...
Is this a dream?
Is everything he's experiencing but a wild dream?
Or is it freedom he is sensing?
Bathing in the unconscious, Zephyr ponders very little, nor does he need to fabricate a reason for doing what he did. He can simply sit still, no scratch, no itch, no assessment of feeling.
It's real.
Everything he's experiencing is the harsh, cold but sometimes fascinating, amazing reality.
This is the freedom he's sensing.
…
He slowly opens his eyes.
His back hurts. His neck hurts. his body hurts in every direction.
The young blacksmith looks around.
He has no arm, for they didn't quite reform yet.
He has no legs, for they didn't quite restore themselves into legs yet.
His chest is as black as gun powder, some of it not recomposed yet, cinder wondering aimlessly on his body.
The pain gets marginally stronger.
His scream is agonizing, and everyone gets up and tends to him.
"Jesus fuck-Hey, calm down! J-Just bite on this towel for a bit!"
That voice. Alister, isn't it? Assassin extraordinaire. As far as Zephyr's apology turned death-sentence goes, He's not out of the woods like he had hoped.
"Breath in, Zephyr! Breath in and out with your nose! It will reduce the sensation a bit! focus on your breathing!" That German accent he oh so despises. That's Riley alright. Infamous scientist Riley J. Smith. They have some history he would rather not think about.
Eylventh stands near the boy's head. Keeping him company is one way to satisfy its need for a friendly face.
Behind the lonely pet is the heartbreaking woman.
Amy.
Not a pleasant sight.
She stares down at him like you'd stare at a lab rat, a pawn in her game of chess, royalty degrading what looks like low-class trash. Her poker face does the trick too well. There's a small voice in his head, whispering to his senses, how wholesome would it be if she could smile like her mother used to. Wouldn't it be a blessing?
The pain starts to be too much now.
He falls back in the world of the unconscious.
He's back in this weird space. Now he can tell he's lying on water, what is above him seeming to be pure black.
"Huh. Am I really gonna sit there until I get up-?"
Zeph doesn't wait too long before he gets an answer.
This is a process that repeats multiple times, a cycle with no conclusive end. It's the same routine. His body slowly gets back in one piece, emphasis on slowly here, and that every now and then, some new features are added to his little inner world. What was once a pitch-black void, is now him standing above water acting like solid ground, under a bright midnight sky shining with the moonlight, and a beautiful tree sitting there peacefully, probably twenty to thirty feet deep. There is even a small bridge that closes the gap between the tree and a small house. Near the small house is Zephyr. As in, another Zephyr, who seems much older, much wiser, and tranquil. He sits there in stereotypical monk attire, wielding a red cane with esoteric jewelry attached. The young man bases such complex theory while the old man has his back turned to him.
Zephyr can barely hear what this old version of him is saying, for the old man is talking quietly. There is an insane echo to the speech the more the blacksmith tries to get closer. The doppelganger speaks in a calm, wise manner. A proper monk. Learning to be at peace… to forge forward. It makes sense considering the obstacles he has to overcome:
The grief of losing his father.
The anger of seeing the lunatic doctor again.
The shame of never being able to avenge his mother.
The fear of facing Alister with the truth.
Sure, not all ways to overcome said odds have been brilliant ideas, but he's trying. He must try. He must go towards what he wants, even if at the end of the day he's risking losing everything. He can't run away.
"Well, thank you, hum, me? I can't really hear what you're saying to me, nor why am I seeing an older gentleman in my unconscious mind but thank you." States Zephyr, breaking the ice.
"Ah, but you mustn't thank me."
And now the voice loses its echo in an instant. This startles the young blacksmith.
"All this work, it was of your doing, friend. Forge Forward, keep to your words and above all, remember your purpose. If Riley, a man that has done you so much wrong, can still find a cause to believe in, then you should have no trouble finding such purpose right?"
The man turns around to face his younger version, with a terrifying grin on his face.
"Find your purpose, Zephyr. Grab it and hold on to it as if your life depends on it."
The old man starts to laugh.
That is not Zephyr.
Hell, that old man is not someone who Zephyr recognizes.
Alien.
"W-Wait! Who the-!? I can't judge a book by its cover but there's no way I'd look like this! Who… Who are you!?" Yells the blacksmith.
"Hmm. Good question. Ask Amy." Responds the old man.
Out of the blue, like the end of a bad dream, Zephyr wakes up one last time, now the pain completely gone and back to his senses.
Or at the very least he wishes to be back to his senses…
He stays on the ground, sensing his body.
The pain is gone, yes.
But what in the world was that? Who is that man?