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[ The most prevalent feeling is one of worry.

1:17:55 - 1:19:23, 1:21:34 - 1:23:55; transcription — CTRL+ F "Wait up, Weedy!"

Sometimes, you have a best friend you would do anything for. He is a little bit of an airhead; if you do not remind him to take care of himself, he simply will not. He has been missing for a while now, long enough that concern turns into action. So you set out to find him, arms laden with a small hoard of things you are certain he will need. Your companion thinks you are being excessive—what does he need clothes and skincare for? Why wouldn't he? It's find that they don't understand.

Then you learn he is wanted, allegedly responsible for a whole host of crimes from colluding with bandits, digging up graves to steal from their corpses, and arranging an escape from his execution. The emotions spike immediately into denial. There is no part of you that believes the accusations to be true, so you decide you will find him properly, no matter what it takes.

You sell yourself to the black market, just for leads, just to trace the path of the pirates he has fallen in with.

4:58:58 - 5:01:46; transcription — CTRL + F "Hmm? Oh! What is it?"

All's well that ends well. The pirates are as rowdy and rough as the stories say, but they are not irredeemable if you look past their history of stealing, pillaging, and killing… which may be a tall order, but this is Terra, where people change for the better everyday. There is the possibility of reform. With your best friend at their helm, there is the unfathomable belief they'll go on to achieve greater and grander feats for the better. You have always known your own path was not meant to stretch on forever, and now, there is a closer look at the care package.

There are slip-free boots.
There are generalist tools, ranging the entire gamut of possible applications.
There are vitamins and supplements, enough to last months at sea.

This was never just a gift to get someone through their now. It was meant for someone you weren't planning on seeing again for a very, very long time.

In the end, you make sure to give this package well before it's time to say goodbye. You do your rounds with everyone else, but you never do say it to him.

Elysium looks at Yuma, kind of like, oops. You had to see this? Sorry. ]

[Worry and yaoi . . .

Yuma meets Elysium's gaze. Whether he understands the look is debatable as he processes what he just experienced. Observation is one thing, but the emotions and thoughts that suffused him through it all give him momentary pause.]

You and Thorns must be quite close.

We've known each other for over a decade now, yeah. Isn't that just how things go?

[ lol ]

Is it?

[He's still three years shy of a decade and hasn't had anyone by his side for even one, so he wouldn't know.]

Have you said your goodbyes then?

[ YUMA… launches you to proseka for your new isekai life ]

No. And I'm still not planning to.

[Noooo.]

Why not? I heard that doing so provides closure.

… That's exactly why I didn't want to say it. But now, it'll be for a different reason entirely. Can you guess why that is?

[He looks down in thought, then lifts his head.]

Are you no longer sick?

[ When he lifts his head, there Elyisum is, smiling right at him. ]

Still sick, unfortunately. But not sick enough not to stow away on a ship.

[Once the implications sink in, he smiles back.]

I see. So you still have time.

What about you, Yuma? You're one of the few I've hardly seen anything of. What are the people like back where you're from?

[And he'd much prefer to keep it that way.]

By people, are you referring to the ISDF? Most of the soldiers I see on a daily basis are my subordinates.

[ NO… MY YUMA TRULULU… ]

Have you ever thought about getting to know them on a deeper level? Thorns and I started as coworkers, even if you could argue we were somewhat acquainted before that.

[His preference doesn't matter. The trululu will come in due time . . . ]

I prefer to keep professional and private matters separate.

I do know some things, though. For example, everyone in the force seems to like cats.

What kind of private matters would that be?

[ Zeroes in on it immediately. ]

It would no longer be private if I told you.

[Having said that, the lake has a different story in mind. They're still in considerable proximity to the water, and a drop on the ground is all it takes for the surface of the lake to ripple before overtaking their senses, thrusting them into a recent memory.

The memory opens to a moonlit garden enclosed by ornamental walls.

Gathered around a game board on a stone table are Soo-won, Hak, and an older gentleman—the commander—next to whom you sit. Your long damp hair cascades down the back of your fine and equally wet robes, but you hardly feel the chill. The air is oppressive as the commander spares you no glance yet all but spits, "You were made to win, Yuma. Don't disappoint me now."

The scene momentarily shifts.

The commander is not in robes, but a finely pressed suit. Your hair is short again, and you stand before him in uniform with all the discipline of the perfect soldier. Even so, the disdainful look the commander shoots you reminds you of the contempt with which a researcher might regard a guinea pig that's misbehaved.

"That's what hardware is for," he says.

Panic and desperation set in when the scene shifts again. Back in your robes, relief wells at the sight of the admiral. No matter which life, he has always been kind to you, though seeing his scarred face sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

In your naivety, you don't notice the odd strain his expression until the general's face hardens. Surprise from another life mixes with your frigid realization. In the blink of an eye, you're thrown into the pond behind you.

"Playing with dragons is for adults only," a voice from another time echoes in your frenzied mind as you scrabble at the general's unyielding hands keeping your head submerged in water. "Kids can play in the seawater."

It's cold.

"Everyone makes mistakes. What matters is that you learn from them."

This body is too weak. No, it can be said that "he," the you of this world, didn't learn, so "he" deserved to die this miserable death after betraying his one purpose. You know that. "He" was blind to the reality that, even though "he" was born into a family, there wasn't a place for "him" in all the realms, no matter how despairingly "he" searched.

"Remember—we can always produce another Yuma unit if you fail to perform."

Maybe, the thought seeps in as your struggles turn sluggish, you've been blinding yourself, too.

The bone-deep terror you've been carrying for seven years suddenly feels so far away. Like the receding bubbles of precious air in the water, it floats away while acceptance falls in its place. Instead of derisive laughter, all you hear is the rush of water.

You tried, but you barely managed to go anywhere. Like a child, you were incompetent. There's a possibility that you'll be brought back to some capacity like Hak was, and the thought of that fills you with an indescribable dread as your vision darkens around the edges. If this is the end, you don't want to wake up again.

"What, trash? Are you sorry for being born?"

You wish you were never born.

And then they're back.]

[ well.

This is a lot to unpack. But first and foremost: ]

… Is this what you'd have to go back to? A life where you might be discarded at any moment?

[Yuma stands still as the memory washes over him. Then, after a while, he turns to Elysium with a smile.]

. . . What you witnessed was classified, so I can't speak on anything.

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notif, where did you go . . .

dreamwidth is always hungry...

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