It harder to focus, not knowing who he's searching for. It's not a goal; he has no goal, just this direction-- forwards-- and a warning-- don't get lost.
Forwards. Don't get lost.
He tries not to tangle his mind too deeply with Tidus', fearing that it might just bring him back to the train without any results. But there is nothing else. Nothing but emptiness, shallow and simple, a fog over his senses, and a stretch of nothing in front of his feet. A void that, he thinks, just maybe if he stretched his arm, he would reach the end of it.
Glowing lights. Trails of lights.
'Let me find them,' echoes unsaid, but heard, this resolve to move, to stretch forwards. He'd been walking to this point, gathering himself, but the determination, the fury of his thoughts strikes too deep for him to stay slow. It rattles in his head, and the chasm lingers, trailing behind him like a shadow that could swallow him at the slightest wrong step.
There are hundreds of glances in his head, the fill of too many people who have been here, who were once here. Who are still here, chained to the void in a way that Esteban can only reach for, can only try to break with this reckless attempt. He's never been good at thinking up of a plan, never managed to do anything more than just try and hope for the best; but this is what he has to offer.
This is what he is gifting these people, these strangers with unknown faces; he is going to try to find them. Try as hard as he ever did for--
Rain.
Rain plucks at the edges of his cloak, head upraised, dripping into his eyes, and the shadows pounce, bearing their full weight on him.
Crushing, choking him, the pressure so deep his ribs are creaking, heart hammering behind the fragile, bruising cage of bones as he looks up, up and up at teeth and scales and scorn and eyes as blue as his own, with a voice that rattles in his head and roars into his ears. 'YOU WILL DIE THIS WAY!'
Flashes, too quick to make much sense of; faces and people and lost, lost, lost, lost, lost, people he will never find again, people he cannot afford to find again-- a pine branch with chamomile flowers drying across it-- a red fox with amber eyes painted on a paper fan-- clumsily gathered flowers from childhood crushed and faded after the passing of years-- black-ink scales cold to the touch in an eternal slumber until he forgets that he's dreaming.
The touch of a lover, eyes staring up at him, grey-green-blue, like the stones found at the bottom of rushing streams, smooth to the touch, and as precious as jewels. Hope, so soft and gentle, and cocooned, a flutter of miniature wings soaring in his chest when he sees her. Dawn-soft days filled with simple adventures, wide plains and running through them hand-in-hand. Laughter echoing across the wide blue sky.
Missing her, missing her, missing her so much-- crumpled, and crushed, wings ripped and fragile body broken as he searches and searches and searches. Knowing that time is running out; knowing that each day is one more defeat, one more fissure in the growing hole. She is gone, and he cannot find her, and the void of her absence is growing, and growing and growing.
'You will die this way' and knowing this had been his decision, his rebellion against the world. That despite the pain, he would do it again. That despite the echoes of a gnawing hole where he should be whole, he would give away these pieces of his soul, tie them around the people that he cares for, cradle them close into his memories until they become a part of him because he will miss them when he loses them.
no subject
Forwards. Don't get lost.
He tries not to tangle his mind too deeply with Tidus', fearing that it might just bring him back to the train without any results. But there is nothing else. Nothing but emptiness, shallow and simple, a fog over his senses, and a stretch of nothing in front of his feet. A void that, he thinks, just maybe if he stretched his arm, he would reach the end of it.
Glowing lights. Trails of lights.
'Let me find them,' echoes unsaid, but heard, this resolve to move, to stretch forwards. He'd been walking to this point, gathering himself, but the determination, the fury of his thoughts strikes too deep for him to stay slow. It rattles in his head, and the chasm lingers, trailing behind him like a shadow that could swallow him at the slightest wrong step.
There are hundreds of glances in his head, the fill of too many people who have been here, who were once here. Who are still here, chained to the void in a way that Esteban can only reach for, can only try to break with this reckless attempt. He's never been good at thinking up of a plan, never managed to do anything more than just try and hope for the best; but this is what he has to offer.
This is what he is gifting these people, these strangers with unknown faces; he is going to try to find them. Try as hard as he ever did for--
Rain.
Rain plucks at the edges of his cloak, head upraised, dripping into his eyes, and the shadows pounce, bearing their full weight on him.
Crushing, choking him, the pressure so deep his ribs are creaking, heart hammering behind the fragile, bruising cage of bones as he looks up, up and up at teeth and scales and scorn and eyes as blue as his own, with a voice that rattles in his head and roars into his ears. 'YOU WILL DIE THIS WAY!'
Flashes, too quick to make much sense of; faces and people and lost, lost, lost, lost, lost, people he will never find again, people he cannot afford to find again-- a pine branch with chamomile flowers drying across it-- a red fox with amber eyes painted on a paper fan-- clumsily gathered flowers from childhood crushed and faded after the passing of years-- black-ink scales cold to the touch in an eternal slumber until he forgets that he's dreaming.
The touch of a lover, eyes staring up at him, grey-green-blue, like the stones found at the bottom of rushing streams, smooth to the touch, and as precious as jewels. Hope, so soft and gentle, and cocooned, a flutter of miniature wings soaring in his chest when he sees her. Dawn-soft days filled with simple adventures, wide plains and running through them hand-in-hand. Laughter echoing across the wide blue sky.
Missing her, missing her, missing her so much-- crumpled, and crushed, wings ripped and fragile body broken as he searches and searches and searches. Knowing that time is running out; knowing that each day is one more defeat, one more fissure in the growing hole. She is gone, and he cannot find her, and the void of her absence is growing, and growing and growing.
'You will die this way' and knowing this had been his decision, his rebellion against the world. That despite the pain, he would do it again. That despite the echoes of a gnawing hole where he should be whole, he would give away these pieces of his soul, tie them around the people that he cares for, cradle them close into his memories until they become a part of him because he will miss them when he loses them.