He laid on the grassy ground, the wind blowing breaths that stung his torn skin. He laid in a field of death; one among tens of thousands. Yet fortune’s gambit made him live, even though bolts stuck to him; even though he could no longer feel his left arm’s presence, a numbness so cold within the sharp pain.
Crows, he could still hear their scavenging caws. Vultures circled above as if waiting for him to die. Staring him down with blinding light was the sun, whose warmth did nothing to heal what had long been emptied.
His mind reflected on everything that had led to this moment. Flashing memories flowing by, interrupted only by the wails of griffons; the booms of distant cannons.
He stared into the sky; his dying breaths cracked and rasped; he continued to live as if fortune was not done toying, but he knew it was only a matter of time. He knew he could not keep his promise; that vow he had sworn when he survived onwards while the rest did not.
History had abandoned them. On that day, recorded were the names of generals and legions. Not hers. Not their child’s. On this day, recorded would be the names of kings and nations. Not his own.
He stretched his only remaining arm up high, his hand grasping out, reaching for the sky. “Great one… Oh…great Sky, King of Gods…” He mustered what remnants of life he could, though his breaths struggled to breathe and speak. “I am…not asking to be saved. My time…has come… It’s come… But… But I promised…I would remember the men we lost… The… I promised I would remember…them… That I would remember…her… I promised, I’d… I’d…” With gritting teeth, his breaths clenched as ailing tears stung his cheeks. “My village… I am the only one…left… I am the last…of my family… I… I… I wanted to…I needed to…carry their memories as far…as I could… That’s all…that’s left of them… But alas, I am…such a fool…”
He promised to remember them. Where all others would forget; where all others had forgotten; he promised to forever remember. But memory of the dead could only persist in those with life. And with his death, too would die the shadows he had kept in heart. For all that was left of them was all that he remembered of them.
“Their passions… Their…names… Their faces… I… I shouldn’t have…tried to…avenge them… I should have…tried to…move on and carry them…forward…and…” His breaths cramped.
He realized the futility of his quest. The futility of his recent past.
“God of the Sky, King of Gods… I know… You can…see me… You can…hear me… I am not calling your…name to be…saved… But without…me…to keep…who they were…in my heart, who will…remember them? Who…will remember their names… Our names… I…” His arm fell drifted down to the ground… “I…call you to you… To remember… Will you…remember them? Will…you…remember us? All of us? Any of us? A sign… A sign…can you…”
Yet all he heard was the empty silence of a sky staring him down, unable to muster even a sign as reply.
His hand lunged high with final resurge. “Answer me! Forsake it all… For one moment, please…answer me! Will…we be…remembered? Did any…of our lives…mean…anything…to…” Cricked and cracked, his teeth trembled with despair; he already knew the answer. “Ah… Ah…” His bloodied breaths hiccupped. “Well… You had…your chance…to prove me wrong, I guess…” His arm fell down in accepting defeat. His gods had abandoned them too. “Hazel… Plum… I really was…such a stupid…fool… I am sorry… I am so…sorry… I… I tried… I tried… I am…sorry…”
His breaths decayed to mumbles, repeating those words at the pace of his beating heart, slowing.
Do not be sorry.
A gasping respite. His eyes flickered, widening as something made itself known; words had been engraved into his soul. A reply received. Apparitions, he could see, circling in the sky above him; gold butterflies wisping as if phantasms, one of which had gently landed on his chest.
“…what…is this…”
You have been seen.
You have been heard.
“I’ve…been… You can…see…me? You can…hear me? Does that…mean…”
Yet his words fled his mouth incomplete, as he began to realize… He no longer felt so weak or frail. Something poured into his body. He could feel it, etching itself into his soul.
This was not the Sky God. He knew it deep within. As if the tears of a weeping phantom, more and more of these butterflies streamed from the eyes of nothing.
“…Trinity? This has to…be… Is this…”
No.
You did not cry out for Heaven’s salvation.
But for time’s remembrance.
“…I learned…a long time ago…how much is lost…when memory dies first… How much of us… How much of…everything…is just our memories of what went and what came…” He breaths cramped in a pause. “My memories of them… Of her… They are…proof… Proof that…we…”
Suddenly, the stinging pain and cold numbness faded as nothingness enveloped; something happened, and reality ceased to be.
He was standing; he could feel both of his arms and each of his legs. He felt himself. Not a single wound or cut; not a single bolt nor a single gash; his stomach was whole.
A haze of grey and cloudy fog surrounded him, with embers of light waving within the fog. Two trails, two flows, of gold wispy butterflies, those phantasms in the mist, flew in the abyss above; their presence carved a path.
“Where… Where am I? What… What is this?” His breaths were whole again.
Do you see the hollow stream?
“I… Yeah… I see it…” He could see it. That hollow streaming flow, beckoning its strips.
Follow it.
He began to follow it as if flowing with the mist. Ghosts and shades, golden shadows and silhouettes formed around his path, animated as he motioned. Voices and sounds, laughs and cries, echoed in the fog; memories played around him, all his own.
From the day he was born and held in mother’s arms; to the boy who dreamed of things greater than the bondage of his village’s confinement; to the adolescent who had nearly managed to break free, only to become bound to it after meeting she who was worth the world and more; to the father who dreamed a future for his child to call her own, greater than his.
He saw everything play around him in these silhouettes of memories and moments made from mist. Everything.
“…no…”
Everything.
Although he had found himself bounded, ambitions never fled. And eventually they reemerged, stronger and more fervent. One day, he decided to become something grander; to strike against foundation’s tide and venture for greater things; greater potentials he had long felt destined for.
The mother of his child begged him to not; his child begged him to not. But he did. He left.
“It was…only going to be a short…trip… I wanted to meet with…the head of the… We talked, and I… It was either then or never…and… But…”
He nearly fell into the mist, which flowed and wisped as if eager to eat him should he do so.
“I should have…taken them…with me, I could’ve… But I didn’t… I didn’t want to be.. I didn’t…”
You did not want your ambition to burden them.
You did not want your ambition to be burdened by them.
Thus, you left them behind. Without a word or goodbye.
Temporarily.
Burdening them with your absence.
Ultimately.
“They knew… She knew…where my head was going… So, I didn’t…think it would… But… But… How…was I supposed to know…that was going to be…the last time… The last…thing they saw of me? The last time…I would get to see them… How…was I…”
How were you supposed to know
That your absence would save you.
How were you supposed to know
That your ambitions were meaningless,
Without those others who drove them forward
And your will to live.
“…the signs… We were a small border village… The Empire, they were starting to… It was obvious! There was…something in me that knew something was going to happen! I knew it! I wanted to get out of the village; I wanted to get them out of there, but…I should’ve…”
Yet your memories speak a story…different.
He froze as saw his thoughts play before all that surrounded, as if having been ripped straight from the heart of his source, repeating in a rhythmic choir. And he could see in none of those thoughts from memory lane…any deep foresight or any loving consideration. In fact, they screamed rejoiceful liberation.
You wanted to be rich.
You wanted to become what many commoners could only dream of being.
You were sick of being restrained, having grown hearing of the larger world beyond.
But she wanted a simpler, more humble life.
She wanted you to remain put.
And be the father of her child. Of your child.
But you could not stand being static, immobile.
You loved her in memory selective. But in the moment
“I resented her… I know, I know…” His recognizing breaths admitted within this mellow cloud. “I hated her… I felt she was…keeping me down; enslaved, but… I never… Always, always, in my heart, I never… never wanted her to… to…”
To be violated and murdered.
Along with your child.
Along with your community.
Those who raised you.
You loved them, and they loved you.
You love her, and she loved you.
Even in the darkest of moments.
“But I…abandoned them… I…failed them… I…”
You were going to return.
“But I should have been there…”
You would have died with the rest.
“Yeah! I would have!” He stood with a staunch boot to the misty ground, his voice cutting itself from the pitch. “I would have been there with them; to defend them! Stand with them, and join together… We would have been carried over together! As a family! And maybe…if I was there, they could’ve ran; they could’ve survived! I have no right to still be alive… I had no right…”
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But you were alive. And you heard the words.
And when you returned to that village, seeing its ashen ruins…
The mass grave left behind…
“I dug it. I dug it. I kept digging and digging and digging… I had to see them for myself, I had to check; I had to see them… I had to see them for myself…”
And even in rotting, wretched flesh, you found them.
And your knees fell to the earth.
With falling tears, your eyes cast to the sky, from thereon you swore a promise…
“So as long as I lived, I would…carry their lives on their behalf. By…always keeping them in memory… By always remembering…everything I could. There wasn’t a day…I didn’t call their names; I wrote things down, I spoke, and I always, always…tried to remember…every moment I could…” He shook his head, clenching his fist… “And not just Plum; not just Hazel… You ask me right now; you read my mind, you see that I can and I will say each and every one of their names, because I knew those people! They all…were like my family… They were my family…”
You vowed to keep their voices locked forever within your heart.
To keep their names
Their smiles
Their laughs
Their cries
Their hopes
Their dreams
Their ambitions
To carry their memories on their behalf, from whatever you had left of them in your own
As proof to your Gods,
As proof to your lords,
That you exist. That they existed. That you all had lives worth living.
Better than that which had been given.
And taken.
“…I promised them. I would…be who they wanted me to be… To value their memories… Heh, but then… I off and went… Gods, I should’ve just walked away; I should’ve just kept going… But I couldn’t. I had to scream out against… Against…”
You wanted to avenge them.
And so you presented yourself to your lord.
By whom your rage was accepted, and sharpened into what you would become.
Abruptly within these shades of memories played and animated, came a fury of screams that froze and weeps that pierced, as if the voices of echoes calling out his hypocrisy.
You beg to be remembered.
But who will remember the voices, the names, of your victims?
“Yeah…” He had no justification or words to counter. Only recognition. “…I wanted revenge; I wanted them to feel…everything I felt… My blood was burning, and I… I…”
You fantasized of butchering the knights and kings you blamed.
The culprits, the villains.
And you certainly butchered. You certainly did more than that.
Carnage overtaking, diffusing amongst the flow.
Yet not against the wicked or the convicted.
“It was not just me… We all did… I…” His teeth clucked as his fist clenched with tremble. “I was a warrior, a man-at-arm… And the Empire was attacking everyone, every realm… We had to make them hurt enough to get them to back off, and…”
Ah… But can you tell such to them?
Appearing within the mist were apparitions, specters both small and tall whose glowing eyes glared into him with judgement; with condemnation. They cared not for his cries; they cared not for his torment; they cared not for his history or reasons; because he had stolen everything from them.
And he paused… “Yeah… You’re right…” His eyes cast away in a shame that made him numb and flat; he kept moving, following that stream which led nowhere yet clearly was going somewhere. The specters followed as if haunting ghosts, memories continuing to play.
“Our army, we went into the Empire’s dominion… We went over the southern mountains, avoiding Greenfield… We snuck up on them; surprised them… But we had no supplies; we had to live off the land, and…we had to break their backs; we had to cripple their food… Make them bleed enough so that…they would redirect their armies back to…”
His words stopped, for he was simply doing it again… Saying words those stalking specters cared little for; he knew that if he were one of them, if she were one of them, neither of them would care for these words either.
In the end, the distractions worked.
The Empire redirected their armies.
And in your first engagement against their proper army…
“Pegasus made her point clear and wide. We aren’t…winning this war. And everything we did was…completely pointless… Everything I did… All their deaths were completely…meaningless…”
But you remember their screams.
You remember their terror
Their pain
Their suffering
Their cries and begs.
Memories you engraved into your heart
In a way, you did extend your promise to them too.
For you carry their final moments
As proof that they existed.
As proof that they had lives worth living.
“Lives we stole from them… Lives I stole…” His eyes cast their gaze to all those following specters, all once lives. “…I am sorry… There’s no one left…to remember you all either… I’m sorry… I…am sorry. I don’t even know your names…” His teeth jittering, he saw their blank and empty gazes; hardly faces, besides those glowing eyes. Breathing in, he tightened his fists and continued walking. But the specters stopped following.
“What…even is this, anyway, huh?”
Not judgement day, if that is what you are pondering.
Not condemnation, if that is what you are dreading.
Not forgiveness, if that is what you are hoping.
“Where…are you taking me?”
To where you have always wanted to go.
Ever since that day.
“Daddy!” A voice echoed out through the mist, one that froze him still. A small golden shade of streamy wisps came running. “Daddy! It’s you!” The small shade leaped towards him, embracing his legs squeezingly. “It’s actually you?! Isn’t it?!” the voice cried out with such tearful happiness.
“Plum…” His head tilted… Indeed, this shade was unrecognizable, yet the voice was as a clear as the sun’s rays…
And the shade looked up to him, its glowing hollow eyes wide and filled with childish expressions and excitement. “I thought you’d never ever come back! I was in so much pain! I thought you’d never save me!”
“Yeah… Although, I admit, I was kind of glad you weren’t there…” Another voice so came following, a soft and almost morbidly humorous voice that beckoned his attention instantly… Another, taller gold phantasm-like shade; womanly and unmistakable to his eyes, even in this state…
“Hazel… Hazel… It’s really…”
“Yeah, it’s me. I guess…” the shade replied, awkwardly stroking its fuzzy and cloudy hair which did not exist. “I don’t know what’s happening… But I’m glad you’re here… I really am… I’m not mad…” The shade tried to keep its composure… “Just, do not ever ask me what happened. That’s a memory we aren’t carrying forward.”
“…really? That’s your main… Not even… Ha…ha… What… What” He was in utter disbelief, unable articulate any words; he just fell straight to his knees, tears racing down yet all he could do was hardly cry, but rather…laugh in such a strange weep. He cast his sight up to that stream of butterflies up high, still moving on… “This is real… Right? This is real? Tell me the truth right now! Is this real or is this some twisted fucking—”
“Calm… You know Plum hates when you’re cry-angry.”
“It’s really weird…” His child was awfully blunt.
Yet his attention remained locked to the stream above. “Answer me! How can any of this be real? Is this real?!”
This is as real as you want it to be.
This is as real as I am able to make it to be.
This is as real as it can possibly be.
From whatever was left of bygones’ echoes.
He looked at his wife; he looked at their child. Before he looked back up at that stream of butterflies, now even stronger; now even larger… There were so many of them, and only growing further. “Not in…any of the stories or legends of the Gods has…anything like this been mentioned… What… What…” He struggled to speak, his lungs drowned by his prior sobs. “And… Why are they shadows? Where are their faces? Are they really… Are they really them? Please, you cannot lie to me! Not now…”
The answer lies merely by looking at yourself.
This time without the veil.
He…turned his eyes away from that stream and peered down at his own self and being… His chest, his arms, his legs… He saw that he was no longer himself; he too was…a golden phantasmal shade of wisp and stream, and had been this entire time.
Abruptly, a surge of butterflies engulfed everything around as the grey abyss of mist and haze morphed and twisted, as if reality itself was constructing and molding. Before, in a sudden mutation of all things, that mist cleared and dissipated, wind blowing such a potent breeze into his hair and skin, which tingled with life.
The sun up high shined with such warm light in that pristine blue sky. He looked up so fast, and saw… Dragons flying, yet these dragons harmed none at all; their roar instilled awe rather than fear. He could see pegasi as well, landing far away in the familiar grasslands around which were far more tranquil and greener than he had ever remembered them being.
He breathed in the air that felt so warm and…comforting…
“Woah… We’re home! We’re home! We’re home! It’s home!! It’s…” Plum’s voice was so loud and excited, and it was not only hers. There were many other voices, confused, baffled, surprised, with many immediately crying to those they embraced.
He turned himself around, seeing… In flesh and blood, all those many others, all familiar faces. And most importantly, he saw… “Hazel… Plum…” He looked at them, and he really looked at them… Their faces, their hair, their eyes… They were not shades. “It… It really… It really is you!”
Hazel felt her face, in shock… “Yeah… It really is me…” Her emotions revealed themselves as tears flowed down… “And it…really is you… Isn’t it?” She finally made her leap and embraced him, tearing up more as her eyes fell into his still armored shoulders. “I admit! I was skeptical at first! I didn’t think any of this was… I mean, I died! I was dead, I know I was dead! And her! I saw them… They ripped her out from me, and I saw her die with my own eyes before they… Before they… And then, and then…I, she just… We just appeared in that, I don’t know, and…” she sobbed, and she sobbed.
“Yeah… Yeah…” He patted her, yet his gentle hand was too hard and made for poor comfort.
Indeed, she immediately leaped herself back with evaluative eyes, her surprised overcharged sorrow quickly devolving into scornful ire; “…Oh, what have you gotten yourself into! What the fuck, you joined the army!” She was still slightly teary, emotions evidently everywhere; “You are the last person I can even imagine fighting in any war! I thought you wanted to be a merchant-king, not…” She simmered, sighing… “Oh, you…”
“I think he looks cool!” Plum added her own remarks, smiling while pretending she was not greatly tearful.
“Yeah… Well, I… I…” Yet, abruptly, he froze…
They all froze, as if their eyes blanked; their minds emptying.
He looked around… “Hazel, uhm…” He was visibly confused… “Why are we all gathered outside the village? What…?”
“I don’t…” Hazel struggled to articulate… “Was I crying? What?” She wiped her eyes, caught in equal confusion.
“Yeah,” one of his fellow villagers began to speak, looking his way, “and why are you dressed for war, Crimson? Huh? What’s going on here?”
“I thought… I thought… Wait, what were we even doing?” another villager pondered.
“Yeah…” He looked down at himself, bewildered… “Why am I wearing this stuff? When did I even… Huh?” Something was missing, but he knew not what.
“We should just head back in.” another villager suggested; “Busy day ahead of us, I bet. New spring is here!” They all gathered with their respective families and…entered the village, its buildings even stronger and more resilient than before.
Yet he remained standing where he was, attempting to remember what was already gone.
“Beh! Can I go play with my friends?” Plum just asked.
“Ye… Yeah? Yeah, of course, sweet bunny. Y-yeah… Yeah” Hazel replied, still struck with a strange confusion, her eyes turning to him… “So. You just gonna stand there, armor man, or are we going to keep talking?” Her voice was somewhat passive-aggressive.
“Talking…” He looked at her… “About…?”
“You wanted to keep talking about…” She paused, though quickly remembered; “We were discussing about you wanting to up and leave to travel to the—”
“No, no… No!” He shook his head and waved his hand, fiercely; “Forget about it. Forget about it! I’m staying here.”
Hazel looked at him as if stunned and surprised; “But you were really…” Adamant, indeed, he had been.
“Yeah, but I’ve decided. I ain’t ever leaving. I am staying here. I am not leaving, and I never will… I never will…”
“Oh, I see…” She smiled with quite the teary blush, relieved and happy… “…Well, uhm, let’s go home, then…”
“Yeah… Let’s.” Smiling in kind, he held her hand and the two returned to their home. The deep confusion and sense of missingness faded, as everyone settled in and adjusted to lives that simply were and always had been so.
Truly, you were a unique one.
To have made such a strange promise,
Crimson.
Hazel, Plum
Evergreen, Orange, Bell, Love, Brown, Tealheart, Marble, Kettle, Happy…
The list is ceaseless.
But your names have been recorded.
Your memories will be carried.
Your dreams will be preserved.
Along with all that remains of what you once were.
Joined together with all the rest, long forgotten.
He laid there, in that grassy field of death. Motionless and static. One among tens of thousands. His breaths had long stopped; his eyes were lifeless and empty, having passed. Yet on his face was hardly dread or drained tears; neither spite nor rage; but rather a smile forever entrenched in his final moments.
The wind continued to blow, as the world continued to turn, as that great war continued to rage to the satiation of crows and vultures. But all around within that lifeless field of hollowed shells, more and more golden butterflies gently wisped onto corpse after corpse after corpse, as if the Phantom’s warmth streamed to those echoes left behind, embracing those memories abandoned by time.
Once upon a time long ago, he and she made a promise.
And even though we forsook and contradicted.
Having long fallen astray.
Even though we failed what we were supposed to be.
Having betrayed; having been betrayed.
It is a promise we intend to keep,
Until the end of time.