The Weight of the World

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

It was hot.

Far too hot for comfort, he thought, his body driven on sheer will power alone as he spans the bordering cliff sides of the Mysterious Canyon, a particular objective in his mind having yet to be fulfilled. The expectations that he amassed for the canyons prior to his arrival there were to be discarded instantly as he realized the size of the land in heavy steps. There was no memo to behold about the exact area in numbers, but the swordsman had been going for nearly half an hour and his search remains fruitless, the ungodly heat tailing him the entire time.

There was a reason he was here, a good reason, he'd remind himself.

If he were to count the preceding days, then it'd easy to say that it's been a month, in total, since he'd been robbed of his memories. Similarly, if he were to gather the entirety of what he's managed to recall over the duration of this period, then the hardest thing to admit was the state of his progress - there was none, him having long forsaken the task of retrieving what has been lost in favor of experiencing the present, playing the role of wizard just a bit longer before he'd bury himself knee-deep into the undoing his condition. Perhaps it was the allure of magic and the vitality of Ishval that charmed him in a way that his self-proclaimed responsibility could not, though it's safe to assume that Torian didn't have the strength, much less the will, to remember, as if the original necessity of his original memories lost the importance along the way.

Laziness was a possible term, although harsh. To put it realistically, it was an odd mix of hesitance, and dread. They were the sort of feelings that reared their ugly heads when directed at the virtually unknown, and he'd often succumb to the doubt at the thoughts of his prior-self with different aspirations. Truly, in his brief time there, Torian would begin to appreciate the wizardry business for its second-hand benefits. For him, it was more than the jewels, more than the recognition; now it was the surge of excitement, the irrevocable sensation of adventure at an arm's reach.

He, upon the realization of but a single gut feeling, believes that he was once taking this all for granted, that he wanted to go 'elsewhere'. And while he yearned to keep on pursuing wizardy, Torian could no longer feign ignorance towards the matter of his memories, not when the doctor mails him on a daily basis, inquiring of his status; not when the Origin spirit pesters him even more so, the insistence strong and pleading.

'You're stalling.' the spirit had said once, a bitter feeling clipping at his once cheerful tones.

'I know that.' he thought back, 'But where am I supposed to start? I'm not even sure where-'

'The canyon. We'll go there first thing in the morning.'

And it was decidedly so, the train ride there being largely uneventful, and surprisingly quiet as neither he nor the spirit inside his head processed the right words to spark their regular banter. None of them minded the silence, considering the weight of the situation quietly pressed on Torian's shoulders, demanding more attention than what could be given. It was alright, there was no harm in continuing the vapid quest for his memories, after all.

It wasn't until the sun proclaimed it's wrath upon his person did he muster the urge to complain.

"Stupid sun..." he mumbled, furrowing his brow as the swordsman peeled off his blazer with sharp, frustrated movements. It was humane for him to develop expectations, and he didn't exempt himself from thinking that the fates would be generous to him, offering him the lead he needed to promptly recollect all that was lost. But as he continued down the dirt path where the pebbles and earth crumbled from the lack of water under that blasted sun that felt far too close to the ground for some reason, he idly wondered if the journey there would warrant him nothing but a shower.

A long one.

"Stupid amnesia...!" he spat, arching a leg back to gingerly kick at a pebble lying at his feet, his eyes watching it tumble several times before falling into the deep gorge to his right, cascading down the cliffs in soft, little taps.

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

From a distance, a sound akin to that of birds and dancing winds momentarily drew his attention away from the heat, enough for Torian to consider angling his head the other way to see the approaching figure of a...woman? Judging from the figure, there was no mistaking the femininity, especially after she managed to settle herself closer for him to snap a better view. Her method of getting there, however, did briefly dumbfound him for a fraction of a second, since he was rarely given the chance to see actual, feathery wings attached to someone with very little distance in between. It was quite the spectacle, Torian thought, wondering if it was wise to inquire the young lady of her business there.

Somehow, though, there would be no need to do so, not when the canyon answers all his questions for him.

By the time he'd fancy a peep into the depths of the valley below to assess the source of the rumbling, it had no longer been just the shadows and the river curving its way through the earth that was to greet him, but something far more sinister as the darkness tore and writhed with an unearthly shaking, the gorge having spat out a colossal 'machine' from god-knows-where in a manner that foretold of many dangers to come, and it was perhaps not the best situation to find oneself involved in on a regular day.  

Yet, for Torian, the issue of normality was a forgotten one when considering the events that'd transpire in the avergae wizard's life span. This much was, still, sort of expected - it wasn't a problem to realize that a threat would present itself one way or another, and what was left to become the cause of shock was what sort of form the menace would take, and this day appeared to favor large, overcompensating enemies that looked like they could convert mountains into plains on a whim.

He breathed in, once, taking in the sight of the robot (as he know liked to call it) with more than just a passing interest. His current agenda held no space for an instance of combat but there was no stopping the irrationality of his excitement whenever an opportunity did occur. The swordsman curved his arm to his waist, inching towards the weapon that was tucked securely into the folds of his belt with practiced form. Still, his hand would no sooner retreat upon the realization of the lady's words, her presence resolute as she stood poised against their veering enemy.

'Huh.'

The underlying prickle in her tone had, as it should, taken him aback, hesitance brewing in his movements as the swordsman watched her take stance. Though he was free to interpret it as the faults of a sharp tongue, there was no basis to behold, and if there was ever a certain thing in his fragmented self, it was that he detested riding on assumptions because nothing lucrative ever came out of it. He nods once, acknowledging the urge for haste and the brief prompt for his name in return. However, against what Lilium requested of him, the swordsman chooses to remain where he stood, edging his right arm back unto his sword with his thumb digging into the cloth webbing that circled Kushinada's handle - an impulsive action that he could provide no reason to, despite not really needing one.

Any attempt at his introduction seemed to momentarily die before it could escape his lips, however, his words stopping mid-way through their processing as he took one step back on purpose, if not to watch the girl masterfully handle the first wave of 'minions' that were primarily launched to intercept them. To his practiced eye, her choice of swordplay was not an unfamiliar one, but her technique encompassed a level of grace befitting of the manner that which she upheld herself, and it provided a stark, unyielding contrast to all the other examples he'd seen of this revered style.

Would it have been too spontaneous to commend her for it? He wasn't too sure, though the lady's move to occupy the space before him with a breath's worth of time managed to all but bury the thought, his incentive to speak up overtaking his person as if he wouldn't get any other opportunity to do so later on.

"...You're right, I am staying." he started, his head briefly tilting to mimic a casual bow as he spoke, which had been a habit of formality of his that he had yet to truly undo, "I go by Torian, and if you don't mind me being here, miss Lilium, then I'd like to be of assistance."

While he was adamant to gauge her reaction to it first, the swordsman decided that it was best to act upon his proposal as soon as he perceived the danger that the mechanical unit (mecha oddly slipped into his mind, was it the right term for such?) proved against them. Wordlessly, he'd brandish his weapon as he dug one foot backward, the sword seemingly thrumming with delight from its release, though it was a minute sound that was only ever registered by his ears alone, strangely enough. He'd waste little time for pause or fanfare as Torian promptly impales the ground at his feet, where the small tremors that followed ended in a spike-like rapture a few meters forward after traveling underground. The attack would have caught a decent number of suicide drones in its manifesting, the impact rendering several airborne with a stutter, and a creak.

The dry, cloudless sky is then peppered with the firey tint of the suicide drones setting off their destruction sequences, the first one triggering a consecutive display of explosions to go off with little interval in between. Their current position appeared to gain them no relative harm from the barrage, but it did not spare them from the malice of the Tesseract. Perhaps it noticed that the drones were no longer as effective, for it began to pour out several more of them across the plain, however not without releasing a fair armada of flying units to further compliment the rolling bombs, and, in essence, eliminate the threat that previously destroyed its swarm of nanomachines.

"What are-" he'd whisper, the query falling to silence as a ray of buzzing energies made a beeline for their heads, the speed of its travel alarming him. At his insistence, a single, white-washed figure comes to intercept the beam's path after having formed from a brief flash of blue light. The figure stumbles on two legs before it appears to 'absorb' the damage incoming, though it's form would later shatter like a sheet of fragile glass as another stream of energy follows the one prior. Upon closer observation, the figure appeared in the likeliness of Torian before it was ultimately reduced to nothing but blue, airborne particles. Four more copies of his person would be called out to serve the same purpose, running about in various directions in hopes to temporarily deflect the attention from the original.

In the time it took for the first clone to take on the shots fired by the Orbital Units, the swordsman had already utilized the time given to up the security of their location, a glassy blue barrier being held up by his free hand, cracking slightly under the pressure of taking one hit from another airborne unit. They didn't have much time for an exchange, though he pressed for one in a matter of urgency.

"This won't hold up for very long..." he said, gesturing to the barrier that continued to wither away at his palm, "...Whatever your current plan of action is, I'll try my best to support it, though I won't get in your way if need be-"

'-Since I wouldn't want to be a burden to you.' he thinks, but never truly manages to convey it across considering what followed.

A second, brightly-lit beam breaks his defense almost entirely, the barrier torn apart into shards of blue with a third ray sent flying in the same direction.

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

To the him who clings to his blade in both reverence and fear, having been sworn to a sword had involuntarily gave birth to self-proclaimed responsibilities, existing heavily as they stood atop his shoulders in reminder that he'd been fashioned to protect, preferably without neither falter nor fail. When it came to a point that he was forced to take action for the crumbled barrier, Torian urged his body to move, words reminiscent of a prompt to dodge bubbling at his throat that he'd wanted to Miss Lilium hear lest she hadn't been able to regard the incoming beam. His estimations were completely off tangent, however, and the swordsman could only mull over the unfolding scene in mortification as the lady intercepts the attack with as little as her own skin once her own defensive measure shattered at her palm, as if an attempt to shield him in a way that he hadn't managed to do for her.

He startled, most if not all of his worries thinning as the lady rose without a need for strain, dulling any attempt for a forethought on healing and more counter-effective defenses that he might've conjured up in his vehemence. The swordsman shook his head, a minute motion that secured his reassurance that she, indeed, was sturdily built, perhaps even better than his current state. Had there been a time where he'd been confident enough to take a direct hit? Not one that he could remember, but if priorities were set in urgency, then it was only pivotal that he'd comply. Recalling Lilium's mention of additional drones and a goal to eradicate, his grip quivers, hesitance budding in one breath as he tried to filter it out of his system. It'd do them no benefit if he were to succumb to his weak confidence at a time so crucial as being depended on, perish the thought.

Torian's knuckles pale at Kushinada's handle as he braces himself forward, attending to the scatter of drones that hadn't managed to break from the lady's blade. Having no regard for the grace of things, the swordsman's performance would have paled in comparison to Lilium's, though Kushinada's edge was as good as any when he'd tilt the weapon at just the right angle with each strike, weightlessly cutting through metal in calculated, deft movements.

The irritating noise that Torian elicited from the collision between his sword and the drones felt horrifyingly familiar, his brain pulsing with recognition as he avoided a volley of intercepting energy beams, his body thrumming to the hum of his Mono no Aware manifesting his figure in the opposite direction. A lapsing stiffness overtook him as he hacked at an incoming drone, the sharp outline of his shoulders shaking in an alarming fashion.

'...I...we...back then-'

'Torian!'

A brief intervention of the Origin's disembodied voice and the warmth of his presence existing within the Chronicle came to promptly disperse his instance of revelation that began to dull his reaction time. The buzz of Kushinada's Windy glyph immediately dug its shining blue markings across his chest as a response to the need to flee, sending him upward in a gust of air that enabled him to safely hover above the chaos, his heart erratic from the stunt and his proximity to his downfall at the mercy of exploding drones.

'T...T-thanks.' Torian mumbled, directing his gratitude to the spirit whose existence appeared to waver, slightly, as if an attempt to shrug regardless if his essence lacked any shoulders to do so.

'No big deal,' he said, the matter-of-factly tone heavily dripping from each syllable, 'I'm glad you were listening, but it seems you need to pay attention to someone else right now.'

Regardless if his awkward, suspended position placed him at a distance, he was still quite able to register his temporary partner's plea for the swordsman to take up defense for whatever elaborate scheme that she were to move into next. He would not hesitate to offer her an acknowledging glance coupled with a small nod, resolving to traverse the vacant space to the right in a burst of air, his hood fluttering off wildly as the harsh desert winds tore at his gliding, accelerating form. He told himself to keep going, pushing forward still without need for pause until it became necessary. Finally, his retreating body stops for a breath, the eruption of potent magic spreading through the canyon in what he assumed to be Lilium's handiwork. Turning, he'd squint at the figures a few meters ahead of him, noticing the remnants of light briefly lingering there before disappearing.

'...You remembered, didn't you?' he heard the spirit say as he took advantage of the small leeway of time, ignoring the initial hesitance that the words held as he raised his weapon, flecking off the dirt that matted Kushinada's shine in a light brown pigment.

'What makes you so sure?' he asked.

The origin huffs, noting the question with light jest, '...What makes you so sure that I don't spectate these things as they enter the Chronicle?'

His palm tightens as he lowered the Etherblade, letting the winds bring him back to the heart of the battle while he adorns his next words in hope, replaying the hazy images in his brain over and over and over - never tiring to examine the faces that he recalled with stinging nostalgia, yet he hadn't truly begun to recognize them. '...It's...enthralling...' is the only thing he says, and both decide that it was enough, that they've managed to achieve progress against the dismal months prior.

He...they, were going to complete the search, one way or another.

Whatever animosity the machine harbored for them only seemed to fortify itself, however, for it wouldn't be too soon until it responded to the attack on its systems with a loud, ominous sound slipping from its stationary body. The giant raised an arm, brandishing a weapon from its back as it's hand lowered, presenting a large metallic structure that resembled a sword, pulsing in an energized red light that ran along the blade in a vein-like fashion. What followed was the activation of the machine's boosters, exploding in a flurry of dust as it relieved itself from its previous position and into the dry, paper sky. Its shadow that threatened all creatures below only grew as it descended, quickly so, with its sword striking the ground in a beam of bursting red, scattering dust and shearing the ground beneath.

Torian at that time resolved to place a supple amount of trust unto Miss Lilium's abilities that she were far more capable of withstanding the attack regardless if it were at a precise proximity to her location - he needn't fret over her well-being at persistent intervals, after all. She was far stronger, and it was a welcoming fact. Unbidden, he'd send a single, feeble copy of himself close to the epicenter of the battle, its designation but his proxy as he shifted behind the large machine, its violent ministrations ceasing to quell.  

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

Truthfully, though he was less than likely to admit it, the first trial runs for the cloning spell hadn't been the easiest to digest. Not only was the uncanny likeness somewhat appalling to him, but there existed an ill-welcomed side-effect upon his discovery of the actual state of their magical make-up, a reality that snapped back at him with an unrelenting bite. In theory, the clones are supposed to function and exist as entirely separate entities should they be produced correctly. But what was to become of him if this hadn't been the case?

At first, Torian was under the pretense that whatever his copies were to undergo during combat was unlikely to influence the original in any way - and all this, to his horror, would further serve his undoing upon the death of 'another' Torian several moons ago, for its manifestation was possibly incorrect. In perfect recollection, the swordsman shudders at the memory of his abdomen being carved out by the enemy's relentless sword, the instances where he'd feel the curve of a monster's fist shaping his rib-cage, and the blood that puddled at his feet. The origin appropriated a comparison of the anomaly to fickle illusions that grow in potency over time, and while he's not wrong, he's not necessarily right, either. Torian hadn't withstand a physical wound from these enduring lapses of horrific pain, but rather mental ones, which run far deeper than any.

Somewhat forgetting to remember is a viable option every now and then, and if he's lucky, the clones aren't imperfect and the spell plays out as it should.

Nevertheless, memoirs of that caliber are almost always ingrained into him, somewhere apart from his brain, and Torian is all but powerless to suppress it from resurfacing when he produces a copy of himself, if not in fear that this one may be as incomplete as the one prior - that the pain of a death not meant for him would cause him to crumble.

The first copy was a stable one on observation alone, and while that 'Torian' couldn't survive four energy beams to the torso, the original one was left relatively unscathed, and sane. It was possible that he expected the next few to be more than half-done, and that he'd have lowered his guard down beforehand. Otherwise, the next one wouldn't have been as bound to him as it was now, the original Torian being acutely aware of the world that the copy perceives, in not so much of a formal fashion, but more in a way that his senses were vaguely split between two very different scenarios; one here as he was, searching in fretful persistence for any weaknesses that they might have overlooked from behind the mechanical tyrant and the other down below, where the canyon's foundations shook beneath the plasma sword.

He panics, and the urge to move registers even for the copy as its body spanned the direction opposite of the damage done. The speed at which the other Torian ran almost rivaled the original's ability, shockingly enough, considering the clones inherit nothing from the swordsman in terms of magic. Still, 'it' continued to trace a line that placed it relatively far from harm's way from the mecha's second swing, though not without conveniently angling its vantage point in a way that he could perceive what would befall on his younger companion, her presence cradled in the arms of a curious blonde stranger.

'An acquaintance of her's?'

Without a given prompt to take action, the copy stands there idly as the dusty air stills, and Torian observes in heightened interest as the pair approached in jovial skips through the other's eyes - seems either of them mistook the clone for the original, not that he hadn't foreseen the possibility when there was little difference present, especially under frantic circumstances when the mind's a bit too boggled by prior events. He couldn't blame her, particularly after a portion of himself appeared largely amused by the lady's confusion. Perhaps it'd be okay to tell her of this later in lighthearted jest? Ah...did he have that sort of privilege with Miss Lilium, though? Maybe it was too conceited of him to assume they were already on such terms with each other.

In his musings, the swordsman looked about ready to neglect his previous plans to snoop around the mecha for a while - if not for a small moment, for he'd been a little too fixated at the scene unraveling below to truly place his attention elsewhere. No sooner did this decision cause his head to reel in confusion upon the other, more knightly blonde's incentive, his departure through an adjacent portal ceasing to end silently as he left a peculiar, albeit jarring commentary related to Miss Lilium and encounters with...handsome blondes...?

'...What?'

Amidst the original's stiffening expression, the clone only tilts it's head in response, blinking slowly as it tries to interpret the conversation as it progressed. By chance, it comes to notice the red fluster that dusted across the lady's cheeks after she apologized for something that was completely beyond the copy's understanding. The color persisted even as she stole a single fleeting glance at it's form, and it processes the event with passing interest, realizing that the borrowed time it had to exist had quickly began to end.

The original, meanwhile, looked to be more than a little shaken from the display, all manner of thought temporarily coming to a stop as a wash of confusion overtook him. 'Ehhhh? What..was that all about?' he thought, the poor lad completely taken aback that all he could do was linger there, dumbfounded. In his current state, the swordsman would have possessed an extremely limited insight into the function's of the feminine brain. But if were allowed to assume, then perhaps there truly was some sort of emotion behind that little flush that crawled up Miss Lilium's cheeks, and that it wasn't as dense a reason as the desert heat getting to either him or her.

'Argh! There's no point thinking about it though!'

Prying his attention away from what seemed to be a pointless train of thought, Torian opts to breathe some semblance of awareness back into his system as he exhaled, paused, and steeled himself in order to better calculate his next line of action. Even from the height from which he flew, the swordsman could see the girl with the sunset hair and her brazen choice to continue to fight back. Not like they had any other choice at that moment, yet her resilience was still as commendable as anyone else's. She combats the enemy with flourish, and skill, and her actions vaguely implied that she was still trying to protect 'him' regardless.

Altruism is a noble creed, he thinks, up until the sacrifice becomes a far too heavy burden to bear alone.

With his body angled downward, Torian leaves the safety of the skies in urgent haste, taking his clone's position at the far end of things as soon as its time was completely spent. It at least served some sort of purpose, even managing to fool the lady into thinking they were the same person. However, it was precisely for that reason that he ought to make it up to her, considering that the copy was so unresponsive from the point of its deployment. And while going as far as to save a someone as vague as an unknown man was a daring move, it was nonetheless a dangerous one, and he'd be doing his morals an injustice if he told himself that he wasn't in the least bit worried.

From his vantage point, the swordsman could see an imposing set of drones seemingly honing on his current position. Apart from appearing deliberate, he noticed that the swarm composed of nearly everything they've encountered thus far - and each attack braced at his form in a myriad of beams and timed bombs and dark, menacing clouds. As he prepared to cleanly hack through the impeding machines, Lilium managed to have dealt with half of the latter part of the onslaught, regressing their enemy numbers by at least half.

Still, like any battle, there were those who persisted, and Torian doesn't hesitate to meet their attacks in full as he sheathed the Etherblade back into its scabbard. He'd wait for the closest machine to breach the smallest possible distance from him before simultaneously brandishing Kushinada in a whiplash of energy that expelled violently from his person. The force of the impact successfully set off the suicide drones one after the other, the explosions quickly consuming the adjacent area. The ominous cloud of nanomachines soon laid scattered on the canyon's surface, whilst the orbital units that posed as the most aggravating opponents were somewhat thrown off by the blast, where they'd comically bump into each other before hurdling back down in a static fit, the noise of crashing metal following suit.

'I don't think you should be rejoicing just yet,' the Origin said, abruptly so that Torian wondered what troubled the spirit, 'The girl - she's facing the giant machine alone. Help her.'

The urgency in the Origin's choice of words was strikingly palpable, as if something agitated him in a way that had him feigning desperation. Heeding to these words, Torian searched for the lady's presence behind the rise of dust and smoke and ash, running all the while in avid determination. There's a flutter of color just beyond the plumes to his right, and he immediately deduces this as Miss Lilium, no more and no less, with her figure directly attacking the mechanical giant...or at least, that's what it appeared to be up until a blinding flash of red caused his eyes to wince back. He could hardly follow what transpired after as he narrowed his eyes, the lights from a distance skewing the swordsman perspective of the fight. Once he'd regain a clear footing on his vision, however, it looked that the weight of the situation only increased ten-fold.

The giant, confronted with the burden of failure, raises its weapons upon itself. But this essentially implies that it'll be attacking everyone within the immediate vicinity in a final attempt to leave no winners. While still at a disadvantage, Torian had some leeway to flee, but for Miss Lilium, escape proved to be extremely difficult, even more so after she'd been pinned down so ruthlessly. As much as he desired to lend her a hand, an incoming horde of machines posed as the one worst possible obstacles he'd encounter at that moment.

And yet...did she expect him to leave without an argument?

"No!" he screamed, his face perfectly mirroring how mortified he was at the thought of abandoning her, in such despairing fashion, "You're not fine at all!"

Pointless as it was, Torian was inclined to believe that it was in this way that he'd show his gratitude for her efforts to keep him unharmed - by voicing out that he too, valued her life as she did for his, for everyone.

Altruism...really is bittersweet. That much he knew.

The grip he had on Kushinada considerably tightens, one hand freeing itself in compliance to the girl's request. He'd trust her then, for it was the least he could do, even if she didn't have the time to tell her what the catch would essentially lead to. But if it was a role that demanded his full attention, then so be it - the swordsman would later dedicate the majority of his focus unto the approaching blade, eyeing its characteristic glow as it buzzed past the impeding swarm of machines. As soon as the sword was at a close enough distance, Torian moved to rush forward slightly, propelling himself using the brief momentum to lightly grasp at the weapon, his fingers clawing at it before he'd triumphantly peel the thing from its linear path, its light falling into the confines of his desperate grip.

"I...did it..." he spoke, breathless. But little time was given for him to realize the feeling of triumph once the blade settled atop his palm, conveying Miss Lilium's intentions in a way that briefly awed him. Yet the onslaught of energy beams parading down his way from the new swarm proved to be a greater hindrance as he failed to evade one of them, getting shot squarely across his back with a slithering pain that was almost too unbearable...had he not been through far worse in the past.

Biting a lip, the swordsman immediately turned a heel, extracting whatever sort of magic the ethereal blade possessed to retract the lady from her previous position over to his and, upon confirmation that the process managed to do exactly that, quickly put the current active glyph to good use just as the mecha completed the loading sequence for its suicidal cannon.

"Hang on!" he tells her, grasping at her wrist in gentle insistence, the action mostly an attempt to have the younger mage secured between his arms prior to Kushinada's winds sending them the other way, dotting on a direction completely parallel to the machines and the ensuing burst of flames and metal and gasoline, the energy that it released quite literally throwing them off farther than intended.