hope; it's the light that strikes

[imugi]

title: a story in pieces.
dedication: flown

series: Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas
characters: Sisyphus & others

rating: pg-13

summary: Three young people, each with extraordinary gifts that could not be returned. In a way, it ended up being themselves that were a gift to this world, even if no one had given them the choice.
author notes: --

The trek out of Italy was initially long and quiet. Every so often, the small girl holding his hand would slow, twist in such a way that she thought he could not see, and wipe at her face as if brushing away imaginary smudges. Sisyphus knew she was crying. She must have thought him cruel— He thought himself cruel, and for a time it thickened his tongue with guilt and left them in the absence of words.

This young Athena— her hand was warm and her grip was gentle. He could tell that, even beyond her sorrow, there was a consuming curiosity. Sometimes her hand would slip from his, and she would bound off against a palette of green grass and blue skies, arms outstretched to touch the breeze. But she would return again not long after, gripping his arm as if the unfamiliar expanse of land also frightened her.

“Sir Sisyphus.” The silence between them was broken by her voice and the collective call of birds overhead, flocked tightly together in a distinct formation.

“Sisyphus... would be fine,” he responded softly, squeezing her hand and glancing down at her in question.

She wasn't looking at him. Her free hand was outstretched again, toward the birds that flew just out of reach. Maybe it was really the sky that she wanted to touch; he wasn't sure until he saw the single feather that had somehow fallen their way, her fingers curling until it drifted safely into the palm of her hand. When she brought it back to her chest, she held it as if it were something precious.

“A feather.” She smiled and held it out for him to see. “Where do you think they're going, Sisyphus?”

“Ah... To somewhere safer and warmer, I imagine,” he assured, loosening his grip as her fingers slipped away.

“And me, as well?”

Sisyphus was caught off-guard by the simple question, unable to answer. Thankfully, she didn't seem to be expecting one. She laughed lightly at the surprised look on his face, spreading her arms like wings. One hand still gripped the feather, a small piece of down.

“Then, I will become a bird.”

He stepped back when she released it, watching the wind carry it far out of sight. Perhaps the things she loved the most also seemed that out of reach, like that disappearing feather and like that vast sky.

“You are already able to become much more than that, Athena.”

“... Sasha.” She wrung her hands in the cotton of her dress. “That would be fine...”

She was so small and so kind. Youth brought her both beauty and innocence; it complimented her status well. If only things could remain as such forever, he thought he might have no greater wish.

He smiled, kneeling down to match her height, reaching out to brush imaginary smudges from her face. “It would be too great an honor for this man.”

She flung her arms around his neck at that moment and cried, breaths hitched until she was exhausted. And, after that, she did not cry again for the remainder of the journey.

.

.

.

“You brought something unexpected back with you.” If El Cid's surprise was not evident on his face, it was in the tone of his voice.

“Yes... I suppose I did.” Sisyphus smiled, hand fisting into the back of the boy's ragged shirt. “His name is Regulus. He will be my student.”

“Student?”

The boy pressed himself closer to Sisyphus' side, eyes locked on the stranger, wary. If not for the hand holding him securely in place, perhaps he would have lashed out. Regulus was still relatively unpredictable that way, the lion's companion, something different that Sisyphus was eager to understand. Thankfully, the boy seemed to have taken to him almost instantly.

However, the tension between El Cid and Regulus was tangible.

“You are too kind,” he almost scolded, “But it can't be helped. You should clean him up.”

Sisyphus laughed. “Alright, I understand.”

He shifted to take Regulus by the wrist, pulling him along, watching the way the boy's eyes trailed after El Cid's still figure as they passed by. It wasn't until they had moved into the small room and the door was shut tight that he finally relaxed. It was going to be a somewhat difficult process, Sisyphus decided.

“Who was that?” Regulus finally asked once he had settled into the water, one of his eyes shut as Sisyphus scrubbed the dirt from his face with an old rag.

“A comrade,” Sisyphus complied, “And an old friend. He is a good man. Try not to give him too much trouble.”

“Okay.”

Regulus soon became more interested in flexing his fingers just below the surface of the water. He must have had amazing immunity, spending so many days sitting outside, enduring the changes in weather without falling too ill. Or perhaps he had, and had merely waited it out, alone and with no one to depend on save for that golden lion. The cloths were amazing things, but their uses only went so far.

Still, Sisyphus had a feeling that the lion had somehow already become ingrained in this boy's past and future. Looking at him now, Sisyphus could easily see the resemblance, a small boy overshadowed by the strong image of his father.

“Where are we going?”

“To the Sanctuary.”

“What is it like there?”

“There are many temples. And trainees filled with potential, just like yourself.”

The boy fell quiet at that, biting at his untamed fingernails, and Sisyphus smiled sadly. It wasn't entirely true. There was something different about this boy, something that was so prevalent that it shined through all of the dirt, bruises, and tattered bandages. He wouldn't be like the others. As for what he would become, it was too early to say, but Sisyphus certainly wouldn't abandon him to his own. There was a connection between them, distant as it was now.

He dropped the cloth into the murky water, reaching up to set a hand on the boy's head, instead. “You will do fine. I will be there.”

Regulus had a nice smile, hopeful and filled with a hidden energy and confidence.

He would make an excellent Saint.

.

.

.

It seemed unnatural in the Sanctuary, to see the blood that rolled from Shion's fingertips and dropped to stain the flower petals red. Perhaps it was Athena herself who encased the secluded land with such a glow— the sun shined a little brighter, the earth was a little richer. But, like she had said, she was a bird— Her reach extended far beyond this tiny place, even now. All of the world was shadowed by her wings.

His own, in comparison, must have seemed so small.

Shion had gone quiet since an exchange earlier; it made Sisyphus aware of the fact that he had fallen into thought. The atmosphere had become so sullen. Surely Athena was grieving, though she stood strong at the center for all of their sakes. Shion was also young, like her— Perhaps not to such an extreme, but it was something undeniable for a good deal of them.

“Will you be leaving?” Shion finally broke the silence, rubbing at his arms awkwardly. The blood smeared over the gold of his cloth and left trails in his hair.

Sisyphus nodded. “Yes.”

“I see...” He finally seemed to realize the futility of his efforts and dropped his arms to his sides. “I know we've already lost a good deal of comrades, but I am sorry about El Cid. I know he was a faithful friend of yours.”

“As are all of you,” Sisyphus added. “We have all lost someone important. Isn't that so?”

Shion fell silent again.

It must have been the most tragic realization, that there was no time to stop and reflect on the lives lost. It was a constant push forward from the very beginning, where looking back could cost one everything. Even the youngest were beginning to understand that, even the ones with the most hopes for the future— All of them, a part of this Era.

“Shion...” He glanced up, still reluctant to leave this clean air and the warmth of Athena's cosmo.

“Yes?”

“I will be counting on you to keep things together in my place.”

Shion seemed taken aback. “Here? Of course!”

Sisyphus smiled, reaching out and placing a hand on Shion's head as if he were a child again, small but still so infinite— like the stars that tied them all together. His fingers trailed the length of a single strand, wiping red from gold, the blood staining his fingertips. Shion seemed confused, but Sisyphus did not explain himself. Instead, he stepped back and wiped the blood against the surface of his own cloth, just over his heart.

Three young people, each with extraordinary gifts that could not be returned. In a way, it ended up being themselves that were a gift to this world, even if no one had given them the choice.

In my absence—

Shion opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but was abruptly cut off.

“I will be leaving.”

.

.

.

You will shape this Era.

There was something that penetrated through his skull and left him blind— For a moment, Sisyphus felt something even through the numbness, something that slipped into his mouth with the taste of blood and bile until he was suffocated and overcome by nausea.

“Just die quietly,” a hiss against his ear.

The next thing he was aware of was the ringing sound of his wings as they smashed against hard rock, and then a momentary period of darkness and silence.

He recalled one of the dreams from his coma, hunched over and clutching his sides. It had been as if his wings were falling apart then, feathers drifting away on a breeze that would carry them to a vast sky filled with the portraits of bloody angels.

This time was different. Athena was there, smiling at him and reaching out to capture those feathers in her hands. The only things left to the mercy of the wind were the strands of her long hair— She was beautiful. And yet, she was overshadowed by the wings of someone else, great and white and stretched as if they could touch the clouds.

Pegasus grinned at him, reaching out a hand that maybe possessed the capability to grasp the universe, as well. He was so young.

“Let's shape this Era.”

And Sisyphus knew that he would, as well as Pegasus and every Saint that had given their life for the sake of this war. There was a sudden pressure against his back, someone leaning against him, but it was something he recognized. There were certain things that could not be forgotten, even in this world that was like a constantly shifting kaleidoscope.

“Is this something important? More than strength and limits?”

Sisyphus smiled. “Yes, the utmost.”

At that moment, darkness and silence were broken, and the world was changed again.