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Soft crunches of sand as his weight leaves his footprints on the fine, pale sand. The sunset heats the side facing the mix of warm colors, shifting into darker tones soon to be as rich as the ocean’s depths. The world moves and continues without him, even if he stopped to stand at the shore for a moment longer. His eyes open a tad, shimmering with the foamy edges of the sea, green surrounding the golden halos of his pupils. Brown locks shift with the breeze dancing at the side of his face and brushing his cheeks in soft tickles. He can see the horizon closing on him. A new day came and went.
His gloved hands move to stop his side bangs from distracting his focus on the view before him. He can almost hear the small voice of guilt inside his head speaking in hushed murmurs, knowing how deafening it could become. He must go back. The island was serene; the colors of flowers and green trees were fresh and bright from the cultivation and nutritious earth. A real gem in agriculture, while the rage of war had left with scrambling minds and hopeless hearts picking it back up. The purple snail at the other side of the region said it as much. The citizens ogle at it in marvel, while others cowered in fear so as not to anger the visitors that had saved them from destruction.
Or because they had done more damage and wished for no more.
The Kingdom replenished supplies and the traitors and war criminals were dealt with by the soldiers. The sudden sound of heavy footwork reaches his ears from the harbor, the brunet turns to look their way. Carefully watching as a platoon walks by, escorting a group of men and women alike towards their disposing site. It was heartless, but it was war. It had no reason, no justification, for Germa66 only worked with purpose. Money, power, it all had the meaning in the kingdom, and no room for error was left.
Even less so for the people at the top of the royal family.
What is there to life without a purpose? The servant often found himself asking that question. It was not an excuse for the actions of the family he served. Justifying them would fall on deaf ears if the people at the other end were hurt or damaged by Germa. But the brunet stood at the beach, where once there had been tourists, families, or children playing, and now only he stood, with carnage and blood behind him. Ruins of a once happy, ignorant life. And he stood for a second before taking his turn and his first step towards the other side of the shore.
There was no morally good answer to excuse them and their actions. Elliot didn’t have an excuse at the moment, and perhaps never will. For he was only a servant and his duty was to serve the family. Life or death meant nothing to him if he had no purpose.
His eyes close as his thoughts started to wander.
When one walks down the beach and feels the ocean waves hit their Achilles’ heel, what stops one’s body from crumbling like chipped, cracked marble? The purpose in life requires one to find oneself, to
know
.
Isn’t that frightening?
To try. Attempt to reduce a existence to a moment, a reason. Figure out where one stands in the cosmos, the spark of life that glistens like edged mirrors, much like the sand that the soles of his shoes picked up when he steps closer and closer to the giant lavender snail in the distance.
He could see its shape, imposing, and calmly waiting for a command. Much like him, but the difference was that he was not a clone, nor a modified creature. A human that walked the edges of an abyss, one only left for him to balance. As he served Reiju her morning tea or fixed Yonji’s wardrobe. When he brought Niji’s lunch to his room or stood beside Ichiji’s presence as he worked on plans.
He had no room to speak, no room for error. Just like the castle on top of the transporting snail. Elliot Fletcher was an accessory, a tool. His body was a vessel for a soul with one purpose: to serve. Not only in servitude but to be useful, if he wasn’t…then what was his existence's value?
“You will do.”
His thoughts are interrupted by the memory, almost as if the cries from his mind had made his silent heart quiver and cry back. Raging with emotions, moved by those three words, heavier to him than an affirmation. He remembers them. It was one particularly cold island where they had stopped, the mission eluded him, but he was there to hand the sons their winter coats. They never let their gaze linger on the servants and with rightful reason. The servants were meant to be pieces of their chess game, expendable. Replaceable, and to serve a purpose.
He, a pawn, stood at the side. Elliot listened to the rook speak about the snow, the bishop bicker back about how unnecessary this trip was…and the king-
“You will do,”
The king had said. And Elliot needed a second to realize that he was speaking to him, a mere pawn. His eyes shifted up from the shiny black boots Ichiji wore that day, to his white pants and red sweater. He stopped himself at his lips, the corner of Ichiji's lips were lifted just enough to show a hint of his amusement.
And that was it.
He accompanied them on their trip to the cold island’s market, and for some reason, unbeknownst to him even today as he watched the sun finally set in the distance, he didn’t feel the sheer cold as he walked just enough behind Ichiji’s presence.
It may be stupid to some, perhaps crazy to others, but he felt seen. Seen for the first time in his life, he held on tightly to that memory. It was reason enough for him to not ask questions, to worship the ground they walked on, and to give his life for them if required. And to Ichiji? To Ichiji he would give up everything, for him, he would take the sins that rested on his shoulders were he ever brought to moral justice. He would fall into the abyss given the order and stain his hands with red blood to match his crimson hair.
There was no good reason to justify that feeling. Like sweet honey at the back of his throat, unable to make his breathing right, but not wanting to exchange it for anything else. It was morning dew on fresh grass and a stab to his guts. It left him with no words as if the dictionary he had in his brain was not eloquent or good enough to refer to them in the slightest.
“
Elliot
,” he hears his name in that silky voice, like the ringing of a soprano in a quiet opera house, melodious, and ringing straight into his ear canal. His body turns like a magnet towards the voice of his master, the raid suit he wore always felt too bright for his eyes, the perfect white coat. The number 1 was as big and imposing as the man wearing it, weighting on his shoulders with the responsibility that came with it; Red as the most vivid shade of carmine, yellow that could be mistaken for golden linings. Ichiji was the epitome of royalty and power. The sound of soft sand being crushed faded into the night air, away from the world as the servant watched the prince walk towards him.
His steps were measured, not a moment wasted until he stood just a step or two away from Elliot.
“Master Ichiji,” He greets back, bowing to him, carefully lowering his upper torso and resting his forearm on his stomach to keep his back straight. “My apologies, I did not intend to divert from the given task-”
He stops when a gloved hand was risen, “I'm heading back. Come, I don’t want to linger in this desolate place any longer.” The rest had already returned to the ship, and as Ichiji turned, he glanced up at the sky. When had it gotten so dark?
Elliot watched him, the way Ichiji's cape fluttered with the wind, and not even the unfounded sand could stop him from looking like he commanded the earth and ocean. The suit framed his figure perfectly as he walked away from him. Elliot didn’t want him to need to call him again, so he took pace, enough to be behind him as they walked. Their job was done, they could go now.
Them.
It shouldn’t make his heart flutter, nor make his mind wonder if Ichiji saw him as a part of them. Significantly important? Maybe not, but a part of Germa. His to command.
It caused a bubbling feeling to ephemerally make his blood fizz up like effervescent champagne, sweet and light, his steps feeling like a soaring eagle on his first flight.
He takes a well-needed breath, a crashing wave-making him turn to the ocean again. Salty air and a darkened night sky speckled with the stars set the mood. It was not a story like most. It wasn’t a romantic setting, for the island was left in shambles in their presence. Guilt could almost be tasted at the tip of his tongue as he thought about it.
But it was perfect.
“Sire,” he speaks up into the night, his voice calm and with a composure that could only be obtained with years of practice. Elliot would never let his feelings get in the way, nor bother Ichiji. No, he would be more efficient, do his job, and do it right. Not out of affection, but as his duty as Ichiji’s servant, his tool. He expected no proper word of acknowledgment, none but a simple hum. And it would be enough. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” His words are light, watching as the moon shone brightly amongst the lesser diamonds. And even with its domain over the night, it seemed so…gentle.
There is silence, save for the sound of crushing sand and the ocean breeze. A quiet night and the ocean around them.
Ichiji doesn’t glance at the aforementioned horizon, for the view is not worth his attention. “The moon is the same as any other night,” he says in a factual manner. A demand for an explanation.
Elliot closes his eyes and bows his head for Ichiji, “My apologies, Master, I meant no disrespect but to comment on the magnificent sight.”
“Keep it to yourself next time.”
“Yes, Master Ichiji.”
And that was all to it. It was enough, however. Elliot would keep it to himself, indeed, until his last breath, he would keep those words to his own.
For he would take it moving forward, to continue being useful to Ichiji.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Did you know there are other ways to say I love you?” Reiju spoke up from her spot at the library, speaking to one of the female companions she often found herself having. She couldn’t remember their faces every time, maybe because they often were replaced.
“I was not aware, Lady Reiju.”
“Yeah, in some languages saying '
The moon is beautiful'
is considered a poetic way of saying I love you. Isn’t that romantic?” she smiles.
“It is, Lady Reiju.”
Reiju sighs, a small smile playing on her lips as she continues reading the novel. Sometimes, finding the small things to appreciate in this treacherous place was the only way to find sanity.