Kenta had looked me in the eyes, piercing through to my soul, he had asked me, "did you dig all of these graves?" I nodded my head, unsure of what would happen next. He cracked a smile, I remember his smile most of all. "So you've made your decision." I was puzzled for a moment, but only for a moment. A firm hand placed upon my head, ruffling my hair. Kenta saw something in me that I couldn't see in myself at that moment in time. He scooped me up onto his back and off we went. After regaining my strength I finally was able to walk on my own again, something I didn't think I was capable of. But it was truly Kenta's faith in me that allowed me to try to function again. When we arrived at what would be my true childhood home. The town was a maze of narrow winding streets, as complex as the heart. The streets were the veins, paved with dark red stones, and the people were the blood. The sound of the smiths, beating swords and breastplates into shape, was the consistent and dull pounding that let you know the town was alive. The colours of the town reminded me of children's toys. Every red was the exact same one, a brilliant cherry scarlet. Every blue was a bright royal hue, neither dark or light. There were no trees, perhaps the foliage would not cooperate to be the same shade on every leaf. The street-lamps were the same canary yellow as the rain-slickers and the iris' that belonged to my new father figure. There was no pink, no grey, no orange or violet; but it was more than that. Nothing was sun-bleached, nothing scratched or chipped. The street was free of litter, the walls were unvandalized perfection.
I often wonder how such a place could exist in Joya, but I just counted myself lucky that such a place did indeed exist. My days with Kenta were more than just wandering from city to city, though there was quite a bit of traveling around, it was something I had gotten used to, but more than anything what was more apparent in my mind, was how hard he would train me. How hard he would ride me. It was as if everyday was a fight for survival, except this time I didn't want to survive because I feared death. I wanted survive because I felt a great burning and yearning for life within me, something I had not felt in such a long time, not since the days of my youth. Oh, how I wish I could return to those meadows, among the trees which had been planted time long past; and I yearn for the extra hours of June solstice, where we frolicked about the vast plains of the open country, and then hurtled back from wherever we came before the moon shed its light on us, and spawned “dastardly creatures”, as mother put it, and to awaken tomorrow so we could begin again. That was a youth of mine I shall never forget, as well as the friends I had shared it with. I just hope they forgive me, forgive me for what I had done to them on that cursed battle field. No matter how many times Kenta told me that I was just doing my best in the situation I found myself in, that wasn't good enough for me. How could it be, we from the same village, we grew up together, I loved these people. Yet, none of that mattered once the swords were drawn, it was kill or be killed, and all I wanted to was survive the day. My survival, in that moment was so much more important than their lives. Something I could not truly forgive myself for truthfully. I had learned to cope with it, through the night terrors, through the cold sweats, through the panic attacks, I came through to the other side. For better or worse I was here. I thank Kenta for that, he was so patient with me, even when he didn't have to be. He had always asked me to describe my anxiety for him, it was something he could not truly understand.
The thoughts race through my head I told him, I want them to slow down so I can breath, but they won't. My wind comes in gasps, my chest feels so tight as if it is going to truly burst. My head is so full, yet so empty all at the same time, my vision won't steady, black spots cloud my eyes. I often think that it isn't real what is happening, oh how I wish it wasn't, but it truly is. It's a like being in hell, like dying but awake. My heart feels as if it is going to crush my rib cage from how it beats, like sledgehammer it bashes away at my chest. An invisible hand grasps at my throat, something I can't break myself from, something I have sit with and suffer through, because it's the only choice I have, because I'm not dying, even though I wish I was in that moment so it would all be over. My hands they tremble and shake, they ache with yearning to end it all so that I don't have to take it anymore. Kenta took me in his arms before I could finish my description, he told me it would all be okay. I would find a way to over come this panic. These fears were not going to hold me back, they didn't make me less human, they made me more human than anyone he had ever met. My capability to feel is what he told me he admired about me the most. I had quickly become his favorite student, and very much a son to him. That made me happier than anything.
As I reminisce, I feel a slight rain drop fall upon my head, the black storm clouds that I had once described as clouding my vision in my moments of panic had become real. Though I did not fear these black spots, I welcomed them. They were like a warm hug from the earth and the air above. It was a storm, something I loved. Something that gave me strength, I am of lightning, lightning is the mother that brought me into this world, the womb that cradled me in my darkest hours, the father that taught me to stand on my own feet. The rod I used to catch fish for my meals, the sword I kept hidden under my bed to protect me at night. I truly believed that I was one with the lightning. As it descended to the earth, to a spot that was not too far from where I was, I took it as a sign, A sign of what I was doing here. Nature had something to teach me, something very important I needed to learn. Like a mother teaching me to speak, to walk, to function. I fallowed the bolts to where they would find their resting place. Then it would hit me, it was striking multiple trees in the area. That was perfect, the perfect application for a new technique. I thought to myself what it would be best transformed into. I had a spell that attacked from below, but what about from the air, an aerial assault was something I was surely lacking. Thats it I thought to myself, I raised my hands up to the heaves, as if preordained by the gods above, I felt my palm struck with electricity, the very electricity that bestowed my gift upon me all those years ago. Within moments the image had formed into his mind, what it is he was to do with this muse of his. As he finished crafting it within his head, it suddenly hit him, Not a blunt object, but thousands of little ones, needles, needles that would pierce his foes. That was it. I then lowered my hand, following the lowering of my hand was a barrage of needles created from lightning. A thousand of them, mercilessly piercing his targets that were the trees, shredding them into nothing more than splinters. After the barrage was over, I looked at my hand in awe of what it is I had done, I had surprised myself yet again.
But did I have another one in me, could lightning strike twice. I raise my hands to the heavens one more time to draw from the well of power that had given me the chance to do this once, hopefully it will allow me to do it once more. My raised hand waited to be graced with the pure joy that was the feeling of the shock from natures greatest source of power, as it met my hand once more, I put the spell to memory, only needing one more to truly get a feel for how much of my own energy it will take. For the final time I law down my hand creating a barrage of electricity so great that it took down the other tree line 15 meters away from where I stood in the field of creativity. Soon after, the sky would open up for the sun to shine upon, I felt that it was Kenta's spirit that brought this storm to me, that brought this muse to me for what would be one of Kenta's gifts I believed.
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