When attempting to identify between a dream and a memory, it may be difficult if the experience wasn't too significant in the grand scheme of life, as memories of that kind may simply be forgotten if there's little need to retain them. Thus it may be easier to separate the two if the experience is notably greater in intensity and impact, which easily distinguishes the imaginatively catastrophic nightmares that couldn't possibly have been forgotten if they did truly occur.
Even more so, any nightmares where titanic and irreparable destruction occurs must be easy to identify as fiction, for that destruction would be present in the real world too. So while many dreams may be difficult to distinguish if they don't warrant a scar in one's memory, those truly apocalyptic experiences, while perhaps terrifying when recalled, can be smoothly dismissed, and need not to ruminate in the awakened mind past the initial reaction to its synthetic horrors.
By that logic, any experience that's encountered at night, if truly cataclysmic to a scale that could never be washed away in lifetimes, should be promptly disregarded. Despite how physically real it may have felt, despite how realistic the faces were, how solid the feelings were, those are all remarks of a wild imagination rather than genuine tragedies that should weigh one down.
And yet, the tall, unnaturally broad figure that stood before the titanic black tree, its stump similar to a redwood's, atop the snowy white cliff felt so real.
And yet, seeing that same figure, whose body is made of a strange stone material with the faintest green hue, hovering amongst a field of skyscraper-sized stone pillars rising from a colossal, fiery crater felt so real.
And yet, watching the brief flashes of innumerable people —men, women, and children whether dressed casually or professionally, for school or at home—, scream with hands on their heads as if to quell an agonizing migraine before those heads rupture like bombs, one after the other felt so real.
And yet, observing market plazas infested by black roots the width of automobiles, its material similar to the black tree, from which hordes of lanky silhouettes crawl out of in droves with screeching, inhuman roars felt so real.
And yet, looking up at that same titanic black tree that towers over a metropolis of silver skyscrapers with branches forming a ginormous umbrella over the snowing sky, looming above those roots —which closer up are made of a slimy, black bark like skin, perhaps translucent as beneath its surface race radiating white veins— impaled through those skyscrapers and streets from where those same lanky creatures emerge felt so real.
And yet, witnessing the woman dressed in the golden armor fully covering her body but not her face —exposing her short amber hair and green eyes— hover in the air before being struck by a huge black ray that consumes her felt so real.
And yet, witnessing the old, bald man in the brown overcoat standing in the intersection, a chubby revolver raised in hand as he's severed at the waist before his upper half fell forward, his back to a gray figure holding a blade felt so real.
And yet, facing that same demonic figure, whose stone cladding doesn't form a complete seal but rather composes many distinct plates laid over a truly black body similar in material to the roots as those same white veins course through, who swings its arm in sync with a tsunami of black smoke over the city that crashes in a circular path around them to erase all those silver towers felt so real.
And yet, witnessing that bundle of white, glowing branches from the floor of those same pathways penetrate straight through the bottom of a strange construct hovering in the air, an orb of finite yet shifting sides composed of layers of knitted branches, emerging from the top and into the ceiling of black branches, the floor and ceiling wrapping around to form an enclosed room, despite being difficult to explain as the area doesn't resemble reality itself still felt so real.
And while it's unsure if this was even directly watched, the sight of the cyan sun exploding into a supernova, expanding to consume the many Earths that orbit it felt real. People who trek fields and largely open pastures, watching the cyan sun flare before consuming them felt real. People who wandered other cities, their towers golden, others of wood, all of them consumed by the flaring sun felt so real.
So did the image of the woman in the pink hair with pink eyes, dressed in the white hoodie with decals of sprinkles —colored pink, green, blue, and purple— raising her head before being consumed.
And it felt so real. It had to be.
Like that sun, the starry eyes of Meditat flare bright as they promptly open simultaneously with the swing of his body up and releasing of a blood-curdling scream.
That scream travels from the one end that he sits on, atop the thin futon and beside the dimly lit lamp on the floor, down to the other end past the doorway leading to the staircase down, passing through the angled tunnel that is the attic as the ceiling is slanted down on both ends.
Despite the only occupant of the room having been asleep, the lamp continues to illuminate as it has been doing all throughout his dormancy. Granted, the room is still rather dim even with the light active, dim enough that it's fairly reasonable to be able to sleep through, as the light of the room itself wouldn't be too effective at evoking attention from a drowsy man. Given the intense shaking of the man however, he does not appear to be such, and is sufficiently attentive. He remains dressed in his azure suit, far from a casual attire that any average man would sport, especially given the radiating blue lines traced over his suit all converging at the chest's pencil emblem, like veins from the heart.
He hurtles forward and places his hand on his chest, covering the emblem to calm his heavy breaths and intense panting, his eyes still wide in shock. He tightly grips his chest, his heartbeat racing loud like a train's chugging engine.
His mouth wide open, he struggles to breathe as if he's practically suffocating, deafened by the internal thunder of his heart. His eyes remain popped wide open, the radiant stars within his irises dimming.
His head faces down towards the end of the futon though his eyes don't focus on his physical surroundings but rather the resurfaced images that flood his mind, nearly paralyzed by the overload of horrid memories, for the images carry their context, enough to thread weeks of events he'd have been so oblivious to despite his involvement. He cannot blink, his eyes cannot contract, he cannot turn away from the tragedies he's witnessed first hand. It practically drowns him, for it muffles sound from beyond the surface, such as the voice that calls to him repeatedly. Only when his right shoulder flashes with a pink outline before being lightly dragged forward and back in a shake does he jolt his head up with an instinctive slide backwards in fright.
Standing, or rather hovering, above Meditat is Kokei with her arm extended, having guided her power to shake his shoulder without placing her hand physically on him. She just stares with a concerned perplexion as Meditat continues to pant heavily, for while he's been pulled out of his entrapment of memories, the scars have been printed in him. She tilts her head and begins to ask, "Was someone here-," only for Meditat to drop his hand from his chest and exclaim in shocked delight: "KOKEI!" He then leaps off the futon towards her with extended arms for an embrace, reflexively causing Kokei to back away and shout, "HEY," as she crosses her arms over her face and Meditat's entire body is caught in the same pink outline as hers; he's then promptly thrusted back into the futon like a shove.
Now the one panting heavily from the shock of the advancement, Kokei struggles to recollect herself as heavy footsteps emit from the staircase behind her, and moments later appear two officers with hands already burning red and purple, the same two who stood at the door the other day.
They both raise their fists in preparation for combat as one of them exclaims, "Saikyo-sama, is everything alright?"
Kokei spins to face them, finding that they haven't risen all the way up the stairs, but have stopped short just enough to view the attic. She waves her hand and dismisses, "Yes I am fine, and if I wasn't then you wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Go back down, I can deal with this."
Both officers bow and their flames are extinguished from their hands, and the other officer yet to speak implores, "Shall we notify the Empress of this incident?"
Kokei chuffs and rebukes, "The Empress doesn't need to know every time someone takes a breath, no it's fine. Go."
Again both officers bow and simultaneously apologize, "Our deepest apologies Saikyo-sama, we will leave you at once." They then spin around and race down the stairs, vanishing from sight, their footsteps continuing for a few more seconds before ceasing.
Groaning after that interaction, Kokei spins back around to face Meditat and admits, "They're the worst part of this living arrangement but it's the one thing Michi won't budge on, it's really stupid. Anyways, I appreciate your enthusiasm for my presence, but we need to instate some boundaries if I'm to keep watch over you-."
"I thought I lost you," Meditat reflects somberly, his voice cracking at the edge of breaking down. He remains back on the futon, not having adjusted himself after being slammed down, seemingly not even bothered by the strike. He places his hand on his head to soothe the migraine of jumbled thoughts, but is able to recall: "I thought I lost all of you."
Kokei sighs before assuming, "Oh it's one of those things where you start caring for someone a lot and then you get nightmares of them dying, huh? You get attached way too easily, but even then," and she raises her finger to then remind, "I don't know how you dreamt of me dying, but it probably wouldn't work in real life. So you don't need to worry about things like that for me-."
"Dana and Ekitai sacrificed their lives for me." Meditat interjects, still trapped in his own thoughts, his hand still on his head. His breathing remains heavy but at least stabilized enough to speak coherently, "All so I could stop him from committing a tragedy akin to last time, and yet I…." He drops his elbow and stops his leg while his hand continues to support his head, lowering his gaze as he struggles to reconcile, "I didn't see it with my own eyes…but I saw everything burn away. All the Earths, all the other people, you."
He raises his head to gaze upon Kokei with teary eyes before proclaiming, "I…think I saw the Superverse get destroyed."
Kokei's eyebrows scrunch in confusion to the accusation of her presence, and she opens her mouth to protest in the realized misconception, though she halts and shuts her mouth. She just ponders for a moment, still stunned to find Meditat in such an emotionally ruined state, especially first thing in the morning.
She lowers her head and asks, "Do you remember when this was? If this 'Superverse' was a part of this universe, it would be something that would be detected somewhere by someone, I guess I'm not the most up-to-date with news but still."
Meditat frowns and answers dejectedly, "The year I knew was 2864, but I recall you mentioned it's the year 2468. Since we didn't know of any other systems, it's natural our reference of time differed. But it happened so recently…at least it felt like it happened yesterday…but my recollections are a blur, there might've been a greater passage of time I'm not privy to. I don't know when it happened…I'm still unsure where we were relative to here…I don't know. But I…don't know if I can return…I don't know if there's anywhere to return to…."
Staring at Meditat's low head, the despair clear on display, Kokei can't help but frown at his misery, unsure how to respond to a statement as heavy. She contemplates while observing Meditat's wallowing state, though her attention is pulled upon hearing the heavy footsteps racing up the stairs, prompting her to spin to find the two officers hike up into view as one of them announces, "The Empress wishes to speak with you promptly, Saikyo-sama!"
Huffing upon the second interruption by the same guards, Kokei rolls her eyes and dismissively accepts, "Yes okay, I'll be down there in a minute, and yes I can get there on my own. Bye, bye."
She watches the two guards turn and race back down the stairs just like before, ceasing around the same time. She sighs softly, spinning around to gaze back down at Meditat who's still in the same state without spirit, a wreck.
She huffs again, but rather than in annoyance, here it's a pity for the sorry state he's in. She rolls her wrist and invites, "Here, she gets fussy if I take too long so let's get this over with and we can get some air afterwards. I…don't think staying in this dingy attic is going to make things better."
While facing him, Kokei hovers backwards a few feet, watching Meditat remain on the futon, still. She halts and frowns, raising her hand and offering, "Do you want me to carry you-?"
"I'm fine," Meditat quickly assures before sliding himself to the edge of the futon and shuffling himself up and onto his feet on the hard floor. He has a slight slouch forward, but is indeed capable of standing, facing Kokei and nodding. She drops her hand and turns around, leading: "Keep up," before she resumes her levitating stroll to the staircase, and behind her Meditat follows in a heavy amble, practically dragging himself while his head remains low.
Stumbling through the morning while his mind floats on morbid memories, Meditat eventually finds himself following Kokei over the gravel path that leads to the central palace where the two heavy doors are slowly opening, guarded by the two officers there yesterday. They notice Meditat behind Kokei, to which one of them raises his hand in interruption, halting the two before he declares, "The Empress only wants your attendance, Saikyo-sama. She does not wish for his presence."
Kokei glances back at Meditat who raises his head up to meet her, and she sighs before directing, "Wait out here, it should only take a minute. We…shouldn't test our luck too much after yesterday."
Meditat just nods his head and quietly mutters, "Got it." He then just watches the guard drop his hand and both of them step to opposite sides, allowing Kokei entry to stroll in. After she passes the guards, the two strafe shoulder to shoulder again, functioning as doors to block off Meditat, leaving him just standing on the gravel path. His head lowers once more to just stare awkwardly at the path, waiting as he can hear the high and loud voice of the Empress lecture, "What took you so long?! You should've been down here minutes ago! Was the blueberry dragging you down? Why did you even bring the blueberry?"
Meditat sighs with a frown upon the callout, choosing not to react any further as Kokei's voice, which gradually fades as she approaches deeper into the throne room, casually greets in a form dismissal of the reprimand: "Good morning Michi, the weather's nice today. Also you told me to keep an eye on him, leaving him alone in the guard tower with an armory is probably not keeping an eye on him."
Still just as loud, the Empress grunts back, "Well if he's slowing you down, then we can always just get rid of him. You don't need the sidekick, right?"
Kokei's voice has become much harder to hear, practically relegated to a whisper: "I'm not keeping him for muscle, like I said he's just gotten in the way before. But you're exaggerating the issue, it was maybe a minute or two later, I'm doing my job just fine."
"Speaking of, I wanted to warn you that there's been an increase in…," The Empress segways, though Meditat's mentally tuned out her speech, not intentionally as there could've been useful intel to be gathered from listening in, but the drive to collect wasn't nearly as strong as the compulsion to collapse back into his thoughts.
It wasn't only horrific scenes that flooded his head, they were perhaps the strongest therefore the ones that rose to the top, but the longer he ruminates in his recollection, he finds brighter moments.
Moments like sitting beside the woman in the large suit of golden armor covering all but her hands which had cuffs around the wrists, and her head which had a collar around her neck. Her amber bangs were waving and her green eyes twinkled as she stared up at the night sky. They were sitting on a bench on the deck of a motorboat that gently drove down a river cutting through a forest. Despite the toughness of the armor, her face was gentle, seeming to be in her mid to upper forties yet she aged gracefully.
Moments like standing beside the old man in the brown overcoat, staring off over the edge of the colossal stone wall they're stationed on, looking over the vast plains lit in broad daylight, mountains and hills further in the distance. He could be in his eighties or greater, he was bald but furthermore his cheekbones were sunken as he was overall bony, enough that he could be seen as malnourished. Yet his yellow eyes were that of a young, spry man, buzzing with life and hope as bright as his smile. Despite the withering of his face, his soul was very much alive and energized, optimistic for a future he could still look forward to.
Moments like sitting beside the woman in the white hoodie, her long pink hair and matching eyes familiar, yet the meek posture isn't, both of them sitting on the edge of a bed. On the white walls of the bedroom were various gizmos and objects accompanied with plaques, one of the objects resembling a hockey stick, each of the plaques formatted as dates. The woman seemed about as old as the one inside the palace, she could pass off generally anywhere from early twenties to mid thirties, she had a youthful glow yet without giving a childish appearance. Her hands were on her lap, reserved in nature, although it wasn't closed off. If anything it gave a relaxed atmosphere that was more inviting, vulnerable in a manner that felt friendly, open in a sense that brought warmth.
But of course, that woman with the green eyes was swept in a bolt of pure darkness that left no corpse.
But of course, that man with the yellow eyes was cleaved through the waist, left in the middle of the street in a pool of his own blood.
But of course, that woman with the pink eyes was disintegrated by the sun itself, evaporated alongside the rest of that city, that world, and every other of those hundred worlds.
Through that wave of inferno, a woman just like her but dressed in a black kimono with rose gold trims hovers directly in front, waving her hand and calling: "Hello? Are you that sleepy?"
Recognizing the last image to not be an old memory, Meditat blinks twice and shakes his head before instinctively stepping back to make space for Kokei who lingers right in front of him, hovering in the air such that they're on equal eye level, her hands on her hips in suspicion. He nods his head and waves back, "Sorry, yes I'm here."
Kokei flashes a smile and circles around him in a gradual ascent while addressing, "That went on for longer than it should've, but we're all good now. Come on, follow me," just before the doors begin movement as per the sound of the mechanical grinding.
Meditat glances back to find the door beginning its slow swing towards closure, and the two officers promptly step to the side to not occupy its path. Upon facing the door, he happens to catch a glimpse through the opening, down to the stage at the end of the palace room where the throne resides, and where the seated Empress glares back at him.
From the Empress's perspective, Meditat's stare locks on her as hers does on him, triggering a visibly anxious and shameful expression on his face. His attention then diverts up to Kokei to notice her accelerating rise, softly launching into the sky, parting from the thinning view through the closing doors.
Meditat briefly glances back at the Empress, his expression shifted more into an awkward anxiety before he raises his head and hand from which a cable of blue light is fired from his palm, one that pulls him up and out of view.
Seated on her throne, the Empress just stares with sharp, judgmental eyes, her purple glare shining through the door the way the natural sunlight does back into the palace. It does at least until the doors completely shut with a thud, extinguishing the sunlight from the palace's floor, and yet her scornful stare holds.
Provided the initial elevation of launching from the palace atop the hill, Kokei approaches the dark clouds with ease, smoothing her arch to remain right beneath the ceiling. She soars forward in a relaxed stance, her brighter outline carrying her forth without much regard for aerodynamic poses. She drifts at a leisurely cruise, the passage of the clouds above her denoting her speed. She faces forward to focus on her path, though concern rises over her face to which she spins around, still traveling in the same direction but able to face behind herself where she can watch the blue comet approach her from below.
The comet accelerates towards her, approaching close enough for her to ascertain Meditat at the head, his cape practically blending into the propulsive current as if it were burning. His hair waves in the wind just like his cape, though it doesn't secrete the same energy that leaves behind the trail that drives parallel to the pink tracer, nearing her side.
He smoothly decelerates to match Kokei's speed, yet he fails to first reach her side, coming up short several feet behind her.
At first, the miss perplexes Kokei as her eyebrow raises, drifting backwards as there's only open skies behind her, no obstructions along their cruise.
Facing forward to tend to his own path, Meditat's gaze doesn't directly connect to hers. Apparent for her is a somber expression, frowning in a headspace that's clearly burdened with miserable memories. Only after being stared upon for several moments does he weakly match Kokei's gaze yet only for a brief glance before he breaks off and keeps forward, struggling to maintain contact.
Contagious is that frown as it flashes on Kokei's face upon comprehension, before flattening out awkwardly, the atmosphere dense in both regards. Nested in her own thoughts, a flare lights up in her eyes along with a smile, and she begins to lay flat, rotating upside down.
Meditat's doleful eyes do move in observation of Kokei's sudden dive, and he follows her trajectory down to the city below, which they still remain far above. At a glance he understands her intentions to follow in the same routine as yesterday.
Despite him having been the one to incite that routine, that observation doesn't raise the same excitement he bore before, but if anything a glint of apprehension washes over him, a slight wince below gloomy eyes.
Nonetheless he caves, tilting down to transition into a dive after her, huffing under his breath as to calm himself.
Descending from the sky lit by the looming red sun, Meditat dives in a tight form facing down –his path traced in blue– towards Kokei who falls with her back to the ground, facing back at him in a relaxed stance, her body leaving a pink trail. The two fall in parallel rays at equivalent speeds, keeping Kokei ahead, letting them face each other's direction.
The clear backdrop of open skies becomes obstructed by the roofs of the city's structures further below, and just as Kokei passes beneath those roofs does she shift her direction to forwards, maintaining her altitude in a swift turn.
Soaring between the rectangular buildings white and red, Kokei spins around to glance below her to catch sight of the aerial traffic that she zooms past, the fars clearly moving as some splinter at intersections yet she passes each before they can move more than a few feet.
She spins again to have her back face those fars, bringing her gaze to her same sight earlier to which she subtly frowns, for above her follows Meditat, gliding behind her along the same path but choosing to remain above the roofs. He doesn't swing with his cables either but chooses to instead continue propelling himself purely with boosts, keeping his arms at his side, distant from the scene he was so ecstatic about just the other day.
His gaze doesn't even match her as he just blankly stares ahead down to the horizon, entranced in his own thoughts, a frown implying the contents of his inner monologue. His dim eyes lack the sparkle they sustained the entirety of the day before.
Her unmet gaze hangs above a frown, and she lets out a gentle huff of defeat before rising herself.
Lifting to Meditat's altitude, Kokei levels out with him while maintaining the speed he's still matching, keeping herself slightly ahead of him, consciously not closing their distance. Her pose remains loose but the glint of pride in her eyes has faded from its failure.
She guides him down his line of sight which she glances back to confirm, once more receiving that same, bleak expression. She snaps her focus ahead, her mouth flat in contemplation, their cruise lacking the same highs compared to when they were lower. She huffs before a twinkle flashes in her eyes, and a grin grows in pride of a thought.
Kokei then spins around, continuing to drift backwards to face Meditat to whom she asks, "So you mentioned 'Exhumans' before, are they just like whatever you call people with conduits? I figure that'd make most people Exhumans to some extent though, right?"
Facing the street below with a dull expression, the same sight he so gleamingly gazed upon only to now see nothing but his own somber thoughts, Meditat weakly raises his head to glance towards Kokei, the wind beating against him parting his hair. His frown remains as he answers in a lowly voice, explaining dispassionately: "Oh, I assume 'conduits' are defined as supernatural abilities, or powers that certain people can exhibit. In that case then sure, 'superhumans,' 'mutants,' yeah that's the classification our society placed for us."
He loosely waves his hand in explanation, gestures to further his point albeit clearly operating off low energy, "I wouldn't count the majority of the population to be Exhumans, it was closer to a half, the ratio smoothened out to how it was at the dawn of the Superverse. The Exmatter meteor that crashed into our individual suns to transform our universe into the Superverse also released a radioactive wave that mutated half of the population of each Earth with abilities. The only people who are capable of wielding supernatural abilities are those who inherited them as descendants of that original half, granted many of them were…culled early on in the Superverse's life…the reaction to their existence was inhumane to put it lightly."
Kokei blinks twice in bewilderment before shaking her head and hands whilst urging, "Wait wait wait, slow down, you're flooding too fast. 'Exmatter meteor?' And you said it transformed your universe into the Superverse, as if it wasn't always in that state?"
Tilting his head with perplexity to that specific detail being focused on, Meditat nonchalantly confirms, "Yes…the Superverse is only two centuries old, exactly now that I recall. All the Earths that compose the system were originally in separate parallel universes, most of them amongst the same set of planets, some dramatically larger than Earth, occupied with more moons, some without a solid surface at all. Most of the universes had a yellow sun, but the meteor merged and transformed them into a singular cyan Supersun, and only the Earths remained in the system. I take it that the Ultiverse didn't have the same distinguished origin?"
Nodding her head responsively while continuing to glide backwards, her speed matched with his as they face each other in conversation in flight, Kokei elaborates while gesturing with her hands too: "Yeah, it was pretty much always like this, I guess then your history is far briefer, we've had interplanetary conflicts for millenia. I don't know what this 'Exmatter' is but you mentioned it the other day, I thought it was a form of power for your civilization from the sound of it but I guess it's some cosmic energy?"
A subtle smile slightly rises on Meditat's face as some light begins to shine from his eyes as he proudly explains, "Both actually, it is a cosmic energy that was entirely unknown before the Superverse, but the Supersun was practically composed entirely of it so humanity managed to set up moon bases for research, and in time they learned to draw and harness that energy. By the time I was born, Exmatter was the main source of power for all things, it's what powered our spacefaring pods, our cities, even our Connects."
"Connects?" Kokei asks bluntly, clearly puzzled by the term.
"Oh, my apologies, I was meaning to ask if you owned one but I take it you don't. They were these personal computational devices for communication, entertainment, and any general software since there were hardly any programs that required stronger processing. We'd interface with them through direct neural connections or holographic projections, like this," Meditat explains before extending his hand forward, and instantly flashing in front of his opening hand is a globe composed entirely of a weightless luminescence, colored with vibrant greens, blues, whites and browns to form the model of an Earth, albeit vastly different from the one they inhabit now. The hologram remains tracked over his hand despite their speed of flight, spinning passively.
Intrigued, Kokei drifts to the right before decelerating just enough for Meditat to catch up to her side before she matches his, remaining next to him as though they drove on parallel lanes where she can keenly examine the projection. She hums curiously before recalling, "We have personal devices with hologram interfaces, we just call them 'Docks.' But the holograms don't just show up like that…that's a lot faster than what I remember, or maybe I'm just slipping out of time. But yeah we have something like that, wait so that's being powered by Exmatter right now?"
Meditat releases a disappointed breath and shakes his head before correcting, "It's my own power, an energy I'm able to generate, it's not too dissimilar from Exmatter but it's not pure. Pure Exmatter is one of the few creations I've never managed to manifest despite its abundance in the supersun."
He then closes his hand, closing the globe hologram with it before turning his wrist to point the crystals mounted on his knuckles before furthering, "These crystals are the closest material I can construct to exhibiting Exmatter's composition, it's not based off a real material either and it's one I created during my first year using my powers."
Puzzled again with a head tilt, Kokei simply asks, "Huh, you made that when you were one year old?"
Now even more befuddled, Meditat blinks twice and seeks, "What?"
"You said Exhumans have their power from birth, no? Or do they all just awaken later? I guess a superpowered toddler would be chaos…," Kokei contemplates with her arms crossed.
A spark flares in Meditat's eyes upon the realization of their miscommunication, and he waves his hand before apologizing, "Ah, sorry I see why you'd assume that, but yes most Exhumans struggle to summon their ability until they're at least past five years of age. I…admittedly only awakened mine in my late teenage years…which I also admit is an anomaly…."
Next to him, Kokei smirks devilishly before remarking, "Heh, late bloomer."
Meditat scoffs from the insult and contends pridefully, "Well, I awakened mine a year before Exitium, so I wasn't the last."
That devious smile washes away in intrigue as Kokei next asks, "Exitium?"
That smile Meditat wears is worn off as soon as he recognizes the subject he clearly accidentally involved in the conversation. His gaze averts from Kokei as his face tenses, his eyes sharpening as he stares off onwards down the street. His voice reflects that same grim shift as he answers, "He's the other man who descended with me, my…brother."
Curiosity blazes brighter in Kokei's eyes, largely neglecting the visible discomfort with the topic as she instead comments, "Woah, you have a brother? I'd never have imagined, but what happened to him after he chased after you? I thought it was somebody not close to you, it seemed you didn't really care about him."
A scoff is uttered from Meditat, and his voice begins to grovel in resentment as he corrects, "He's a brother in blood only, but he's nobody close to me, and he's the furthest from anyone I could possibly care for. He's hardly human, he's a monster, he murdered our parents and stepparents, countless friends and people dear to me, including my old team who were my true family for about a decade. We were called The Shield, they were heroes before me and their invitation to me changed my life forever, and he took that away ten years ago. The greatest insult of my existence is his being that of my brother."
Taken aback by the load of harsh statements after the intense account of losses, Kokei blinks appalled, clearly not having guessed even an inkling of the response she'd receive. She clicks her tongue awkwardly, humming before recalling, "I thought he was trying to help you, I figured you two were allies. At least I didn't get the impression of murderous intent, if I did then I could've shot him out of the sky."
Meditat chuffs and shakes his head, shifting his gaze back to Kokei to assure, "It's understandable, it was intentional, he's attempting to deceive me into believing himself to be decent. Perhaps he's hoping to take advantage of the recent chaos and he's seeking to pierce me at a weak point, but I don't believe it'd be possible for me to ever simply forget the atrocities he's littered my life with."
He then turns his head forward while recounting, "There may have been a time when we were teenagers where he was a truly decent brother, but after awakening his abilities identical to mine, he revealed his true side."
Those razor sharp eyes glare with azure stars boiling bright, blazing in abhorrence upon stating, "What a tragic joke that out of everyone from my destroyed home, he squirmed his way with me, but it's befitting of the parasite he is."
Humming from the thoughts he's given her, Kokei's mouth flattens while cruising beside him, and she then asks freely, "You said he did all that ten years ago? How do you know he hasn't changed? I mean it sounds like he did a lot, but ten years can be a lot for any human to go through something-."
"Given that months ago, he massacred hundreds of people and had the depravity to puppet their corpses against me and my team whom he kidnapped, he's proven his static vileness," Meditat is quick to interject, shutting down any chance of a window of redemption, of wavering from his judgement.
He turns to face Kokei directly before elaborating, "He chased us across the Superverse, forcing us out of our home, to live in constant fear of his arrival. He was aiming to do exactly what he did to The Shield, he attacked Dana, he attacked you, and he attacked Ekitai, he-."
"Well, that wouldn't be so bad," Kokei briefly murmurs under her breath.
It's loud enough though for Meditat's eyes to widen at an instant in shock, his jaw dropping appalled by the statement, before it immediately shuts with gritted teeth, his eyes glimmering from tears as he promptly declares in a voice wavery from withholding tears: "Well, I'll admit Ekitai never harmed him to that extent, but he did pass away, specifically to protect me. He sacrificed his life to save everybody, to save the Superverse, he gave me all I needed to succeed."
Somewhat stunned by the abrupt emotional eruption as it was the first moment he had raised his voice against her, Kokei's wide-eyed expression soothes itself as she scoffs and averts her gaze, calmly reminding: "Well that's not Ekitai, I don't know who that is but that's not the Ekitai alive here. You can read legends of this supposed Ekitai's heroics but I can show you the physical results of what he's done, and in fact you've already seen what he's doing."
"Legends??" Meditat scoffs back, his voice raising more argumentatively, but he then chuffs and averts his own gaze too, his eyebrows furling in irritation before inquiring, "Do you even believe any of my statements? Sure, perhaps you've known a history of Ekitai I admittedly am unfamiliar with, but it doesn't invalidate what I know he was. At the very least, you do believe my word on Exitium, correct? You've had no contrasting history with him."
Stoic compared to the sizzling man, Kokei shrugs her shoulders and callously objects, "I mean I don't know, technically I've seen him a little, and the one thing I saw him do is chase after you seemingly to protect you. So I'm just saying, all this mass murder talk doesn't line up with what I saw, but that's just what I saw. So I dunno."
Restraining his explosive emotions now that he's faced down to the city buildings being passed second by second, Meditat's forced composure shifts his tone to one mixed between somber and genuinely puzzled: "I just…don't know how with everything we've gone through, you could-."
"We've gone through nothing, remember?" Kokei interjects with the reminder provided crudely. "I met you yesterday, and you met me yesterday. This other Kokei you knew, this other Ekitai you knew, I don't know what they are or how they could've even existed, but they're not me or him. So all I can tell you is that the Ekitai that you met the other day and stopped me from putting down is a warmongering maniac who's enslaved countless groups all for the sake of power, enough for news to reach other systems. And all I can tell you is that the Ekitai who's going to come back here wouldn't throw his life for you, or anybody for that matter, to 'save everyone.' He's far too self-absorbed for that."
"I know," Meditat briefly complies in a soft voice, practically a whisper, his tone now entirely just somber, hurt. He frowns with unfurled eyebrows, keeping his gaze away from her, and he gently decelerates just enough for Kokei to naturally pass him by several feet.
Noticing the slowdown, Kokei briefly glances towards Meditat to find him readjust his speed to match hers once again, but deliberately lagging behind her. He doesn't meet her gaze, even after staring at him for several seconds, and so Kokei spins around to face her direction of travel, her reticent expression washing with a soft chuff to herself, as if briefly laughing the exchange to herself which resets her to a neutral face. Now leading him once again by about the distance the fars driving beneath them do, she silently continues to drift over the streets, subtly turning her head to scan over the city ahead of her.
Behind her, Meditat just continues to frown to himself, choosing to keep his gaze away from her general direction, locking himself to the sight of the city building's windows, the sight that just yesterday brought a gleaming smile to his face, and yet now he can only frown miserably.
A face not nearly as emotionally downcast but rather a shade of brooding best defines the man with yellow eyes: Ekitai, who stares blankly forth at a downward angle to the floor while seated on a long bench made of cushioned, black leather. He's relaxed, leaning against the back cushion of the bench, his hands resting beside him as he doesn't share the row with anybody else. He's dressed in that same leather trench coat albeit it's closed up, furthermore it's been adorned with a golden shoulder sash, the same color as the pauldrons mounted on his shoulders which have bristles hanging off, a golden chain linked between his right pauldron and under his coat. Several medals hang from his sash, an appearance with a royal sense, or at least one of proper authority.
Behind him is a long window that reveals urban buildings that fly by under the bright red sunlight of day, indicating the interior to be that of a far, one that's designed similarly to a limousine. The gentle hum of the engine furthers this, the only sound that fills the limousine, its song much soother than that of the buzzing warships. Despite this lax posture, his eyebrows are furled in a stern expression, although all he stares at is the black floor softened with some sort of carpeted material. It's not that there's nothing forth to stare at though, as across from him is another seated being.
That being is Alina, dressed in her same black uniform with that same cap. She's stationed on an identical bench to Ekitai's, the other side of the limousine, a long window behind her displaying the same view of the city being passed by. She however does share the bench, for on each of her side are two soldiers denoted by their armor, unarmed at the moment though their helmets sit on their head, ready. Her posture is proper, not leaning against the seat but fully upright, her hands clasped together on her lap. Her gaze isn't slanted either but rather directed straight at the man across from her, that gaze stern too. Her legs are crossed over, silent as well as the other soldiers, the engine's hum being the only sound to listen to.
Then a man's voice speaks from her right, calling out in a raised voice to announce: "We'll arrive at the base in a minute, although we've been made aware of some…commotion by the perimeter."
That caveat raises Alina's eyebrow and turns her head, facing the end of the interior which leads to two individual seats in front of a dashboard where two men sit, one of them clearly the driver. Ahead of them is the windshield displaying the view of the road ahead, driving at the altitude of many of the buildings' rooftops, coasting with no other fars directly ahead or beside them, but many below as there's other lanes that have far denser traffic, covering the streets though they seem drastically slower to the point of appearing still. Below the dashboard are several small holographic projections, some being of circular gauges and meters with one being a panel featuring a triangle at the center of a network of lines, best resembling a map application.
Alina leans forward and sharply demands, "What commotion?"
Directly in front of the windshield, the driver who holds onto a physical steering wheel –dressed in a yellow uniform like the ones worn in the fortress– winces awkwardly from the view he obstructs from Alina, whose glare are daggers at his nape. Across from her, Ekitai turns his head with curiosity to the same question, albeit not nearly as angsty, rather genuinely puzzled. He briefly glances towards the front passenger who's dressed in the same uniform as him, peering through the side window with a downward gaze, eyebrows scrunched in analysis.
The driver sighs, sensing Alina's unwavering glare, and assuring "The clog on the lower lanes shouldn't pose a delay to us, and they know better not to test their luck in front of a base."
Being provided with an answer vague enough to instead lead to more questions, Alina's eyebrow raises and she briefly asks, "Clog?" She then glances to the long window behind her back, reminding her of her own source for answers that'd be without linguistic ambiguity, and so she leans closer to the window with her chin lowered, peering.
What sight she finds is the dense lane of traffic beneath her, traffic that has come to an absolute standstill. By following the stoppage further down, she finds that their road leads to an intersection where countless other fars are stationarily scattered, although they not only aren't all facing the same general direction but instead randomly hovering at different headings, but standing atop every one of their roofs are civilians dressed in coats –casual civilian attire differing from the uniforms of the driver and Alina– many of them seeming to be shouting although their words are entirely muted. They throw their fists in the air in some gesture resembling protest, and their expressions generally speak of discontent if not pure rage.
Past that lane is a wide clearing of those taller city buildings, making way for a wide complex that is indeed populated by buildings but ones that are much wider than tall, resembling warehouses more if anything. The complex is vast, several blocks wide, defined by a perimeter of fencing tall enough to loom over the below traffic, composed of spires much like the perimeter of the castle fortress. There are a few taller towers notably along the perimeter featuring bulbous peaks.
Her pupils contracted sharp, Alina chuffs with the mutter, "Lunacy," before turning towards the drivers at the front and demanding, "Play the passthrough to us, now."
While the driver focuses forward, the passenger beside him spins around to face Alina with an apprehensive wince and assures, "We'll be over them in no time ma'am, we don't want to disturb-."
"Thank you for your consideration, now follow the order," Alina interjects coldly.
In a murmur, the passenger obliges "Yes ma'am…," before spinning back around to face the dashboard, and then exchanging contact with the driver, both of them uncomfortable in their situation, wincing apprehensively. The passenger, as if puppeted against his will, drags his finger towards one of the holographic gauges on the dashboard, triggering the driver to squirm in rising hesitancy.
Nonetheless as forced by the order, the passenger presses down on a the dashboard, immediately resulting in a flood of sound reaching the interior of the limousine: a collection of hums in various pitches from the countless fars below that are heavily overshadowed by the chant of many pitches from the countless people exposed atop their fars: "STOP THIS POINTLESS WAR! STOP THIS POINTLESS WAR!"
Ekitai's yellow irises contract instantly upon the exposure of the audio clearly sourced from directly outside, as now a single individual exclaims in a projected voice: "We did not ask for this war! We did not agree to its sacrifices!"
Those phrases are followed up by the sea of chants echoing: "WE DID NOT ASK FOR THIS WAR! WE DID NOT AGREE TO ITS SACRIFICES!"
He chuffs and leans against the window behind him, facing towards the source of the audio as it has a direction defined forward down, leading him towards the same sight of the ongoing protest.
Again, that lone speaker exclaims: "How long will he drag this war?"
That question is answered by the crowd: "TOO LONG!"
Following that up, that lone speaker asks, "How much will he waste to drag out this war?"
Once more, the mass of voices beacons the call with their answer: "TOO MUCH!"
Staring at the source of those protests, Ekitai just stares with sharp eyes, his cheeks tensing.
Across from him, Alina chuffs and places her hand on her head before venting, "Now a protest right in front of one of our bases?! Eva said she was handling this, it's just getting worse. We'll need to have a stern talk with her soon, it shouldn't be getting this bad."
She then drops her hand and faces towards the drivers before assessing, "The base warned you about this, right? Have they identified whoever's speaking?"
At that moment, the speaker repeats, "Stop this pointless war! Stop this pointless war!" clearly to the crowd of protestors standing on the roofs of their cars, the flat metal surfaces just long enough to take a few steps and just wide enough for perhaps one or two.
Many of them raise their fists as they all chant in raised shouts: "STOP THIS POINTLESS WAR! STOP THIS POINTLESS WAR!"
A few of them however begin to raise their heads in initial curiosity to the emergence of a hum like the one they're surrounded with, but this one emitting from above. Their tight stares all reach the black limousine that alone glides above the frozen traffic, approaching them or rather their direction.
They begin to mutter amongst themselves as some point their fingers to the limousine, more and more of them noticing as the vehicle reveals itself.
From inside the limousine, the driver admits to Alina: "They haven't figured out who, but they are on the case-," as that very speaker announces, "There is our leader, see him fly comfortably above us like he can ignore our voice! Can he ignore our voice?"
All of the protestors standing in the intersection now face up at the limousine, and in unison they chant: "NO HE CAN'T!"
Also caught in the image of the window is Ekitai's reflection as he intently stares through with sharp eyes, his mouth tightly shut, a silent fury boiling within that glare.
From the unzoomed view from the limousine, there isn't a visibly distinct protester who matches the speech of the disguised speaker who rallies, "Since he is here, what would we like to ask from him?"
That question is echoed by the masses: "STOP THIS POINTLESS WAR! STOP THIS POINTLESS WAR!"
"Protests directly in front of operational military bases is a hindrance to our ability to operate, and it damages the warfighter's capacity to complete their mission," Alina explains in a stern tone, almost as a lecture. She folds her arms over her chest and demands, "This individual, whoever they are, are responsible to some degree of this mass obstruction and should therefore be held accountable and punished for such. Tell them when they find the individual."
Below, the many protestors watch as the limousine drifts above them in constant cruising speed, passing them by and towards the military base. Without being prompted, all of the protestors begin shouting: "BOOOOO!" as the limousine passes over the fence perimeter and cruises deeper into the base, requiring the protestors to spin around their far roofs just to continue directing their scornful boos towards the vehicle.
"Maybe if we can catch this criminal and bring them in, Eva can finally get the chance to do something, "Alina grunts, only for Ekitai to chuff himself and mention: "We're already past them, so it doesn't matter. Let's just get this meeting over with, they'll disperse on their own eventually."
Alina turns to face him and protests, "If we don't do something about this one instance, people will see that as a weakness, we must act now!"
Ekitai swivels to face Alina and coldly orders, "That's Eva's job, hers pertains to what goes on out there, yours pertains to what goes on in here. So focus on that."
Stunned briefly by Ekitai's charged command, Alina huffs and chuffs in a manner almost dismissive of the order, though she ultimately obliges with: "Very well, I'm ready." She then shifts her gaze not to the drivers or the window, but just to her own lap, somewhere that wouldn't point to exposing additional conflicts.
Ekitai grunts and pushes himself off the window, turning away from it and lowering his gaze also to his own lap, disassociating from the directed gathering. However, his face remains tense, his eyes sharp, his breathing slightly heavier.
Soaring well above the still traffic, the black limousine far drives over the fence that the other fars aren't high enough to pass, those fars being either held up by the traffic or the ones causing it, the protestors mounted atop their roofs as they shout and chant. Despite their thrusting hands, their death glares don't stop the limousine far from its path, distancing from the crowd as it begins descending towards the much lower buildings. The limousine has a somewhat boxy appearance, providing an elegant aesthetic enhanced with golden accents such as being around the blackened windows and the grill at the head. Its engine even from outside is a calm hum, much in contrast to the warships, furthermore providing an elegant presence.
From a bird's eye view, albeit one that progressively zooms upon descension, the limousine has sights to the whole base where distinct black roads connect the warehouse-like buildings in a web, some of those roads expanding out by those buildings into parking lots where fars are scattered about. Most of the lots are about empty, some with about a quarter full, with the exception of the lot by the central building which is practically full in a tight grid. That central building bears an oval shape with a dome roof, somewhat resemblant of a stadium, one of the largest buildings in the complex albeit not nearly as large as a typical stadium would be. There is not a singular far visibly driving within the complex, not other than the entering limousine.
Despite its engine alone not being too loud, the far spreads its presence across the complex by nature of it being the only vehicle moving, and the only source of sound other than the relaxed wind. That spread weakens the closer the far approaches the ground given that the deceleration results in a dampening engine, looming directly above the packed parking lot. The vehicle doesn't search for any spots though, but continues towards the building, keeping above the defined lot which it sinks just a foot above which it then continues to maintain.
Driving over the asphalt of the parking lot, the limousine nears the entrance of the building where the black road meets the slightly elevated gray concrete sidewalk that leads to two closed doors, and standing on that sidewalk are six armed guards staring back.
Side by side stand the guards with their firearms low in their hands, watching the vehicle follow a curve around the edge of the parking lot and roll up to them; it slows down to a complete stop such that it suspends in front of all six who all stare silently, their arms tense, ready to raise in an instant.
A segment of the car's metal side then begins folding itself into small tiles that collect over each other from a central seam, opening a door to reveal its interior, though that view is blocked by one of the guards dressed in the same uniform, nodding his head to the six before stepping out of the vehicle. Behind him is another who steps out, and then another, and one more following him, all of them exiting swiftly and joining with the six guards, the first two joining the left end and the latter linking themselves to the right end.
Next to crawl into view from the open door is Alina, stepping out of the stalling vehicle and taking a few steps forward before stopping, standing in front of the two guards centermost in the wall that's formed beside the far. She turns around to face the open door, the same focal point the ten guards now draw their attention to.
Last to reveal himself from the other side of the door is the Warlord himself, his yellow eyes cutting straight through the wall, his closed coat adorned with the golden pauldrons, chain and stash. Only his boots are revealed under the coat, that being the same black and gold sandal-style combat boots he had worn the day prior. The rugged soles make contact with the concrete sidewalk, and upon stepping out of the limousine, he immediately begins strolling straight to the center of the wall which parts at his silent behest. His arms remain at his side, his groomed white hair waving gently in the breeze as he routes towards the entrance of the building marked by the doors, and following directly behind him is Alina, both of their coats similar at least in color but clearly distinct in material as hers has a wool-like fabric which doesn't nearly shine as much as leather. Walking beside both of them are the two lines of guards, five on each side, functioning as moving walls to a portable hallway that safeguards them down the sidewalk.
As they reach the two doors which unfold into tiles to open up, the limousine closes its own with folding tiles before it begins to roll forward, driving off away from the parking zone of the lot. As it leaves the entrance area, Ekitai steps inside, along with Alina and their security.
Impressively quiet is the auditorium room, for the floor is populated with a dense grid of seats that are nearly filled entirely of adults dressed in their yellow uniforms, hats on their heads. The room has an oval shape with a dome ceiling, the concrete walls painted white with several elevated balconies scattered about, each stationing two armed guards dressed in the distinctive armor. Several doors are spaced around the perimeter of the room, the distinguished main ones on one end –as told by it featuring two– closed. All of the seats are facing the opposite direction, and all the officers have their postures and heads straight, some of them old given white hair and wrinkled skin and others being young adults with slick hair.
Oddly, the collective audience's dedicated attention is towards an empty stage on the other side, elevated a couple feet, stronger lights beaming down with no subject to illuminate. The stage itself seems to be wider than the rest of the room, obscuring the edges.
While the vast majority of the officers keep their eyes to the stage, a few of them can't help their gazes from wandering awkwardly, aware of the lack of subject to direct themselves to. It's primarily the younger adults who begin to show slight impatience, subtly rocking back and forth, tapping their laps, glancing around themselves in search.
One of them turns to their left where an older officer sits, seemingly in her fifties, and he leans towards her with an opening mouth to whisper. It's at that exact moment that the whooshing of an opening tile door emits from the stage, followed by several pairs of footsteps, prompting the officer to immediately fix his posture with a horrified expression as his superior shoots a glare from the side though keeps her head towards the stage.
While already having been seated with a proper posture, most of the officers hastily adjust themselves, amending any slight imperfections with their stance as those footsteps draw louder, coming from the left of the stage.
It's from that side that the man in the leather coat steps from, his hands behind his back, his white wavy hair bouncing with every step, his yellow eyes scanning the room as his head turns. Behind him is the woman in the black wool coat with her hands at her side, her cap over her brown hair, her green eyes similarly gauging the room. They both approach the center of the stage, Alina making a sharper turn to reach Ekitai's side.
Before the great auditorium and its vast audience, Ekitai comes to a stop not at the center of the stage but slightly to the left, allowing Alina to take the center herself, standing at the brightest point that the lights shine down on. She stares silently at the crowd for a few moments, the guards who escorted them not having followed onto the stage. All of the officers and guards atop the balconies provide the two of them their absolute attention, for there is not a single being beyond the stage who is not watching them in respectful silence, straightened postures whether sitting or standing. Alina takes in a deep breath, and she greets: "Greetings, we thank you for your time to come out here, we know your work is important so we hope not to stall you for too long."
Standing at the center of the stage not far from the edge, Alina sighs and admits, "I know you all have many questions, and you have many opinions, but allow me to briefly explain yesterday's events. On January second, 2468, a strike team of IA-130s was organized, mobilized, and deployed at the behest of a grand order. This 'Operation Tsunami' was an international mission targeting the Eastern shore of Japan with the intent to capture or assassinate the current Empress, Michinomiya Hirohito. The mission was..deemed unsuccessful, and we understand that casualties of both craft and human were experienced in that operation."
She begins to pace to the right of the stage, clasping her hands together in front of herself while sympathizing, "We understand that this operation has led to the loss of the majority of this base's warships, which has had devastating impacts on your work. We understand on top of that that you all may have known the soldiers who carried out the mission, and may have not returned home. For that we truly apologize, our lack of transparency cannot be justified and we acknowledge that fault to be ours and ours alone."
As Ekitai just stands in place with his arms behind his back, his chin down with his gaze to the crowd, Alina turns around and strolls to the left of the stage as she gestures her hands whilst explaining, "We've come here to do more than apologize, we understand that alone is no longer sufficient especially given the graveness of the situation. What we are here to do is outline our strategy to, in time, recover this base to its former operability. An emergency budget is in the talks to be allocated to this base for the expedited reconstruction of at least thirty percent of its original inventory for emergency sake, and a direction to focus on research and development will be taken."
His forehead scrunching, Ekitai subtly drops his chin further, his sights being pulled down to the floor of the stage while Alina again spins to pace herself towards the center of the stage, "The current timeline will place this base and its forces in a non-deployable state for the foreseeable future as we pivot away from these sudden military engagements. We know the incredible skill of this base and every team that composes it, and we know it's a better use of that potential honing on intentional advancements in our military technology rather than sporadic battlefield assignments."
Upon reaching the center of the stage, Alina faces directly down the center of the auditorium, her hands before her, and she invites: "Like I said, I don't wish to hold you all for longer than necessary, especially knowing the volume of work that needs to be done simply to return to your former state. Additional documents will be sent out detailing specific policies that are being modified and implemented, we recommend thorough readings in the event that there are technical questions on the matter. But since we're already here, I'd like to open the floor for any questions, time should permit a decent amount."
Facing the stage is the vast crowd, seated silent, dressed in similar uniform, all with similar expressions of utter astoundment. Despite the invitation for questioning, not one immediately accepts, as though they're stunned by the statements before.
Even the armed guards who stand on the balconies are genuinely stunned, wide eyed and silent, some of them glancing at each other to gauge their reactions only to find the same. They shift their attention back to the speaker with those same lost expressions.
Closer to the front, the aforementioned younger male officer glances to his older female superior, tilting his head to the side in puzzlement, finding her expression to be subtler yet still visibly taken aback, keeping her gaze to the stage while he wanders with a frown.
His striking, yellow eyes set to the stage floor directly before him, Ekitai frowns in silent contemplation, his cheeks tensed in grave thought, a decision on the cusp of his tongue. Yet there's a reservation to that decision which holds him in the single position he stands on, aware of the situation but largely detached from it compared to his immediate subordinate who's taken the primary speaking role of their meeting, designating him to simply stand behind her with his arms behind his back, understanding to keep himself quiet and note any points of contention in the later meeting without disrupting the ongoing announcement.
His head however raises upon the voice of an adult man anxiously asking, "Excuse me, once we're back to the quantity of ships we had before, would servicemen be eligible for deployment or are we restricted to…training?"
Alina also turns her head towards the voice with a curious raise of the eyebrow.
From her position, she cannot easily discern the one who spoke the question as the general direction of the voice points her to a sea of officers many of whom are men who could've easily had that voice, though they all blend together.
Able to at least face the general direction of the curious officer, Alina flashes a simple smile before answering, "While technically yes the base can eventually return to a place of deployment eligibility, and that may very well be called upon one day if we ever were to face such dire need, that would only be under very specific conditions. We currently have no plans or desire to leverage this base for any operational means, and hope not to need to for the foreseeable future."
Whispers begin to stir amongst the auditorium, granted respectfully low but more than loud enough to be registered from the stage. On that stage, Alina scans the audience with a perplexed gaze to the reaction as Ekitai just stares towards the direction of that man's face with a stern, contemplative expression.
Towards the right side of the audience, a woman's voice calls out to question, "Sorry if I misunderstood, but what about the ongoing Japan war? I understand that we need the time and resources to rebuild, but once we do, I figured we'd be soon redeployed there."
Shifting her gaze in the general direction of that followup, Alina shakes her head and corrects with an innocent smile, "Of course we wouldn't throw you all back into there especially with the tragedy of last night, you have nothing to worry about! Especially with how hard this base was hit, we hope to keep you all as far from that sort of storm as possible, we assure you!"
To that assurance, the crowd's muttering grows louder, the tone shifting towards uncertainty, angsty. Not only sections of the audience, but across the whole field from right to left, officers begin whispering to each other in voices that amass nearly the voice of the speaker herself, who now just stands still stunned, her hands fallen to her side.
Wide eyed to the unexpected reaction from her pledge of good faith, Alina's mouth hangs slightly, and she spins her head to Ekitai as if seeking guidance. His gaze doesn't meet hers, as it's instead to the floor, his arms behind his back with his shoulders square, lost in his own world despite the growing ambiance.
Without having a clear sight to his face, Alina has to squint slightly to gauge the leader's expression, herself wearing one of stress, panic slowly creeping up on her.
While Ekitai's downcast stare makes judgment difficult, Alina's concentrated stare reveals his eyebrows to be furled, an intense expression hidden underneath his white bangs, a fury nearing a boiling point but one held silently.
Furthermore dumbfounded, Alina's face grows more anxious to that disapproving face, the fret in her seeking eyes being met by a steel, shut door. Then another voice asks in the audience, her voice raised to be heard over the murmurs: "So we're just not going to do anything? Like nothing ever happened?" which expands her eyes more.
Spinning around and pacing towards the edge of the stage, away from Ekitai who remains in place, Alina shakes her head and explains with a waver to her formerly confident voice: "No, no, of course we're not trying to downplay the events of last night. If anything, we're taking the proper course of action after those events to ensure that this base recovers to its full health and can maintain its duties, which are of course more than just fighting battles."
"Just fighting battles?!?" a disgruntled man's voice exclaims back, a voice tied to a body as a man rises from one of the seats by the middle, drawing the attention of the surrounding officers like a surfacing mound, including Alina on the stage who turns herself to face him, appalled by the blatant attitude.
That man seems to be in his fifties given the aging of his face and his gray hair, and yet he manages to muster a fiery spirit in his blazing call out: "I thought our whole mission here was fighting battles, are all the warships and weapons just for display??"
"Is that what you think about the soldiers who went out there last night??" fumes another woman of similar age, standing from her seat as her white hair bounces, her younger coworkers beside her bewildered by the confidence she carries to lecture her superior: "They were 'just fighting battles?' And now that it's over, we can just go on with our day?? You said it didn't end in a win right? So what, are we declaring that we lost?!"
"So all of it was for nothing then?!" another man hollers in the crowd as he stands up, followed by more that rise in rapid succession, all of them roaring and bellowing grievances.
"You came here to tell us to give up?!"
Alone, Alina stands at the center of the stage, bearing it all.
"Why did you make us take the time in our day to come here just to insult us?!"
She just stares into the sea of the officers of the very department she commands, watching them turn against her, rage against her.
"I thought this work actually meant something, does it mean anything to you?!?"
Wincing in the hurricane funneled straight at her, she finally breaks eye contact, unable to bear the sight of those all risen against her, for she drops her chin and with it her gaze.
Just as she does, he rises.
To the mob who's risen from within the premises as another has been raging outside, another man's voice bellows above all others: "IT MEANS EVERYTHING!!" And just like that, all the other voices fell, as the whole mob were the ones to find shock.
Raising her head, Alina turns towards the source of that voice to find it not ahead of her amongst the crowd, but directly to her left where Ekitai stands, his yellow eyes like fireballs that glare down at the crowd, furled like dancing flames.
Grunting, Ekitai shakes his head and is now the one to lecture: "There is no greater insult than claiming that I do not care about this battle, about this war, about all the wars that came before! To claim that I do not care about this empire we have built is to claim I do not care about my own life, for that is exactly what this empire is!"
Her jaw dropped in a mute dread, Alina just stares helplessly at Ekitai as he begins pacing, his hands behind his back as his tone calms down to admit, "That said, I will not make any claim that what happened last night wasn't a total and horrendous failure, and I will bear the totality of that failure's blame. If you wish to blame someone for the destruction of your work, for the loss of your beloved, blame me. If you wish to hate someone, hate me. For it was my error that resulted in the losses of those soldiers, and the depressed state of this fortress. It was a fault of arrogance that led to the tragedy that I know now burdens you all."
His pacing comes to a stop and he pauses for a moment.
He then spins around and declares boldly, "So whether you choose to hate me or not, believe me when I say that the next battle will be the one to end the war!"
At once, the entire crowd gasps in shock, and Alina's eyes shoot wide in terror, unable to speak back as a weight drags down her chest.
Swinging his arm, Ekitai reveals in a thunderous roar: "For too long I have led this war with priority of attrition, to hope to chip away at their defenses, to make a steady push into their heart! But I've had enough lessons to understand that strategy will never lead to victory. I will draft my next plan not on personal impulse but with the assistance of the top generals of our superior military, and I will amass the largest armada of any assault yet."
He lowers his head momentarily to acknowledge, "I'm privy to my reputation as one to go door to door and deprive each base of its arsenal, and I know that reputation has swept your doorstep."
He then raises his head back along with his fist, his yellow irises glimmering passionately, that passion imbued in his declaration: "And so I will amalgamate as many as necessary to make this final attack totally and utterly collapse their forces! So I promise you that despite the truth that I plan not to draw this base's remaining forces as regeneration is foremost necessary, I will call upon your strength and that of your fellow warriors for one last strike!"
Upon that determination, the crowd exclaims, but they don't rage against the speaker, rather they raise their fists too and cheer.
Across the entire audience, officers including those who outraged and those who remained quiet now pump their fists and cheer, just as fiery if not more.
In fact, the only one who doesn't have their fist raised voraciously is the speaker who was trying to draw support from the crowd to begin with, but now she just stands in place, technically still at the center of the stage but no longer at its center of attention. Nor were her words, for they had practically left the minds of those who were so fervently against it just moments earlier. In that moment, it was as though she had yet to introduce her presence, as though she was not present at all, nor were the original plans of the speech, nor was the direction they had agreed upon.
In one swift motion, the current they were traveling down had warped, all by the gravitational well of that one man.
That man stands at the edge of the stage in his black leather coat that reflects the room's yellow light, the yellow that blazes in his eyes that has enamored all those who bear witness, who now cheer his addictive madness.