Bygone

8

Honor

It was quiet. As it's always been.

He wondered as to whether he missed those times. Those simpler, linear points in his life where he was driven by only the sole purpose of subjugating those who threatened.. threatened the very existence of the life, and lives, he and everyone else held dear so adhesively. He wondered as to whether he was satisfied with the reality he'd been presented with. The reality he made.

An epoch of peace. Which was well deserved after the years, the decades of chaos and destruction needed to reform said peace.

Leaning against the strangely soft fabric of the chair he'd made rest on for the meanwhile, he found it peculiar as to the way his mind shapes and defines the comfortable, poised four-wheeled stool as a brick wall. Or at least, something akin to the type. It was hard to distinguish the sensations, especially after having lived the quarters of his life on two feet.

The dim rays of light from the skyline pervaded through the ocean of black clouds above the region that painted the top layer of the horizon in an ever-growing, ever changing hue of darkness. He took its presence as a result of his own existence. And rather than bathing the already light renounced office in a spoon of white, it crawled creepily through the stained windows along the vinyl tiles tapered with carpet in a tinted blossom of a raging, radical red.

Ace leaned up from his laid-back posture, sliding his blemished boots against the rather rigid wool carpeting. Letting out a long held breath of air, he set his forearm gently onto the synthetically weaved wooden desk with his elbows taking lead.

He hunched his back over towards the flat plank, glancing over to his detached helmet first. The shrill, eerie cranking of his metal plates reverberated through the room in a subtle, sly temperance. Spirals and cinders of black matter swirled round his each finger in an angered, fermented cycle.

He was getting restless.

Especially with Moira still in her shrewd concealment; Robin's unwavering hubris, and the Elementis Feurna that they still haven't broken through, among many other prevalent issues.

It was quiet. It was too quiet.

And each second that the silence continues to flourish is another second that Moira is able to plot and coordinate each strike, failure after failure, against the Sedition.. and the ubiquity of the peace; of the harmony, he has fought so hard to keep. As she remains alive, and as Robin's pride continues to wane, and as the Feurna adjourns to delay him and his formidable regime..

The horrors of the past, the horrors of the Downfall will begin to catch up to him.

Ace rose staunchly to his feet, his mere strength toppling the chair off balance and scraping against the fine, intricate fibers. He grew overwhelmed with stillness, his every exhale following from a strong inhale. His fists clenched, and his throat caught in a wire, Ace shut his eyes for a moment as he struggled to stay composed and at ease. Gently, his frustration and disquietude faded with the pervading light, and he opened his eyes to the room once more.

Then, they were greeted with a framed image; a moment seized from what was, and what felt like a many lifetimes long past.

Seven. Seven people that seemed only like mere humans in this vast world. Seven, of which the six he'd shared struggle and strife; seven, of which he considered the people closest.. or was.. the people closest to him.

They fought wars, they fought deities and beings that held the powers of devils and gods alike. Seven, that redefined the commonly characterized corporeality of the word, legacy.