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Curse of the Colossus

@curseofthecolossi / curseofthecolossi.tumblr.com

The mountains you walk are the mountains I've slain (est. Mar 25th, 2012)
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Mono sat down next to him, toying idly with the grass under her hand. A ridiculous exaggeration. But she laughed all the same at his teasing jab.
“Oh? So you’d become a slacker without me around? Just as I thought. All the more reason for me to stay here with you.” She shot back with her own smirk. Though her expression softened when he chose to be a bit more honest and direct. “Me too… I wouldn’t want to give up this either.”
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Cerulean orbs glance at her with a softness seldom seen from the usually carefree, lackadaisical, hunter.  He hates all the village rules.  Hates that he gets no say in what his role is and will be in the future.  He’s not the Village Elder type, Guardian of the Sword like his father maybe.  Alas Guardian of the Sword is the precursor to Village Elder.    

“What if we went together so we don’t have to give anything up”

He says anything but the only thing he doesn’t want to lose is this

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Robin had little experience with other people. After all, her parents had died when she was young. Most social communication she had learned was through talking to her brother and the occasional villager outside her forest. It was difficult to gauge how to properly engage with this person.
“I am not exactly very skilled in talking to other people. I was alone for a long time before I got up the courage to travel outside my home.” She crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing a little to comfort herself.
“You must live a lonely life too. It’s hard for me to make friends, though.”

The guardian gives pause listening to her tale.  How hard it must be to have been alone for so long.  He knows.  Though now it tends to not bother him very much.  How long has it been, fifty-sixty years?  It’s all started to blur.  The world has changed but he’s remained.

“It is” he agrees, a rare truth from the Guardian who’s spent most of his immortal life shrouded in deception.  “But you’re here right?  Talking to me.  You should be proud of how far you’ve come”

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Truthfully she didn’t think much of her skills as a seamstress. It had taken so long to make it, and the only reason it came out as well as it did was because of dedicated she was to making it perfect for him. “You think so? Maybe if I get a little better but…”
There was that same hesitation for herself. Any time she thought about leaving, there was one more thing holding her back. “If I left, who would keep an eye on you, hm?” She teased, pushing gently at his shoulder.
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Her gentle push sends him to the soft grass below, spreading his arms over his head and linking his fingers together underneath his head.

“What are you kidding?” he says, watching the clouds above.  “I’d be able to ditch grandpa’s teachings whenever I wanted.  Wouldn’t have to worry about looking over my shoulder every time I decide to sneak out to the woods for a certain someone.”  He glances over at her “This is nice though.  I’d miss this if you were gone” 

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His cold question makes her freeze. It’s sort of the same statement that would come from the bullies her brother drove off. Aren’t you holding your brother down with such chatter? For having such silent parents, you’re a mouthy child–
Instead, the wolf beams. “We’re not strangers. We’re acquaintances now. We know each other’s names and we both have similar backgrounds with our weapons. I think that makes us brothers in arms.”
It’s every attempt she can make in not deflating.

“Yes that may be so” he concedes her point “but to trust a stranger so willingly with the knowledge that what you’re carrying has value.  Of its history, its lineage.  Is that really wise?”

So unlike himself who harbors all the ancient knowledge of his people, their traditions, and the grim history of the origins of the world.  Knowledge that will never again be known.  An entire culture erased from existence, better left forgot to protect the world...to protect him.

“That does not mean that I’m not impressed with your ability to sense other blades like your own.  That’s never happened to me before.  I usually try to go unnoticed when visiting a town.”

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gone but not forgotten,   cast between two words,  floating like a lilac dream held up high by silver strings.  fate can be cruel and that is why each thread is plucked thus,  why the stitch of pain blooms quicker than it heals.  she knows.  behold,  it is the world,  and she hurts.  she knows and she hurts,  there is no clear distinction,  no bloodletting,  merely weeping.  where the river ceases in its current,  creating a shrine of stagnation at the top of the mountain so no wishes may pass.  the prayers are counted before this tragedy had chance to unfold,  together with the deepest,  darkest secrets that laid buried inside his godhead heart.  
❛  let go.  ❜ her embrace gently tightens around him.  not in a possessive manner,  for she was not a possessive creature,  she was not the dreamless god.  instead,  her hands come to hold his own,  the elaborate tie of her robes flickers and whips around them both.  ❛  feel your grief,  and let go. ❜  winds whistle,  waves recede  ;  she shakes her head and smiles  ❛  you will not be alone when you fall.  ❜
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He’s since grown numb to the sensation of touch in recent years.  A defense his mortal mind has erected to shield him from the pain of taking lives with unhindered raw strength that comes from his unwanted godhood.  Try as he might he can never unsee the blood that stains his hands. They will never be clean. She does not smash through these barriers but circumvents them all together and her hands like the gentle morning sun kiss at pallor skin, restoring vibrance.

While he’s destined to prevent eternal slumber she is destined to bring endless light and with it, life.

His mortal mind is lost in her calming embrace, her words driving back the countless demons that eat away at him, and tears wet his face anew as he lets go.  He feels their grief, it is his own.  He may have been their executioner but that does not mean he doesn’t mourn. He is the last survivor of his people and he shall bear the burden of their sins.  But he will not let it define him.  His voice trembles as remorseful eyes glance up to meet her own.

“Does it ever get easier?”

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☆ Hm. Wonder what counts as a stranger these days… It was true. They had met countless times as he was a passerby through Midgar lately. Perhaps a merchant of his own regard? They had never discussed openly just who he was or what he did for a living. Seemed traveling was a trade in itself. Or maybe it best not pry where curiosity was not welcome. She nodded her head. Not a stranger. That’s a good title to have. 
It’s what she built her business up again from it’s rubble for, after all. “Kalm is past the forest’s edge. This is your cart, so I trust your instincts.”
He must have gone through him multiple times if just to get to Kalm. But if someone had higher aspirations, they would venture beyond the Marsh, where treacherous creatures lie in wait for flesh. Tifa stayed in the Midgar, not because it was safer, but because she didn’t see need to look further when she already knew what was there. 
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After she jumps on the wagon the Last Guardian gently flicks the reigns signaling the Chocobo to start their trek to Kalm.  It matters not how long he’s lived the fact that a primary mode of travel is glorified oversized chicken is still strange to him.  Though memory fails as to when, horses had simply died out.  So much time has passed that the world has simply forgotten their existence.

‘Agro...’

Grief briefly strikes his heart, his lips creasing into a slight frown as he remembers the midnight black thoroughbred that was his closest companion through the most trying time in his mortal life.  He would never forget her.

“I take it you’ve made this trip countless times, probably so much so you could do it blindfolded if its a primary supplier no?”

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“I guess life should be what you make of it.” Except, well, in the case of her lineage. Most of her family ended up taking up the sword and disappearing. They had their own destinies, and she knew that some of them had tried to fight it, to no avail.
“A keeper. I’m the keeper of my homeland, but I figured I should travel to see the world before I’m a guardian for good.” The shifter laughed tiredly before regarding the other once more.
“What’s your name? I’m Robin.”

She is...oddly open with someone she has only just met.  Vastly different from his own culture, one that was shrouded in mystery and kept a secret from the world.  For his people were the first.  The record keepers of the gods, protectors of this world from the dark forces that ceaselessly work to cross the veil of the spirit realm.  Or so they were.  The only memories of his people now rest with him, their existence having been wiped off the face of this earth.

“Wander” he answers.  “Forgive me but are you always this forthcoming when talking with strangers?”

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such is godliness.   when the time ticks but it does not shutter,  when the plum grows withered and rotten but does not fall.   to know of no other sacrifice than the one offered before you upon an altar of bones.  she witnesses the rise and decay of a thousand humble harvests and weeps over those golden fields every year,  every momentevery second.  he too will come to understand this ache,  lest the divinity be purged from his bones while there is still time.  in sleep there is no time,  merely fractures of seconds pulsing through an open wet wound.  to sleep.  to dream.  to wake.  it is too much to carry for a lofty spirit let alone a boy
❛  you are heard.  ❜   she embraces him fully this time,  the boon of the all - mother washes over like subtle, silent rain clouds. like a wash of wildflowers flushing at the soil.   ❛  you are not alone,  and i shan’t let you go.  ❜
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Like a sailor lost to the stormy seas the past year has rocked him to his core.  Hardened his heart to the cruel reality that is his new world.  He holds powers within that many would give their lives for and yet he wants nothing more than to die.  Alas, his desire would bring ruination and pull the universe into unending nothingness as Dormin desires nothing more than to unmake all creation itself.  This is his burden.  His curse.  For the happiness of all, Wander must sacrifice his own.  

The Last Guardian.

And like the weathered sailor, he’s in disbelief as he’s held in the arms of the Great Goddesses.

The eye of the storm.  

The countless voices that scream out from Tartarus, his army...his slaves...they are silent.

“What am I supposed to do?”

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@curseofthecolossi​
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❝ The human mind is such a fragile thing.      I do stay in awe at times with the ones that haven’t just took their life          from the sheer weight of such a tragedies.
Still…
How interesting to see beasts of legends just perish just like …❞ Snaps her fingers.
❝ ...that.
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"₮ⱧØɄ ₵₳₦₦Ø₮ ɆVɆ₦ ฿Ɇ₲ł₦ ₮Ø Ʉ₦ĐɆⱤ₴₮₳₦Đ ₩Ⱨ₳₮ ₩Ɇ ₳ⱤɆ"

He says through gritted teeth, eyes glaring at her with intense rage.  Though his lips move, the words he speaks seem to surround her.  Carried on the winds, thousands of voices speaking in discourse both male and female all gently kiss at her ears.

His mind is not his own, consciousness collides with another, one far older and far more sinister than the likes of which she has ever seen.

"₩Ɇ ₭₦Ø₩ ₮ⱧɆɆ...ɎɆ₴"

He breathes, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he extends a hand to her. 

“Đ₳Ʉ₲Ⱨ₮ɆⱤ Ø₣ ₮ⱧɆ ₦ł₲Ⱨ₮...Ɇ₥฿ØĐł₥Ɇ₦₮ Ø₣ ₵Ⱨ₳Ø₴.  ₮ɆⱠⱠ Ʉ₴ ₵ⱧłⱠĐ.  ₩ØɄⱠĐ ₮ⱧØɄ Ⱡł₭Ɇ ₮Ø ₴ɆɆ ₮ⱤɄɆ ₵Ⱨ₳Ø₴?”

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flames once housed inside the hearth have now splintered apart,  turned into an unfathomable inferno that threatens to spill over the still shivering cup.  such was the tremendousness of an ancient poem recited over and over again,  until all words have turned pale and hollow,  until their meaning shrivels up beneath their syllables and no one dare recite them again.  a pause in the crashing waves.  a mountain once unmoved now cracks. once sublime,  plentiful waters now run red with the colour of longing and rage. 
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❛  do not deny your grief.  ❜   she comes to cradle beside him  ;  that single,  overlapping light that refuses to be snuffed out by the wayward waters and punishing shadows.  reaching out,  one hand laced with starfire and heralded by satin,  comes to press against his cheek.  the  touch is radiating,  maternal       all things at once.   ❛  deny your rage and anger,  do not let it swallow you whole.  
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Time slows to a halt as her warmth envelops him, swaddles him like a newborn.  In an instant, all the darkness that surrounds him...that fills him is burned away by the light she emanates.  Color fills his cheeks and spreads along his skin pushing back corruption.  A dark crimson hue spreads from his roots ousting the pale white from his unkempt locks as eyes lose their other-worldly blue glow.  

Though he stood against his people, overcame impossible odds, died sixteen times and conquered the will of a god that predates creation itself, he is still just a boy.

Trembling hands tightly grip at her kimono as tears well anew and softly he weeps.  Weeps for his family.  Weeps for his people.  Weeps for himself...weeps for her.

“I’m scared...”

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“Exile…” The word foreign to her lips. For there was little experience concerning the world where others found themselves ostracized by social circumstances rather than the grandeur of a meteor collapsing on the planet. Destruction by mako reactors going haywire. A plate crushing citizens. ShinRa taking over town and running ragged the regulars that used to only go fishing for commercial trading. 
A breath. She dare not press further. The presumption to do so from before had dissipated with the air. Fingers clenched to dishware, yet smile stayed constant. A facade of reassurance for those that felt the strain of losing what family they had.
Though worry permeated her mind, a smile was the least she could do. 
“You know, I used to be wanted in Midgar. Not… In the good kind of way. But time changes things. People change. Who you meet. They don’t always have to be strangers.
Oh! We need to get going if we’re gonna make it on time.”
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A soft smile spreads across his face acknowledging her words.  Though his people are no more, separated by the impossible gap of time that doesn’t mean he has to remain alone.  That is the whole purpose of him coming out of exile every few hundred years or so.  Immortal or not, Wander was born just a man.  Though his features do not age his view on mortality and time is quite different from gods.  Being alone for two long-well...he’s better off interacting with others every now and again to retain what little is left from his life as a man.

“Well you’re not a stranger” he notes.  Not quite a friend but certainly past being an acquaintance that’s for sure.  He thought it odd to travel with someone that was anything less.

“Oh, shoot you’re right.  I’d hate to make you late!” He’s not even finished speaking, as he begins to grab the last few remaining items before throwing them in the cart and hopping in, ready to continue.

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This land is strange, dead yet alive. In a sense, so was the boy before her. He had an air to him that was so strange. Instincts jumbled in her gut, she fought with them for meaning within her own head.
“Blood is blood.” The wolf sagely nods, before snickering at her own seriousness. She couldn’t stand the silence that hung between them, not even for one second. It seems ebbed with smoke.
“I’m gonna guess your sword has some crazy prophecy behind it too? Feels like every damn sword has one.”

The Guardian looks down are the sword by his side before giving a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders.

Of course it had.  The Sacred Blade had many names in his culture but regardless of what people called it, it was a sword of prophecy.  One of that could bring about salvation or ruin depending on the wielder.  It is both the beginning and the end.

“Never much cared for stuff like that.  A sword is a sword, it doesn’t matter to me what people have said about it in the past.  It’s important to me because its a family heirloom.  I am its keeper, like my father before me and his father before him.” 

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“Oh! You heard that? Must have good ears.” Her hands clapped gingerly together. Barely a noise over the static of her radio, or squeak of ceiling fan as it turned. Tifa nodded her head eagerly, a hand waving towards a stool by the bar. 
“You’re right! Today’s my birthday. Can’t believe how much time as passed, huh?”

Sandal-wrapped feet carry him across the threshold at being invited in.

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“That’s right, I’m a hunter by trade so picking up sound is something I’d like to think I’m good at,” he says with a smile as walks into an empty bar, eyes widen growing apologetic.

“Oh-I didn’t realize.  Um...are you closed?” his voice quieter than before “I can always come back at a more reasonable hour”

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☆ One knock, two. So late in the night, or was this considered morning by now? She tucked loose hair behind her ear and went around her bar to open door. Had she forgotten to unlock? Chime of the bell made sweet noise as a greeting came natural between her lips. But she stopped. 
“Oh! It’s you. Passing by kind of late aren’t you? You okay?”
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He offers her a cheerful smile and sheepish wave of the hand

“I was just passing through when I couldn’t help but notice the lights still on inside.  Thought I might stop by to chat.  I’m doing alright, thanks for asking.  Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but could it perhaps be your birthday today?”

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☆ She hummed softly to herself while running water over pots and glasses. Her doors were open for a late night cap depending on what customers might stop by. There were many vagabonds these days. 
Hm hm… Happy birthday to me.
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Silent are his footsteps as he reaches the threshold to the empty bar.  His arm raised ready to gently rap against the open old oak door when he stops to listen.  The still air and even stiller streets make it easy to hear her gentle tune, the soft melody carrying through the empty bar.  It’s familiar even to him, the celebration of one's birth.  He smiles softly to himself before gently knocking at the door.

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Robin eyed the sword, even though the hand guarding it acts as a sign to stay away. She wouldn’t go near it. Just very curious, is all.
“Like my sword. My papa had it and his grandfather before him. It’s said to be the blade of evil’s bane.” The wolf hummed, wondering if she should show it off and try to get his approval.
“Yours looks a lot like mine. Maybe they’re blood sisters.”

For the first time in a long time, his interest is piqued.  She forces him to see her.  To stand out from the blur of those that pass by.  After a while, the living become no different from the dead.  They’d all reach their ends one day, everyone but him. 

Steel hues are cast down to the sword by her side, his essence calling to it.  To his surprise, it calls back.  His brows wrinkle in surprise before returning to their resting position as he stares at her sword.

“Not blood sisters but...” he pauses in thought “More like distant cousins it would seem”

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