themes
Notes: Written for Ky's birthday.
The Prelude to Trying
Hope is the prelude to trying.
~ Anonymous
-----
The worst thing about the late autumn days was the fog.
In the time the first sheen of frost covered the ground to the first snowfall, it would form almost every evening, a fine layer that curled along the forest floor and rose during the night until it blanketed everything, a soft, deadly veil that swallowed sight and sound. If they were especially unlucky, the fog would stay like this well past noon, and when it finally began to dissolve, the rest of the day would still be shrouded in a gray haziness that made every wayward bush seem like a six-legged hellspawn poised to tear the innards out of an unsuspecting vanguard.
"Looks like something out of Silent Hill."
Sol gave the massive iron gate a shove and watched as it slowly swung wide, sending tatters of mist billowing towards him. No yells of alarm or complaints from the other side, no city guard to come running and demand that they identify themselves. No smell, no sound. The damp air wasn't helping, but he should have been able to pick up something regardless. The stench of rotting flesh wasn't exactly subtle, but the slight draft was only carrying the crisp promise of snow, not even a hint of blood or human fear.
He walked a few steps past the stone arch, the fog crowding around him like pillow stuffing, so solid it seemed like he could reach out and grab it by the fistful. Peering around the open wing, he was barely able to make out the small guard house huddled in its shadow, but didn't need to check to know that it was empty, that nobody had been at post for the last few hours at the least. The bolts at the gate had been drawn back, two metal bars as wide and thick as his trunk that would have taken at least ten men to move, and that was just something that didn't happen, not unless...
"...Sol?"
He turned back at the quiet call, the kid nothing more than a pale, wavering outline in the fog, a splotch of dandelion brightness where his head should have been. A moment later, the sting of ozone came drifting towards him, a sure sign the kid was charging up a spell, and it belatedly occurred to Sol that the fog was a damn mite thicker than what his own eyes were telling him; the kid probably couldn't see nearly that much.
"Here," he said, stepping back around the gate and watching the kid relax visibly.
"Don't do that," Ky said, his voice barely above a murmur, the sharpness of command hovering just out of reach.
"No worries. Doesn't look like Pyramid Head came calling."
Ky gave him a look that lacked its usual laser-point precision glare, his eyes so large and dark with the effort of making out anything at all that it came out looking more like the questioning stare of a fifth-grader. He wanted an explanation, no doubt, but contrary to his predecessors, the kid was more than willing to let something drop if it didn't contribute to the immediate situation.
"I'd rather not have anyone wandering off just like that. We still don't know what happened here," he said, tilting his head back to gaze up at the town wall, its watchtowers disappearing in the milky whiteness. "I haven't seen the perimeter patrol, either."
"Looks like they haven't been at post in a good while," Sol said. "Gate's unlocked, no signs of force."
At his side, the kid frowned. "Alright. No sense in standing around, I suppose. If they evacuated, we might find a clue as to where they went."
He picked up the radio from his belt, adjusting channels to deal with the interference. An idiosyncrasy of the region, lodestone veins running through the mountains and messing with the equipment, bouncing radio signals back and forth and throwing off the compasses. It had freaked out the soldiers something fierce to receive echoes or ghost noise from their transmitters and watch the needles spin like things possessed. Half of them as green as a St. Patrick's parade float, and a good deal still convinced that radios were some kind of witchcraft. They'd almost missed the town in the fog, a five-hundred-something outpost nestled into a maze of gorges and near-vertical cliffs.
"This is Commander Kiske." When Ky spoke, his voice was calm and exact, carrying a peculiar soothing undertone that most people wouldn't even consciously detect. Say what you would about the maypole the kid had shoved up his arse, but he knew how to handle the troops, how to say the very thing at any given time that would yield the best results. "Squads one to six, secure the perimeter and keep an eye out for any signs of activity. Seven to thirteen, you take the main roads and search the residential area. Cellars, attics, whatever there is. Use caution and report anything untoward. Fourteen, you're coming with me. We'll secure the town hall."
The transmission clicked off, and he turned back down the path to meet the soldiers that had taken up position between the rocks and sparse shrubbery. Sol shrugged, and decided this was as good an invitation to follow as any.
-----
The town proved to be as quiet and empty as the guard house had been. No signs of a struggle, no stray Gear to leap out of the mist, just narrow alleys and small, picturesque homes, the dark pink buds of heather sprouting from troughs on the windowsills. No sound except the tapping of their own boots on the cobblestone, and in a way, the absolute lack of any threat just made it worse, the soldiers growing more jumpy with every passing minute that yielded nothing past a new layer of impenetrable blankness. It was far from a novel occurrence, or at least something every soldier seemed to know one story of, setting foot into a town that had been picked clean, or coming back into camp to find everyone else just gone.
If the townspeople had fled, they certainly hadn't left in a hurry. The houses they checked had been left neat and clean, blankets smoothed and pillows fluffed, all the dishes put away, and, as far as it was possible to tell, the pantries remained entirely untouched, as if no one in town had had the presence of mind to pack a half pound of bacon or a loaf of bread for what was a journey over miles and miles of naked rock. The town hall was just as deserted, nothing out of order, but no message or indication of where the inhabitants had gone, either.
"You really think they just up and left?" one of the soldiers asked when they stepped back out into the town square, trying hard not to look like he was inching closer to his comrades.
"At this rate, I hope that's what they did," another replied, glancing around. "This place is giving me the creeps."
"If they left, they might have gone deeper into the mountains," Ky said, too quietly for the rest to hear.
"Load of good that's going to do," Sol muttered back. "Doesn't look like they did the most sensible job packing."
The kid gave a curt nod. "That's what I'm worried about."
"You're going to look for them?"
"If circumstances permit."
"Don't see how we could find them out there, in this weather," Sol said, the most objection he was going to voice with a couple of nervous soldiers in tow.
It was one of the issues the kid had forced when he first took charge, that any orders he gave would have to be challenged in private, away from men who didn't understand the hows and whys, and only knew that their new commanding officer getting into a fight with the big angry thing that wouldn't die meant deep, deep trouble. It had surprised him at the time that the kid wouldn't try to stomp out criticism like the pious little neophyte he seemed to be, but in fact invited it where it couldn't cause unrest among the common ranks.
"I want to at least try. If God's army isn't for the people, then I don't know what we're doing here."
"There's a couple of guys who'd disagree with you on that," Sol pointed out, more a jab at the Undersn brand of idealism and less at the kid's faith. Hard to keep poking at someone who was less hung up on his own religion than anyone distrusting him for it, and now, weeks after the blowup that had never happened, Sol could admit that he should've found it more disconcerting that the kid hadn't turned out to be what he'd expected, a rational believer in the middle of the biggest theocracy on Earth.
Ky's lips quirked faintly, and only for a moment. "You?"
"That's-"
"Sir! Over here!"
Some of the younger men visibly jumped at the call, the voice unexpectedly loud in the near-total silence. They had come to a halt in front of the church building at the other side of the plaza, one of the soldiers waving at them from the top of a flight of stairs.
"What's the matter, Private?" Ky asked.
"Uh, this door, sir. I tried, but it's locked. I thought maybe if we all..."
"Man, Seb," one of his squad mates groaned. "What do you want in there? You think the angels are gonna tell us where to find-"
"Move."
The man blinked, taken aback when Sol shoved past him without another word. The kid seemed to be on the same page, because he followed without hesitation, grabbing a hold of one of the iron rings on the set of double doors just as Sol moved to do the same. The door groaned at the pull, but barely budged, just enough to release the faint, unmistakeable tang of something burning.
"Fucking hell," Sol growled, even as the kid's eyes widened. "Everybody stay back."
The first kick dented the door inwards, the wood cracking under the impact. The second sent it splintering, the heavy oak bolt hurtling into the darkness even as a cloud of black smoke came rushing towards them, driving tears to their eyes. Dimly, Sol could hear a few startled oaths from the soldiers, before he caught a glimpse of the white blur diving past him, sword at the ready and a sleeve pressed in front of his mouth.
"Dammit, kid!" he shouted, pushing in after him and coughing against a lungful of soot. "You might wanna-"
"No need," Ky said softly. He had stopped a few paces ahead, his hand slipping from his mouth but not paying the biting fumes any mind. "Now we know where the people went."
----
Commander Undersn had called his memory a gift, his ability to remember anything, no matter what it was; facts, numbers, faces. It made him a delight to teach, he said, and Ky had been happy about it, happy to be able to meet the Commander's expectations and happy because it made things easier, easier to keep everything organized and aligned in his mind.
Now, it was this gift that wouldn't let him rest, leaving him wide awake for the third night in a row, remembering so clearly the first of the townsfolk he'd found - husband and wife, the man embracing the woman as she rested her head against his shoulder, as if they'd been sitting in the sun and simply nodded off, the image marred by the soot streaking their faces. In her arms a bundle of blankets, holding her baby so gently as if she had been singing it to sleep.
All of them like this, every single one, children who had been playing hide and seek, and had fallen asleep in their hiding places in the alcoves, never once realizing what was happening to them. Families and lovers, prayer books spread across their laps as they sat around the raging bonfire at the center, fed by oil and pieces of wood from the pews. At the top of the stairs to the altar, the old priest, his head bowed over Psalm Twenty-Three, and it was easy to imagine the people chanting over and over, until the air grew too thin for speech.
All the exits sealed tight, scarves and shreds of cloth stuffed under the doors and into the window frames. More than five hundred people calmly tidying their houses, putting their affairs in order, and collectively going to church one last time.
And it was that thought that would chase away sleep every time, that drove him out here in the middle of the night, unable to calm his mind. The fog had finally broken that evening, parting to a moonless winter night, the stars crisp and clear in the sky. He'd seated himself on the rocks beside the road, a ways away from the encampment, not really knowing why except that his mind was too busy to think of rest and too muddled to think of work, and so there was little else to do but sit there, scraping away at the belt plaque with his boot knife.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want...
Death over fear and uncertainty.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.... he leads me beside quiet waters...
Death over suffering.
...even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...
Death over hope.
He had met them often, people who had chosen their faith in the kingdom of heaven over their faith in other living souls. People who had grown numb to the terror, weary of running, people who had to be grabbed and dragged along for their own well-being because they refused to leave their last shelter. People who smiled faraway smiles when they stared at their ruined crops, their sick children, their destroyed homes, and spoke of life after death with such eagerness in their voice, as if all their suffering could only make their rest sweeter.
Was this the next step, then? People who had been stumbling along in the shadow so long that they didn't even know hope?
Ky stopped, turning the plaque over in his hands. Kliff had wanted him to carry, always, to be at his absolute best every minute of the day, because nothing else would keep him alive, and nothing else would keep his men alive. Trust and loyalty would follow eventually, because there was no other way than to prove himself reliable, a pillar for others to lean on. But what of it, if the people he was fighting for were slowly and quietly slipping away, one after the other? This town was a tragedy, but not one that could have been prevented with time or skill; no amount of battle prowess could restore the faith that had been lost here, the faith that had never existed to begin with. All that was left for him to do was to mark down the casualties as the result of a Gear attack instead of a mass suicide in the official report, to spare these poor souls the fate of finding a place in someone's righteous sermon.
...And hope deferred maketh the heart sick, they say. I wish I could...
Carry, always. And if it wasn't enough to lead the soldiers, to fight battles and win, then... what then.
The soft crunch of rock sent a charge leaping to his fingertips almost before he realized what he'd heard, whipping around to catch sight of a familiar profile.
"Got the third watch at my door, wringing their hands 'cause you're out here alone."
Sol was pointedly not looking at him, eyes fixed on the brightdark slant of the mountainside, hands stuffed into his pockets like a sullen child who was being made to do something he didn't really want to do.
Drawing a breath, Ky flexed away the charge before he could end up frying him with an accidental flick of his wrist. "I understand. I'll be back in a few minutes."
There was no reply, just the sound of the gravel shifting once again, Sol sitting down beside him and tilting his head skyward. He didn't speak and didn't do anything else, a silent, solid presence extending the unexpected offer of companionship. Ky returned his attention to the grooves in the metal, methodically brushing the filings from the plaque for lack of anything to say or do. He found he didn't mind that Sol was watching him spell out his own private thoughts, gaze strangely intent and serious, entirely unlike the looks with which he'd usually favor him.
Eventually, Sol stopped following the motions of the blade, fishing around in his coat pockets for a packet of cigarettes. He shook one out, lighting it up with an obscene hand gesture that seemed more habit than any kind of provocation, and took a long drag.
"Mighty big promise you've got there."
"What makes you say that?" Ky asked, watching his own exhalations mingle with the thin wafts from the cigarette.
Sol shrugged, apparently out of things to say, and it occurred to Ky that maybe, he was out here for much the same reasons, seeking to voice the thoughts turning round and round in his head. Somehow, it made speaking easier.
"I... was just thinking of the story of Pandora's box. I keep wondering... what happens if nobody lifts the lid again." He hesitated, turning the plaque over in his hands. "So I guess this... I don't know. I don't know how to start setting things right."
Sol lowered the cigarette, reduced to a short, glowing stub between his fingers. There was an expression in his eyes Ky hadn't seen before, something shifting between here and not-here. It looked very old.
"...Can't fix all that's wrong with the world, kid."
"No, perhaps not." Ky paused, and drew a breath. "But someone has to start trying."
"And that's gonna be you?"
"...Who else is there?"
"You know, for someone so smart, you're an idiot," Sol said, annoyance lacing his tone.
Before Ky could think to protest, there was a hand in his hair, firm but not unkind, turning his head in the direction he'd come from. Against featureless expanse of mountain, the tents stood out, tinged in the pale orange glow of the watch fires. As he watched, a gust of wind swept through the camp, causing gaggles of human silhouettes to leap up and start stoking the flames again, keeping them going against the dark and cold.
Isn't that... how it goes...? Funny, that I should need him to tell me that...
Ky felt his lips twitching into a smile almost of their own accord even as the hand in his hair became a pair of knuckles, descending to wreak havoc on his scalp. He didn't move, knowing he fully deserved that bit of punishment, and for once not minding the humiliating childishness of it all. His fingers closed around the plaque, feeling the cool, rough edges of the engraving biting into his palm, a sharp contrast to the warmth building up on top of his head.
Maybe, he decided, he was better off wearing it like this, as a reminder for himself.
- Fin -
----
A/N: Um, Happy Birthday, Ky? XD; This turned out considerably darker than intended; basically, I just wanted to write a story about how Ky came to write "Hope" on his belt, and... yeah. Things just went from there. I blame Cocteau Twins and Yiruma. Anyway, C&C is much appreciated.
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Fandom: Guilty Gear
Characters: Sol, Ky
Rating: R
Warnings: Allusions to dark themes
Notes: Written for Ky's birthday.
The Prelude to Trying
Hope is the prelude to trying.
~ Anonymous
-----
The worst thing about the late autumn days was the fog.
In the time the first sheen of frost covered the ground to the first snowfall, it would form almost every evening, a fine layer that curled along the forest floor and rose during the night until it blanketed everything, a soft, deadly veil that swallowed sight and sound. If they were especially unlucky, the fog would stay like this well past noon, and when it finally began to dissolve, the rest of the day would still be shrouded in a gray haziness that made every wayward bush seem like a six-legged hellspawn poised to tear the innards out of an unsuspecting vanguard.
"Looks like something out of Silent Hill."
Sol gave the massive iron gate a shove and watched as it slowly swung wide, sending tatters of mist billowing towards him. No yells of alarm or complaints from the other side, no city guard to come running and demand that they identify themselves. No smell, no sound. The damp air wasn't helping, but he should have been able to pick up something regardless. The stench of rotting flesh wasn't exactly subtle, but the slight draft was only carrying the crisp promise of snow, not even a hint of blood or human fear.
He walked a few steps past the stone arch, the fog crowding around him like pillow stuffing, so solid it seemed like he could reach out and grab it by the fistful. Peering around the open wing, he was barely able to make out the small guard house huddled in its shadow, but didn't need to check to know that it was empty, that nobody had been at post for the last few hours at the least. The bolts at the gate had been drawn back, two metal bars as wide and thick as his trunk that would have taken at least ten men to move, and that was just something that didn't happen, not unless...
"...Sol?"
He turned back at the quiet call, the kid nothing more than a pale, wavering outline in the fog, a splotch of dandelion brightness where his head should have been. A moment later, the sting of ozone came drifting towards him, a sure sign the kid was charging up a spell, and it belatedly occurred to Sol that the fog was a damn mite thicker than what his own eyes were telling him; the kid probably couldn't see nearly that much.
"Here," he said, stepping back around the gate and watching the kid relax visibly.
"Don't do that," Ky said, his voice barely above a murmur, the sharpness of command hovering just out of reach.
"No worries. Doesn't look like Pyramid Head came calling."
Ky gave him a look that lacked its usual laser-point precision glare, his eyes so large and dark with the effort of making out anything at all that it came out looking more like the questioning stare of a fifth-grader. He wanted an explanation, no doubt, but contrary to his predecessors, the kid was more than willing to let something drop if it didn't contribute to the immediate situation.
"I'd rather not have anyone wandering off just like that. We still don't know what happened here," he said, tilting his head back to gaze up at the town wall, its watchtowers disappearing in the milky whiteness. "I haven't seen the perimeter patrol, either."
"Looks like they haven't been at post in a good while," Sol said. "Gate's unlocked, no signs of force."
At his side, the kid frowned. "Alright. No sense in standing around, I suppose. If they evacuated, we might find a clue as to where they went."
He picked up the radio from his belt, adjusting channels to deal with the interference. An idiosyncrasy of the region, lodestone veins running through the mountains and messing with the equipment, bouncing radio signals back and forth and throwing off the compasses. It had freaked out the soldiers something fierce to receive echoes or ghost noise from their transmitters and watch the needles spin like things possessed. Half of them as green as a St. Patrick's parade float, and a good deal still convinced that radios were some kind of witchcraft. They'd almost missed the town in the fog, a five-hundred-something outpost nestled into a maze of gorges and near-vertical cliffs.
"This is Commander Kiske." When Ky spoke, his voice was calm and exact, carrying a peculiar soothing undertone that most people wouldn't even consciously detect. Say what you would about the maypole the kid had shoved up his arse, but he knew how to handle the troops, how to say the very thing at any given time that would yield the best results. "Squads one to six, secure the perimeter and keep an eye out for any signs of activity. Seven to thirteen, you take the main roads and search the residential area. Cellars, attics, whatever there is. Use caution and report anything untoward. Fourteen, you're coming with me. We'll secure the town hall."
The transmission clicked off, and he turned back down the path to meet the soldiers that had taken up position between the rocks and sparse shrubbery. Sol shrugged, and decided this was as good an invitation to follow as any.
-----
The town proved to be as quiet and empty as the guard house had been. No signs of a struggle, no stray Gear to leap out of the mist, just narrow alleys and small, picturesque homes, the dark pink buds of heather sprouting from troughs on the windowsills. No sound except the tapping of their own boots on the cobblestone, and in a way, the absolute lack of any threat just made it worse, the soldiers growing more jumpy with every passing minute that yielded nothing past a new layer of impenetrable blankness. It was far from a novel occurrence, or at least something every soldier seemed to know one story of, setting foot into a town that had been picked clean, or coming back into camp to find everyone else just gone.
If the townspeople had fled, they certainly hadn't left in a hurry. The houses they checked had been left neat and clean, blankets smoothed and pillows fluffed, all the dishes put away, and, as far as it was possible to tell, the pantries remained entirely untouched, as if no one in town had had the presence of mind to pack a half pound of bacon or a loaf of bread for what was a journey over miles and miles of naked rock. The town hall was just as deserted, nothing out of order, but no message or indication of where the inhabitants had gone, either.
"You really think they just up and left?" one of the soldiers asked when they stepped back out into the town square, trying hard not to look like he was inching closer to his comrades.
"At this rate, I hope that's what they did," another replied, glancing around. "This place is giving me the creeps."
"If they left, they might have gone deeper into the mountains," Ky said, too quietly for the rest to hear.
"Load of good that's going to do," Sol muttered back. "Doesn't look like they did the most sensible job packing."
The kid gave a curt nod. "That's what I'm worried about."
"You're going to look for them?"
"If circumstances permit."
"Don't see how we could find them out there, in this weather," Sol said, the most objection he was going to voice with a couple of nervous soldiers in tow.
It was one of the issues the kid had forced when he first took charge, that any orders he gave would have to be challenged in private, away from men who didn't understand the hows and whys, and only knew that their new commanding officer getting into a fight with the big angry thing that wouldn't die meant deep, deep trouble. It had surprised him at the time that the kid wouldn't try to stomp out criticism like the pious little neophyte he seemed to be, but in fact invited it where it couldn't cause unrest among the common ranks.
"I want to at least try. If God's army isn't for the people, then I don't know what we're doing here."
"There's a couple of guys who'd disagree with you on that," Sol pointed out, more a jab at the Undersn brand of idealism and less at the kid's faith. Hard to keep poking at someone who was less hung up on his own religion than anyone distrusting him for it, and now, weeks after the blowup that had never happened, Sol could admit that he should've found it more disconcerting that the kid hadn't turned out to be what he'd expected, a rational believer in the middle of the biggest theocracy on Earth.
Ky's lips quirked faintly, and only for a moment. "You?"
"That's-"
"Sir! Over here!"
Some of the younger men visibly jumped at the call, the voice unexpectedly loud in the near-total silence. They had come to a halt in front of the church building at the other side of the plaza, one of the soldiers waving at them from the top of a flight of stairs.
"What's the matter, Private?" Ky asked.
"Uh, this door, sir. I tried, but it's locked. I thought maybe if we all..."
"Man, Seb," one of his squad mates groaned. "What do you want in there? You think the angels are gonna tell us where to find-"
"Move."
The man blinked, taken aback when Sol shoved past him without another word. The kid seemed to be on the same page, because he followed without hesitation, grabbing a hold of one of the iron rings on the set of double doors just as Sol moved to do the same. The door groaned at the pull, but barely budged, just enough to release the faint, unmistakeable tang of something burning.
"Fucking hell," Sol growled, even as the kid's eyes widened. "Everybody stay back."
The first kick dented the door inwards, the wood cracking under the impact. The second sent it splintering, the heavy oak bolt hurtling into the darkness even as a cloud of black smoke came rushing towards them, driving tears to their eyes. Dimly, Sol could hear a few startled oaths from the soldiers, before he caught a glimpse of the white blur diving past him, sword at the ready and a sleeve pressed in front of his mouth.
"Dammit, kid!" he shouted, pushing in after him and coughing against a lungful of soot. "You might wanna-"
"No need," Ky said softly. He had stopped a few paces ahead, his hand slipping from his mouth but not paying the biting fumes any mind. "Now we know where the people went."
----
Commander Undersn had called his memory a gift, his ability to remember anything, no matter what it was; facts, numbers, faces. It made him a delight to teach, he said, and Ky had been happy about it, happy to be able to meet the Commander's expectations and happy because it made things easier, easier to keep everything organized and aligned in his mind.
Now, it was this gift that wouldn't let him rest, leaving him wide awake for the third night in a row, remembering so clearly the first of the townsfolk he'd found - husband and wife, the man embracing the woman as she rested her head against his shoulder, as if they'd been sitting in the sun and simply nodded off, the image marred by the soot streaking their faces. In her arms a bundle of blankets, holding her baby so gently as if she had been singing it to sleep.
All of them like this, every single one, children who had been playing hide and seek, and had fallen asleep in their hiding places in the alcoves, never once realizing what was happening to them. Families and lovers, prayer books spread across their laps as they sat around the raging bonfire at the center, fed by oil and pieces of wood from the pews. At the top of the stairs to the altar, the old priest, his head bowed over Psalm Twenty-Three, and it was easy to imagine the people chanting over and over, until the air grew too thin for speech.
All the exits sealed tight, scarves and shreds of cloth stuffed under the doors and into the window frames. More than five hundred people calmly tidying their houses, putting their affairs in order, and collectively going to church one last time.
And it was that thought that would chase away sleep every time, that drove him out here in the middle of the night, unable to calm his mind. The fog had finally broken that evening, parting to a moonless winter night, the stars crisp and clear in the sky. He'd seated himself on the rocks beside the road, a ways away from the encampment, not really knowing why except that his mind was too busy to think of rest and too muddled to think of work, and so there was little else to do but sit there, scraping away at the belt plaque with his boot knife.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want...
Death over fear and uncertainty.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.... he leads me beside quiet waters...
Death over suffering.
...even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...
Death over hope.
He had met them often, people who had chosen their faith in the kingdom of heaven over their faith in other living souls. People who had grown numb to the terror, weary of running, people who had to be grabbed and dragged along for their own well-being because they refused to leave their last shelter. People who smiled faraway smiles when they stared at their ruined crops, their sick children, their destroyed homes, and spoke of life after death with such eagerness in their voice, as if all their suffering could only make their rest sweeter.
Was this the next step, then? People who had been stumbling along in the shadow so long that they didn't even know hope?
Ky stopped, turning the plaque over in his hands. Kliff had wanted him to carry, always, to be at his absolute best every minute of the day, because nothing else would keep him alive, and nothing else would keep his men alive. Trust and loyalty would follow eventually, because there was no other way than to prove himself reliable, a pillar for others to lean on. But what of it, if the people he was fighting for were slowly and quietly slipping away, one after the other? This town was a tragedy, but not one that could have been prevented with time or skill; no amount of battle prowess could restore the faith that had been lost here, the faith that had never existed to begin with. All that was left for him to do was to mark down the casualties as the result of a Gear attack instead of a mass suicide in the official report, to spare these poor souls the fate of finding a place in someone's righteous sermon.
...And hope deferred maketh the heart sick, they say. I wish I could...
Carry, always. And if it wasn't enough to lead the soldiers, to fight battles and win, then... what then.
The soft crunch of rock sent a charge leaping to his fingertips almost before he realized what he'd heard, whipping around to catch sight of a familiar profile.
"Got the third watch at my door, wringing their hands 'cause you're out here alone."
Sol was pointedly not looking at him, eyes fixed on the brightdark slant of the mountainside, hands stuffed into his pockets like a sullen child who was being made to do something he didn't really want to do.
Drawing a breath, Ky flexed away the charge before he could end up frying him with an accidental flick of his wrist. "I understand. I'll be back in a few minutes."
There was no reply, just the sound of the gravel shifting once again, Sol sitting down beside him and tilting his head skyward. He didn't speak and didn't do anything else, a silent, solid presence extending the unexpected offer of companionship. Ky returned his attention to the grooves in the metal, methodically brushing the filings from the plaque for lack of anything to say or do. He found he didn't mind that Sol was watching him spell out his own private thoughts, gaze strangely intent and serious, entirely unlike the looks with which he'd usually favor him.
Eventually, Sol stopped following the motions of the blade, fishing around in his coat pockets for a packet of cigarettes. He shook one out, lighting it up with an obscene hand gesture that seemed more habit than any kind of provocation, and took a long drag.
"Mighty big promise you've got there."
"What makes you say that?" Ky asked, watching his own exhalations mingle with the thin wafts from the cigarette.
Sol shrugged, apparently out of things to say, and it occurred to Ky that maybe, he was out here for much the same reasons, seeking to voice the thoughts turning round and round in his head. Somehow, it made speaking easier.
"I... was just thinking of the story of Pandora's box. I keep wondering... what happens if nobody lifts the lid again." He hesitated, turning the plaque over in his hands. "So I guess this... I don't know. I don't know how to start setting things right."
Sol lowered the cigarette, reduced to a short, glowing stub between his fingers. There was an expression in his eyes Ky hadn't seen before, something shifting between here and not-here. It looked very old.
"...Can't fix all that's wrong with the world, kid."
"No, perhaps not." Ky paused, and drew a breath. "But someone has to start trying."
"And that's gonna be you?"
"...Who else is there?"
"You know, for someone so smart, you're an idiot," Sol said, annoyance lacing his tone.
Before Ky could think to protest, there was a hand in his hair, firm but not unkind, turning his head in the direction he'd come from. Against featureless expanse of mountain, the tents stood out, tinged in the pale orange glow of the watch fires. As he watched, a gust of wind swept through the camp, causing gaggles of human silhouettes to leap up and start stoking the flames again, keeping them going against the dark and cold.
Isn't that... how it goes...? Funny, that I should need him to tell me that...
Ky felt his lips twitching into a smile almost of their own accord even as the hand in his hair became a pair of knuckles, descending to wreak havoc on his scalp. He didn't move, knowing he fully deserved that bit of punishment, and for once not minding the humiliating childishness of it all. His fingers closed around the plaque, feeling the cool, rough edges of the engraving biting into his palm, a sharp contrast to the warmth building up on top of his head.
Maybe, he decided, he was better off wearing it like this, as a reminder for himself.
- Fin -
----
A/N: Um, Happy Birthday, Ky? XD; This turned out considerably darker than intended; basically, I just wanted to write a story about how Ky came to write "Hope" on his belt, and... yeah. Things just went from there. I blame Cocteau Twins and Yiruma. Anyway, C&C is much appreciated.
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