[It's lucky, maybe, that by the time Thancred and Lu Bixing find themselves tumbling into an unexpected memory hole together, Thancred's already been through the exercise a few times already. He knows what to expect when they hit the bottom — but more importantly, he's seen the nature of the memories that are called up and exposed for all to see.
He's not altogether surprised to see this one, grimly enough. Once he'd caught on to the nature of these little excursions, he'd known it was really only a matter of time.
|| There really is no place quite like Amh Araeng, the edge of the still-living world.
The skies burn too bright everywhere in Norvrandt — unnaturally bright, burning with the primordial Light that saturates the landscape and threatens to swallow up every last living thing below it — but nowhere quite so violently as in the already-barren deserts of Amh Araeng. What would otherwise have been sun-bleached dunes of rolling reddish sands appear almost alien with the way the roiling light-stricken skies wash them out below; the wooden shanties and railway trestles of the mining town they're leaving by Talos-pushed trolley have long since gone gray from overexposure to the unrelenting sun.
But they are on their way, the three of them standing on the open-air bed of the trolley car. Thancred is unmistakable in his gunbreaker whites; flanking him are two young women. One wears a hood pulled down over her features as if to protect her skin from the burning sun; the other's long blond hair waves gently in the breeze produced by the car's movement, her thick bangs framing a pair of too-bright, unnaturally blue eyes.
Their progress comes to a halt — literally and figuratively — when a man (enemy Thancred's memory automatically supplies) appears before them on the tracks, first blocking their way before outright derailing it altogether with a kick to the front of the trolley that sends the whole of it flying, spilling its three riders out ungracefully into the sand.
Ran'jit, Thancred's memory names him with unmistakable venom, and the two of them exchange barbs before eventually the other man turns his hooded eyes toward the blond girl struggling to her feet.
You will remain as you are, while I dispatch these villains, Ran'jit tells her.
I won't let you! the girl, his Minfilia, cries.
Her defiance rouses visible ire in the other man. You forget to whom you speak! he snaps at her. Who armed you? Trained you? Fought and killed a thousand sin eaters with you?! And when you were inevitably cut down and lay lifeless in my arms — who sought out your successor to carry on the futile struggle again and again?!
But then his Minfilia — his timid, shy, self-doubting Minfilia — does something she has never had the courage to do before. She pushes herself up, and she finds her resolve, and she snaps, I never asked to be saved! However much it hurts, and however hard it gets, it's my life, and I want to live it on my own terms!
He realizes then, as all his own anguish and guilt and loss comes crashing down on him, that none of them — none of them — have the right to take this from her. Not even if it means never seeing her predecessor again. Not even if it means death and oblivion at the end of all things.
Ran'jit moves to take her, and without even thinking, his body moves to place itself in the way. He bids her go and complete the mission they came here to do (I won't have you waste that newfound resolve on me, he tells her); he tells their redheaded companion to take custody of her and flee. And when Ran'jit seeks to pursue them again, once again he puts himself in the way.
Not another step! he snaps, gunblade drawn. Your fight is with me!
You think yourself her protector?! Ran'jit spits back. Hah! As if a whelp like you could be a better father to her than me!
And they fight, there on the barren red sands of Amh Araeng, beneath the unrelenting sun. And Ran'jit has the benefit of age, skill, and power; he summons the abilities of his own martial arts and that of his spirit dragon besides. It soon becomes clear that his guard is impenetrable, his defenses too quick and too prepared. There's no opening to be had, and soon he has Thancred cornered, targeted from all directions by an inescapable threat —
And Thancred vanishes.
Now, the memory turns to first-person — a view of Ran'jit that begins to white out at the edges, blood thudding like a drumbeat in the ears. The strain of maintaining his invisibility is palpable, putting undue demand on a body already pushed hard from battle — but his deception buys him his chance, and he makes his shot.
And after battle resumes, when he finds himself cornered yet again, he does it again.
By the third time he's forced to vanish, he knows it will be his last. He can feel the tightness in his chest, the way he's left to stagger instead of walk. This is going to kill him. He was already at his limit; with each and every step, he pushes himself past it.
His last shot lands true, and the battle ends, and Ran'jit prepares to make a wounded retreat — as Thancred digs his gunblade into the ground and collapses onto his back, gasping in his inability to draw in air, too spent to move.
You would have her suffer and die, Ran'jit snarls just before he flees the field of battle. I would spare her that fate!
That is not for you or anyone else to decide, Thancred hisses back. Not ever again. ||
His eyes are closed, by the time the memory ends. His arms are folded across his chest. And yet, for all that the vision was a brutal one in so many respects — Thancred almost seems to be smiling.]
week 2, tuesday
He's not altogether surprised to see this one, grimly enough. Once he'd caught on to the nature of these little excursions, he'd known it was really only a matter of time.
The skies burn too bright everywhere in Norvrandt — unnaturally bright, burning with the primordial Light that saturates the landscape and threatens to swallow up every last living thing below it — but nowhere quite so violently as in the already-barren deserts of Amh Araeng. What would otherwise have been sun-bleached dunes of rolling reddish sands appear almost alien with the way the roiling light-stricken skies wash them out below; the wooden shanties and railway trestles of the mining town they're leaving by Talos-pushed trolley have long since gone gray from overexposure to the unrelenting sun.
But they are on their way, the three of them standing on the open-air bed of the trolley car. Thancred is unmistakable in his gunbreaker whites; flanking him are two young women. One wears a hood pulled down over her features as if to protect her skin from the burning sun; the other's long blond hair waves gently in the breeze produced by the car's movement, her thick bangs framing a pair of too-bright, unnaturally blue eyes.
Their progress comes to a halt — literally and figuratively — when a man (enemy Thancred's memory automatically supplies) appears before them on the tracks, first blocking their way before outright derailing it altogether with a kick to the front of the trolley that sends the whole of it flying, spilling its three riders out ungracefully into the sand.
Ran'jit, Thancred's memory names him with unmistakable venom, and the two of them exchange barbs before eventually the other man turns his hooded eyes toward the blond girl struggling to her feet.
You will remain as you are, while I dispatch these villains, Ran'jit tells her.
I won't let you! the girl, his Minfilia, cries.
Her defiance rouses visible ire in the other man. You forget to whom you speak! he snaps at her. Who armed you? Trained you? Fought and killed a thousand sin eaters with you?! And when you were inevitably cut down and lay lifeless in my arms — who sought out your successor to carry on the futile struggle again and again?!
But then his Minfilia — his timid, shy, self-doubting Minfilia — does something she has never had the courage to do before. She pushes herself up, and she finds her resolve, and she snaps, I never asked to be saved! However much it hurts, and however hard it gets, it's my life, and I want to live it on my own terms!
He realizes then, as all his own anguish and guilt and loss comes crashing down on him, that none of them — none of them — have the right to take this from her. Not even if it means never seeing her predecessor again. Not even if it means death and oblivion at the end of all things.
Ran'jit moves to take her, and without even thinking, his body moves to place itself in the way. He bids her go and complete the mission they came here to do (I won't have you waste that newfound resolve on me, he tells her); he tells their redheaded companion to take custody of her and flee. And when Ran'jit seeks to pursue them again, once again he puts himself in the way.
Not another step! he snaps, gunblade drawn. Your fight is with me!
You think yourself her protector?! Ran'jit spits back. Hah! As if a whelp like you could be a better father to her than me!
And they fight, there on the barren red sands of Amh Araeng, beneath the unrelenting sun. And Ran'jit has the benefit of age, skill, and power; he summons the abilities of his own martial arts and that of his spirit dragon besides. It soon becomes clear that his guard is impenetrable, his defenses too quick and too prepared. There's no opening to be had, and soon he has Thancred cornered, targeted from all directions by an inescapable threat —
And Thancred vanishes.
Now, the memory turns to first-person — a view of Ran'jit that begins to white out at the edges, blood thudding like a drumbeat in the ears. The strain of maintaining his invisibility is palpable, putting undue demand on a body already pushed hard from battle — but his deception buys him his chance, and he makes his shot.
And after battle resumes, when he finds himself cornered yet again, he does it again.
By the third time he's forced to vanish, he knows it will be his last. He can feel the tightness in his chest, the way he's left to stagger instead of walk. This is going to kill him. He was already at his limit; with each and every step, he pushes himself past it.
His last shot lands true, and the battle ends, and Ran'jit prepares to make a wounded retreat — as Thancred digs his gunblade into the ground and collapses onto his back, gasping in his inability to draw in air, too spent to move.
You would have her suffer and die, Ran'jit snarls just before he flees the field of battle. I would spare her that fate!
That is not for you or anyone else to decide, Thancred hisses back. Not ever again. ||
His eyes are closed, by the time the memory ends. His arms are folded across his chest. And yet, for all that the vision was a brutal one in so many respects — Thancred almost seems to be smiling.]