Momento

In Montania, the leaves on the trees had begun to change, symbolizing the transition from a warm summer to a cool autumn. However, summer refused to leave Aloria, allowing her warm breezes to grace the earth a little longer and a certain aging Dressolini would take advantage of this.

The man sat in the center of his villa at a table with only one chair - one he'd sit many hours at - sometimes he'd spend the whole day with his thoughts smoking pipe after pipe of the finest local tabacca he could acquire. However, a mirror rested betwixt his fingers as opposed to the normal pipe. His other hand held his chin, looking over his features. The man's days of a youthful appearance was coming to an end. The wrinkles began to show and his eyes had sunken ever so slightly and wasn't just from the fatigue provided by the day. His beard had grown and he twirled his mustache, looking much akin to many fellow Montanians his age.

Once he was fed up with looking at himself, only finding more and more things to dislike with his aging face he'd cross his arms and slouch in his chair as he starred at the center of his villa where a hot bath was provided by the servants of his countryside home. The steam it that ascended from its original place was immense yet to him, it was something to pass the time with - awaiting for the perfect temperature to let his body steep in.

Salvatore would stand after the steam began to die down, telling him it was cool enough to enter. As he walked towards the stairs leading into the body of water, his hands would run along the marble pillars, feeling the gritty texture of it and the moisture that had clung to it. As he approached the steps, he'd flick his hands of the water that clung to his fingers and undo the strap of his white robe, letting it fall behind him as he slowly descended into the water. He would wade into the much deeper end where the water would barely surpass his shoulders and once he swam to the opposite end, he'd outstretch his arms and grab ahold of the edge of the manmade body of water - allowing himself to relax as he starred up to the slowly darkening sky.

When enough time had past, and the songbirds that flew overhead no longer carried their tunes and the owls took over in the symphony, Salvatore would blink and move his head down to see braziers had been lit and fresh flames ate away at the charcoal pits and now it was time for the smoke to arise. His hands would maneuver behind his head, putting his long curly locks up into a pony tail. He would take a deep breath, feeling his nose with the smell of the burning charcoal and holding his breath as he descended beneath the hot waters. As his eyes closed and his mind thought of the burning pyres, it brought him to another time, a time when he was younger and felt he could take on the world - the last battle he fought in.

His eyes would abruptly open, but he was no longer in the comforting waters of his estate. His face was no longer clean and covered with mud and blood that was of his own and from the deceased around him. A steel helmet incased his head, yet rung out as a Songaskian Warhammer found itself putting a dent in it and sending him to the ground. The helmet flew from the Dressolini's head as he fell on all fours and let go of his rapier. The side of his head bled heavily and a chainmail covered hand arose to cover the top of his head, mixing the mud and the blood into his mass of curls as the tall dark Songaskian stood over him, offering his battle cries and curses towards the incapacitated man whilst raising his hammer over his head, letting out a final cry as Salvatore looked up, raising his hand weakly in a desperate attempt to deflect or to beg. As the fires of the battlefield raged they reflected off the dark warriors weapon but a cry of pain and defeat would instead leave the Songaskians mouth as he descended to the ground. A blade found itself in his back and protruding from his chest.

As blood was sent flying towards the face of the disoriented Salvatore, the body of his would-be executioner fell, revealing his younger brother, Alessandro. As his vision came back, yet his head continued to ache, he'd look into his eyes and for a moment it felt as if he was looking into a much younger form of himself. Facial hair had yet to grow and his mess of curls was short and barely touched his shoulders. Yet as he frowned, his brother smiled and extended hand down, beckoning the older Salvatore to stand. His hand would reach out, grabbing it and pulling himself up as his brother positioned him to lean on him as they retreated whilst those around them fought for their lives.

Their greatest obstacles were the fallen and those around them. The bodies were built up so high and the faces of the Songaskians and fellow Unionists stared back with expressionless faces whilst their bodies lay mutilated by the cold steel of blades, the canons from the void, and the arrows of the skies that sang loudly as they fell onto them with the impact of an angry God.

As they traversed back from where they charged, Salvatore's vision came to and the double vision the blunt force provided dispersed for several moments and at that he'd stop and push off of his brother, placing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, starring to the ground before looking up only to see the smile of his brother turn upside down as an arrow found itself lodged in his chest. The young Dressolini's hand went to touch the wood of the projectile, only to fall limp as he descended onto his knees and collapsed, sputtering as he lay there.

Salvatore quickly moved to his side, frantically whispering reassurances to him as he propped his head up and began to run his fingers through his brother's scalp and holding his hand with his other.

"Andrà tutto bene, resta con me Alessandro ... resta con me …" he would repeat over and over to him with the short time he had left. Each time he looked to his brother, his case grew worse. His skin lost color as his eyes began to flutter more and more. Blood began to pool out from the sides of his mouth and with every other breath he'd heave to spit a mouthful out, letting out cries of agony as all Salvatore could do was lay there with him.

When the final moments drew up, and the tears of Salvatore fell onto his brother as he held him during his final breaths. The young Dressolini's hand would move upward, grabbing ahold of his older brother's shoulder as he spoke his last words.

"Non piangere… ti vedrò in Eterno Orologio… ti vedrò presto..."

With his last words drew out his last breath and at that his eyelids stopped flickering and the endless gaze that came with death was now here. His heart stopped beating and he became motionless and heaviness that accompanied the dying man was now here. The Dressolini then leaned forward as all he could do was produce tears. His forehead pressed against his fallen brothers' and instead of feeling the warmth of a long awaited embrace, all he felt was cold, as if he had taken a step onto a mountain with no clothes to warm him. His vision grew darker until no light could be seen and his crying and hateful screams would echo and slowly leave as all of his senses left his body.

The stillness of the water broke as he shot out of the water, sending waves crashing against the edge of the large outdoor bath as he gasped for breath. He would raise his shaking hands out of the water, looking to them in deep contemplation whilst catching his breath. Salvatore's eyes would trail from the steam that his wrinkled hands gave off to each detail his skin provided, moving down his arms where the deep scars were and as his eyes followed them like a path, they would get bigger and bigger until he looked to his chest, seeing the deep markings from decades still there and still sending the same message they always had. His hand would move to the side of his head, feeling the pain that last battle had brought him and as it did, the final words of his fallen brethren echoed in his mind.

His head would tilt back, looking up to the dark sky, seeing the clouds form and cover the moon as lightning struck and a drizzle of rain came but was ultimately silenced by a storm that abruptly began to pour down rain. The braziers that were lit were smothered by the torrential down pour and provided a darkness that seemed as if no light could guide one through it.

After a long silence from the Dressolini, he finally spoke and when he did, he did spoke to the sky.

"Presto fratello… presto.."