A War Worth Fighting |DISCONTINUED|

Chapter 8: Wavering Trust

3147 words.

   "Remember, Gon, always follow the dreams. Use this," Mito pointed at Gon's heart, "not so much this," booping his forehead.

   Gon was only a few hundred years old at the time, the peak of his height hardly reaching a full-grown elf's stomach. He threw his head back with a whine, "But Aunt Mito, how do we learn to fight by just meditating? Isn't there something else I can do?"

   "With patience comes great deeds." She pointed at her head, "you'll get to train for defense once you get your buds. But that's all it's for: defense. Never should you abuse it."

   Mother Nature's Dream.

   An ethereal realm of ever-changing spirits and untamed nature. Only a select few can reach it and even fewer resist succumbing to the corrupted powers granted outside of the physical world. Time spent in the dream meant becoming the dream, and any individual's body would slowly evolve to accompany the heart of the forest. To the body, change is irresistible, but a singular differentiation in mindset could become disastrous. Just as it did for their former leader, and just as it did for his father. Or, so the rumors claim. Ging Freecss: the most powerful druid to have ever existed-- until he had fraternized over the enemy; until he disappeared and Gon being the only trace left behind, but no one viewed it as abandonment. They only perceived it as a gift. A gift of golden eyes—said to be a sign of the goddess's blessing, a gift Ging had left in assurance of protecting his people; a gift that displayed Gon had promise, but that's all it was. A symbol. He didn't earn respect. It was given to him. He had the opportunity to become anything, but he was nothing. It all left him quite bored...and lonely. He then found the dreamway as a form of escape, so he felt like he was actually contributing to the said greatness the goddesses granted.

   It all depended on the mind.

   He meditated in the medical tent. The wounded moaned in pain, and he tried to block out the frantic sounds with lesser, more monotonous echoes, such as the gentle sway of fabric in the wind or droplets pattering on the sandy floor. But why? Why couldn't he enter Mother Nature's dream since the massacre? Every night he meditated, begged, and prayed. Nothing, not even a semblance or glimpse of the realm. He needed the power of the druids to fight back, to fulfill his said purpose.

   But little did he know, it was his mentality stopping him the entire time.

   Killua hasn't come back for hours, Gon worriedly realized. He was instructed to leave the mage all alone with a stranger, and he agreed to it! No, Killua can handle himself. But why did a feeling of dread engulf him every time the thought raised to the surface of his mind?

A hurt soldier wailed, "Lily, I'm sorry."

Gon winced, the refugee's leg was severed with the fall, the bleeding would never ease, and how he always spoke of his daughter, Lily, a small human girl that he claimed to be the kindest on the face of the planet.

"Damn it!" Gon gritted his teeth, why can't I enter the dream?! He despised being weak—assigned as a healer who can't even heal, the lack of battlefield experience rendering him naive and useless when it mattered. He knew Killua had a sufferable past, but the selfish part of Gon wished he was in his shoes because he had experience, he had opportunity, but Gon has the resolve he lacked. Gon relaxed his tense shoulders. This circumstance is frustrating, sure, but it would take a lot more than jealousy to start disliking Killua.

  An image of the mage popped in his mind, an image of him smiling with his signature whimsical glint. He remembered their journey together—the small moments often labeled as insignificant. The snow was particularly gentle that day, so they decided to make the most of it. Gon couldn't help but gape in amazement as Alluka and Killua challenged each other in a duel.