Dust That Doesn't Settle

Chapter 001

Dust that Doesn't Settle

Shiroyuki H. Nomaeru

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'Fate is... cruel indeed.' So thought Lelouch, in his extended (and all too common) moments of solitude. For one who had moulded the future of the world so extensively, he now spent an inordinately large portion of his time thinking of days past. Contrary to taking part in (the rather momentous) events of the present age, Lelouch spent his long years on the move, working hard only to avoid hard work. Power no longer appealed to him as it once had; Lelouch had come to believe that it, and existence in of itself for that matter, mattered little, if at all. Chains unseen bound man; his destiny was set, for he was 'free' to choose, but said 'choices' were nothing if not predetermined...

...Or so he chose to believe, because believing otherwise would be... much too painful. 'At the very least... there are no right choices.' Lelouch had already lost most that that was dear to him: those he had killed... those who were alive no more... and those who lived yet—but were forever lost to him all the same. He could no longer be Zero... or Lelouch for that matter. His mortal self was dead to the world. There was... simply no place for him here. Perhaps keeping with his 'elevated' state and its accompanying tradition, he should now choose to be... R.R..

The grey shadows of his past still whispered to him in his solitude. Warm memories of his past flashed by: Nunally, Suzaku, Kallen, Shirley... Euphemia... Roloh... Tears threatened arrival, but theirs was a dismally empty threat, for his tears had long since run out. Lelouch once again realized he was starting to forget precise details—moments he was sure he had treasured—but could remember no longer. His soul ached for any semblance his old life: for just a few more rosy days with his friends, a few more laughs; the raw emotion of it all. But alas, that was not to be. 'Fate is... painful indeed.'

Almost as if sensing his familiar melancholy, it seemed nature took pity on him and sent forth an icy, harsh wind to jolt him out of his sordid stupor. But even as it blew through the frozen valleys of proud mountains, through the whistling night sky, through the vast canopy of rustling trees, through the dancing wheat fields, and into the small window of an isolated, decrepit, nondescript cottage, Lelouch found it to be carrying nothing but sorrow, devoid of any solace. Perhaps someone else out there was in greater need of its warmth; someone who deserved it more. Lelouch... could endure. Lelouch... would live.

The scent of damp wood, wild grass, rotting leaves, and rich soil permeated the cool atmosphere as he wondered where this sadness had come from. Was it even the pain of the present? Or was it from ages past? After all, there was surely in there, pain he had caused; by his countless crimes... crimes that would never be absolved... crimes there was no forgiveness for. He decided its origin mattered little, for he could bear it all on his shoulders. He had to––of that he was certain. He had eternity ahead of him... and that was how it should be. "Fate is... fair indeed."

Lelouch had never been one to seek out company, nor had he particularly sought out solitude. However, this isolation from society had changed Lelouch in strange ways; he had spent far too much time with only himself for company, and a worse influence for him existed not. His morbid (?) and ever-growing (?) understanding of the underpinnings of the cosmos and idiosyncrasies of man evinced as much. In his early days—an unchanging, monotonous stretch of life—he had contemplated ending it all quite often. He had felt more alive thinking of the worlds he created inside his own head, than in the real one. However, Lelouch had persevered: he had promised to himself... to live... live until he found a reason to live. And now he had found... it.