Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Reflections ❯ Fate Stirs. Fate Ripples. ( Prologue )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Kekepania 
An introduction to those who know and fear the calm before the storm.
Anime/Manga: Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.06.2001 | Pages: 2 | Words: 904 | Visits: 597 | Status: Work In Progress
An introduction to those who know and fear the calm before the storm.
Anime/Manga: Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.06.2001 | Pages: 2 | Words: 904 | Visits: 597 | Status: Work In Progress
Reflections
By Kekepania
Prologue: Fate Stirs. Fate Ripples.
Emperor Dornkirk of the Ziabach empire was dead, now, his corpse lying
in its own black blood. On the floor below lay the true heir to the
Fanalian thrown, black wings torn and crushed beneath his body, eyes
wide, clouded. Dead. Unseeing. The Mystic Moon girl carried away by an
angel. The scene lays quiet, crackling with energy. Fate stirs. Fate
ripples. An entire empire teetering on the edge of the abyss, an
entire way of life, an entire governmental system, crashing to the
ground. And Dornkirk, the man who out ran his own death, now lays in
the flickering light and shadows of his own creations. Darkness dances
across his face, and then a flicker of light, a ghastly expression.
His eyes are wide, staring to the ceiling, unseeing. A grim, horrible
smile has made its way on his face somewhere between life and death.
His cheeks stiff and tainted blue from his demise, his lips painted
sloppily with a crimson, drying pain. Nothing moves. Nothing breaths.
And then fate stirs. Fate ripples.
*******
A brother watches his sister sleeping, her limbs tangled beneath her,
a white innocence on her face. Home, home to him. He let out a breath.
He was trembling. He was exhausted. He refused to give up his vigil.
Sleep could wait as he watched a girl he hadn't laid eyes on in ten
years, yet had fought against for the last few months. She stirred, a
smile gracing her face. He watched with a detached interest, but his
focus zoned in on her again as her smile faded into a frown, then a
grimace of terror. The first nightmares had hit, as Allen Schezar had
known they would. A pale sweat broke her skin and he reached out to
her, his fingertips grazing her wrist. She jerked away, as did he. An
energy had sparked between them, a dark, twisting energy, and then she
was sitting up, crying out, her eyes bright blue. But tinted with red.
She was immediately in her brother's arms, whispering unintelligible
things in the darkness. The blue shot through with red of her eyes
shifted and melted into its usual hue. Silence fell. Peace settled.
Then Allen stirred with a shutter, some strange dread tickling up his
spine, though the war was over. He listened. His grip tightened on his
sister as he felt something whispering by the door to the moonlit
room, then sliding beneath. Something even he couldn't fight. His
fingers tangling with her hair, he felt it drift towards them,
touchdown shortly. Celena's eyes glistened red. Then faded to tired
blue. Even the soldier within her was tired of his fight. The power
passed them by, left them to themselves. Drifted off in search of its
own solace.
Because fate stirs. Fate ripples.
*********
The power drifted, hunting, and a girl dressed in a heavy, warm
nightgown sat up in bed. Her wide gold eyes surveyed the room,
searching for the intruder. Then she shuddered. Closed her eyes. Gave
into a thing she had given into a million times before. She shivered
violently, her eyes clenching shut then snapping open, unseeing. Blue
painted her lips, her fingertips, and a deep, blood loving crimson
blended with the gold of her eyes. She stopped shivering, her eyes
falling shut, her body collapsing onto the thick mattress she slept
on. A dark, horrible grin formed on her face even as crystal tears
tainted red with her own blood slithered down her cheeks. The room
hummed with a dark, man made energy that would not let itself die out.
Fate stirs. Fate ripples.
And fate finds those sacrificed to her.
*********
The silence reigns, the stench of blood hangs heavily in the air. A
strange electricity buzzes through the quiet, laps at the blood, then
surrounds a still figure. A glow, a life energy. And then there is
stirring, gasping for breath, wiping at dried, itching blood. He sits
up, his ruby eyes wide, his once blue skin now a healthy, pink shade,
though still a bit dim due to the nature of how he had lived his life
for the last few years. He breathed in deeply then grimaced, staring
down at the blood he lay in. His own blood, he realizes. His eyes
widen with horror and he looks himself over, remembering the moment of
his death, but not remembering the in-between. All looks well. Too
well. An iron appendage is tarnished with crimson, laying next to him,
no longer needed as he looks at a limb he hadn't seen, felt in years.
Behind him, black wings arch, ebony feathers floating down, their
color not seeming to change as they touched down on the puddles of
liquid around him. He looked up, tears of guilt and relief intermixing
with his usually solemn features.
Fate stirs. Fate ripples.
And she rewards the creator that made her.
***********
All is good, think Hitomi of the Mystic Moon. All is well. Even as she
trembles she thinks this. As she stares up at the sky. Something is
not dead that should be. A fate tainted by mankind, laid to rest and
plan when it should have been devoured by the night around it. She
shakes her head. Closes her eyes. Thinks of the people and things she
holds dear, even as she whispers.
"Fate stirs. Fate ripples. And fate doesn't die."
By Kekepania
Prologue: Fate Stirs. Fate Ripples.
Emperor Dornkirk of the Ziabach empire was dead, now, his corpse lying
in its own black blood. On the floor below lay the true heir to the
Fanalian thrown, black wings torn and crushed beneath his body, eyes
wide, clouded. Dead. Unseeing. The Mystic Moon girl carried away by an
angel. The scene lays quiet, crackling with energy. Fate stirs. Fate
ripples. An entire empire teetering on the edge of the abyss, an
entire way of life, an entire governmental system, crashing to the
ground. And Dornkirk, the man who out ran his own death, now lays in
the flickering light and shadows of his own creations. Darkness dances
across his face, and then a flicker of light, a ghastly expression.
His eyes are wide, staring to the ceiling, unseeing. A grim, horrible
smile has made its way on his face somewhere between life and death.
His cheeks stiff and tainted blue from his demise, his lips painted
sloppily with a crimson, drying pain. Nothing moves. Nothing breaths.
And then fate stirs. Fate ripples.
*******
A brother watches his sister sleeping, her limbs tangled beneath her,
a white innocence on her face. Home, home to him. He let out a breath.
He was trembling. He was exhausted. He refused to give up his vigil.
Sleep could wait as he watched a girl he hadn't laid eyes on in ten
years, yet had fought against for the last few months. She stirred, a
smile gracing her face. He watched with a detached interest, but his
focus zoned in on her again as her smile faded into a frown, then a
grimace of terror. The first nightmares had hit, as Allen Schezar had
known they would. A pale sweat broke her skin and he reached out to
her, his fingertips grazing her wrist. She jerked away, as did he. An
energy had sparked between them, a dark, twisting energy, and then she
was sitting up, crying out, her eyes bright blue. But tinted with red.
She was immediately in her brother's arms, whispering unintelligible
things in the darkness. The blue shot through with red of her eyes
shifted and melted into its usual hue. Silence fell. Peace settled.
Then Allen stirred with a shutter, some strange dread tickling up his
spine, though the war was over. He listened. His grip tightened on his
sister as he felt something whispering by the door to the moonlit
room, then sliding beneath. Something even he couldn't fight. His
fingers tangling with her hair, he felt it drift towards them,
touchdown shortly. Celena's eyes glistened red. Then faded to tired
blue. Even the soldier within her was tired of his fight. The power
passed them by, left them to themselves. Drifted off in search of its
own solace.
Because fate stirs. Fate ripples.
*********
The power drifted, hunting, and a girl dressed in a heavy, warm
nightgown sat up in bed. Her wide gold eyes surveyed the room,
searching for the intruder. Then she shuddered. Closed her eyes. Gave
into a thing she had given into a million times before. She shivered
violently, her eyes clenching shut then snapping open, unseeing. Blue
painted her lips, her fingertips, and a deep, blood loving crimson
blended with the gold of her eyes. She stopped shivering, her eyes
falling shut, her body collapsing onto the thick mattress she slept
on. A dark, horrible grin formed on her face even as crystal tears
tainted red with her own blood slithered down her cheeks. The room
hummed with a dark, man made energy that would not let itself die out.
Fate stirs. Fate ripples.
And fate finds those sacrificed to her.
*********
The silence reigns, the stench of blood hangs heavily in the air. A
strange electricity buzzes through the quiet, laps at the blood, then
surrounds a still figure. A glow, a life energy. And then there is
stirring, gasping for breath, wiping at dried, itching blood. He sits
up, his ruby eyes wide, his once blue skin now a healthy, pink shade,
though still a bit dim due to the nature of how he had lived his life
for the last few years. He breathed in deeply then grimaced, staring
down at the blood he lay in. His own blood, he realizes. His eyes
widen with horror and he looks himself over, remembering the moment of
his death, but not remembering the in-between. All looks well. Too
well. An iron appendage is tarnished with crimson, laying next to him,
no longer needed as he looks at a limb he hadn't seen, felt in years.
Behind him, black wings arch, ebony feathers floating down, their
color not seeming to change as they touched down on the puddles of
liquid around him. He looked up, tears of guilt and relief intermixing
with his usually solemn features.
Fate stirs. Fate ripples.
And she rewards the creator that made her.
***********
All is good, think Hitomi of the Mystic Moon. All is well. Even as she
trembles she thinks this. As she stares up at the sky. Something is
not dead that should be. A fate tainted by mankind, laid to rest and
plan when it should have been devoured by the night around it. She
shakes her head. Closes her eyes. Thinks of the people and things she
holds dear, even as she whispers.
"Fate stirs. Fate ripples. And fate doesn't die."