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The night was rather silent, minus the sound of the occasional chirping of crickets, and the footsteps of late-night wanderers on the street. One of the few that decided to take a late-night stroll was ignoring the sounds and voices of everything, his crimson eye remaining forward. Before he knew it, he found himself in the forest, his hands casually falling from his pockets. He had decided to no longer cover his right hand with a glove or bandages, revealing the branding of the Crimson Lion crest.
"I see this branding as a promise now. Perhaps a reminder that the enemy, him, is still out there. And this is a promise that someday, one of us, maybe both, can change that."
He recalled saying that to a close friend of his, and his closest one at that; an Altalar. Whether or not she agreed with that statement was beyond him, but he feels that it goes to show that he can't run away from the path he is on, which sometimes almost feels similar to the path of vengeance.
Looking around in the forest, Milo found himself in a familiar opening. He stopped walking, his vision panning down onto the river before him. He ran his right hand through his multicolored hair, gently lowering onto his knees, onto the grass. He did not know why he decided to come here. Perhaps to just clear his mind, or simply try and ease his nerves.
Or perhaps to reminisce.
As he closed his eyes, beginning to meditate, he felt a cool breeze blow against him. In a way, it felt calming, but in other ways, it was a little unsettling. He remained still, however, continuing his attempt at meditation, until his left, good eye opened, staring into the river until he felt himself slip into a dream.
"I see this branding as a promise now. Perhaps a reminder that the enemy, him, is still out there. And this is a promise that someday, one of us, maybe both, can change that."
He recalled saying that to a close friend of his, and his closest one at that; an Altalar. Whether or not she agreed with that statement was beyond him, but he feels that it goes to show that he can't run away from the path he is on, which sometimes almost feels similar to the path of vengeance.
Looking around in the forest, Milo found himself in a familiar opening. He stopped walking, his vision panning down onto the river before him. He ran his right hand through his multicolored hair, gently lowering onto his knees, onto the grass. He did not know why he decided to come here. Perhaps to just clear his mind, or simply try and ease his nerves.
Or perhaps to reminisce.
As he closed his eyes, beginning to meditate, he felt a cool breeze blow against him. In a way, it felt calming, but in other ways, it was a little unsettling. He remained still, however, continuing his attempt at meditation, until his left, good eye opened, staring into the river until he felt himself slip into a dream.
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"Go away."
Milo's voice was calm as he kept his gaze on the water, but he was clearly feeling rather annoyed at the presence of the newcomer approaching behind him. They were wearing a hood, donning a wooden mask, a rapier sheathed at his hip. Along with that, he appeared as if he had just been pulled from death itself, looking almost ghost-like.
"Not the best way to greet an old friend, now is it?" The newcomer approached as Milo stood from his knees slowly. His own expression was blank, almost cold. His tone was just as cold, almost like the night's breeze. Slowly, Milo turned to face the newcomer, placing a hand on the hilt of his katana.
"Why have you come for me, Korsan?" he questioned, slowly getting more aggravated, but he remained at ease despite the tight grip he had on his blade. The man across from him laughed, lowering his hood and taking off his mask, tossing it aside to reveal the worn face and pointed ears of a Kathar, but giving the Brood a wicked grin as he brandished his rapier.
"I've come to give you a reminder is all," he replied, reaching into his pocket. After a small moment, he took out an eye with a crimson red iris and black sclera, much like Milo's left eye. The Brood hardened his vison, placing a hand under his right eye; his blind one. "Glad you remember that at least. But that is not the memory I was thinking about helping you recall," he continued, pointing to the back of his right hand with the tip of his rapier, at the Crimson Lion branding.
"I already know about him," he replied with a slightly more annoyed tone. "I don't need my past ghosts reminding me of my current demons. Go away, Korsan." His gaze appeared more agitated as he stared the Kathar down, who in turn gave another laugh as he suddenly swiped his rapier downward, to which Milo responded with swinging his own blade to the right, redirecting the swing with gritted teeth.
"You think you can just shoo me away, hmm? You can't run from the past, Sen'ming. And if you tried hiding it, someone will eventually come to dig it up from your mind. You may see that little knife-drawn picture on your hand as a reminder, but you just won't admit something, is that right?"
Milo furrowed his brow upon hearing his statement, but he couldn't say those words were wrong. He didn't want to say, but he knew that whether he chose to chase the past to try and vanquish it, if he tried to hide from the past to try and forget it, or if he tried to run from the past to try and escape it, the past would always remain with him, and the branding on his hand, as well as the various scars on his body, would just be further proof of it.
And a small part of Milo felt a small ounce of fear from that knowledge.
"So you indeed /are/ afraid of the past, even to this day. For a disgrace like you, Sen'ming, I am not surprised," Korsan replied, aiming to plunge his rapier towards Milo's throat. However, Milo's gaze did not shift or soften, bringing his metal hand up to shove the blade aside.
"I don't need my past ghosts to remind me of events that happened long ago," he started, before quickly reeling his blade back, then slicing it horizontally across Korsan's throat. "..and I don't need the one who orphaned me breathing down my neck." He watched the Kathar fall back, but gave a crude chuckle.
"I will return eventually, Sen'ming. Perhaps in another one of your dreams. I suppose that is why you refuse to sleep sometimes; to prevent me from showing up." And with that, as Korsan's laughter faded away along with his ghastly body, Milo Shinseki was left with his thoughts for the next few moments. He looked ahead after sheathing his katana, thinking that he saw a wolf. It had blonde fur, and green, emerald eyes. They stared each other down for a moment before it, too, faded, as the Brood began to awaken.
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Milo woke up from his sudden slumber, slowly lifting his head to the sky. It was almost sunrise. With a quiet sigh, he slowly pushed himself onto his feet. Taking a look at the river one more time, he recalled the night when he had lost his eye.
The same night he watched Korsan plunge a rapier into his father's throat.
Furrowing his brow at the thought, quickly shooing it away for now, he made to step back towards his home, pocketing his hands.
"The past can continue to chase me, like a wolf seeking its prey. It's my wolf, and eventually, I will learn to tame it."
