(no subject)
Title: Air in Heaven
Author: kanthia
Pairings/Characters: Martel, Cless, mentions Lloyd
Prompt: Regal - Phantasia, Symphonia - Martel, Cless, Lloyd - When Martel sees Cless, she doesn't see him, but another swordsman from a different time.
Rating: G
Warnings: Spoilers for the Symphonia endgame.
Four thousand years has changed her precious world immensely. Where there was once rock and rubble, a tower crumbled and salvation delivered, there is now a burgeoning forest. Where there was once a people divided into dark-skinned Sylvarant and fair-skinned Tethe’alla, there is now a united sort of blissful dissonance. Four thousand years has healed the world, just as the same amount of time between her first death and her rebirth had nearly consumed it.
Four thousand years has not corrupted her body; the physical part is a dream spun of alloy and metal, an incorruptible machine whose only earthly memory is that the boy with gold hair saved her. The metaphysical portion of her has withstood tests much more terrible than time. In short: everything but her has changed. Four thousand years can change a world, but it takes much longer to change an idea.
Neither can four thousand years change the urges of man, she finds, as the reconstruction of Rodyle’s Mana Cannon begins construction with an ache just below her heart. It is in her nature to hope for the best; all she can do is sit in the branches of her Tree and hope it is never used.
(Never mind that it saved her, and by extension, the world last time it was used- but desperate times call for desperate actions, and Martel knows better than most what desperate means.)
So she passes her days, riding out the pain when necessary, and dreams of the boy in red. His gentle hands holding the world safe from danger. His open arms half the breadth of his love. His mouth that said the Tree’s name is and his heart that said I forgive Mithos and Martel. Soon she finds herself longing for him, and in response the forest blooms red and wild boars build burrows amongst the roots of her trees.
It’s on a particularly cold morning that Lloyd Irving finds his way back to her. She was sitting high in the branches of her Tree, humming an old tune, when she heard rustling in the underbrush and the Chosen of Mana appeared through the glade. She’s absolutely certain it’s that girl from ages past- the blonde hair, the gentle hands, the mana signature so close to her own- that she jumps down and wishes she could still cry.
Behind the Chosen are her entourage. She’s surprised that Genis Sage is indeed a woman and that she has moved from the ground to riding the air, or that Raine suddenly decided to wear a hat that covers most of her face. There is a shuffling in the underbrush and from the forest she is given Lloyd Irving.
“Martel,” he says when she first lock gazes, his voice bewildered.
It must be him, for there are very few hands that can wield the Eternal Sword. There is that look in his eyes that says without words that I will do anything to save these worlds and she is suddenly overwhelmed by emotion.
Raine starts talking, something about DAOS. She smiles with recognition- Kratos Aurion had mentioned Project DAOS before leaving, a defence mechanism for Derris-Kharlan; should it ever run out of mana, it would return and gather a Seed from the Tree. There was the thought that they could seed other worlds, worlds from parallel dimensions, but Kratos was adamant about finding them first.
Lloyd clears his throat. “My n-name is Cless Alvein,” he stammers. The words give her pause. Lloyd never stammered. “We’ve come to ask for your help.”
The light shifts and Tabatha opens her eyes, revealing the transient truth to her- it is not Lloyd Irving, nor Colette Brunel, nor Genis or Raine Sage. Not in the physical sense, at least. They are different and yet similar, a ragtag group haphazardly bringing salvation.
She steps over to Lloyd- Cless- walking slowly, flowers blooming in her wake, and places a kiss on his forehead. His hair may be shades lighter and his build slighter, but there are more important things than names or bodies.
Four thousand years can change a world, but it takes much longer to change an idea. Cless Alvein is the hero that Lloyd Irving once was- and though the blood of heroes runs thin, so does air in the heavens.
Author: kanthia
Pairings/Characters: Martel, Cless, mentions Lloyd
Prompt: Regal - Phantasia, Symphonia - Martel, Cless, Lloyd - When Martel sees Cless, she doesn't see him, but another swordsman from a different time.
Rating: G
Warnings: Spoilers for the Symphonia endgame.
Four thousand years has changed her precious world immensely. Where there was once rock and rubble, a tower crumbled and salvation delivered, there is now a burgeoning forest. Where there was once a people divided into dark-skinned Sylvarant and fair-skinned Tethe’alla, there is now a united sort of blissful dissonance. Four thousand years has healed the world, just as the same amount of time between her first death and her rebirth had nearly consumed it.
Four thousand years has not corrupted her body; the physical part is a dream spun of alloy and metal, an incorruptible machine whose only earthly memory is that the boy with gold hair saved her. The metaphysical portion of her has withstood tests much more terrible than time. In short: everything but her has changed. Four thousand years can change a world, but it takes much longer to change an idea.
Neither can four thousand years change the urges of man, she finds, as the reconstruction of Rodyle’s Mana Cannon begins construction with an ache just below her heart. It is in her nature to hope for the best; all she can do is sit in the branches of her Tree and hope it is never used.
(Never mind that it saved her, and by extension, the world last time it was used- but desperate times call for desperate actions, and Martel knows better than most what desperate means.)
So she passes her days, riding out the pain when necessary, and dreams of the boy in red. His gentle hands holding the world safe from danger. His open arms half the breadth of his love. His mouth that said the Tree’s name is and his heart that said I forgive Mithos and Martel. Soon she finds herself longing for him, and in response the forest blooms red and wild boars build burrows amongst the roots of her trees.
It’s on a particularly cold morning that Lloyd Irving finds his way back to her. She was sitting high in the branches of her Tree, humming an old tune, when she heard rustling in the underbrush and the Chosen of Mana appeared through the glade. She’s absolutely certain it’s that girl from ages past- the blonde hair, the gentle hands, the mana signature so close to her own- that she jumps down and wishes she could still cry.
Behind the Chosen are her entourage. She’s surprised that Genis Sage is indeed a woman and that she has moved from the ground to riding the air, or that Raine suddenly decided to wear a hat that covers most of her face. There is a shuffling in the underbrush and from the forest she is given Lloyd Irving.
“Martel,” he says when she first lock gazes, his voice bewildered.
It must be him, for there are very few hands that can wield the Eternal Sword. There is that look in his eyes that says without words that I will do anything to save these worlds and she is suddenly overwhelmed by emotion.
Raine starts talking, something about DAOS. She smiles with recognition- Kratos Aurion had mentioned Project DAOS before leaving, a defence mechanism for Derris-Kharlan; should it ever run out of mana, it would return and gather a Seed from the Tree. There was the thought that they could seed other worlds, worlds from parallel dimensions, but Kratos was adamant about finding them first.
Lloyd clears his throat. “My n-name is Cless Alvein,” he stammers. The words give her pause. Lloyd never stammered. “We’ve come to ask for your help.”
The light shifts and Tabatha opens her eyes, revealing the transient truth to her- it is not Lloyd Irving, nor Colette Brunel, nor Genis or Raine Sage. Not in the physical sense, at least. They are different and yet similar, a ragtag group haphazardly bringing salvation.
She steps over to Lloyd- Cless- walking slowly, flowers blooming in her wake, and places a kiss on his forehead. His hair may be shades lighter and his build slighter, but there are more important things than names or bodies.
Four thousand years can change a world, but it takes much longer to change an idea. Cless Alvein is the hero that Lloyd Irving once was- and though the blood of heroes runs thin, so does air in the heavens.