Ea
03-19-2023, 01:55 PM
The group continues to spin into different memories, snapshots of peace and stories of love between the sea and the sky until the sprites bring them to a rocky beach. The group is silent as they watch a young Stratosian filly land — this memory seems different, somehow, but Ea can’t place why. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a Baltian colt emerge, startling the filly and himself. They begin to play, finding their way to a rocky cove.
She watches the scene take place in horror, eyes wide, unable to look away.
She takes a frantic step forward, towards where the children fall and blood rises to the water’s surface, but stops herself. She cannot change this, she knows, she knows, and yet tears begin to roll down her face. Perhaps it should be comforting that they will die in every timeline — that there is nothing Ea or anyone else could have done to save these children or her own, lost to the Reckoning — but she isn’t comforted. So, as night falls, she moves further down the beach, away from the rest of the group, and cries: they begin softly, but quickly become huge, choking, gasping sobs. Sobs not only for these children and hers but her parents, her love, her land.
And then, when she runs out of tears, she turns on her haunches and leaves it all behind.
At first, she thinks she will be allowed to sleep but instead, the sprites move her, alone, into the next morning. Clouds hang overhead and the beach is foggy at first, as the Baltians bring the remains of the children onto the beach, but the fog gives way as a pair of Stratosians land. As the Stratosians take in the scene of the Baltians standing over the dead children, tempers flare. The Stratosians seem to be more volatile, quick to anger and attack, but the Baltians lock hardened eyes, prepared to defend themselves. One of the Stratosians steps towards the Baltians —
“Wait! WAIT!” Ea screams, revealing herself from behind a large group of rocks a short distance away from the group. She’s spoken before she knows what else to say — how could she possibly convince them that it had been an accident, that what they see with their own eyes was just a misunderstanding?
And then, she thinks, they should see it with their own eyes.
“I know you don’t know me, but it was an accident,” she says, walking closer to them, “just watch.”
She draws from the clouds, from the darkness and the light, until they combine to form wisps of yesterday’s scene, like a hazy dream. She shows them the filly and the colt playing, laughter, and the Giant Roc above, hunting. She shows them the rocks falling from the cliff where the Roc is perched, striking the colt dead before he even reaches the water. She shows them the filly, jumping in to save the colt but struggling before she, too, is struck by rocks, dragging her down. And, finally, she shows them the water stained red.
“Please,” she pants, exhausted from her display, “please believe me.”
She watches the scene take place in horror, eyes wide, unable to look away.
She takes a frantic step forward, towards where the children fall and blood rises to the water’s surface, but stops herself. She cannot change this, she knows, she knows, and yet tears begin to roll down her face. Perhaps it should be comforting that they will die in every timeline — that there is nothing Ea or anyone else could have done to save these children or her own, lost to the Reckoning — but she isn’t comforted. So, as night falls, she moves further down the beach, away from the rest of the group, and cries: they begin softly, but quickly become huge, choking, gasping sobs. Sobs not only for these children and hers but her parents, her love, her land.
And then, when she runs out of tears, she turns on her haunches and leaves it all behind.
At first, she thinks she will be allowed to sleep but instead, the sprites move her, alone, into the next morning. Clouds hang overhead and the beach is foggy at first, as the Baltians bring the remains of the children onto the beach, but the fog gives way as a pair of Stratosians land. As the Stratosians take in the scene of the Baltians standing over the dead children, tempers flare. The Stratosians seem to be more volatile, quick to anger and attack, but the Baltians lock hardened eyes, prepared to defend themselves. One of the Stratosians steps towards the Baltians —
“Wait! WAIT!” Ea screams, revealing herself from behind a large group of rocks a short distance away from the group. She’s spoken before she knows what else to say — how could she possibly convince them that it had been an accident, that what they see with their own eyes was just a misunderstanding?
And then, she thinks, they should see it with their own eyes.
“I know you don’t know me, but it was an accident,” she says, walking closer to them, “just watch.”
She draws from the clouds, from the darkness and the light, until they combine to form wisps of yesterday’s scene, like a hazy dream. She shows them the filly and the colt playing, laughter, and the Giant Roc above, hunting. She shows them the rocks falling from the cliff where the Roc is perched, striking the colt dead before he even reaches the water. She shows them the filly, jumping in to save the colt but struggling before she, too, is struck by rocks, dragging her down. And, finally, she shows them the water stained red.
“Please,” she pants, exhausted from her display, “please believe me.”
you get dragged down, down to the same spot enough times in a row
the bottom begins to feel like the only safe place that you know