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Space still does not know peace; the balance of power have merely shifted.
With Scirocco dead, Zeon was reborn again, seemingly free to dominate and march forth with Haman Karn’s new banner.
No… no, that wasn’t right. There will be another to challenge her. To shake the new paradigm which she’s now established. The passing of time only guarantees a new generation, one that will learn from the mistakes of the old.
Yes, that will be her one hope. But for now… Kamille. Precious Kamille. By this point, it seems unlikely that he will wake up in time to put himself back into the trenches of bloodshed, but the Veil encompassing him doesn’t seem to mind that fact; only that he can eventually awaken.
The Veil is upon him, day in and day out. She lies with him. Smiles when their eyes meet. And if nightmares trouble Kamille in the midst of his sleep, a cool hand is there to grace a cheek, bringing him back to a steady calm.
In his state of vacancy and malaise, Kamille Bidan proves to be more vulnerable than ever. He needs to be protected from the worthless human conflict still raging and pounding just outside these hospital walls. He needs her to protect him.
And she needs him to get better.
‘Can you hear me?’
Fingers without structure graze an arm.
‘Can you see me?’
She lingers over him, their noses practically touching if she still had a nose to touch. The boy- no- the young man gazes right through her, though not in the way others simply cannot perceive the Veil‘s very existence. Kamille sees but does not understand; she is simply a comforting face in the midst of his waking sleep.
‘Oh… Kamille. My poor Kamille…’
She speaks to him with such love. Such enunciated adoration. They are beyond mere ‘words’, now existing through space and time as raw expressions of reverence.
As he is now, Kamille does not have the mental capacities to put the feeling into words, but even in his waking coma, this ‘warmth’ brings a smile to his lips. A dance of light in those dull eyes, staring out to nothing but the hospital ceiling.
It is simply an understanding of a love that Old Types cannot comprehend.
‘You’re going to be alright. Even if you can’t understand me right now… just know you’ll be fine…’
Wispy hairs of emerald flutter from her head in the direction of a wind that does not exist. Her arms are outstretched to encompass, to embrace him. The violet dress she wore in her time among the living now flows out to eternity, promising Kamille Bidan endless comfort and protection in his most vulnerable time.
‘This place will let you rest. Fa will constantly look after you. But above everything else…’
Lips painted with a gentle violet press onto his brow. Kamille may not know it, but it is a love whose intensity he had never experienced before, not from his mother nor his father.
‘...just know I’ll never leave your side. Until you wake up. Until you can walk away from all this, I’ll be right here.
…Okay?’
No answer. Nothing but that empty, infantile smile once more. She can feel her brows knit at the center with grief, but a faith in his ability to recover keeps her composure intact. She will not weep. She will not yield. This smile- as vacant as it may be- will not be sullied by her tears.
Kamille will rise once again. Humanity- foolish as they may be- will not let this war be the end of them. And when that dust settles, she will be able to see him off to the kind of loving, happy life that he deserves, even if it must be away from her side.
“But…”
Should someone pass by Bidan’s room, they might just barely hear a voice. A feeble and gentle tone without a home, a voice whose existence wouldn’t be able to be proven.
“Before you go… could you say it again to me… one more time?”
After all, Kamille was the only one in her entire life to consider ‘Four Murasame’ to be a ‘great name’. The only one to give it any love.
‘So please… just once more… my Kamille…’