Chapter Text
Natsumi Hikari watches.
There is something in her soul, something hard to define.
She is not alone, inside. Yes, she is herself. Years of soul searching assured her of that. But she was…
( “A friend,” one of the gods of this World had told her. “One of my oldest. She chose to be reborn, to stop the man she loved.”
“It was the Forest, wasn’t it?”
The god looked sad, at that.
“Forestopia didn’t always use his body,” she had said. “She loved the man he used to be. I just wish she could have let him go.” )
She doesn’t watch Tsukasa, or Daiki. That always hurts too much.
Yuusuke does, sometimes. Tells her they are doing their best. They are alive.
(They are fighting, but is that a good thing? Is fighting ever worth a damn thing?)
Which is all to say, she screams, when Chinatsu is stabbed.
…And she knows, she knows her past is still inside of her, burried.
Her past is not supposed to split off. To turn into something living.
The form is a solid half a meter taller than her, skin dark and brown and bark-like, in texture. Spindly fingers curl to points like vines or branches. Her hair is a deep green, curling wildly, and her eyes are a bright red.
(It is the same as when Natsumi transforms into what the Forest made of her. The same as when she spoke to the Forest, and he seemed to know her— )
She wears simple knit clothes, and her feet, if one could call them that, are bare.
And yes, of course, she is beautiful.
“Hello , ” the past says. “This shouldn’t be possible. Why have you called me, Future?”
“My name is Natsumi,” Natsumi says. She knows it’s the way of these things, to speak in terms larger than life. It comes naturally to her, as well. But it is not something she likes.
(It feels like giving in to the Forest’s game)
“And mine is Biruchira,” the past— Biruchira says. Her eyes are bright still, somehow. And she laughs. “But really. What happened?”
“The Forest finally brought death to my World, ” Natsumi says. “And I can’t do a thing.”
Biruchira hmms. She paces back and forth, her hands behind her back, her face thoughtful.
“You know,” she says. “I have a friend. You know her.”
Natsumi thinks.
“…The gods of this place.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“My friend, she is one part of something greater ,” Biruchira says, and her eyes sparkle. “And you… you have rejected me, haven’t you?”
“I don’t want anything from the Forest,” Natsumi says, her eyes dark. Biruchira laughs again.
They’re so different, and yet their soul is the same.
(But that’s not true. She remembers when she was light, and silly, and bubbly. She think it even lasted until some time in her adventure, with Tsukasa.
Around when she realized she might never go home. Never see her friends again.
Never see the Riders she was naturally tied to, by fate, when they were Riders. )
“Well, there’s your problem,” Biruchira says. “Even dead, we have power there. Sagan— Forestopia still uses what it gave over to me.”
Her form shifts, and suddenly, her hair is wound in tight golden braids, her dress is a pure white, hanging off her shoulders. One eye, now, is blue.
(Like the Forest’s host flashed for just a moment, when she spoke to him in that odd tongue. It must have been Biruchira’s, she realizes.)
A single red eye…
“What do you have in mind?” Natsumi asks. Biruchira leans down, and she touches her head to Natsumi’s.
“To save the woman you love,” she says. “I too am sick of loss, Hikari Natsumi. But it will come at a cost.”
“And that is?” Natsumi asks softly. Her form changes, too. Her hair is blonde, now. There was only a single streak, before. A hood lined in black hangs over her head.
She is more, now.
If she accepts.
“You will be Forestopia’s prisoner,” Biruchira says. “Until Saganoya is put to rest.”
Natsumi smiles.
“I can do that,” she says.
And she closes her eyes, and…
(For a while, all she will see is darkness.)