#chronicle second

Any doubts am I rewatching Moira encore right now?

Volume 8, page 324.

“…Arbelge.” The hero sought after by an era. However, there is no satisfaction. No, there’s even something missing, He forgot something important…

“…Arbelge.” Reasons have no meaning. It all boils down to the same thing when he strikes. There is no blade without malice. No place to call his own either. There is only the era he dashed through in a shower of blood…

“…Arbelge.” Repeating pain. If it were allowed, he even wished that he could return To that time of ignorance Even if history wouldn’t change one bit…

-The first atrocity-

“Do not fear, young ones Whip your shaking knees into shape and march on The approaching enemy forces number 5000 We have to stop them in this forest, no matter what…”

Memories of younger days. The boy who once was a crybaby Now carries the pride and conviction of a warrior within his heart And heads towards the battlefield, swarming with despair…

Even if his body were to crumble, He still wanted to protect something…

The forest where I gathered fruits with my mother… The river where I fished with my father… The hill where I exchanged a promise with you…

Memories of younger days. The boy from that summer Now carries a sword in his right hand, letting off a dull shine, And heads towards the battlefield where the reaper beckons

Even if his body were to crumble, He still wanted to protect something…

He won’t run. Who will destiny choose… He won’t run. What will the future reflect…

Volume 1, page 816.

In stormy nights like this, his scars hurt. The pain threatened to tear apart his right arm, even though it shouldn't even exist. The man didn't confide in anyone, and suffered alone... What should his left arm be used for...

The ominous signs cast deeper shadows day by day. The time is surely coming. In a stormy night very much like that time, the man set out for a journey with none being the wiser. His resolve is set, he still has his left arm...

The man gave his all in trying to seal the door. The darkness beyond the door; a surge of evil threatens to break loose. He tried to push them back with his left arm. I can't keep this up anymore... if only I had my right arm... if only…

When the man was just about to give up, He felt, through his thinning consciousness, a light radiating with warmth. Taking up spears in their right hands, thousands of people prayed in the storm...

The children from back then have all grown up. The Thunder God lost his right arm, and the world was reborn. His left arm nurtured the seed planted by his right, And beautiful flowers bloomed; thousands of them...

He had a courageous left arm, and thousands of right arms. He won't lose. Those feelings will weave history...

And time passes...

"Hey grandpa. Why doesn't the Thunder God have a right arm? Poor him."

A child around the street corner asks… Taking the child's small hand into his own, the old man smiled.

"The Thunder God's right arm is right here. See, it's even there in your right pocket..."