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 Posted: Wed Nov 24, 2021 2:23 pm
It had been several months since Aokigahara’s wonder was purged of its lingering malice, and his now-weekly visits were much improved in their general feeling and situation. Gone was the feeling of horror; gone were the nightmare manifestations of pain and misery. There was so much to enjoy, now; the place felt as a place of rest and contemplation should.
His memories, too, were softer; he saw Rin going about his work as the Knight, but the visions were of peaceful moments; of him joking and laughing with temple attendants, of his mischievous but ultimately much-enjoyed prankster's spirit. This was no longer, Aokigahara felt firmly, a place of horror.
It was a place of rest.
To know that, finally, was an absolutely incredible change. Aokigahara had never thought that it was achievable; part of him had simply assumed that his Wodner was forever poisoned by whatever pain and suffering had been endured there for a thousand years. By the pain and malice of the dead, which had seeped into the very soil and energy of Aokigahara. But that was no longer the case.
The knowledge made him feel warm, and soft, and like perhaps all the work he had done was worth it. But he should have known anyway, without the changes to the atmosphere--his Wonder had, after all, rewarded him for purging its demons with a great and wonderful gift. The glow on his face signaled that he was one of the lucky, Transcendent few, and that meant that he had earned something wonderful. The true, complete trust of his Wonder. The promise that Chaos would never tyouch his starseed, and the knowledge that he had no death to fear but the temporary death of the body. His soul, his core, was protected by a power that he barely understood but was proud to have at his fingertips. And he had the power to help others, too; the energy that brimmed at his fingertips and sometimes threatened to bubble over was powerful and wonderful, and something that brought him incredible joy. He could share it with others and help them keep going, even if all seemed lost and exhaustion threatened to win.
What a change from his first visit, where he had argued with the Code and fled, angry and humiliated. He was no longer that sharp, bitter Page--although he knew that of late he had let his anger and bitterness at the Negaverse rule him, and that was not, he thought, a path tot he future he wanted to take. There were too many things at stake for him to simply attempt to slaughter every agent that lay in his path. And he had neglected, in the weeks since the battle on the hill, the very dutry that had made him glow bright; he had been too concerned with Earthly affairs to make time to return to his Wonder, and he couldn't help but think that might be what was putting him so on edge. Multiple missed visits. There was an antisness in him, a need to go back that he had been ignoring in favor of seeking revenge.
He would ignore it no more.
His fingers brushed over the star brooch that now rested at the center of the tie of his capelet, a symbol of whatever had rescued them from the battle on the hill. Just in time, too; he had nearly lost Yomi, nearly died himself. But they had survived. They had fought off the Negaverse. (Had, Aokigahara thought pettily, made that particular, single agent pay dearly for her actions in crushing the poor Velencian's starseed.)
He had a thousand questions, still, things he wanted to ask their alien visitors, but there was no reason to rush to interrogate. Better, instead, to take time and contemplation. To visit his Wonder. To pay a visit to the one place where he could be certain his roiling thoughts would find peace and contentment.
So he recited the words that would take him there, words that had tumbled from his lips more times than he could count in his years since he became a Page to defend his mother from a Negaverse Lieutenant. They were as familiar to him as breathing, and they carried him to the world that was his and his alone. And when he arrived, he smiled.
He stood before the central temple, and when he arrived, he watched a few small lights burst into bloom. They whirled around him, and then vanished, and instead of the creeping sense of fear that he was used to after any ghostly manifestation on his Wonder, they left him with a feeling of calm. Of comfort. Of welcome.
"Hello to you, too," he said, even though he was mostly certain there was nothing to hear it. What was left was simply residual energy given minor form, but it was still only correct to be as polite as possible. There was no knowing exactly how much awareness they had, and he did not intend to be rude or offend when things so recently felt properly at peace.
Besides, the manifestations that were left sort of felt like old friends, now. Even if they weren't in any way sapient.
His feet found the familiar path to the graveyard, and he sighed in comforted contentment. Yes, this was where he belonged; this was his Wonder, a piece of the universe that he had carved out and worked to make a safe place of. It had taken plenty of work, from himself and from others, and the help of friends and strangers to finally overcome the poison that had taken root, but it was done now. Done, and his, and beautiful.
In the weeks since the beast was defeated, Aokigahara had begun to notice that instead of overgrown and dying plants, there were new and beautiful blooms. Particularly, aorund trhe edges of the graveyard, hew had noticed flowers that reminded him of Earth spider lilies beginning to take root. And as he walked the path, the edges of it were dotted with new blooms--they reminded him of sweet peas and red camellias and white chrysanthemums, all flowers that meant death or loss or grief, but that were no less beautiful for their place here on his homeworld.
But it seemed that there was something new for him to find today.
At first, it seemed to be a memory--the figure of Rin, leaning against the wall at the outer edge of the graveyard, extending his hand and letting a pretty, delicate black butterfly land on it, and beyond him, there were more of them, flutteirng among the graves. They were joined by fireflies that glowed blue, and red, and purple instead of the traditional yellow, but were recognizable nonetheless. A vision of the Wonder as it has once been, alive and thriving. A butterfly landed on the stone fence next to Rin, and he laughed, softly, and faded away, as the memories often did.
Aokigahara was content to think that it was all just a picture of the past, the Wonder as it had once been.
But the image of the butterfly on the fence did not fade.
Not for several long moments.
Aokigahara blinked, to clear his vision, as if that might make this strangeness go away, but it didn't; instead, he was drawn almost inexorably forward. He walked towards the wall, and the butterfly fluttered off it, and he froze for a moment--before he, too, extended his hand, and let the creature alight on his fingers.
It had weight. Not much, it was only a butterfly, but it had weight.
And as he stood there, transfixed by the small, beautiful thing that had fluttered out of the woods and to him, he noticed movement beyond.
There was not just one butterfly. There were many.
Aokigahara's knees gave out. The butterfly on his hand fluttered off, startled by the sudden movement, but he could barely process that. He hit the ground, in utter shock, and tears welled up in his eyes. As he knelt there, tears rolling down his cheeks, he noticed movement in the grass--and while butterflies landed on his shoulders and in his hair, seemingly drawn by the bright colors, he realized that they were not the only living creatures on the planet. There,. among the blades of grass and blooming flowers, were tiny little beetles that, in the dying Saturnian sunset, shone a hundred different shades of blue and purple and red.
Aokigahara was alive.
Not just the person; the place. The Wonder had bloomed into beautiful, glorious life.
Suddenly, Aokigahara understood what he had felt, that moment in the strange Celestial Theater on the moon. The warmth that had suffused him when the light of Archideus found Saturn, found his Wonder.
Life. It had been the warmth and joy of life.
Would this have been possible, he wondered, if he hadn't cleared the malicious energy before? Perhaps, though he couldn't be sure. After all, the two seemed unrelated. But it didn't matter, he suppsoed. What mattered was that he was here, among this tiny, wonderful miracle.
Among a world that bloomed.
[1523 words]
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Posted: Wed Nov 24, 2021 9:12 pm
As Aokigahara knelt in the grass, the sun slowly set, and night descended fully on his Wonder. And he was still, for a long moment, and was surprised to find that the butterflies and beetles didn't scamper to hide away--but perhaps it wasn't surprising that even the insects on a Wonder dedicated to death might not keep a natural day-night cycle.
But there were lights. Lights that weren't from the sun, or anything else--and they made him raise his head from watching beetles and butterflies, to take in, with wonder, yet another piece of life rising out of the grass.
The fireflies he'd seen in memory. They lit the graveyard in blues and purples and reds, and they fluttered happily through the air, drawing patterns in light and flights, and he was left frozen, transfixed. The tears that had briefly stopped falling welled up again, and he wept more, in pure, unadulterated joy. His Wonder lived. Breathed. It was no longer simply a place of death.
He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, watching these newly alive things fill the air, taking in the incredible truth that was his Wonder living and breathing and being. It might only have been a few minutes--it might have been hours. Time stretched to accommodate his incredulous, amazed joy.
Finally, his joy bubbled up in laughter, and he sprang to his feet--which startled the butterflies that had taken rest on him, which meant he got to watch them explode into the darkened sky as an iridescent cloud of fluttering wings. He spun in a circle, taking it all in, and spreading his arms wide.
Life. Pure, beautiful, joyous life.
This was everything he had ever wanted, even if he hadn't known it. What all his efforts and care and love had been put towards for years and years. The revival of his Wonder as a place that could be for the living as well as the dead.
He felt a warmth wrap around him, and he knew, for certain, that whatever energies were left here were just as pleased with this development as he was.
And for a long, stretched-out moment, he continued to stand, because he didn't want to tear his eyes away. But apparently, this wasn't all his Wonder had in store.
There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turned, half-expecting to see some new creature--but instead, it was Rin. Younger, Aoki thought, than he had ever seen his predecessor before--small, teenage, barley a Page, and somehow he knew that this was a memory of being fresh out of the academy. Next to him was an elderly priest, one Aoki didn't recognize--it was possible, he supposed, that by the time of the majority of memories he had seen, this man was long dead. He certainly seemed to be on the edge of passing on.
"What do we do," Rin asked, "for the people whose bodies we can't bring here?"
"Let me show you," the elder priest said. "Come, follow. It is not far at all."
And, like the memory of Rin, Aokigahara followed.
The memory took him down a new path, one he didn't think he'd ever seen before, and towards a walled courtyard. The two apparitions of memory were silent as they watched; Rin was clearly taking in the Wonder around him in awe, and Aoki had to admit, there was much to be awed of, especially if Rin was just learning his duties.
Finally, the two paused outside a walled courtyard, and as the memory of the priest opened the gates, they swung open for Aokigahara in the present, too.
Inside were beautiful pillars of stone, and Aokigahara gasped.
There were many; a dozen, perhaps, at a glance; and the priest moved to the nearest one, and so did Aoki. The priest ran his fingers downt he inscriptions, and Rin made a noise of amazement.
"These," the priest explained, "are monuments to those whose bodies we cannot inter here. Sometimes, the Inquisitor is unable to find a body. Sometimes, the people of the planet have death rituals that are specific to a particular time or location or both, and it would be disrespectful of us to remove the body here for burial. In those cases, the Inquisitor--that is, you--will assist in the local rituals to the best of your ability, and you will record the name of the deceased on one of these."
The priest picked up a scroll that rested at the bottom of the monument, and held it up for Rin to see.
"And then the names get engraved on here? Who does that work?" Rin asked.
"You, in a way," the priest replied. Rin frowned, and the old man laughed. "No, no, you won't have to carve any stone. The scrolls are enchanted. The names recorded upon them can be transferred to their bonded monument with just a touch." The old man sighed, discontentedly. "I wish I could show you, but perhaps fortunately we do not have names left waiting."
"I see," Rin said, and his eyes were wide and fascinated. "That seems to me to be a very important job."
"It is," the old man said. "All of your duties are important. But I trust you will fulfill them."
The memory faded, and Aoki blinked, taking a moment to reorient. But he smiled softly. Of course there was a way to remember those who could not simply be buried or cremated--and it was something that, he realized, could be quite useful for him.
Someone, he supposed, needed to record the names of the dead in this war. The ones like the poor Velencian whose soul had been shattered before his eyes. And here were the means to do so.
He walked through the garden of memorial stones, taking care to avoid stepping on any unpathed grass--no need to accidentally kill the newly-returned life on his Wonder--until he found a new monument, blank of all names, and watched a brief vision of Rin, much older, much tireder, laying a scroll at its base.
The scroll case was still there.
Aokigahara smiled, and picked it up, and tucked it into his pocket. This was, he was certain, going to be useful. And it meant that he could realign his thinking a little bit.
[1063 words]
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Posted: Wed Nov 24, 2021 10:59 pm
As he landed back on Earth, it was with a sense of relief. Aokigahara had gone to his Wonder questioning, confused, in emotional turmoil. He had been angry, and frustrated, and violent, and full of hate and pain and rage. He had been murderous, even; the anger and resentment in his heart had grown, and blossomed, and he had let himself be consumed by it. But that was no longer the case.
He should have known that visiting his Wonder would make his heart feel settled. He should have done it far, far sooner, and he had wasted far too much time avoiding it. But now he had been there, and he had found this strange new item that he suspected would help guide him towards a better purpose.
That felt nice. He could, in fact, do something more than simply kill; and there was a way for him to continue the work of his past life and the long line of Knights of Aokigahara that had come before. The scroll that sat in his pocket, poking out, made him feel much better about what he was going to be going towards. There was no need to throw himself into pointless battles fueled by nothing but his own hate and bitterness. He could, instead, work towards something better.
It would be an effort. He would, likely, have to swallow his distaste for the Negaverse's...everything; their methods, their callous cruelty, the way they took people and carved them out and made them into monsters. But he would need to get their names, too, if he wanted to be fair, and their dead deserved to be memorialized just as much as Order's. They had died in service of a cause they believed in--whether they believed it to be just or not--and that was worthy.
Besides, in the past, Aokigahara had made no distinction. Murderers were given rest just as murder victims were. Whatever reason a person would not be memorialized on their home planet, they would receive burial rites from Aokigahara. So he did not, then, get to pick and choose which names he recorded.
It would be a project. A great and painful undertaking. He wasn't even sure where to begin, on a greater level.
Though he did know who he wanted to ask first.
Daesva, the Velencian he had met on the battlefield, the one who had helped him and Yomi for as long as she could, and who had witnessed the awful murder of her comrade. That would be a beginning. He knew Caerynn's name, yes, but it seemed right to record it in her friend's hand, rather than his own. Her people sohuld have a hand in marking her memory.
If they wanted it. Aokigahara was sure there would be people who would prefer not to give him names, dead that would go unrecorded because everyone who knew them was long gone. But he could make an effort, and could learn the names that people would give him.
That would have to be enough.
[506 words]
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