An Ailor is sitting in a empty field hugging his legs, his body covered in scabs and scars. The figure starts to cry, blood pouring down from his cuts. Around him, were thousands of empty faces, laughing... mocking... The figure cried loudly, his face buried in his arms. The field starts to flood, slowly becoming submerged as the water rises.
A voice shouts across the field. A man, clad in armor and a cape, stands not far from the
crying figure.
The figure does not react, his face still hidden.
The soldier sighs, and walks towards the crying Ailor, trudging through the bloodied water, the crimson streaks curving around his wake. A gentle light reflecting off his armor.
He looks down at the crying figure and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. The crying stops, as the figure looks up, his blue eyes filled with tears. The soldier smiles, and offers his hand, the crying figure hesitantly takes it, and pulls himself to his feet. They slowly stare at each other. The flooding starts to dissipate, as the two start to walk across the field. The grass around the Ailor's feet dying, before springing up again. The grass around the soldier's feet sprouting yellow flowers, before dying again. They stop walking. "Ah, yes
Yer see this?" The soldier reaches down and plucks a single yellow flower from the grass. "Pretty ain't it? Far from contrast from your steps." The man clad in his armor gestures to ground near the Ailor. The grass now wilting, turning grey, before slowly crumbing into dust. "But let me let you on a little secret. Those flowers are weeds. Nothing but plants who steal from crops and other plants. Did you know that? But death allows for richer soil and new planting." The once crying Ailor smiles, before muttering softly, "Bullshit speech"
The soldier laughs and stops to look at him straight in the eye, "Look. What I'm trying yo day is," he puts his other hand on the figure's other shoulder. "Yer a good man." He speaks softly. His hand slipping a small vial of a dark green liquid into the other Ailor's hand, a sweet scent filling the air around, as the faces around start to disappear. The soldier smiles once more before starting to fade away.
Asan's eyelids creaked open, a blanket tightly hugging his body. He looks up, a small gravestone stares back at him. He delicately traces over the words engraved into it. His calloused hand weakly tracing over each letter slowly. His finger running over the inconsistenties and cracks in the stone. Maybe it was his imagination, or a feeling left from the dream, but he still felt a soft grip on his shoulder. For the first time, he felt calm, and for the first time he felt no pain.
Yet he cried even harder.
A voice shouts across the field. A man, clad in armor and a cape, stands not far from the
crying figure.
The figure does not react, his face still hidden.
The soldier sighs, and walks towards the crying Ailor, trudging through the bloodied water, the crimson streaks curving around his wake. A gentle light reflecting off his armor.
He looks down at the crying figure and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. The crying stops, as the figure looks up, his blue eyes filled with tears. The soldier smiles, and offers his hand, the crying figure hesitantly takes it, and pulls himself to his feet. They slowly stare at each other. The flooding starts to dissipate, as the two start to walk across the field. The grass around the Ailor's feet dying, before springing up again. The grass around the soldier's feet sprouting yellow flowers, before dying again. They stop walking. "Ah, yes
Yer see this?" The soldier reaches down and plucks a single yellow flower from the grass. "Pretty ain't it? Far from contrast from your steps." The man clad in his armor gestures to ground near the Ailor. The grass now wilting, turning grey, before slowly crumbing into dust. "But let me let you on a little secret. Those flowers are weeds. Nothing but plants who steal from crops and other plants. Did you know that? But death allows for richer soil and new planting." The once crying Ailor smiles, before muttering softly, "Bullshit speech"
The soldier laughs and stops to look at him straight in the eye, "Look. What I'm trying yo day is," he puts his other hand on the figure's other shoulder. "Yer a good man." He speaks softly. His hand slipping a small vial of a dark green liquid into the other Ailor's hand, a sweet scent filling the air around, as the faces around start to disappear. The soldier smiles once more before starting to fade away.
Asan's eyelids creaked open, a blanket tightly hugging his body. He looks up, a small gravestone stares back at him. He delicately traces over the words engraved into it. His calloused hand weakly tracing over each letter slowly. His finger running over the inconsistenties and cracks in the stone. Maybe it was his imagination, or a feeling left from the dream, but he still felt a soft grip on his shoulder. For the first time, he felt calm, and for the first time he felt no pain.
Yet he cried even harder.
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