— ...Does God forgive anything we do? Just ask him and it's fine? Cool! – Heard a kid at the church. A place I've never been at.
— Yes, God will always forgive you. No matter what you did. – Heard a woman. Old, kind, been here for a long while. – And the beauty of all forgiving love will inspire you, until you no longer need forgiving for what you do. Sometimes, all you need is someone to believe you, and you shine.
— Nah. And the devil? – Said another kid. One of them who has no fear, or hesitation to talk. – Didn't God kick him outta Heaven?
— God's love embraces all beings, including the devil.
— That's stupid.
— It ain't, child.
— It is. The devil's too bad and mean to be forgiven. – So, enter the devil. It's cold here – Ooh!
— Don't be afraid, children. Don't fear this man. Anything you need?
— I... I need help. – Except for the nun, they look at me as if I'm about to devour them. I would never do such a thing to kids. Even someone rotten as me has principles to carry on – I don't have a religion, nobody to trust. But I feel like talking.
— Of course you do. – She touches my hand, stares at my blue face, and points to a box. – He's waiting.
So I get inside a wooden box, filled with incense and piety. Holy water out a drain. He's here, listening to all sins, quiet.
— Father. – I sit, and begin to talk. The weight of the world at my back. – Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. Many years since I confessed to someone. Over the years, I have used my fists to beat men. Used my fists to get what I want. I... I am guilty of many crimes. Crimes of my ego. I feel powerful, and I've used that power to anything. Yet, I am weak, and betrayed. I have no enemies, but I plot their ruin. A dangerous thought came to mind... To break the law to have justice. I want to step over the law, tear it into shreds. Nothing else would make me feel better, except for a drink. The only way I can control these impulses is give myself in, for either revenge or a casual beer. I haven't shaved my beard for a while, there's blood in my hands that ain't mine.
— ...
Pause for breath. I feel less weight in my mind. The many things this man has to hear. The silliest things popping out its ears. He's still quiet, doesn't even move.
— My life... It all began with a dream. A dream of helping the weak. I grew up on streets, and have seen no justice except mine, coming out with these fists. Violent, bloody justice. The satisfaction I had for every broken tooth and bones... I just want to beat everyone, Father. That's all I do. Beat justice and people around me. I once tried to be someone in life, stay out of this senseless and violent past. Didn't work. I was made a fool by a brat, who's now a King. Kinda. He, like the rest, walks on streets made of gold, While I am still here, wandering like a ghost on streets paved by rage.
— ...What are we waiting for?
— Patience. Have patience.
Darkness doesn't fall in Burmecia.
Instead, it flows through the stretched alleys and tenements found between the luxury gap. How high I can reach with this jump, and for how long should I remain there, staring at those dots under bright lights. To where I am going nobody holds any candles. A candle soon to be blown away, but not on my turn.
— Why did we stopped here?
— To listen...
— Listen to what?
— ...The dark cries of human nature.
Rain flows onto my clothes, penetrates through my fur, touching the naked skin below with its fingers. It hits my face, cleansing my sight, but all I see below are ruins. Everybody at Gaia lives in ruins, but the burmecians are kind enough to admit. It breaks my heart knowing that nothing changed. Nothing, really. I've been fighting for years, only to know that my fists are made of nothing. Problems pour in this city like the rain. You can't punch rain, only faces. Unknown faces, what do they have to do with this? I wonder, so do Frigg. My partner, my company, is one in a million.
— A hydra only dies if you cut the head in the middle.
— There is no middle in any of this, Sir Fratley.
One of them tried to stab me with a bread knife. A bread knife! His mouth tasted the silver edge of my spear.
Buildings can be fixed easily, but the people and their minds... No, it's wrong to punish them. Defenseless, fragile as this world of paper we all live into. Watered papers that won't get dry. No, these people... they did nothing wrong. They're out of their minds, who wouldn't be? They lay on the streets because this kingdom is meant to be their home. They attack because we've asked for it. Anyone passing by. Youngs like me, Frigg, my dear... she's at home, I have nothing to worry about. She won't see me like this. I can say the blood is from a dragon. I am a Dragoon Knight, after all. A dragon pouring its flames on the wrong people.
— Dear God... what am I doing? – The spear in hand feels heavy, so does my back.
— Revenge... I think about revenge all the time. My enemy has no face, everyone suffers because of that. Freya suffered enough to understand me. The only woman who ever understood me, other than mom. Once again, I tried to be someone by saving this world near doomsday. It still feels like it's near doomsday, my efforts were useless.
— Hmmm... – Now he makes a noise, any sign he's listening at all. Bones, legs, arms, legs... everything hurts. Better continue.
— ...I fought seeking rewards I could never attain, Father. I punched men and beasts, without bothering who's who. No, it wasn't all in vain. I had her at my side. To have Freya's company meant something. I never liked to work carrying potatoes on my own, as much as I never liked someone to be my company, to be judging my actions all time. But Freya was different from the other women. She treated me like I was the girl inside that Dragoon armor, and I treated her the best I could without it. Without that thing, that shell... Armor that could withstand anything in this world. She was invincible inside of it. Anything in the world couldn't touch her inside that armor. It kept everything out as it kept her in. I think that's what it means to be a prisoner. Whoever designed that armor, I wonder if such thoughts ever came to mind. Why would a genius design a human shell that keeps you in, and everything out?
...What would you do in my place, Crescent?
You were so young, years below me. We were children, who loved each other without feeling any pain, or sharing of any duty. As the nations of Gaia were powering themselves before the conflict, for this world waiting to see more blood than sense, I wanted to put an end to this. My young self. I wanted Burmecia to grow, to show them that you can't despise rats that belong to a nation, to a market, to a law. But in the end, you forget. Already have lost your aim as soon as you slipped out of the shore. You couldn't get out of her heart, where it hurts most.
To love an only person instead of making this world and its people love each other, even from a distance... that wasn't my goal. But the hope begins here. The surgeon is waiting in its room, but the prosecutor is here to fight for justice. To interrogate these souls. The rain that penetrates on the shadows of any alley isn't enough to make them clean, but these people are the cleanest of them all.
— The wrong people... we're fighting the wrong people. Some of them want us dead, but that's not fair... to fight against common people and their knives, while we fire with bullets made of fire and ice... it's not fair. – You're right, Frigg. – It's like I kept fighting because I enjoyed the thrill, but there's none and nothing to enjoy. Anything wrong with me, Sir Fratley?
— No. Nothing wrong. We've been fooled. – We're using the right methods, yes, on the wrong rats. Where are the rats in business suits? – Frigg, answer me... If someone helped you when you needed it the most, is that person a friend, or a foe? If someone gave you a drug with the promise that it would make you forget about the reality around, and the thing really worked... would you take it?
— Fantasy is tempting, but you have to live the real world to understand it has it's ups and downs. – Frigg gets tired of standing up, and comes near me, as we share a doorway.
— The rain only falls down. – Here, at Burmecia, and anywhere else in the world.
We've received a report of these addicts attacking people nearby, stealing money. I haven't seen any of them steal, other than our sight. There's a moss garden, where I liked to step and lay above moss like a carpet, like I was standing on some sleeping giant's back. I felt like a giant whenever I stepped over ants, swallowed worms out of the earth, good old days. These people, laying down on the road, almost kneeling for us... Who began the attack? Did they all attacked us? Were they savages as we did? Who knows. What's said, it's said. Is that how you've felt, Freya? You hated receiving orders from above. From me. But that's different, I was born in the same crib as yours. Wore the same rags. You'd give me roses, and I'd share the thorns.
Reinforcements come in to take the garbage pile elsewhere. I wouldn't say Burmecian hospitals are the best place to be at. Try to stay only night at these, and you come back wretched.
...Why are they cheering? We did nothing important. Anyone stupid enough can do it with its bare fists.
— Look, mommy! Dragoon!
— Yes. They are Dragoons.
— Oooh! Cool!
— No, my dear. That's not happy, it's a sad thing. – Mother says to her child. Yes, really sad. But I appreciate you've taught a good lesson, instead of clapping.
Who knows if we're crying or not? The rain is here for this purpose. To hide our tears.
— ...A part of her died inside that armor, while the other screamed in pain. This, Father, quiets the screams, dulls the pain, drowns any sorrow out. Yes, I drink. What can I say? With all the water pollution, I'd rather have this. I carry on a bottle for emergencies, like if it gets cold. It feels cold all the time. I felt no such thing at Freya's side. She wore cold armor, but inside, kept all warmth to herself. Even her tears were warmer than mine. Now she's gone. My fault. She got close, too close of the flaming Amarant here, and for every flame, comes a burn. Stupid woman... What has she seen in me to get this close? I don't need this. I want to beat away everyone who ruined my life. Everyone who tried to fix it too.
— My son... I'm sure there's good in you. So much good you are unable to show at the moment. But, with a bit of effort, the best of you can shine. And God is very forgiving. – Enough about that talk...
— No! I can't be forgiven! – My verdict.
— You must control the urge to hurt, beginning with yourself. – Revenge is pointless, as well as being here.
— Sorry. I really can't be forgiven. – Not for you, or anyone else. Not even god.
To think I felt her last, pitiful heartbeat. At least I was at her side when it happened. She wasn't alone. Freya... you had a plenty of life to be shared later on. Her lungs to be filled of far more than dead air, her ears to listen to the birds sing instead of any sobbing. Her white strands meant to be combed each day, instead of falling out of her head each day. Each day near winter.
I don't want to start any blasphemous rumors, but I think that god's got a sick sense of humor.
And when I die, I expect to find him laughing.