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His laugh echoes in the quiet of the night, deep in his dreams when eyelids close and sleep overtakes him. The memories of simpler times, of discovery, friendship and something more, of love. The wish for a heart that was once lost, calling for its pair to find him, please, please, Isa -- and the reply that never came. Why, why? Where was he? Was he hurt? I’m so scared.
The joke had never been funnier. Oh, how foolish he had been. The desires of a young mind, trembling in the dark, without ever knowing how comforting it was. Oh, the dark. Obscure, frigid, dreadful, yet, its embrace the only truth. It spoke words he wouldn’t listen to, whispered names he forgot. He was deaf to reality.
But he wasn’t blind.
It shines blue on the ground, cloud swirling inside like waves, stars bright in its handle. There it is. The weapon that bound his fate. Protector of worlds and Light, they call him, not knowing half the truth, how ridiculous. How betrayed he is.
Left behind in the dust without a glance or a word, for years and years, desperately looking for once a friend-- now a foe. And his laugh doesn’t bring happiness any longer; it isn’t his anymore. He looks at them with a spark in his eyes and they look up at him with respect and adoration, with love; it isn’t his anymore. And he laughs. He laughs. With his heart, plain and clear, his chest translucent as he laughs and it comes from his heart. It isn’t his anymore.
And then he dares. Oh, he dares.
I was looking for you.
I missed you.
Please, come back, come with me.
Where have you been?
Lea.
And the fire burns. It burns without end nor beginning. It blurs around the edge, eating everything in its wake. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue . It licks the walls and the trees, runs on the lakes and rivers, bubbling and hissing. It doesn’t stop, not until there’s nothing left. Nothing, like in his own empty chest. And the ashes rain. It falls like the tears that won’t, unable to, unwanting to; undeserved. It covers the dirt and the water in a thick black coat.
And everything is still.
Everything is dead.
His fists are curled at his side, head hanging low, eyes closed, kneeling in the empty field. He, too, is covered in ashes that burn and crackle. It laughs at his misery, at his foolishness, at the hopes and dreams that perished, consumed by the fire that will never be satisfied.
He raises his arms and lifts his head, fists uncurling and palms open to the sky, ashes crumbling around him and falling like snowflakes on fresh ground. And here he will be reborn. And here he will come anew, like the phoenix that rises, again and again, never fully struck down.
And he will embrace it. The fire that consumes it all. And he will wield it to its end. And no one will ever stop him. No one will ever stop him. Not anymore.
And when he opens his eyes to the worried sea-green gaze in front of him, he smiles, mischievous and sadistic, humanity evaporated from its shell.
And golden eyes laugh.