Cursed Cosmic Dev 12 -A taste of Freedom-

[04:35] Upon the cold stones rested the figure of a man larger than life would have him be. Born of chance, left out of the dance, so long fated to live bound. The horned man's gaze shifted within the cell, from the floor he looked upwards towards the ceiling. The words danced upon those wooden arches. No longer was it but one word, nor even a few, what rested in the rafters was a horde of words.

They meant nothing, it was all the same. The cells bars closed in as he looked back to the ground. Vertical walls of constriction, binding his freedom to the will of others. Slow the horned figure's hands came to rest before his gaze. Large hands, beginning to whither. His eyes drifted to his own frame, it to was dying. He could feel the jewel at the heart of his being, the gift and curse of his kind.

It devoured away at his own mana circuits. A vicious cannibalization of himself, cut off by the runic bindings of the mana collar about his neck. The jewels hunger never ceased, neither did his own. He felt the withdraws of more than just mana, his throat stung, his mind screamed, his bones ached. For so long the aid of academical reagents had kept him steady, soothing read to calm his rage, alcohol to numb the whispers, now he went without.

The thought of the dream danced through his mind in that moment. The, some would say, foolish belief that the creations of Kraus could be brought together in harmony. He'd felt that he could do it, connect those disparate beings together. Give them something greater to believe in than their own selfish desires. He'd even began to start to patch together a framework that could connect the various viewpoints of the disparate religions. He just needed more time to think, time he unfortunately had far to much as it was currently.

He'd whisper, but all that escaped was cracks. A hand to his throat felt the soft lines of bruises starting to fade. His capture had damaged his throat, briefly locking his voice to a shallow form of itself. Gone was the lyrical notes of a singer, gone to was the melodious magic he could have used to regain some measure of his voice. Locked away by the magical bindings that kept him form simply departing form the cell at this very moment.

His mind drifted back to the years of his youth whee he'd been locked away within the confines of the monastery. It'd been just as much a prison as the one he rested in now was. The cold stone was so familiar, a small laugh creaked through the Neries parched lips. It had been so grey there, so devoid of life. The endless hues of his kin, the stark walls of monotones, the harsh stone of the altar. The present called to him, dispelling the hymns of faith, replacing instead with dreary silence of Huangzhou's cells.

Wearily he looked back up towards the ceiling, towards the twirling words that made no sense. To what he believed would grant him some insight. He'd been looking towards the words since a visitor had verified him that they existed. Yet, why did they dance? Why did they have meetings? Why did they whisper about him?

The whispers, he could hear them. Whispers of freedom, of joy, of sorrow. Promises of pleasure unimaginable, of pain so sublime. The bits of life that made it worth living. The bits of life that made it unbearable, it was all within the whispers of the ceiling. The Neries sienna eyeys blinked as they looked upwards at the words. What did it mean to be free?

He'd ponder that for a long time while within the monastery. At the time he'd came to a simple conclusion. Freedom was experiencing life, it was living. He'd made up his mind in that moment that the monastery wasn't where he could live, it was a place of entrapment. That same week the youthful Syracuse had escaped, boarding a ship set for Dawn.

Now, he sat within the confines of a cell. He took a deep breath, he'd arrived here from his own choices. It had been his choice to charge the tower of Huangzhou. It'd been his choice to challenge the Fourfold Officer to combat. It'd also been his choices in the battle that left him captured. This was all the result of his choices in life.

His hand came to touch the collar around his neck, it was hot. As if there was more mana flowing into it than it could handle. A smile touched the man's features. His dull sienna hues shifted towards the window, a dull paleblood discoloration bled through the thin paper covering. There was the answer to his desire for freedom, there was the lesson he'd sought coming to Huangzhou.

With slowly steadying legs he'd rise back up, a wide smile touching his lips. He understood all to well what it meant to suffer in a world of grey hues. He could understand the plight of that which was sealed away. He looked to his fingers, at the lapping hues of erratic red mana. The power to fulfillhis own dreams? He'd take it, he'd reshape the world into a Utopia. His gaze went back towards the window for a moment, then towards the shifting words upon the ceiling.

(Syracuse Fengari)
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