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He'd been here once or twice in his memories, and he doesn't know it. He'd never consciously recall those alarming facts -all they ever were dreams across countless dim nights, with the prodding gazes of fate ever intent to peel him away from the truth. But his imprints remember, they watch his nightmares claw at their dominions, feel his past approaching on silent cat feet, observe with tight lips as they hesitate to ask their vessel about the things they see that he no longer remembers. Even then, what kind of conversation would become of that? None of them could decipher the blurry images that flash by so quickly, and they could only assume so much by knowing so little. Vague would become an understatement even as they gathered into a cluster, pushing their divinities, but with little success, the spirits settle to seek solace by adapting to the displays with solemn eyes, their comprehension dwindling over every re-run and new take.
Yasusada gathered his legs into a bundle as he tilted his head to one side, his lids heavy as an array of colors filled their abode with the sounds of swords clashing and a mute conversation where the words were but evidently muddled with age, almost as if he was watching a vintage film through a sepia filter, so old and ancient that you couldn't make out most of what was going on. Beside him was the spirit Souji, his arms nestled into the holes of hid sleeves while his face remained devoid of any expression but contempt. The imprint of his old blade would neither smile nor smirk for him as he always did, instead, his lips dug down into his ethereal jaw, their part of the Chronicle uneasily quiet as they process their vessel's memories for another time.
"Watching this makes my neck hurt." Yasusada complained, bowing his head so he no longer had to focus on the blinding flash of blurry images.
Souji assumed a stretch, the sound of his bones cracking resonating through out the empty space. "...I understand where your sentiments lie, Yamato, but to further adapt to our vessel and allow more of our better powers to soak into him we must-"
"Learn to comply and figure out what all of this means, am I right?"
"...Correct."
The blade grunted, idly biting into his inner cheek. "But no matter what we do, it never ends, Okita, it's like the boy has an entire library of memories that we have to go through like this." His arms reach up behind him, shifting his position into a more lax one as they supported his non-existent weight. "It's honestly feeling like a chore. I already know that our vessel is so much more...so why can't the Chronicles settle for that, instead?"
At first, Souji would learn to hesitate at Yasusada's bold questions of the space that housed them, wary of the effect that may be evoked if they dare to propose something out of their dominion. But the prospect of the Chronicles undoing them in any way dwindled the more he made use of his time meditating, breathing into the energies that pulse through it vibrantly. Bit by bit, he'd come to understand its mystic nature, realizing that it may not be as sentient as they thought it was. The warrior spirit gave his old blade an unknowing look, sporting a sigh as he did so. "I highly believe that the Chronicles is nothing more but an empty space." he began, watching Yasusada's eyebrow rise indefinitely, and yet he'd continue, all the while watching the blotches of colors spin around his line vision. "It has no being, rather, it's closer to an empty castle, waiting for its king to come prove his rule over it once and for all."
Yasusada only narrowed his eyes, willing his master to dig into the issue further, but all he could manage from Souji was a tight grin, sea-green eyes glossed over with a forlorn look. The silence was hollowing, and alas, even when the memories faded into the usual atmosphere of the Chronicles, they wouldn't share a word. Then, the space shifted ever so slightly, a rush of energy melting the old scene away into a fixture of blossoming pink trees, scattered over a rocky plain that stretched into lush green mountains just over yonder. The two imprints stared in awe as their environment visibly changed, the process perplexing as blue particles scattered through the winds, billowing over them with the sense of nostalgia filling their bones. They'd breath in, an unearthly surge of power writhing through their existences, fleetingly, then dispersing. Indefinitely, the two imprints would consider the shift akin to the dawning of a new day, perhaps to mark the progress of Teri's recollection, or a beacon to mark his growth, or both? They could never really tell, as they long abandoned the idea of their vessel being probable to normality, spontaneous being the best word that would emphasize his stages of development as they saw it now.
It wasn't long until the old Shinsengumi captain chose to speak, his hair ruffled over the rolling wind. "You might think that...our little Teri-boy is the king, am I right?"
The blade snorted, but he'd say nothing, implying that he did, truthfully, despite not verbally attesting to it. Souji grinned at this, closing his eyes as his smile slowly fell to the beat of the scattering cherry blossoms, a few stray petals phasing through his cheek. "...Well, you're wrong. As much as I regard him with respect, I think the Chronicles is waiting for someone else...and that individual is caged up somewhere, sleeping, merely existing, but relentless as their advent approaches."
Yasusada fiddled with his scarf, pulling it over his lips as the wind settled into his clothes, sending a shiver into him. "...Of all the crackpot theories you've made so far, Okita, this one is the craziest..."
"And yet...you feel it too, don't you? A daunting presence that threatens to overthrow our boy over his hold on us?"
The shorter imprint regarded his master with a pause, unable to find his words until he clicked his tongue in a sharp, unimpressed sound. "...Tch. I sincerely hope that the years are getting to your soul, Okita."
The Shinsengumi nodded to his blade's statement, wanting the same reality deep within the cockles of his fickle spirit. "I wish for the same, so much so, that it scares me." he'd reply, a silent inhale released as a sharp exhale, mingling with the breeze that seemed to bring about the notion of a change that they could never hoped to have anticipated.
And when their vessel decidedly opened his sterling blue eyes to the sight of a flowering cherry blossom looming fondly over his form, the two imprints would only observe, keeping their voices tucked in, lest they blurt something untimely. They'd only ever want what was best for the young man, and a coincidence and strange theories were at the very edge of the known spectrum for his level of power currently. The two would wait, managing their words to the best of their abilities to prevent the winds from blowing harder than what it already was.
"Winds of change, huh?" the blade idly mumbled, a frost-like chill sending a shiver through him as he allowed the breeze to wash through his existence. "...Heh. More stormy than windy. actually."
TAKE ME TO VALHALLA WHERE MY BROTHERS WAIT FOR ME |
He'd been here once or twice in his memories, and he doesn't know it. He'd never consciously recall those alarming facts -all they ever were dreams across countless dim nights, with the prodding gazes of fate ever intent to peel him away from the truth. But his imprints remember, they watch his nightmares claw at their dominions, feel his past approaching on silent cat feet, observe with tight lips as they hesitate to ask their vessel about the things they see that he no longer remembers. Even then, what kind of conversation would become of that? None of them could decipher the blurry images that flash by so quickly, and they could only assume so much by knowing so little. Vague would become an understatement even as they gathered into a cluster, pushing their divinities, but with little success, the spirits settle to seek solace by adapting to the displays with solemn eyes, their comprehension dwindling over every re-run and new take.
Yasusada gathered his legs into a bundle as he tilted his head to one side, his lids heavy as an array of colors filled their abode with the sounds of swords clashing and a mute conversation where the words were but evidently muddled with age, almost as if he was watching a vintage film through a sepia filter, so old and ancient that you couldn't make out most of what was going on. Beside him was the spirit Souji, his arms nestled into the holes of hid sleeves while his face remained devoid of any expression but contempt. The imprint of his old blade would neither smile nor smirk for him as he always did, instead, his lips dug down into his ethereal jaw, their part of the Chronicle uneasily quiet as they process their vessel's memories for another time.
"Watching this makes my neck hurt." Yasusada complained, bowing his head so he no longer had to focus on the blinding flash of blurry images.
Souji assumed a stretch, the sound of his bones cracking resonating through out the empty space. "...I understand where your sentiments lie, Yamato, but to further adapt to our vessel and allow more of our better powers to soak into him we must-"
"Learn to comply and figure out what all of this means, am I right?"
"...Correct."
The blade grunted, idly biting into his inner cheek. "But no matter what we do, it never ends, Okita, it's like the boy has an entire library of memories that we have to go through like this." His arms reach up behind him, shifting his position into a more lax one as they supported his non-existent weight. "It's honestly feeling like a chore. I already know that our vessel is so much more...so why can't the Chronicles settle for that, instead?"
At first, Souji would learn to hesitate at Yasusada's bold questions of the space that housed them, wary of the effect that may be evoked if they dare to propose something out of their dominion. But the prospect of the Chronicles undoing them in any way dwindled the more he made use of his time meditating, breathing into the energies that pulse through it vibrantly. Bit by bit, he'd come to understand its mystic nature, realizing that it may not be as sentient as they thought it was. The warrior spirit gave his old blade an unknowing look, sporting a sigh as he did so. "I highly believe that the Chronicles is nothing more but an empty space." he began, watching Yasusada's eyebrow rise indefinitely, and yet he'd continue, all the while watching the blotches of colors spin around his line vision. "It has no being, rather, it's closer to an empty castle, waiting for its king to come prove his rule over it once and for all."
Yasusada only narrowed his eyes, willing his master to dig into the issue further, but all he could manage from Souji was a tight grin, sea-green eyes glossed over with a forlorn look. The silence was hollowing, and alas, even when the memories faded into the usual atmosphere of the Chronicles, they wouldn't share a word. Then, the space shifted ever so slightly, a rush of energy melting the old scene away into a fixture of blossoming pink trees, scattered over a rocky plain that stretched into lush green mountains just over yonder. The two imprints stared in awe as their environment visibly changed, the process perplexing as blue particles scattered through the winds, billowing over them with the sense of nostalgia filling their bones. They'd breath in, an unearthly surge of power writhing through their existences, fleetingly, then dispersing. Indefinitely, the two imprints would consider the shift akin to the dawning of a new day, perhaps to mark the progress of Teri's recollection, or a beacon to mark his growth, or both? They could never really tell, as they long abandoned the idea of their vessel being probable to normality, spontaneous being the best word that would emphasize his stages of development as they saw it now.
It wasn't long until the old Shinsengumi captain chose to speak, his hair ruffled over the rolling wind. "You might think that...our little Teri-boy is the king, am I right?"
The blade snorted, but he'd say nothing, implying that he did, truthfully, despite not verbally attesting to it. Souji grinned at this, closing his eyes as his smile slowly fell to the beat of the scattering cherry blossoms, a few stray petals phasing through his cheek. "...Well, you're wrong. As much as I regard him with respect, I think the Chronicles is waiting for someone else...and that individual is caged up somewhere, sleeping, merely existing, but relentless as their advent approaches."
Yasusada fiddled with his scarf, pulling it over his lips as the wind settled into his clothes, sending a shiver into him. "...Of all the crackpot theories you've made so far, Okita, this one is the craziest..."
"And yet...you feel it too, don't you? A daunting presence that threatens to overthrow our boy over his hold on us?"
The shorter imprint regarded his master with a pause, unable to find his words until he clicked his tongue in a sharp, unimpressed sound. "...Tch. I sincerely hope that the years are getting to your soul, Okita."
The Shinsengumi nodded to his blade's statement, wanting the same reality deep within the cockles of his fickle spirit. "I wish for the same, so much so, that it scares me." he'd reply, a silent inhale released as a sharp exhale, mingling with the breeze that seemed to bring about the notion of a change that they could never hoped to have anticipated.
And when their vessel decidedly opened his sterling blue eyes to the sight of a flowering cherry blossom looming fondly over his form, the two imprints would only observe, keeping their voices tucked in, lest they blurt something untimely. They'd only ever want what was best for the young man, and a coincidence and strange theories were at the very edge of the known spectrum for his level of power currently. The two would wait, managing their words to the best of their abilities to prevent the winds from blowing harder than what it already was.
"Winds of change, huh?" the blade idly mumbled, a frost-like chill sending a shiver through him as he allowed the breeze to wash through his existence. "...Heh. More stormy than windy. actually."
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1240 WORDS ● TAGGED ● TRAINING
deltra of gangnam style