♫Japan - The Tenant♫

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July 15, 1778

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dark [https://i.vgy.me/KS9HvL.png]

It's another dirty day for those who live in Burmecia, Land of Eternal Rain.

But not for me.

Rain keeps falling, and pouring down, hitting the surface belonging to everything, and everyone. Thunder strikes from a distance, as the wind keeps blowing towards me, and those following me. Their faces seems to express such fear, as if the sky seems to keep falling against us, or so does pretend to. With me alongside then, pretentions aren't enough to keep us away from this rain, except the demise I had been awaiting to, but they don't. Too little to understand, and too old to not be able to understand, those with me are the sons of Edgar, my brother, who used to be the King of this Palace, and ruler of the people inside and outside the walls I am entering throught this giant door, supposed to be giant as his ego, or something in compensation to his loss. A shiver belonging to a winter tree being hit by a thunder, where is supposed to be the spider to calm their trembling bodies? I don't recall their names, but their mother sure do, or did. Even beyond the grave, she cared for them, unlike their father. A figure alike a mother, once a Cleyran figure, stands there, far away, yet close from that door where my brother resides, on a bed, the same where he was born, and where our mother had died, when I was born. Edgar is about to lose the life who once belonged to that body of a warrior, a voracious one, that now resides within a skinny moribund, flat as one of the worms within his stomach of a glutton he once was.

Nobody made any joke about the loss of my tail. Soon it'll be replaced, or kept hidden like now, same for the laughs of those mocking at me with their hidden faces. The little ones just laugh, but as soon as they made a single step over this palace, the shadow beckons their faces, as if they were forbidden to get in here, same for this one here, the prodigal son already home with it's rewards, however, they are more than mere coins, but hearts of gold. They also told the same for Edgar, who became rusty with the years... his sons share of a plenty of time to decide for themselves what they'll become, or what they already are. Sons and daughters, or so I do see them on this way, same for his wife. The current Queen, yet powerless, is grated to see her offspring, and grated to see me, who took care of them when their father couldn't, and never had, to tell the truth. Always occupied, even for his children. Unlike his wife, one of many, and me, that from these days become from a mere tutor to what seems to be a better father figure than my brother.

We may share of same blood, he may share of same blood like these children, who used to share of a bad blood against me, like their father. Now, they all share of a same look, a kind of look I am pleased to see, as much as they do as well, and this little one shall too. Before, they used to force my eyes onto me, alike the ones belonging to a statue, but now they do not have of this same force anymore, a force that now is vanishing away, falling into the rift where nothing can be seem, unlike the hole dug. They also had no reason to do it besides a sense of protection. A matter of survival, to be fair. They may not be my sons in blood, they aren't her sons either, except for the little one she's holding carefully on her arms. She was taught to raise them all alike ones, and I can say she did better than the one who took away mostly than her ceremonial dress, and her innocence within such. I know she is there for far more of being the one to offer of her milk to the little one, Edgar's little one, negletched as well like the others. For Edgar, this woman is just she, but for me, Eleanor, or Rinoa as she were once knew by her people, once her people, means more than a mere 'she'. I do think this, and these kids too.

These children... Their energy will soon vanish as they grown up, unfortunately. They used to play with each other, but now that the red message come to me, and they also had been informed, not on same way as me, of course. The letter said in words that Edgar was about to die, thought for his kids, they said daddy was about to fly through the skies; for me, he gave up of the fight, but for the little ones, another star is about to shine on the sky. Those who stand below this sea of clouds can't see stars. That sure is proof that Edgar, even over the edge, is still Edgar. The smell of death dissipated into the room slightly vanished from my sight as I saw the window, and the scent of the rain, the same rain that keeps pouring down upon us, because of the will of Bahamut. In bed, so big for his, I see Edgar, or what remained of his, the same king who keeps commiting mistakes because of his own will. As a single Burmecian, his pain is his, and only. But as the King of all of us, we all share of his same pain. Well, with his skin peeling like an onion, everyone near his cries. The only ones who aren't there to cry are his wife and sons, who decided on their own to be kept outside, since Spring and Summer are unrelated to Winter, though they all are meant to end up, even a King.

— Hi, my dear brother – I said, for the initial words. As if he still could hear me... any noise could be heard by the skull he became. So rigid it was, like a bread. Now it's in crumbles, alike a new bread, or a skull of a new infant. The doctors said that Edgar's lungs had been in contact with pneumonia, and that he should rest for a while, or for ever, as it seems. The sky told me so, and the looks of their faces as well, and those eyes falling like the rain, some more than others, the distress is in the air, as soon Edgar will be there as well. Far more than the lungs of his had been infected by the disease, or diseases. Like birds are gathered within a cage, the diseases found a way to gather inside his already fragile body. One of his sons, Timothy, look at me. He used to look at me on other ways before, when his father was near his, but now that he won't be near for once, he gives me another view, like an once dirtied window is now cleansed by water.

— So, you've returned... – yes, the prodigal son came back. It seems that my brother is still able to engage in a conversation. Well, it's time to open some old wounds at once, to drop some words of salt into them. I'll be awaiting for a while, if Edgar is able to endure just a little bit. Who knows? He should had been gone as soon I've stepped into the main door.

— I had some promises to keep – I said. Did he heard me or just ignored my words? Not that it would make any difference. Edgar was knew when far more alive than this excuse of living for being someone who had of his own decisions to be decided. Nobody complained, or else he would cut their heads, this if these were centuries ago. The maximum my brother would be able to do was nothing but ignore; the advisors, the council, me as well, and people other than me, who became close, acquaintances not only in blood – your sons... I've took care of them – for a moment, I briefly reminded of the day we've spent with them. Days, weeks, that seemed so short, restricted by a few minutes in the garden, only a few times we would be outside these walls. They needed of such care to be offered, even when it was you who were supposed to give such, sick or not.

— So you've took my place, like you always did – he said. I was the only one there, same for that grin belonging to his face. Only bones, being the skin the only thing on that face that was made of some flesh. Edgar's main fault is that he shows his features earlier than the expected. He doesn't even appreciate the idea of awaiting, and why would he, with the time remaining of his being unknown, same for his disease. My brother would blame someone else other than his for that. He would also share of same for another person. For each cough taken out of that mouth, a week I had been ordered to stood on bed. Now he pretends to stand there forever, but nothing seems to last that much of time. His, or my time – each bird has its own feather, but in the end, they are all the same... – he also said, before I could hear nothing else more than whatever was inside that mouth, The teeth were gone, most of them, except the front ones, whom he used to bit me with.

— I've used to think and believe on these same words when I've looked over them – I said. He already knows to whom I am referring about. Everyone, since my brothers to his own children. With the time, these looks were gone, same for my brothers, killed one after another, not because of the thin air or the food full of parasites. They only kill those below us, though the water coming from the river is drank by them all, including us. Yet, no matter how much I do despise Edgar, to keep calling the people as if they were below me, same I did for his offspring. With the looks given to me, sometimes avoiding me as if they despised, hated me... only Edgar, as I've concluded after a time spent with them – these kids do not need a person like yours to be called by 'father' – these children of his, born out of many mothers... They were just mimics. I didn't had a reason to hate them. I didn't had a reason to not see them grow, to even reach them. Beneath all the layers of lies, anyone can be a father; Sigurd said once to me. even until that day, he was like a father to me. He was there to taught me, and to deceive as well. Was it only once he did it so? Only once... Only once.

— You?... A father?

— ...And a King better than yours – I replied to Edgar, soon as I've felt that something else was meant to be said, not only for myself.

— That was the same thing I told to my father – to use of father's name... he didn't even mentioned his name, he only called his by father. My true father, the organic Stephanus, whom I knew less than others do know about his – heh... Now I get it. What a fool... You have poisoned me, didn't you? only so in order to reclaim the throne for yours, given that in case I just go away, it becomes your turn to reign, right? Is this... some kind of revenge? – and so my brother began to lose his mind, more than he was losing his own body. He couldn't laugh, but only show that same grin, I was certain he did, over that face.

— Revenge is not a suitable term, my dear brother. I prefer to call it by reckoning, and no, I didn't poisoned you – I walked towards the window. I don't wanted to see Edgar, and he doesn't want to see me. But his flaccid ears sure can listen to more about his. He always wanted more, and still seems to want such. He doesn't change even until the last bit of his life is seemingly falling into the depths of the Weltall – no one else did, besides yourself, so why can't you admit it at once? Even near death's door, you haven't changed a bit Edgar, had you? Will you? I don't think so. So stubborn you are, as a King and as this excuse of person. It was you who followed of this way you are into, with these bones once rigid like your demeanor but now they are falling apart, to reveal who is this last matroska doll beneath them all, the one who was never meant to be shown to anyone, but now I see it.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The room remained quietly as usual. Only my voice seem to had been reverbered around its walls for a moment. Even Edgar stood quiet, or was he dead already? No, he was breathing, yet he already looks like a corpse lying there. The scent brought by his changed from a bittersweet to a more bitter in the air, as one of his organs failed with his. Edgar puked on a brown and yellowish substance far deep from his throat into the inside of that jordan below his bed. His arm still worked, even if a bit skinny, to take and support the weight that thing out of the place where it once stood, as much as the throat of his could support the sour of the stomach expelled like one of his breaths, and the deceased organ of his. I wonder which one is it, but presumably one of his kidneys, since his pee was more yellow and darker than that puke, but at least, it wasn't spread over his entire bed, like a children's bed.

Edgar... His words were already a puke enough to bare with. So far, none of them were uttered to counter my words. Only the leakage of his puke and urine and blood falling from the tip of his nose sometimes was perceived. Tiny of details, Edgar still was there to be noticed, he is the body and soul, the materia and essence of a painting, whose red snooze by the nose paints the sky, and the green of his is the grass where he should lay upon to later be beneath the soil, as brown as the rain of shit to fill in his alcove, or maybe gray like his skin, and the ashes he will turn after being burned by the same fire of his fever – I see you, even when I stand looking from outside the window. I wouldn't even try to qualify this as trying to live. You're just being lazy, and pushing your problems onto others. You even used to wore the armor belonging to father, now you don't wear anything other than this blanket of ours. Only ours, isn't it? So many queens that have left more than the front door, for your sake, for the love you had given to them all. Same kind of passion, and pathos by result.

— ...That's my purpose. Our purpose, after all. This is a matter we must accomplish, not because we wish of such, but because it's part of us. A small essence of our being. Wish, desire... Shouldn't you be happy more than that? – he asked, as I have just kept listening to his – oh, come on, Gabriel. Won't you do a thing? Ain't I worthy of your punch? Or the kick? These things we had done... I had done... those are the same things a jerk like you would do as well, don't you agree? To feel better? We all feel better, there is plenty of ways to do it so. But we choose the same way, don't we? Was it right, was it wrong... good or bad, we choose it as one.

— Well, all I did is what you never had done on this life to yours. All you had done, or been doing was to attain of a personal glory, far more than a descendant to be called your own. Look at your wife, or the last so far. She used to be a Cleyran, like mother, or didn't you noticed such hair as her whole yet? You never did, Edgar. For each one you had, an infant was born, but he wasn't gone luckily. You've needed them before you became like this. You've needed yourself to keep up, and who is more alike to be taught to become yourself other than your own flesh? – these doors are so thick that nothing seems to fled from this room, except the air in and out of the window. It wasn't only the season that made my brother sick, because he was already born like this, on another morning like this. It's the night, but it's hard to guess due to how gloomy these clouds look alike, same gray who once belonged to his skin. Besides the skin, he used to wear of father's armour, now he is as cold as it was by the touch of metal and the tip of my fingers, meant to be cut by that sword. Edgar just wasn't made for these times, and these people.

Edgar... he stood quiet. Cough, cough... a sign he was still there, so does that disease; many diseases that make a syndrome. These are only restricted to his, and what remained of his. The air we breathe belongs to everyone, but he can't trespass from that single body with this kind of contact. Besides, I am someone healthy and careful as well, things that Edgar used to be, but never that it had been easy for his to admit 'things' that belonged to others. For all his sons, he deemed his own face to be into them, not even refering to a trace left of their mothers. Do I ever need to look at his? Mother used to do, and she couldn't ever look at me, only give the birth. She had so much to leave, so many dreams sustained by the fact she was still young, so did I, and my mind. I can see that Edgar looks like a baby, immobile on that bed, whining, covered in blood, eyes burning, yet a cold body. The blankets are what make his warm enough for his, and same disease, to live on.

Three kids... five of them. He pretended to distance myself from their sight when the whole 'invasion plan' started, same plan who belonged to Sigurd. Both men had their own goals, so did I. By the fact my brother was the King, and because those men needed of someone with Royal blood to make them feel as if we cared about them, I may have shared of same goal as Edgar. I want to be recognized, but not like this. Not like a carcass, and this was before he came to occupy half of this bed. Yes, that same bed mother also layed for minutes, until they took her to lay inside the earth she loved. As for Edgar, well... there are rules for garbage disposal. He became a shore with only shells as remnants that life once was there, instead of the sand, or the dust as he became later. So woeful was his condition that they decided to burn his, cremate as they call by. Only a few had of this same opportunity to die without someone seeing the face, or anything that resembles a wound carved deep into a wood, so deep that it isn't blood who gets out, but another liquid, same did his throat expelling of yellow phlegm.

Each detail makes my brother even more sick than he was, so I do not speak anything, same I did when they opened the door to his room, only to find that he wasn't there, only a cicada's shell. The ants were working outside, digging and digging... but it was useless. Only for Edgar, since someone else died on this same day as well. Don't know who it is, because all the ants looks the same. If by any chance my brother had a place reserved to his below us, the grass wouldn't grow wherever his body may had resided. I didn't cried, not even once; they understood it as a state of denial, same they used to justify when I began to laugh. People do not only laugh because of a joke or because they are mean, but because they suffer as well, on their own way. Even if this may be my way to show anything I've ever felt for Edgar, I covered my mouth, these jaws wide open, to not scary the children, or myself. It was as if my brother tried to take over my body after abandoning of his own, pretending to not reach the aftelife so soon. I resisted, because I had the forces to do it so, same ones I've shared within his last moments, or else, a knife would be stuck on his chest.

A knife, or anything sharp than these claws. Only the words were enough, only words... The Dragoon Knights, all of them were supposed to stand in there, except those who had passed away, or are out of commission. I've heard from them when asked about who is missing from there that Lenneth Crescent, one of the few Leviathan Knights, is on labour. If they do kill people, why do they insist to give birth to another? That's why I respect the first male hunter who dared to swallow the head of a mushroom, as much as I respect the first female who drank of a pennyroyal tea on her pregnancy. Same words I've said to the Priest, holding of a scepter as long as my sword and those spears being holded by the Knights with a hand, and an orb showing the world knew by us. Only a continent, surrounded by the Mist, as much as Burmecia is surrounded by these same people. Burmecians, Cleyrans like that shallow figure... Behind me, standing on this same floor, same palace he used to raise me to become this.

It was Sigurd, I knew it was his. Wearing a cloak belonging to those who wander around the desert, same who may kill his instead of my sword. Not steel, but only god to forgive his. His, their... it doesn't matter. They all share of the same principle of being sustained by our prayers, and the belief that they might forgive our acts. Sigurd had commited so many sins, yet that is part of our nature, nothing is as pure as the water falling from the skies. Not even that is pure enough to take a gulp before warming up it with the fire. For Sigurd, any attempt of his to live as a being, a member of any society is impossible, as much as it is to bear of this crown of thorns, with tips alike spears on it's top. I may have inheried this empire of dirt, as much as Sigurd may had betrayal me, his own people. A fate certainly worse than death is the unknown means of your own demise. Was it painful, was it harmless, no wounds left on the skin... that cloak, as much as it kept his hidden from our sight, also was meant to hid of his own wounds, his own death. I could tell that he was already dead, seeing that it was only me who noticed his.

— ...From this day, and onwards, I, Gabriel Ekkehart Gerhold, by the name of my father Stephanus, my brother Edgar, and Kain, our first ruler and savior, I become Kain – with those words uttered as soon as they brought Kain's heart; that's what remained of his, besides the legends and the name. That heart, althought a bit yellow, not as pinky as one belonging to someone alive as me may be, is well preserved in a glass cointaining the many embalming fluids, mainly vinegar that is replaced year after year.

I can feel it's scent with that glass opened for a few seconds, at the tip of the Priest's finger, and later at my forehead, not in my mouth where it used to be after a dinner. Father got stabbed in the chest, while Edgar stopped as a whole, but my heart still pumped. So do the ones belonging to them, these children, my own descendants, but I don't see them only with my brother's sight. The heart of those who are on this table are pumping as well. The smoke rises in the air, and so a new King had been chosen and proclaimed already. I shall rule not with an iron fist that becomes rusty with the time, but with this crown of a gold that becomes clean with the heat, the heat of the living. And so I've cried... without even letting a yawn come out of my mouth. I ain't tired yet, same for these limbs. The left? the right? They are awaiting for the decision to be taken. The dishes are already prepared, but everyone here, sitted on their chairs, laying on the porcelain, waiting for someone to take the napkin, if with the right or the left hand...

Is it wrong to take it with the left hand? To sneeze this nose with the same? Not when I took it first. Was it arbitary? Of course not. Where is the balance to tell us it so? I am the balance, and they are meant to be measured by me, this left and this right. Once one like me makes the first move, anyone else follows of same. Once I make of a move without I share of some respect or any fear towards them, then this is over, for me but not the one who may come ascent to my place. And in return, it doesn't matter if he is a friend or enemy, but I shall give him this same dirt, and offer of the scent of the same Kain into my forehead. Forever I am meant to be the King of pain, as much as anyone in my place shall be able to take the napkin, the first of many things meant to be taken besides this power, and these people who also began to eat of same shrimp as I do with a tiny fork, tiny unlike this influence I'm exercing over them. This ain't only a table made of cherry trunks and the sacrifice of souls deemed to be 'poor' only done for the sake of the noble ones to enjoy of their meal, as much as they may enjoy to do nothing but sit there, without any sweat. No, this table is the entire universe, and not even I am allowed to change it, only the directions lead by these same people, with the laws that work alike this same napkin, meant to be white for everyone, but the dirt always get stuck on they, that's their purpose, no matter how clean they may look for the eye, and then I remember that Kain had to kill people in order to become a hero.

So did Edgar, lying on those blankets, burned until he became ashes, to be scattered by the wind, like they did for Komakino, far more healtier than his. It's better to be feared than to be loved; though, I may share of my love with some who deserve it. Same did Edgar... until his idea of love had gotten his into a hole, a void that he was awaiting to be sucked into, slowly disintegrating his as this delicious bread, warm and crunchy.

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Under The Crescent Moon

Power, Corruption and Lies

FIN

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Please insert Disc 2...