Heroes of Dreamland Rewritten, Book 1: Stars Amidst Lightning

Chapter 30

Meta Knight | メタナイト

Sakura quickly falls asleep, but the same respite does not come so easily to myself. I haven't been the best sleeper ever since when I first joined the Star Warrior army almost two-hundred years ago. Living on Popstar, where nightmares hardly ever happen, has made it much easier, since I no longer have to dread falling asleep. The trick is still to persuade my mind to allow me to fall asleep, rather than keeping me awake with all its musing and churning.

If what Sakura said was true, then she was drawing closer to death all the time last spring. Maybe by some mistake, her file ended when she was supposed to die rather than when she did. I'd take out the 'book' and try to check, but for the past few days, I haven't even been able to open it without getting the 'corruption' warning. The one time I managed to press through to my file, what little there was left looked like maybe days, definitely not even a full month or even more than maybe a week or two. If the idea of Sakura's file ending prematurely without her death were to turn out to be the correct theory, perhaps the same could happen to me. Perhaps I could live on after the end of my already-written story, laid down by who-knows-who, who-knows-when.

Despite the fact that I pledged my life to the protection of others so many years ago, the idea of dying is still not a pleasant one for me. They say that those who are pure in heart and follow the Star Power will become stars themselves after their passing, but of course, there isn't really a way to know for sure... And what's more, I don't know if I've been able to qualify as anything even remotely resembling'pure in heart' for many years now...

Shaking my head away from those thoughts, I glance over at Sakura again, and get hit with the same pang of sadness that I felt when she told me about the fate she would have come to if not for the meteor changing everything. To think that she so nearly passed without my ever getting to meet her, or knowing her apart from every other Waddle Dee at the castle... to think I never would have gotten to train her...

A colder, wiser part of myself steps in with a firm warning. Hugging my cape to myself closely, I ask myself under my breath, "What happened to having a heart of stone? To no longer allowing myself to care about anyone? Loving others, caring for them as anything more than an ally... it only ever ends in pain. You can't have friends. You shouldn't have friends. You're hardly a hero even on your good days; she is pure and young, just like Kirby and Bandanna Dee; none of them need you corrupting them with the darkness and hatred you hide inside. And you don't need friends who will distract you from what really matters— being a stone-cold warrior, protecting others without ever letting anyone in. They are allies; only allies— only other people fighting for the same thing. None of them are anything more. None of them will ever be anything more."

Scowling to myself, I close my eyes and try to clear my head. I've let myself grow too attached to the young Waddle Dee, if the thought of losing her or having never met her brings me anything more than a drive to protect a fellow soldier. She cannot be my friend. She is my squire only, just as Kirby is only my pupil. I can't have friends. I don't want friends. 'Friends' only ever bring grief and pain when inevitably, they leave or are taken away.

If only my heart of flesh would hurry up and become a heart of stone, if only I could completely forget the open, innocent puffball I once was, long before I was sullied by war, and if only I could forget all the people I've ever loved... It would all be so much easier.

Glancing over at the other three again, I steel myself for tomorrow. I can no longer seem friendly. I must distance myself. I have let myself grow too attached; it is time to sever any attachment.

Hopefully, the others will not make this any more difficult than it has to be... After all, if my turn in the story is about to come to an end, it would be better for them to think of me as unkind and uncaring... I don't want them to miss me. When I leave— if I leave— I want to leave as little mark as possible upon the lives of these innocents.