the garden within the wasteland

Act 2, Part 7

My legs began to tear and shift from my bone to the floor. And if feeling left out, my brain began to ache as if to mimic the pain felt within my long-abandoned, shattered right arm. Time felt to stretch and Unfurl within each lying moment, yet as my eyes drifted to my guides, who trapped within mindless chatter between themselves of what I could not bear to hear, I doubted they'd sing praises of my deeds. I am the unsung hero destined and determined to remain. Each year that passed on me appeared to be mere seconds for those two, stuck within their own worlds as they passed through this stone city. My eyes would wander aimlessly throughout the stone pillars and rectangles that made themselves the guardians and momentums of this land, the jewels on each one—how it disgusted me. Within each one, a reflection of an unrivaled shine and upkeep of unnatural dedication. Are they that obsessed with their own image? Can they not exist without bearing sight of their hideous faces for more than a walk's period of time? I did not hate the people of Azthryua for it won't be long before I am crowned and recognized as the true knight of this realm as my first step. Yet if this eternal midnight sun doesn't stop beating on my dried hair and pale skin, I may have to consider returning to a mask.

"Are you alright ereo? Your face is defined by your thoughts." Cerebrum curiously sighed as he turned around to face me.

"In other words. Your eyes are empty yet appear as facades." Vi interpreted only a sparing moment's glance to disparagingly study my face. He was dressed in a manner no different from Cerebrum. Attached to his back was a rifle, one clearly ripped from the hands of a dead machine, its barrel long and crunched, seeming to barely load more than a single shot. Yet the blade attached near its tip seemed to be in its prime. and its rattling sound gave his booming voice even higher ground to speak down to me. His eyes lingered on mine for just a moment; his right eye was a proper blue, and his left eye was a hollow yellow.

"Do not overcomplicate it. You see nothing, so there is nothing."

With that, he looked away. and sighed, muttering under his breath

'Proclaim yourself nothing, and a vessel for another voice you become." He spoke with a slight remorse or perhaps annoyance—I couldn't tell. This fool clearly knew nothing about me. To proclaim that I may become a vessel for another is to proclaim myself. my pride and worth to be weaker than another person's pride and worth. and I've yet to meet a man that can match me.

"Alas," Cerebrum quickly intervened before the silence stretched out any longer.

"I believe we've got our duties to attend to, don't we?"

Vi lifted his eye from the endless distance and onto his brother.

"I believe we do. ereo!" He suddenly called me out as both of them stopped to face me, Cerebrum still carrying that same innocent face and comfort he wore when I met him. I had begun to wonder what he gained from it, from appearing so joyous to being so helpful. I found myself beginning to grow slightly distasteful were it not for their next sentence.

"Touri's barracks is just straight ahead to your first right; you can't miss it! We have other matters to attend to, so please forgive us." cerebrum overexplained, which only harbored irritation within me. This entire sentence dragged out what could've ended in 10 words, but I bit my tongue and let out any word to fill in the silence.

"I'll consider it."

It had dawned on me that I hadn't considered it. A squire? Is that all I will become? Is that all my legacy will leave behind? Join under the command of this white knight, under her mercy? I couldn't bear the concept, yet what if I chose to remain hopeful in myself? Perhaps squire is merely just a title without consequence, and my skills will be recognized the moment I step into the barracks. But my foolish mind cannot help but wander. If I were to proclaim myself the sharpest of all blades only to be shattered over and over again, my eyes can't help but latch themselves onto my shattered arm that once so proudly held my weapon. Am I not preparing myself to do the same thing with my entire body instead of a measly arm? I am to go and be shattered and be broken and have my ego forcibly extracted, as I have nothing more to be proud of. I found myself suddenly staring into a storybook held on a pedestal within nothing but darkness that surrounded me. Empty shelves and itemless frames surrounded and hung on the formless darkness. The book's cover was nothing more than leather. Yet it seemed moments away from being burst open by the absent wind. I couldn't bear to stare into the book a second longer, my body feeling forgone and I was left with nothing more than the book and my own head, so I walked away; my mind moved first, then my legs, then my soul. And I simply just kept walking, as I had been degraded to do nothing but these past few hellish days. It took a moment before realizing whose path I walked on, the path to that white knight. My mind faltered, yet my body didn't as I ran the simple test: return to that dark, trophyless room? Or see whatever that white knight has in store for me?.