A whisper is heard. Is it a meaningless... ? No, it's have meaning that is forbidden. it's a poem, a poem of despair and agony, love and Betrayal, a poem for Meaningless Slogans. this is a poem that is whispered in the ears.... No, in the ears of the whole world!
A heartwarming poem is heard in the voice of a woman in the darkness, in the fog, a fog that covers the moonlight of the fallen world, pushes back the radiance of sun, and turns the sky and the earth into a hall for dance of faceless ones, and the sound of musical instruments such as the violins, accordions and the piano fills the space with its tranquility.
'The fallen devil from hell... The fallen Angel with broken wings from heaven.... Do they.... have...?'
'A voice to cry their suffering, sorrow and grief.'
'A will to break the vessel of their despair and agony.'
'A mind to think about their perception and demeanor.'
'Do they... have...? Or maybe... he...?'
'He who should and must suffer.'
'He who has no beginning but an end.'
'He who is chosen to create or destroy.'
'Can he break The invisible chains Of that have bound him...?'
'No, he can't. He... doesn't have.'
'Does he want to see that destruction and calamity from himself, angel with broken wings, come into the world and...? Wi.'
'Do you hear my voice?'
'Has he deafened you...?'
'Ah, the angels, the demons, the people of heaven, the people of hell, the people of earth, the penitents, the sinners, the forsakens'
'Save him.'
'Save him from a human who doesn't know his morality.'
'his limitations.'
'From a human who doesn't know what humanity is and a devil has more mercy than it.'
'Save him.'
'Heaven and hell, darkness and light, satan and god, save him.'
'Ah him.'
'The One And The Only.'
'A fallen angel with broken wings from heaven upon a hell that burns in the fire of its own beings.'
'He who suffered so that no one else would suffer.'
'He who was imprisoned so that no one would feel the sense of imprisonment.'
'He who did protect light against darkness and darkness against light.'
'He who breaks the balance of the world and takes it into his own hands.'
'To be his loved ones in peace.'
'But he only faced one result.'
'Was it betrayal...?'
Or was it the massacre of his loved ones...?'
'Or even a happy ending...?'
'I don't know. no one know'
'In the end, this is a legend that has become a poem for meaningless rebel slogans.'
'Or is it...?'
.
.
The whispering suddenly faded away. The sound of the howling wind is heard. fog still remains, but it is not a poem with which to dance with the darkness and the thick fog. Silence.
But still a whisper is heard, a very faint whisper, distant, lost, but beautiful. It seems that this is not a poem, this... this is a lullaby, a lullaby for a little boy! A little boy who, after playing, has come smiling to his mother and is closing his eyes in her arms. No whole word can be understood well, only a few meaningless words.
m... y... so.... n....
plea....se
st.... ay... aliv.... e....
ah...
lia... m...
...
...
...
...
...
There is a deafening sound and the fog and the world shatter. A man wakes up, so this was a dream, or even a nightmare. The man is lying on the bed with a bad headache. He gets up and sits up on the bed. His head hurts as if an arrow has pierced his head, but over time, the headache becomes less and less severe, but it does not go away.
'What's this headache...? Ahhh.'
When he looks around, he comes across a small room, about thirty or forty meters long. The bed is a little old but there is no sign of damage, and it is also attached to the right wall. it's a bit dark, the room uses a lantern for lighting. A window is located opposite the man.
The man is sitting on the bed, staring out the window. The sky is unclear, but it appears to be night, and it is raining. To the left of the bed is a small, simple wooden table with a few drawers. Opposite the bed, to the left and next to the window, is a large wooden mirror with some storage space in front of it and a few drawers below. A brown coat has been placed on the mirror, or rather thrown to it because it is not at all tidy.
The man then looks up at the ceiling. Although the house looks old and dilapidated, it has a solid, wooden roof. The walls are also a bit worn and damaged and are covered with plain wallpaper. The door to the house is to the left of the mirror. The house has no other notable features, so the man stands up to look at himself in the mirror.
When the man looks at his reflection in the mirror, he is faced with a young boy of about twenty or twenty-five years old. His appearance and features are ordinary, with fairly long dark brown hair, but the man's eyes are the only special feature of his face, bright green eyes.
His clothes are a simple, untidy white shirt with a pocket on the right chest and a symbol of two broken wings on the left chest, and dark brown trousers with two pockets on the arms and two pockets on the back that look like they are worn with a brown jacket. The right pocket and one of the back pockets of the trousers feel heavy and something seems to be in them.
The man realizes that he has no memory of this face or even this house, no memory at all. The man steps back in surprise and disbelief and sits back on the bed to think.
'Who am I? Where is this anyway? Ah... this headache'
The headache still hurts like a bullet in his brain, making the man a little more anxious. An anxiety that comes from confusion, not fear. The man is strangely calm.
'First I need to find a sign of who I am and where I am. Well, as far as I know, this house is for me, but what is my name?'
The man gets up and goes back to the mirror. He puts his hand in his pockets to see if there is anything important in them. In his right pocket are some patterned papers and metal circles that look like currency. But the man strangely knows what these are, and can even understand the meaning of the words that is written an them and their design. This is strange, because the man has lost his memories, right? Or just the memories that were important to him? So it seems like his original memories were targeted, not the common knowledge. But by whom?
'It's like I haven't forgotten some things, but why? It's like someone or something has deliberately taken my original memories. It's strange.'
In the man's back pockets are found two pieces of paper. On one of them is written something in a strange language and in bad handwriting, as if it was written in a hurry and in fear of something, which he does not understand, but the strange thing is, the second piece of paper looks like a letter, on it is written something in another language in good handwriting and the man completely understands the language in which the letter is written, even though he has no idea how.
The letter reads: "Mr. Leonard Miracle, We have bad news for you from your mother. A few days ago your mother passed away from Luan B disease. May her soul rest in peace. if you would like to bury your mother where you wish, Please come to Anderson Hospital on West P. Street in the north part of Ahlen city. If you cannot come or cannot afford to pay for her burial and grave, we understand and will bury her ourselves in the public cemetery so that she may rest in peace. We are still sorry."
August 6, 262. Era of Landora the Fourth~~
The man realizes that his name is Leonard Miracle. As Leonard was reading the letter, it was as if an inner feeling told him to cry. It was as if Leo's inner self, the one they called Leonard Miracle, loved his mother very much. There are even tear stains on the letter, but he has no memory now, not of his mother, not of why he was crying for his mother, nothing.
"This is strange. Why... why do I have to lose my memories?"
This was definitely bad, because if he was going to go bury his mother, or anything else, he needed to know what his world was like, who exactly he was, and....
'I need to look further...'