Another figure has re-appeared in the Courtyard, shortly after all others have made themselves scarce. The masked Futuran child. It hadn't been long since they left their note, but the recent... disturbances, had caught their attention.
Such cruelty... it would never cease to sadden them.
They cautiously approach Eito, who was sitting like a statue in his cage, tapping lightly on a nearby surface to announce their presence.
Eito's eyes lock onto the returning visitor at the sound of their arrival. "You..." His whisper is a blade cutting through a feather. "What... do you want?" By no means is he intimidated by the masked child, but given the curse that befell him, his 'cornered animal' attitude is all the more prevalent. He slowly rises, expression cold as he contemplates their reason for coming here. More cryptic messages? He'd spend whole days at the academy library to tirelessly decipher that foreign note if it weren't for the recent chaotic events hitting him back-to-back to test his resolve. He certainly hadn't forgotten about it if that is of the child's concern.
Regardless of the festering frustration, Eito steps up to the edge of the cage to meet the child. The corners of his vision simmer in the darkness of his cursed reflection in the metal bars. Don't think about it. Just ignore it. It's not real.
The child stays where they are for a moment, watching. They understand the fear he must be feeling; now in closer proximity, they can practically feel the Golden-Eyed Serpent's curse emanating off of him. And of course, the shattered god had been so cruel as to make it so this one would linger. The others' misfortunes only lasted a few hours, would maybe last a day at most. This one was thick enough to linger for weeks, fueled by its host's misery.
The beast was testing the waters. Stretching its legs. No surprise given how unstable the Bloodspace had become, but what was its angle, here? A power-grab would be pointless, with things structured as they are now...
But, that didn't matter. In front of them was someone in need. Kin or not, they were a Healer. That was the power and curse their Blood carried.
They approach the cage doors slowly, but without fear or aggression, not wanting to give the already jumpy teen any more reason to lash out. Even with the mask covering their face, it was clear that they were concentrating. Attempting to recall knowledge from long, long ago, foggy from lack of perfecting the skill and having long lost their original reason for picking it up in the first place.
Small hands move slowly, and unsure. There is deliberation in the movements, mistakes making things unclear at first before they seem to realize and correct themself. But their clumsy message still gets across.
'CURSE HURT YOU, I CAN HELP PLEASE', the child signs to Eito, sure he will understand, a least, what they're trying to communicate.
Well, at least the sign language makes things a little easier on Eito, regardless of the child's fumbling. Message received, he hesitantly signs back, 'How? You are just a kid.' He could've asked--and complained--plenty more, but keeping it simple saves him time spent avoiding his own mirrored visage.
This child is many things, but a curse-remover being one of them? It feels like some desperate fantasy to try making Eito feel better. A placebo. He might as well put this kid's proclaimed abilities to the test to see if there's any truth behind such a bold statement.
The child seems to hesitate before responding, scraping their memories for the knowledge needed to communicate, or perhaps the best way to explain their intention.
'DIVINE BLOOD,' still slow, still clumsy, 'HEAL IS MY POWER, WEAK IN THIS PLACE, CAN STILL FIX IF DRINK'
They move right up to the cage bars as they scrounge through the pouch on their hip for something. After a moment, they remove what looks to be some sort of ornate ceremonial knife: an unknown type of flora engraved on the blade, and what appears to be a moonstone embedded in the otherwise simple hilt. With precision and a practiced hand that seems ill-suited to their apparent age, they sink the blade into a spot near their wrist and allow the blood to flow, only hissing slightly at the pain.
Impossibly, the blood seems to flow upwards - swirling, not unlike when they summon their Class Armor, or when Commanders transform. It's clear the child has quite powerful hemoanima.
They examine the self-inflicted wound, and, seemingly satisfied with the flow and potency, offers their wrist to the older boy in front of them.
Eito moves to sign another interrogative response, but halts as the glimmer of a knife shines right in his eyes. He defensively puts his hands up in front of his chest, only faltering when the child turns the blade on themself. He flinches at the sight, but keeps his mouth shut. It's just a little blood. Nothing he can't handle.
Being told to drink it, however...
The memories Eito shared with Takumi during their physical struggle in the infirmary bubble up to the surface. Flashes of a normal life Eito never got to have, and most likely never will. Not with humanity. It was... weird. He'd rather forget about it. But at least Takumi got to see things through Eito's eyes for a change. It makes the explanations of why humanity has to die that much easier to parse.
The rising scent of blood snaps Eito out of his recollection. Now he may end up exchanging memories with some mysterious magical child. With Takumi, Eito at least expected a relatively boring and uneventful life. But this young stranger could be living any kind of life, and he wasn't sure where it would leave him. He really wants to be rid of this curse, though...
Just get it over with. It can't be worse than the curse.
Heaving a long sigh, Eito kneels to better reach the hovering blood, though he still has to lean ever slightly. He tilts his head at different angles, unsure of how to approach such a strange way of drinking. He feels ridiculous, but the mere thought of looking stupid forces him to act. He cups his hands around some of the blood and pours it into his mouth, as if drinking straight from a river. He swallows the blood before he can think too hard about the taste.
It was only a small amount - they wouldn't let him take too much; his body likely wouldn't be able to handle it. And besides... they didn't particularly want to share their entire life story with him.
The effect was almost immediate - a rush, not unlike when absorbing cryptoglobin. But instead of the addictive, animalistic rush there was only warmth - like a holy flame burning away corruption and lighting a way forward.
Lit aflame by the sparks of newfound invigoration within his chest, Eito gasps and takes in the calming smell of the courtyard, no longer submerged beneath waves of ink and smog. His head spins from the influx of new and overwhelming memories flooding his brain, yet the bewilderment settles as his blessed form fully recovers from the curse. He brushes his hand along his face as he glimpses his slivered, metallic reflection. No more horns, no more wings, no more scorn.
Eito looks back at the child with owllike eyes, trying to discern their shared memories without blurting all his thoughts out in a tremendous waterfall. This planet... Futurum, was it? It used to have moons! Two moons! Bright, beautiful celestial bodies lighting up the night sky, accompanied by shimmering stars! They were even given names! Honored and heralded as they should be! Even with the loss of color, the sight of the moons looming above felt like standing under the observant eyes of the universe. But pretty things don't get pretty deaths. They were brutally destroyed, their remnants most likely scattered across space or fallen to earth in ruinous blazes of lost glory.
And whoever that... Dammuz was... was no doubt a human salvaged from the meteoric wreck that horrifying night. Once again, humanity had rid a world of its natural beauty. And those not of their kind had given this survivor utmost kindness despite the horrors his species committed. Eito just didn't get it.
Blinking twice, Eito feels the aching in his fists from clenching them too hard. Easing up, he almost signs back a response before realizing he could speak again without hurting his ears. "Yes, they're gone now. I feel like I can finally breathe again." His own voice soothed him like no other voice could. "...Thank you for banishing that infernal curse from my body."
Ama regarded him curiously, nodding at him as she signed, 'You're very welcome."
Another silent moment of regard, bringing her hand to her masked chin in thought, quietly pondering something. A turn of the head - towards the notebook and pen Eito had been using to communicate while his perception of his own form had been warped. She reaches through the bars of the cage, taking the items in hand, and flips the page. Clearly taking a moment to consider her words, she begins writing. Another pause, before scribbling something out, and writing again.
She hands the page over to Eito. At the top, the start of the message written in messy, faulty kanji, mostly-obscured by scribbles. What followed under was the full message, written in the same language and script as the note he'd received earlier.
But this time, something was different. Despite all logic demanding otherwise, the text was understood.
'I was going to try to write in your tongue, but wished to test something.
When I had consumed Divine Blood before, it brought with it memories, language, and perception. When you had consumed a ration from this avatar, some knowledge returned. I am curious, Star Child, if you can understand this.
I have seen your story, as you have seen it. I understand some, yet now even less. Your way of seeing the world echos that of my brother, taken on by myself before his death, inherited by my children after. But I see through your memories, it should not be possible for us to be kin, or for you to possess the Blood. A mystery to me, do you have insight?'
A quizzical tilt of the head. Waiting for an answer, or questions.
Eito lets Ama write in his notebook without a hint of protest. Best not to scare away a new ally, no matter how strange, especially in her willingness to understand his plight. He takes the offered page, scanning it with a concentrated stare. He's seen these symbols before. A foreign language belonging to the inhabitants of Futurum, shared in that recent note, yet not a single book in the academy's library had information on. But finally, his luck graces him yet again. In his mind's eye, the letters twist and snap into place, letting itself be known. And as the words forms phrases and phrases form sentences, he learns exactly why it unveils its secrets to him.
Finishing his reading, misty eyes clouded with questions, Eito glances back up at Ama. As if the memories didn't give it away, this was no normal child. The mentioning of her children means that this person has existed and had a family that extended beyond her own generation. An ancestor returned to the body of her younger self. Where does she begin and where does she end?
Tangled in uncertainty, Eito entertains Ama with his fluttering thoughts caught between his teeth. "My knowledge of my divine blood and gifted senses are restricted to myself. As far as I am aware, any human inflicted with a near-identical condition are recorded centuries apart, and none lived long enough to put their tales to script for proper archival. At least, that's what the doctors told me. But if your kind is similar in nature, despite far different cultures, then perhaps these extremely rare afflictions can strike both species twice, so to speak. Was your brother the first of the Futurans to be ailed this way? And how common was it to spread across your lineage, however tall your family tree grows?"
What is a blessed gift to him could be a viral curse to others.
Though the mask obscures her face and any expression upon it, it is clear that Ama is listening to him intently, curled index finger resting upon her chin. At his inquiry, after a few moments of thought, her hands begin to move in response,
"I know only for certain that two of my children inherited these senses. Beyond them, I do not know," she signs, and shakes her head, "As for Dammuz... His origins were always a mystery, even to himself. When I had taken a piece of him into myself, he had only recovered fragments, feelings. Towards the end of our war, I know he had uncovered the truth of himself, but was unable to tell me before he gave himself to-"
A sound rings through the tranquility of the courtyard, the sound of wood splitting, like an old bridge finally starting to give after decades of use, or water freezing in the cracks of an old log as the chill of winter sweeps over a forest. Ama notices immediately, and inspects the source of the sound - her own hand, the same that had offered her blood and salvation from the illusions that had plagued Eito not moments ago. Warm, acorn-colored skin gave way to driftwood gray in her wrist and palm, as a deep split now ran from between middle and ring finger to the center of her wrist. Ring and pinky fingers hang uselessly on the splintered, cracked hand, and it begins to creak with every move. She - or rather the avatar - shakes her head in mild irritation, and quickly seizes the notepad and pen they had previously communicated with, hurriedly scrawling a final message now that she knows he understands the ancient written word. A few silent moments, punctuated only by the ambient sounds of the courtyard, the scratching of pen on paper, and the soft creaking of wood.
The hand crumbles entirely, shards of wood clattering to the ground with the pen as she finishes her message. She shakes her head, clearly intending more, but it will have to do.
'Apologies, Star-Child. I had concerns earlier, of how sharing the ration of Divine Blood that powers this doll may affect its lifespan. I see I may have pushed it too far.'
'I will have to leave; I know little of your origins but do not wish to leave this construct where it may be claimed by the "SIREI" entity I have been warned of. But in spirit of kinship, I shall leave you with a portent, and advice.'
'I am not as attuned to the flows of time as others, but I have felt the disturbances and the cycles. Many of us that remain in the lands between, have been working to keep things from collapsing completely. This fragment you call yours... will soon be fragmented and cast anew. You, as you are, will be reborn in a new cycle. As will all others. I do not know if there is much, if anything, you can do to stop this. But you seem to be a bird that would rather fly free than be confined to a cage. If you should choose to fly from this one, I would suggest heading Northeast, towards the mountains and the wood. You remember the mooncatcher clearing and the wood, from the dream you witnessed? There is a fissure in the mountains, a small creek running through. Follow this creek, and you will find the wooded valley that holds my old home of Luimr. The current war has ensured the people that remain have gone into hiding, but the lake reflects the stars just as beautifully and the halah still roam the woods freely. You may find it agreeable.'
She nods curtly, and gives a slight bow. She waves, and makes her exit as quickly as he appeared.
Who knows if she will be seen again?
