The Reach of The Past

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That day had started just like any other, involving reading, writing, morning shower, cooking, working with type of white root to make a kind of glass, and working at the nearby hospital. Then there was being alone at home, dinner, an evening shower, and bed. Every day still felt new and strange, it was hard to keep his mouth in check, strange how different and more alive the skin felt. For all these physical improvements, he still made marks on his flesh every morning and each night. Despite now not being stopped from self expression by the hole that was once there, the shrimp continued to try to stifle himself, like a prisoner that wasn't sure how to treat or view freedom. Sleep normally started with wind giving him a disapproving expression that he could feel, but not see. All he had to do to see wind was to look, but the half demon never did. The very thought of having his first memory of winds face being that sort of expression was painful. But this time was different. "Svabol ui gethrisjir shafaer? Suaco?" He looked around a bit. The ice and snow on the ground was typical of his dreams, but for some reason it felt more real than normal. "Svaklar re wux?" There was something nearby, something that felt familiar. What was it? The feeling of familiarity didn't go away as the young looking man continued to walk in the endless blanket of white. Eventually he came to the item that had been in the distance. This flower was extinct in the modern times, but it was once a common flower.

It grew in a country that was not of his homeland, what caused it's end was something Haraka had never looked into. They looked much like one would expect an enlarged marigold to look. This particular one was sitting on top of the snow, coated in some blood, looking a little withered and beated. Why... "Kii tiric coi kiwieg hefoc si tepoha ocuirtor nomeno ghoros?" It was as if those words had awakened something in this endless ice world. The area around the flower seemed to steam away bit by bit. Bit by bit it steamed away, showing more wood, then eventually patches of soil. On the ice and snow were buildings, a few already destroyed.There was a voice, a tiny upset voice that yelled with a might that didn't exist inside them. The childs height paled in comparison to every adult nearby. More developed than a toddler, but certainly no teenager. "Dask! DASK! Thric! petranas thric! Si shilta ti kampiun vi treskri ios wux!" Omaras eyes widened, bare feet stepping back one after the other. No, he knew what was coming. This was a memory slowly slithering itself in, like a deadly poison setting in. It might was well been such with as cold and sick it made his entire form feel just thinking about it. In a pile of those flowers was a small angry woman with bright wild red hair and scars caked all across her pale skin like a never ending patchwork. There were many new marks now that bled everywhere. She stood on dirt, plants coming out of the bleeding wounds in the form of thorny vines and flowers.

It was amazing that there was any life in her at all, but within those lively green eyes? A rage deeper than even the lowest point of any ocean could ever dare try to dive. It was certainly those emotions that kept the human moving. Her voice carried a deep tone, carrying roughness from the wear on her throat, or mouth, or perhaps lungs. "Si geou ti loreat, ti lae drong lae nomenes youwei tepoha jilg di wux. Sia yobolat geou ultrinninan seanf marfedelom." Her legs didn't look like they could move much on their own at this point, put plants wrapped around them and moved her. Behind her was left a trail of those beautiful large flowers, the same ones that people would offer her every day. In front of her was a woman with an octopi bottom. She smiled darkly, tossing a very familiar face tossed to another in her group. A young face of a boy with slate blue skin and ink black hair that shimmered sapphire blue at the touch of light. There was no glow, he was not old enough yet. For some reason nine and a half felt bigger back then, maybe because Haraka wasn't able to gaze upon his own face until then. His mother was doing her best, others had started trying to help. Back then? The demon had a hard time piecing together just how impossible everything was until it was too late. Now? Fluid wouldn't stop falling from his eyes. "Coi jahus eschoupilt ekess montu sva sio, shar froneel jahus astahi."

It was a tragedy that happened thousands of years ago, had seen repeated so many times, but always with pieces missing, jumbled in the madness and smoke of burning buildings, then bodies. More tears fell, his fingers doing their best rubbing it away. Admitting that he had been helpless back then hurt. It was a fear he hadn't known that was there until forced to see everything without any parts cut out. This didn't mean he liked it, nor did it make the tears stop. The vision of everything became obscured in tears and frantic hands, until everything became silent. "Batobot ui ti svabol shinaltic frevor persvek nomeno jilinth. Svaklar ui wer ultro? Coi ui ekess steadily xkhat vi qumado di tsruvonir loerchik." For a few minutes, it felt like clearing the stained eyes were a hopeless task, but eventually the tears dried enough to be mostly wiped away. This was a time where his mothers clinic wasn't destroyed. It gave a bit of relief, after all what's the worst that ever happened at his mothers clinic that didn't involve what he was just dragged though? "Suaco, kii mi si tenpiswo?" He was almost certain at this point that wind was behind this. Still, it wasn't winds voice that he heard next, but the sound of someone pinning fabric against the wooden wall covers that was in the stone building. There was quiet muttering from the willful voice of an adult woman. "Zyak kiarf tomosha dartak batobot tepohaic thric montu shar ekess ouith vur svent."

A child paused in his busy workings, curious large eyes looking towards the towering figure. Well, to that child she was giant. A woman with a thin wispy figure, wild long red hair, pale skin, and scars covering every bit of open skin. On her she carried old tools of medicine, but in that time such tools were what was used at that time, some of them not picked up by other professionals until years after her death. This person was in thick pants, thick boots, and a thick long sleeved shirt. The tools were stuffed in pockets and in a belt. The smaller and younger him stopped staring at his mother pinning the fabric over the windows, going back to his practice lesson. There was a stretched out silence that felt more and more tense as the seconds sped by. It wouldn't feel that way at all if the mother figure didn't look so nervous and upset. This lead to an uncomfortable question that couldn't help but arrive in his mind, "Svabol ui shinaltir ifnitot?" This was one memory he was sure he didn't remember. Was it real? But it felt so familiar and terrifying. That wasn't a good sign, it more than likely meant it had been blocked a long time ago. A frantic sound started knocking on the door. "Dask, ui coi ti nif klewkini?" The woman put her hand up to her child, signaling he be silent. After that she rushed over to the door, her boots making little noise against the tile covered floor.

The person on the other side of the door was pleading in a rapid frantic voice, a desperate tone from someone wanting to be let in. She opened the door only to see a white taloned hand grasping away a young teenage boy. How could the adult Haraka see any of this if it was the childs memories? The child had put the small knife on the cutting board next to a book next to the tools he had been working with. The six year old was quietly looking from behind his mother, unnoticed by all participants at this time. "Thric." Everything hadn't returned yet, but he definitely could recall that teen not surviving to the end of that day. "Si tir ti tuor ekess tir nomeno! suaco! petranas pok nomeno!" No! This memory was locked away for a reason! His entire body begun to tremble, legs backing him up until the young looking mans back pressed firmly against a wall. "svaust usv svabol ui tirir nomeno, thric throdenilt! si tir ti tuor ekess! si tir ti siofme si shilta! coi ouith kiri kiarf." Maybe it was just a dream and he was thinking too much on it. He didn't have to watch someone getting dragged away by his grandmother, or watch them argue.. was that a funeral pyre outside? The pale blue skinned adult tried to move from the doorway, but instead found his feet on the ice and snow outside. The old dragon tossed the young frantic teen on the wood before setting it aflame.

There was no trail, nor acknowledgement of the cries and please along the way. "Thric! vethnafldask ui vi bensvelk xiekiv. Nomeno ui vi wharac, coi tepohaic ekess qe!" Tears started to pour out of his eyes, a small voice speaking in the open. "vucoti jacion, jaci ui ti vi tisvelk drot! origato jacion ekik!" Ice blue eyes looked towards the tiny figure, the red head picked her child up and started to back away. The old woman looked at him, her scaled tail harshly hitting the young teen that tried to escape the horrible fate burning into their flesh. "throdenilti kothar geou shio xkhat raviwr mrith aurthon tairais. dout qumadosfan natorkic mojka raviwrle, zyak wux geou agantal qe natorki. wux geou nurti qe shashtiup persvek batobot idol." But the tiny person didn't accept the answer. The small Haraka was now also crying, but still screamed. "jaci ui ti tisvelk, wux re! sventar! wux ornla valignat ve hefoc jacion sjek si jahen ti dout autgabin! sjek si jahen zyak weyotipre hak kii mi si nurti shalada ekess tikil svihelen dryicir batobot astahii gethrisj ekess? astahii vorq sva ve hefoc wux vorq sva jacion! wux re wer diieson! wer diieson!" This was when something changed in the old womans eyes, snow being piled over the fire. The red headed doctor rushed over, grabbing up the young teen before running back into her clinic. The tiny child rushed after the human woman.

He remembered now, they worked for many restless days and nights. Even with the use of magic, it was a miracle he survived back then. Without magic? The death would have been certain. The worst part was that he wasn't sure how many more people she did or didn't kill, if she understood why he was upset or dismissed it as a childs tantrum. What could he learn from this? Why was he here?! He didn't want to- wait... "I tepoha coanwor tesantamaso di xkhatir hefoc jacioniv?" It wasn't a fear the half demon had even considered before, but it made so much since. She was not bad though, but merely a product of her time. "i rigluin ekess itov trian sides di ve, ui batobot svabol si rigluin ekess yenta? si jihai batobot jaciv ui luh di ve, shar si geou ti xkhat nautkyna lae jaciv tepohada." No more scratches at the mornings or the nights, no more blood soaked attempts. The fear wouldn't just disappear just because he had faced it, but now he planned to face it from now on. That should be it, right? But of course not. Everything vanished to a different scene and time. There was so much blood on the ice that it was hard to tell it wasn't red soil and stone instead if one didn't pay close enough attention. Bits of bone and flesh were strewn about like a confetti. The group had a large fire up, one of the members holding a certain angry slate blue skinned child. He was getting closer to puberty, but for some reason he looked smaller than ever.

A good question on his health would probably be if some part of him didn't show any signs of physical abuse. The youth dry heaved, having not had anything to even expel from his system in a long time. This was in his memories well. By this time he had stopped speaking to them, he had become like a carry beat up purse they would use for laughs. Omaras didn't want sleep to come, but they would beat it into him every night. He couldn't remember the dreams, one of many details forgotten, blocked out. "Si nomag still qe tesantamaso, shar si thric drongilt zhaan mojka. Vucoti si rigluin ekess isk nauk sjek astahii re ekik mobi! Petranas, thric throdenilt..." But the memory continued, eventually the man holding the tiny half demon getting tired, beating the child until sleep took them. Now he saw all white, but why? These are like the times he communicates with wind when he's asleep these days. But, could he really talk to wind before he was old enough to use the spirit? But the memory answered itself. A tiny Haraka was apologizing to... Wind. He looked like a youthful pre pubescent... girl? boy? Honestly the spirits gender has always been questionable anyway so none of that was exactly shocking. What was shocking was how terrible the spirit looked. There were so many stories about how powerful and amazing he was that the ice blue skinned person had heard while growing up. Wind looked barely alive in the memory, depressed and worn past anything considered remotely healthy as a limit.

Even with those eyes being a pure pitch black, the darkness looped around them, the eye bags, it was all far too clear. He barely had anything left. "si shilta ti save wux. si geou loreat ghent wer frevor welun, si shilta ti guyya wer siofmea di wux jaseveir wer treskri." The floating figure let his small clawed toes touch the floor of the blank mind space, the brief touch down in moving closer to the young child. Arms wrapped around the mans former self, winds grasp almost like the spirit thought this would be the last time. Wind... "Si jahus zyak busy siofmeir zahae svanoa ekess itrewic letoclo batobot si tira ti ocuir svanoa bekiw coi ouith suaco. Jaci tiliw tepoha loreata sjek si tepohada ti authot tivol, ti filki ve." That moment stretched on though, moving onto the morning. At that time some started talking to each other about a place far from that country they planned to take him, a place to make him someone different, something with a reversed heart. Wait, "si jahus ti pragrayl shio nomeno tairais? si jahus harkt?" Just like that, the dream ended. Haraka was free, but it didn't stop the mage from finally sobbing. Breaking off the piece of soul back then had been the right thing to do. More than that though? "Wind, fire, lightening? I promise to never run without thinking about my family first again. I'm so sorry for never thinking on just how deeply any of you got hurt for my sake..." Getting out of bed could wait a few more minutes for at least one day, right?

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