the garden within the wasteland

Mary wails,2

I left behind nothing but the ashes and shattered ego of a former ally; I left behind a friend, and I left behind an opponent. I continued to walk anyway. Indeed, it was a short-lived expedition; even the sun's relentless assaults of this day on me felt as if they remained on my side longer. I began to grow distant, a ghost within my own body, my brain shifting into a form of automation as I decided to just simply keep moving forward.

"What goes on in your brain, Miss Wails?" The ghost echoed, he said. I frankly had forgotten him; a constant ghost that does nothing but linger and occasionally offer advice when asked is bound to be forgotten. Those who do nothing are meant to be forgotten by history.

"I am tired, to be honest. How close are we to anything?"

"These trails do suggest recent footsteps. Regularly shaped, no armor. Just remain steadfast and onward, and by the grace of mesh you will find something or someone."

"I'm not in the mood to meet anyone."

I couldn't help but sigh as I looked down, and indeed, as he spoke, I had been stepping in the footsteps of some person long before me without noticing it; it didn't matter to me. I could begin to see where this half-made road was leading to: a shantytown from the best perspective. A couple of huts carrying vagabonds was a more realistic explanation of what this vast yet barely standing town was. I saw many standing under whatever shade the buildings could provide; the sun's heat equally burning the skin of all who dared to stand in its gaze, a sense of odd relief washed over me knowing the sun's ray did not place a spotlight line on only me.

"LADY! STATE YOUR ALLIANCE AND NAME!"

One of the vagabonds cried out as I began to approach their line of sight.

"Stand tall. first name, last name, title, and mentor. That's the proper introduction."

I heard Baldwin echo to me in whispers between the howls of the wind.

I couldn't bring myself to heed his advice and simply kept moving; they yelled many more questions, and one even had the backbone to threaten me, but then I began to think about it. Is this worth the trouble? It'll be much harder to keep up this attitude without a proper blade.

Yet before I could sigh, I felt a shock within my body. as if my mind and soul were punched in the solar plexus.

"MARY WAILS! Worry not, my children. She brings us no harm."

There he was again, his eyes still carrying a multitude of pupils; he had just appeared between the men under the shade. I was glad to see a familiar face, especially a friendly one, so I increased the speed of my approach towards the shantytown.

"Do you trust the silver man?" The ghost spoke without much thought as he turned to me, following behind me.

"He hasn't done anything to lose my trust so far."

"But you know how easily a friendly face may fall from grace."

"I'll be fine."

I now find myself face-to-face with the vagabonds, each one dressed in mismatched matching pieces of clothing and in styles not even worth remembering mere moments after I saw them. The alchemist stood between them all, still in the same clothes he wore during our first meeting; he appeared to both blend in and stand out as if he were an outsider yet remained the leader of the pack. How they all appeared to lower their stances and turn from the bandits they pretended to be to the farmers they wished to imitate the moment he made his appearance; he quickly returned his attention from me back to the others, his back now turned to me and facing the town itself now.

"REJOICE, I DO PROCLAIM! FOR THE CLAIM OF THIS WOMAN'S LIFE IS PROOF THAT THE METALLIC BOAR HAS BEEN SLAIN!"

A couple of questions began to be thrown towards the silver man, asking him if he was truthful and questioning the legitimacy of how he reached such a conclusion from my arrival, yet not one of the vagabonds could hold their excitement as they began to cheer and celebrate. I began to wonder if I should be joining in their celebration; perhaps I should be happier than they are since I was one of the three that helped slay the beast. I then began to remember my previous interactions with this land. I've seen these people before, but I never had an incentive to interact with them, and now I couldn't help but question their perspectives. I've had my trouble with machines in the past, but nothing worth a celebration of this level. I even began to hear the alchemist and all the men and women who surrounded him planning and thinking out a feast in the honor of those who were slain by the beast; now their souls lay to rest with its defeat. I wonder if these men would celebrate as much as they do if they had to face what I faced on my journey towards and outside of the beast. And I began to wonder if I would celebrate as much or more than them if I knew someone who had perished to the beast. Many of them attempted to involve me in their discussions and plans, and I did my best to showcase how uninterested I was in a festival, feast, celebration, or whatever word they decided to label this excuse to avoid work and drink, yet they remained persistent till I had to lay down my guard and accept to remain and help them for only one day; they promised me supplies, and I had recently run out of those, and in truth it was no inconvenience to me to accept these minuscule tasks. The sun's rays were starting to weaken and fall from their grace up in the heavens, and I preferred not to travel at night.