Deprived
It was close to midnight by the time Kainen reached his destination: a placid and tucked-away beach a few malms out from Costa del Sol. He was quick to unsling his pack from one shoulder and his polearm from the other. The former was allowed to fall where it may, the latter was thrust butt-end into the soft La Noscean sand, where it stood upright for only a second before tipping and falling unceremoniously to the ground. The display garnered only a glance over the shoulder and a roll of the eyes. At the end of a day as arduous as this, the only thing occupying his mind was the quiet swim ahead. If this didnât clear his head, nothing would.
With a series of clicks and snaps, the buckles and fasteners of the hunterâs leather armor were released and it, too, sloughed lazily to the earth to cover his footprints. The sand could be swept off easily enough; it was the mud and dried blood from earlier which would be a chore. But that was a problem for tomorrow.
Only a few fulms out from the current reach of the tide, Kainen rolled back on his heels and fell in reverse with abandon, letting the soft sand cushion his rear. He brought his leg up with a groan to pull a filthy boot off his right foot, then again for his left. One hand then reached up to grab the collar of his undershirt and - in a swift, singular motion - he whipped the whole thing off and over his head before tossing it in the vague direction of where his armor lay. A protesting sigh followed as he lifted himself back to a standing position. The buckle at his waist was released with a âclickâ and his pants collapsed around his ankles. The underpants, however, were staying on. Anonymity was hardly cause to abandon dignity. Besides, Halone was still watching.
At least, he hoped she was.
Kainen took a moment to enjoy the feeling of the warm air on his skin and the light coastal breeze which fluttered about the tips of his hair. The scent of salt on the wind instantly sparked his memory, triggering a poignant recollection of a better time - and for the briefest moment, his worries gave way to sweet nostalgia. The feeling was instantly fleeting, of course, but it did give him enough cause to consider the hike out a worthwhile one. He could feel his tension unwinding already.
A series of strides brought him waist-deep in the surf, and he dove forward into the first wave that greeted him. The cooler temperature, the washed-out sound, the weightlessness - it all proved to be instantly therapeutic. With a powerful stroke, he shot forward against the flow. Then again and again until the sea floor retreated below him. He curled into a ball before kicking his feet toward the surface to propel himself deeper. The water offered little resistance, for he was well-acquainted with its nature and knew precisely how to bend himself to best comply with its immutable laws. With each stroke, he sought to swim further and further out from the shore.
As soon as the changing pressure in his ears became noticeable, Kainen oriented himself skyward and had breached the surface with only a few minimal motions. The raven locks now covering his face like a mop were flung back with a swift jerk of the head, allowing him to observe the scene a significant distance from shore.
Stillness surrounded - the stars both hanging static above and dancing along the waterâs surface below. A glance cast about revealed neither spoken nor creature in the visible vicinity. The only sounds were that of the water: the distant lapping of waves against the shore, Kainenâs own arms treading delicately back and forth, and the arc of droplets he had sent soaring overhead now pattering back to the sea. Significantly more relaxed, he took a lengthy breath in and rolled to float idly on his back - his gaze left to search the tapestry of stars above.
âThis is not so bad,â he thought, well aware that it was only a feeble attempt to convince himself that a day slogging through muck to slay scalekin because some wine patrician wanted a unique flavor of handbag was anything but a far cry from the halcyon dream made real he had lived in Ishgard. He searched the sky, as if it would hold some sort of validation for him. The stars simply twinkled back, indifferent.
âThis is...for the best,â was the justification he settled on, then. Out here, those around him werenât susceptible to the danger which followed him. And they werenât susceptible to his evidently harmful brand of social incompetence. Or his abject impotence in carrying out his vocation. They wouldnât suffer for his failure any more.
âAt least the populace at large knows not of my misdeeds. Not even the rest of the Order, it would seem. Only those present at the hearing know. And perhaps a handful of other individuals⌠Still, out here I cannot bring such hurt to the good folk of Eorzea. Or the people I considered my friends. I can simply disappear into obscurity. Indeed, this is a fate befitting a Sinner.â
Brow furrowed and jaw clenched as he allowed his introspection to run unchecked.
âBut what of the impacted and afflicted in the Brume? Surely they will continue to sling their ire undeservedly at the Pillars, or worse - the Dravanians. Was it really best for the Order to have erred on the side of leniency for the sake of clandestinity?â
As the dissonance mounted, Kainen let out a heavy exhale through his nostrils - until no breath remained in his lungs. Having relinquished his buoyancy, he allowed himself to slip beneath the waterâs surface and drift slowly downward. His train of thought followed.
âAt the time, I was willing to let my dearest friends beg for Haloneâs mercy on my behalf. For what? My inadequacy saw them punished for it. Objectively, the greater good would have been to hang me up in the central square at noon. They could place a signpost on my grave: âThis man allowed your families to die. Sleep well knowing the Fury has wrought her justice.â At least tensions would have eased and the people could more easily work toward the peace they deserve.â
One minute passed. Then another. The shimmering sky from before was naught but the faintest glow down here, and before long, the inky blackness had become so thick, the outline of the wispy raven hair in his periphery could no longer be discerned against the encroaching void.
Five minutes. He should have touched bottom by now. Perhaps the movement of the tide was enough to keep him suspended indefinitely, or perhaps the current had sucked him out further than expected...
Regardless, he was content to savor the sensations, or lack thereof. Heightened though they were, all of his senses had now become almost completely muted - and not just the five primary ones. His body temperature could be ice cold or feverishly hot for all he could tell. His limbs could be anywhere, or they could have simply vanished alongside his track of time. He had not drawn or released breath in some time, and his pulse had slowed to a crawl.
His inner monologue followed suit - receding into restful silence, save for a last, lingering thought:
âAt least mother did not live to be disappointed. She only knew me at my best. For as inadequate as I have become, at least she could claim to have been proud until the end.â
The small comfort afforded by this reassurance was enough to tip Kainenâs mind into balance upon the fragile fulcrum that held him at the point between consciousness and lack thereof. It was this sustained twilight which he had been trained for years to achieve and maintain, even amidst the chaos of battle. Though it had been well over two cycles now since he had last slipped into this state, the deprivatory environment into which he had unwittingly allowed his own distractions to lead him ended up providing the perfect conditions for an unplanned recurrence.
In maintaining this state with no temporal articulation - allowing himself to fall neither to unconsciousness nor waking - all distinctions between now, earlier, and later had drifted away; all perception had dissolved into a nebulous, fuzzy ether; and, perhaps most importantly, his troubles, fears, and preoccupations retreated like waves from a rocky shoreline. It was in this neutral, timeless dreamscape - free of waking lifeâs miresome web of anxieties and pursuits - that stillness was at its most absolute. And it was at the peak of this stillness where Kainen felt a presence. It was one which had not appeared or made itself known; rather, it seemed to have been uncovered upon the washing away of corporeal sensation. The imperceptible static of his current consciousness began to coalesce into discarnate echoes; and eventually, into a synchronous, discernible notion:
âO what great cowardice is on display, with thy writhing and thy self-dismay!â
It was a âvoiceâ of the same formless quality as oneâs own inner monologue, yet the thought was not his. The language wasnât even his native and singular Eorzean, but the message was clearly understood, having come from within. The cadence was achingly slow, and its tone wholly derisive.
âCanst thou feel my ire, o knight of men? Tis not a death in service of my kin which I rue. Nay, tis my afterlife which I resent - here as part of thee, who hath since proven wholly unfit to carry my essence.â
Kainen could feel himself teetering at the brink of that familiar moment when one can feel their dream collapsing around them, yielding to a swift and inevitable awakening. But something was holding him there in that liminal space - and he couldnât tell if it was his own force of will, or something else entirely.
âArt thou a man? Art thou a mouse? Or art thou but a foolish child, resigned to cast thy litany of laments into night after dispassionate night? Didst thou not think the warriorâs path to be fraught with the trials of thy hopes and fears laid bare upon the rocks?â
Though formless and voiceless, the presence certainly emanated a sort of hostility - one which Kainen was eager to escape from. Any attempt to open his eyes, thrash his body about, or otherwise awaken, though, was utterly futile. He was paralyzed. Senseless and unable to control himself in any manner, he felt completely subject to the will of this indeterminate entity.
âStill, thy temples stand amidst the smoulders, do they not? Art thou not capable of this selfsame resilience? Or dost thou revel in thine self-imposed exile? Tell me, knight of man, what is it that thou seek? For all which now lies in the grave of thy pride is a deplorable heap of misery.â
Kainen made a conscious attempt to speak or even to give a thoughtform reply, but it was for naught. He was completely helpless. A tightening sensation began to permeate the space and at that point, a dire realization emerged: he was still underwater.
âIf thou art so resigned to withdrawal in the face of adversity, so be it. Thus is my directive, then: retreat not to thy tenuous climes of finite security. Retreat instead...inward. As thou hast done in times past. For while thy mettle hath faltered, mine burns fiercer than ever!â
âAbandon thy perceptions and surrender thyself to me!â
âForsake thine eyes!!â
Though entirely existing within Kainenâs subconscious, the voice was thundering. Its echoes reflected infinitely off of distant, nonexistent walls, gradually morphing into a cacophonous, booming dissonance which only served to intensify the heightening sensations of pressure and exponentially increasing panic. The chorus decayed, finally, leaving in its wake an acute, high-pitched ringing that intensified in equal measure with the suffocating weight of his now-collapsing consciousness.
So this was to be it, then. This was how he was going to die. Not in defense of country or comrade; nor fulfilled and surrounded by love. It was to occur unseen and unceremoniously; an accident of absent-minded caprice and nothing more.
Indeed, this is a fate befitting a Sinner.
A cooling air could be felt caressing his skin, then. A concrete sensation, at last. Reflexively, a sharp breath was drawn in, triggering a harsh cough in turn as a mix of salty water and mucus washed back in his throat. Kainen could feel himself expelling, but into what was beyond him - at least until the small bursts of light behind his eyelids coalesced into colors, then shapes. Focus eventually came to reeling mind and body, both, and his eyesight aligned to take in the scene.
He was on the beach again; and standing, curiously enough. It was still nighttime, that much was clear - though he caught no indication of how much time had passed. A wave brushed against his heel and enveloped his foot to ankle-depth, prompting the sand to gently give way beneath. Beleaguered by stimuli, he groaned as he took a few weary steps out of the surf and onto dry sand - casting a sidelong glance to find his clothes, pack, and weapon a good distance down the shoreline. As he began the slog to rejoin his personal effects, he breathed a heavy sigh - behind it, as much relief as was exhaustion.
Though quite content to simply breathe air again, Kainen couldnât help but entertain the thoughts and implications emerging in the back of his mind: how much of what had occurred was real, or was it entirely imagined? A hallucination, perhaps, or simply an overactive imagination?
He hearkened back to the training he had undergone eight-or-so years prior, in preparation to join the Dragonsong War. Aside from the plentiful physical honing were the mental exercises imparted by his instructors: interstitial meditation, focal release, sensory deprivation... The results were undeniable, especially when aided and amplified by the equipment and slowed physiology they had granted him. But nothing like this had ever occurred. No hallucinations. No voices. No loss of memory or consciousness. He had always been in control.
...Right?
