Work Text:
The golden wheat gives in to the weight of his boots as he makes his way through the field.
The light from the dawn device was casting everything in a gold glow, making the place feel surreal. It felt like it too - to be here yet again, long after the village burned to ashes, taking everyone with it. Now it was peaceful, with people walking through the paths from and into the village.
The wind weaved through the sea of yellow, moving each blade in a way the field almost looked like a moving water surface. When his legs carried him close enough, he stopped, observing. Reminiscing.
Not much has changed - that is an understatement. There is no time for change when he went back to the exact moment he lost it. Yet he cannot stop looking at the beauty of his home. The small hand built houses with yellow trees lining them up and the sweet memory of climbing on everything, playing hide and seek here and then hiding in the fields, exploring every inch of this place he could. The mills on the hills slowly turn in the wind, a bit of color difference against the vast yellow of the wheat all around. The port has an incredible view of the lake, which he always wanted to see at sunset. The swing Cyrene used to occupy all the time was visible from his current spot. He still remembered every name of all the people here and knew each house. He could see his parents house on the other side of the village, with figures moving in front of it.
He wishes he could be a part of it once again.
But he knows just how distorted the image of his home and of himself became over the years. How much he changed and how many changes he brought upon the world. The amount of lives he saved and the growing amount of lives he cut short.
The first few times is where it was the worst - when his mind wasn't clouded by thousands, even millions of memories and when he wasn't this numb to it as he is now. To this moment, the destruction of his childhood hurts the most out of all the things he does each cycle, still so early after transferring the memories and coreflames. Because there are still parts of the previous cycle's Phainon, the naive, hopeful version of him that doesn't know the true horrors of this artificial world. Because that Phainon's memories, so raw and full of emotion, take a long time to disappear amidst the sea of memoria he has. Because it takes time for the shards of that Phainon - sharp, ugly and so painfully human - to sink into the amalgamation of all others and merge into them, to be never seen again. When he gets to killing the other Chrysos Heirs in each cycle, there are already no traces of something so vulnerable, for he would have already shattered if he still had those pieces of the past. The deaths of his loved ones bring him enough pain as it is, it would have been so much worse with that addition of himself.
And yet it's his two hands that brought this upon himself.
Even after everything is over, if- when he brings the dawn and Aedes Elysiae gets restored just like the rest of Amphoreus, he doesn't know whether he could truly walk into here like when he used to live here. Because getting near will always remind him of the millions of times he started the cycle, the village falling by his hands. He's unsure whether he could truly visit without feeling the dread and guilt swirling beneath his skin, heavy and always there, a feeling he knows would've- will eventually eat him alive. It made him uneasy- no, it made him disturbed. He almost yearns for reprieve before such worries as 'how will he face everyone when there won't be a heavy burden or duty to excuse his actions' take root in his mind.
He'd let out sigh, but his ability to fully express his emotions has been somewhat failing recently.
Instead he looks up at the unchanging sky, still colored with that one hue of blue caused by the eternal- light of the Dawn Device, and let out a breath.
Just how long will he have to look at the same sky he has seen millions of times over, instead of any indication of life beyond this world? Will he withstand this long enough for anyone to come? Will his mind stay in a relatively stable state to witness it?
What if Cyrene was giving him false hope and there was no life beyond?
The thought of waiting for something that might not even exist should probably distress him, but after the revelation of just how much of his own life doesn't truly exist outside of some numbers, nothing much can shake him as badly as that one did.
It's a weird feeling. Or more like many contradictory feelings.
Because he misses Aedes Elysiae, even though he is standing on a hill in front of it.
Most of that feeling - yearning for his home - comes yet again from the fragments of his previous self, that are still shining visibly amidst the molten gold of all his past iterations. Then another part of him, a bigger one, knows that what he truly misses isn't the place, but the memory and feeling he had when he was just a child; young, happy, naive and most importantly blissfully ignorant of the world outside of the borders of his vision.
And he knew he could never have that - he could never truly feel at home like he used to. Both of his homes were sacrificed just so he could give everyone time. Time he spent destroying those same places and people yet again.
He felt tired.
Tired of running in circles, of chasing his own tail, of doing the same thing over and over again.
Perhaps he could sit down for a bit. Could he afford such a thing, if even for once? Was he deserving of a break when the fate of the world was still hanging on his shoulders, waiting for a single misstep he made to crumble down and bury him in its remains?
But perhaps this small break would clear his mind a bit. Perhaps his exhaustion would vanish this way. Perhaps the scorching flames inside him would dim just a bit. Perhaps the weight on his shoulders would be somewhat lighter and perhaps his path would feel a little less lonely.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
He knew very well all this motion would do is to make it even harder to stand back up again and carry on his responsibility.
Perhaps he was well past the point of caring.
So he let his knees give out beneath the burden he bore- weight of his body and slowly sank to the ground. The wheat accepted him in an embrace, just as if he did the same thing in the last cycle- yesterday. Which was a lie, just a delusion from his deteriorating mind trying to latch onto the warmth of the past. Just this once, he indulged himself in the illusion and simply stayed in place, listening to the sounds of life?- around him.
For a quiet few minutes there were no cycles, no Lord Ravagers and no prophecy. Just him, sitting beneath a tree amidst the sea of golden wheat, overlooking his home- this unrealistic desire of his with resignation. He knows that soon, he will have to stand up and march towards the village full of people who shaped him into who he is- was and bury them under the ashes of this world's nonexistent- shattered future.
But for now he can sit and savour this fleeting, transient moment.
-----
Transience - (n.) lasting for only a short time; temporary.