Chapter Text
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Welcome back, although I suppose it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Even marking it “ evident “ that you would come back here does not represent what was always deemed to happen.
Here lies the boundaries of consciousness and automatic imagination, a state unconceivable through time and space, yet not unconstrained to their order. These limbos offer a certain apprehension to the new day, a new moment in which we fulfill our existence. They do not leave any mnemonic trace, nor do they feel lived or experienced, they simply accept for a single brief moment to think about what is and what will be, for an existant thrown into a world they did not choose. A reflection which isn’t though nor discussed, but resonated through our guilt, mistakes, emotions, essence.
You perhaps understand what I am talking about, even though you never truly though about it. But rest assured, it is completely normal for us, for-self-existants, to dive into these oceans of desires and toughs before swimming back at the surface. For a single moment, the most energized unconscious desires will reunite with the conscious functions to express what is repressed, hidden.
Now, let us experience, what are those deep repressed desires that are only waiting for the return of the repressed?
It seems that, as always, hope of reunion with life-changing friends, even more than simple friends, a family: A young pink sibling and a father-figure mentor are perceptible, and…
Well… It seems that this desire is yet to be achieved, though not surprising for any being. Remember that the desire is, in a way, the subtraction of the need to the demand. You have a deeper near-archaic need symbolized by the demand, and satisfying your desire will satisfy in consequence a part of this need.
Mhm...
Our session has ended, it is now time for us to partake for now. Life calls for you once more, knight.
In this case, open your eyes and embrace life.
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Vibrant and lifeful streaks pierced through the blue clothed window barriers, where a fragment can be seen resting on the floor. Helios is waking up all lives on Dreamland to enjoy another day to fabricates meanings which resonate deeply into one’s existence,
Fumu, a young intelligent yet lost, brave yet inactive, kind yet isolated girl rise from her last visit to the limbos separating her dream-state to her active-state. For a very, very short period in time and space, she imagines, and whishes, for her faraway friends to knock on the door, to invite her to another intriguing adventure out here, even if it was to yet again stop the tyrannic and childish monarch from terrorizing the inhabitants of CappyTown. Yet, despise this profound screaming desire that takes its root in the deepest of the nothingness habilitating the teen’s psyche, she knew it wouldn’t happen, that this miracle was deemed to always be the equal of what she loves, what she misses. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it ever be the last, as it has been part of the same cycle regulating her existence for the past three years.
Ever since Kirby, this powerful, kind, destined-hero child which she helped defeat the intergalactic colonizing Nightmare and its apotheoses eNeMe, and her mentor, friend, almost-fatherly-figure Meta Knight alongside his two partners Sword and Blade quit Popstar to protect the galaxy they all belonged. She remembers extremely well the day they left, the moment she experienced raging and strong affects of incertitude, anger, sadness and lostness. It has been, as of today, three years since she lost the most important people in her life.
Three years since she alongside her people became free of the terrific and horrific influence eNeMe had on their lives, welcoming them back to the same cycle they have always lived through.
Three years since she went back to a completely unfamiliar life, one that was her normality before Kirby disrupted the hermeneutical kernel she emitted as she walked, where a new kernel emerged with the acceptation of this estranged world she learned to live with.
Three years of misery, of truly realizing the void of nothingness that couldn’t be filled up, of being forced in a life she didn’t want anymore, a life that erases all relations, meanings, desires she had learned to show to the world.
Three years of waiting for something, to become alive once more, to take control of the existence her will demanded.
Three years that merged together by their similitude, where one is the exact replicate of the other, as they all shuffle together like an orchestral parade rhyming on their notes.
Three years of solitude, of being an hermit irritated by the sameness, the unbotheredness perceive by this ever-adapting mechanical society which constituted the environment of her psychic development, by what was supposed to be the most important: her neighbors, her friends, her family, her…
…
She got out of her bed and started her routine.
She now lived in the house where Kirby resided during their stay at Popstar, the same house she helped build, was now the demeure of Cassandra. The house itself has changed to resonate with the intrinsic aspects of Fumu. The chimney now served as a furnace complimented with various culinary tools and plates for alimentation, some spices and herbs were assigned as soldiers of the primary. A little rose was planted on the window shelf, delicately taken cared of and shining to the rising day. Opposite to it was a little study space expressed through a white rectangle mountain abhorring gray rivers on a desk, a lamp symbolizing the sun and light permitting directions and control. Beside it resides a Babel Tower, consisting of dozen of books reciting different subjects, literature and thematic, one that not only separate herself from divinity, but also from CappyTown and its unsupportable blissful ignorance.
She started a fire through the chimney, boiling her soup resultants in a medium-sized pot and stirring slowly its containment. Freshly-grounded pepper joined the movement as it became absolved by the savory tornado. As the gustative volcano became to steam out its activity, Fumu took it out of the fire and let it calm on the side before eating it until only the cauldron’s essence could be seen.
Dressing up came next, as to not loose any time with the outside world waiting for her. She went to her wardrobe, taking residence to the austral point of her bed, took her hairbrush and started aligning the Regiment of Follicles to make sure of their rigidity. After no knots were left destabilizing the rest of the soldiers, she dressed herself in some common cotton shirt and hiking pants, tied her hair with a wood-copper-mixed ring and put on her chain mail and armor. The armor itself was a strangely-coherent amalgamate of different armor parts left in eNeMe’s fortress storage, the legacy of fallen and let-be beings forced to a war fueled by the potential liberty that was never taught to them. All of these parts surely were mythical to their original owners: A symbol linking their ontology to their desires of peace and freedom, the concretization of their volition to thrive and live another day, for them and the universe. Now, they are simply a trace of tyrannical and torturous events that will be represented while simultaneity be forgotten in the tales that shall make up a collective representation of history. A period to be told, not to be felt, for the damages done to the world have already made and can be heard if you look at those who still may eat to this day. Those whose existence has been crushed by the laughs of psychopathic individuals are left out-of-view for those who can still see what work must be done. We all want to forget pain so easily, so let’s not think too much about all of those who have been victims of this massacre, at least for now.
The armor itself was, for the grand majority, covered by a dark-purple, although the darkness seems to have been taken over what may have been once more purple. Paradoxically, a darkish yet vibrant crimson is seen on the pauldron, plackart and vambraces. The left pauldron clearly marked the alliance of the knight, for it contains a pale yellow star. One that shows the marked of the relentless genocide, one that will never forget what has happened and could happen again. The pièce-de-resistance, the most important yet absolutely contradictory to the rest of the set, was the helmet, which clearly was taken from a Nightmare soldier. It’s form can difficultly be explained, although one could argue that it represents perfectly a comforting and safe figure blending with a terrifying and anxiogenic being. One could imagine how paradoxically emotions were felt for the victims of the totalitarian empire.
The soup has cooled enough to be used as a great source of energy. After eating it, it was finally time for Fumu to meet the outside world. She took her lance and shield, the fierce extension of her abilities, the tools of justice and peace that were once the tool of destruction and corruption. They were the manifestation of her tenacity and power to those that gawked of their usure, and on those that marked those usure. She walked through the limit of her world to meet once again the one where all links are.
…
It it a really great day, outside. A peaceful, warm, playful atmosphere radiates from the vastness of the ever-going green plains seemingly never ending. However, this infinite-reaching plains were delimited by the small wooden fences surrounding Fumu’s house were marking an establishment of privacy, of intimacy that only Fumu was allowed to feel and create. She made the fences a while after she moved in Kirby’s house, she placed those fences as the ipso facto consequence of intruders invading her, berating her. She had to assert herself on this little territory to make it obvious and clear of her fortress, to make sure no one would ever come back try to break her little hopeful sphere. It worked, and now very few comes by to distract her, to destabilize the routine she specially built to resist these problems. She shouted a cry of domination through the fences and the beaten punchbags, releasing the strong and dangerous energy of a veteran that never once would not take care of the ones provoking their force.
Sometimes, Chef Kawasaki would come to her house and left some foods to her as a thanks for her service in protecting Popstar. She always accepted the gifts and honored them, even if they were not truly appetizing, it was the feeling of acceptance and thankfulness symbolized in these meals by Kawasaki that truly made it delicious. One of the only few that appreciates the hard work she put herself into, these were special individuals that could connect to her cause, to her suffering. They are the ones that makes it significant enough to continue her duty, her protection duty.
She always starts her day by doing exercises, the same ones Meta Knight did and taught her. Squads, push-ups, stretches, the chair, and so on. She always has done these with her armor on as it made her stronger, more resilient and better at fighting with the excessive weight the armor brought her. Over time, she had become better at using her lance and shield, running and moving swiftly through the regions with her armor on. It made her more confident in herself to be capable of withstanding the possible enemies, the catastrophes in which beings could be stuck crying for someone, anyone to help them. These exercises left her in a discomforting, exhausted state, a state that she could endure, that she must endure for the sake of the ability for everyone to simply think about the notion of peace, of joyful plays and lovable exterior. Then comes martial arts practice, supplemented by the maneuver of her sword and shield. They are core components of her knight mastery, a good warrior is as good as the way they use their weapons. With that sens of combat, Fumu has been training quite seriously on her ability to attack, dodge, counter-attack, protect, as well as the very kernel, the heritage of past knights upon pasts of those who contributed to this prototypical « knight ».
Her routine always start with the woods, meeting Whisper Wood to ask him if everything is alright, if no other animals or King Dedede have tried to disrupt the forest. She always appreciates his calm and kind attitude displayed by the ancient tree, where discussions and conversations can be held with respect and comprehension. He always asked her if she was alright, always tell her that she can take as many fruits and vegetables as she liked as a mutual exchange of gifts. She always takes some apples and other available fruits for herself as snacks for her routine, as it is an exhaustive one that can always be supplemented by energy. Sometimes, malignant creatures would try to intimidate the friendly ones, trying to implement a beneficial hierarchy for their needs and pleasures by feasting on the fears and powerlessness of those who came across them. She took care of them and never once again did they try to bully the vivid greens into crimson red. She also remembers, in a time period she cannot quite pin now, when the narcissistic and detrimental king, alongside his snail pet, came to, once again, try to build a golf terrain on the very roots of the sacred forest which makes a refuge for all living beings. She got in a confrontation with them, and they were never seen after that in any places of the forest.
Then the rocky mountains would be next, climbing and exploring the crevasses to see if perhaps someone or something needs help or needs to be stopped. The tops are natural grand observation points as they allow to admire the vastness of Popstar, the continuous heterogeneous regions that are all distinct by their purposes, the thoughts and affects one could feel when exploring those regions, when one knows that they can help their current state-of-being. The rocky regions allow a sens of reflection, of enlightenment to one’s life and their relation to the planet they create their existence in. A meditation to oneself is a tradition that is welcomed when sights and skies meet their senses, and a new one emerged that shall solidify the existences of marvelous beings that coexist in this complex, terrifying and warm space. Fumu loved to spend hours upon hours, almost as if the very notion of time was scratched, watching over the horizons and admiring the gentle lively rhythm that could be heard if one listen carefully.
The beach then, as the final destination of a well-committed duty, is traveled to make sure of a calm ocean and oversight of newcomers to Popstar. The beach has always have this tranquil and nostalgic ambiance that could be imagined through popular culture and fantasied goals of letting-go. The apprentice knight once collected seashells to create a meaningful combination of gifts given by the oceans, one that represented her interpretation of the seas, of the territory linking two islands together and drifting existential artifacts from one to another. The beach never lost its charm.
At the end of the day, she would come back home to rest. Her free time is spend reading and studying all of what she could acquire: History, sciences, arts, crafts, literature, what she can remember so it shall never be abandoned outside of its creation. As long as one person could remember the signification of a creation, its purpose shall stay visible to the world.
Isn’t it perfect? A complete loop which leaves no vulnerability to internal conflict. A set of instructions that dictates the entirety of the organism to prevent an anomie, the madness of patience.
She does this loop everyday, preventing herself from falling further into a screaming cataclysm of desperation. No thoughts could derail into the possibilities of this universe, of the actual state of CappyTown or of Kirby traveling the cosmos to grow stronger.
Everything is structured, planned, scripted to produce the exact same output everyday. An output that brings a certain solace in the Fumu’s heart, knowing and predicting her existence as she wants. Who wouldn’t want to have a complete control of their life, not fearing what may or may not happen?
She could do this, she has always been capable of handling that administrative role, she always loved to live as screamed her will. This control over her days was the key to her power, to the stability of her mental state over the past years. This script has ran greatly for three years, its capabilities and resources are quite limited, it stands perfectly on a rock tower as if disturbed, the entire script would fumble. She must keep control of her routine, it is the only way to manage her life.
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…However, all control eventually fall into the realization of illusion. By pure accident or an ethos pulsion, there will always be this very little but critical moment of disenchantment, of judging everything we’ve always done and thinking if it was always doomed to finish due its very structural form.
After all, every contraception, no matter how magnificent its functioning is, will always be panicking when one single fragment of unknown interacts with one of its part, for it does not know how to react.
And at this very moment, it is happening.
A breach is happening, for once an external anomaly has disrupt her perfectly-constructed script.
A little particular light is perceivable through the bundle of leaves and sticks it tried to pierce just outside her fences. Almost as if it fights to exist, to be seen. It wasn’t an ordinary light, not one that could be replicated by artificial means, and it wasn’t one that was commonly perceived on a daily basis in the region of Popstar.
Fumu slowly approaches the bundle, almost compelled to do so, uses her lance to gently toss around the barricades to reveal what they were hiding with her shield tightly relaxed on her command, ready to protect her from altercations.
As leaves and sticks tumbled at the sides of the light, a revelation flashed through her eyes and memories of a past but present existence shines upon her being, brusquely and nearly dropping her lance and shield.
And then she saw life itself.
The warpstar shines before her.
…
For this brief moment, she lost control of her cycle, of her directions. What was she supposed to do? She had prepared herself against enemies, to fight and protect that very atmosphere she once risked her life to have back, to brace her fragile yet resilient mental state when she would be reunited with Kirby and Meta Knight, but she would have never predicted that this artifact, the very same she guarded for quite a long period of time, would come back here, to her? She couldn’t know, she couldn’t think about it, an overflown memory paralyzed her temporally. And yet, even if she couldn’t move, even if she couldn’t think, the warpstar resonated with her spirit, with every sensations of her body.
She remember very well this sensation, the shining, hopeful and powerful light emanating for this star. There are millions upon millions of stars, some have died, some have yet to die and some still light up the galaxy. They all guide beings across bridges and walls, they allow the fabrication of meanings and existence through their links between worlds. All have an history, a purpose that makes them brighten up smiles and thoughts when night comes. They appear when one needs help, and will fade when their purpose is complete.
And this one, despite being just as all stars, was Fumu’s star. It showed her how to fight back against tyranny, how to understand the outsider cursed to save the world. She followed the path it lighted to an existence she deeply wanted, and yet never could reached: A way she could fight back against evil, a way to protect those who needs it, to bring hope when captivity flooded the collective consciousness. When she experienced what life could be, she sworn to protect the lighthouse that emancipated her, that allow her to be free, to be happy. It almost seems like a mutual friendship, one that is sealed in a language that only the young knight and the star could understand.
Even if, originally, this warpstar is Kirby’s, there is no denying on the unbound chain that united it and Fumu. The young warrior had protected it when Kirby couldn’t control it, she commended it when its help was needed, when its purpose shined. For her just as for the star, it was an extension of her spirit, of her will. Her volition for goodness, freedom and peace makes one with the star, energized by the shouting of the girl who doesn’t want to survive, but to live. When she lost contact with the warpstar, three years ago, it was almost as if she lost a part of herself. The part that allowed her to produce changes in the world, a praxis that prided itself in its action and its end. The manifestation of her will and the magical subtenant of the space light blending together to forged the empowerment, one that could never be achieved after the separation, one that seemed sacred to the cosmos and the order of this world.
And now, it was in front of her as if it came back to her, for her specifically. Perhaps it heard, felt her cries through the vastness of the galaxy and came back to help her? Or maybe the warpstar came to ask for her aid for which Meta Knight and Kirby could be hurt? She couldn’t decide what was the most likely cause, the most probable interpretation. She was panicking, overflown with thoughts and memories she had tried very much hard to contain and balance. But now, everything was hitting her at the same time, an avalanche of emotions, thoughts and sensations suffocated her.
She needs an alternative condition, one that can address the situation now.
So, instinctively, she crouches and carefully grabs the star in her hand. She looks at it, she felt it, the same feeling she lost those years ago, the same sensation of hope, of existence came through her body. She brings the star closer to her heart, she wants to hear what it has to tell her, what it wants to show her. Once again, and after a very, very long time, her being merged with the star, both in communication and sharing their concerns and energy. Eyes closed, she could still see bright and colors, vertus and filaments spread through her as they are part of her.
An invitation to the outworld, to help resolute a conflict of great ampler. That was the thought that propagated through her ontology. An invitation to once again bring peace to the world, to help others who are near a terrifying destiny. Yet, it wasn’t here, nor there that the adventure would unfold, but in the outwhere. Where she never though could exist, where the destination is not known yet, but a little light emanates its existence. The warpstar came to ask her for help, where only she could help. The warpstar knew it could trust the intelligent apprentice with the uppermost important fights, those who dictate and crystallize gropes of events leading to a culmination holding in its cards the very destiny of those who sat with it.
She has a choice, one that would change her life a second time. However, this time she wouldn’t meet the stranger on her lands: She would meet the strangers on their lands. Lands of unknown precocity and prosperity lies upon her choice, friends and enemies will meet her existence, knowledge and ignorance will mark her consciousness, life and death will carry on and present themselves as they always do, but with different traditions.
And without any hesitation, in a miraculous way, her psyche perfectly balanced itself to accept this one demand. Her existence, upon this very moment, has been itself crystallized through actions and thoughts for one day be capable of not only choosing her pain, but also accepting it as being submerged through the ocean that swallowed her to make her discover, to make her understand that swimming also demands to harmonized oneself to the natural flow that govern oceanic terrains.
She is falling, a dark purplish void, expanding to the outer-bound of organic perception, filled with brighten stars of various hermeneutics linked through recognition and acceptation of changes, embraces her as a mother comforting her child would. Fumu didn’t resent this experience, she allows the stars to transport her wherever they need as she give them trust and affection. The stars, in return, smile at her and welcome her to the abyssal bridges tying worlds together, tying their meanings to produce marvelous and magnificent interpretations.
A fissure which seemed to have been emerging by the action of the warpstar, is transporting her somewhere, at some time that needs her. The light has come back to her when she was lost, and now she can be found again, even if she has to lost herself one more time. Overstimulation and the pressuring probabilities of the cosmos bang on her life would a clock which rings midnight. She slowly started to lost consciousness, to travel from one world to another, and wake up to the lands that hear her calling, as they reached out for her. But she has not to worry, for the Cosmos gently caresses her for her to be safe, to not worry about this travel as it will make sure of its success, of its traject.
…
...
Can you hear the childish laughs?