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Koh’a’s body unfurled itself as he let out a loud yawn, stretching every part of his body as he tried to speed the waking process. Rolling his shoulders back against the soft bed resulted in some satisfying pops as he used his elbows to force himself up, lest he fail in waking and return to the realm of sleep and his endless visions of people and places he does not know yet somehow remembers.
The dreams have been more focussed of late. Had been ever since he arrived on the First. They would follow one of two times. He would either be watching the travels of his current ghostly companion Ardbert, as his small group of friends earned their titles of Warriors of Light (cursed as though that had come to be in the eyes of the common folk of the current times), or follow Emet-Selch (at least what he had assumed to be Emet from the striking resemblance the two had) and people that he felt so strongly that he knew yet was so certain that they were strangers to him. As though his soul knew something that his mind and body did not, and yearned to know them again.
The ‘dream’ just past was one of the latter. ‘Emet’, a man with braided purple hair, and a man with exceptionally long brown hair, had been discussing something serious over a table of what Koh’a assumed to be ‘Emet’s’ desk. The brown haired man was visibly frustrated, and yet the cold manner in which he spoke was that of a practiced clinical procedure. It reminded Koh’a of how Kamui spoke when the political meetings the Scions attended began to turn sour. The topic they were discussing was beyond Koh’a understanding, and so he had spent the dream intently watching each man’s faces and bodies, for despite his lack of understanding of the words being spoken, their movements spoke to Koh’a plainly. ‘Emet’ had to do something that the brown haired man disagreed with. ‘Emet’ also disagreed with what he had to do, yet had no say in the matter. The purple haired man was conflicted on which of his friends to try and soothe the hurts of, yet before he could, the brown haired man finally snapped and stormed out of the room. Neither of the remaining men followed him, yet the tension in both of them spoke of their desire to do so.
Sharp knocking on his inn rooms door broke Koh’a from his recollection of his dream, “‘M comin’” he called as he scrambled to dress himself. Whatever these dreams were could wait. He had his own decisions to make, and he’d rather struggle with coming to terms with them than that of someone long gone.