Chapter Text
Make a wish, for the clockwork star!
-
He dreams.
He dreams of a world of light shining from a world unimaginably far from his own; He dreams of a cliffside, bright and shaded, teeming with life and courage.
There's a group of warriors with unimaginable power standing across his vision, a full legion of man and intelligent beasts and more unidentified figures- he feels the urge approach them and express his gratitude, to salute them for their bravery and honor by kneeling and offering his sword; but he knows that It's a vision of reality, future and present and past unmattering under his invisible veil of unconscious.
The leader- No, merely a commander, he realizes, the group having absolutely no sense of rank division except for their personal roles, strong bond of friendship, and occasional rivalry- points his blade against the sky and offers a "We can each take about ten." that's followed by a chuckle from some sword wielders by his side and a mirthful retort from two orange and blue figures that replies with a "Yeah, we're totally going to kill ten of those things by covering them with ink and kicking them hard, sure."
One of the mages- Seemingly royal, guessing from her garments- steps out and declares that there would be no fleeing from their side, earning a cacophony of cheers, friendly agreements and some reluctant affirmatives.
He can't help but feel at ease surrounded by their visibly evident comfort around each other; he settles to a group of children surrounded by a wall of discreetly protective adults with a small sense of childlike glee, watching a blonde child meekly asking a rowdy set of twins to turn around and face the-
And that's when he finally sees the thing they are fighting against.
The celestial being floats Idly across a miniscule cliff, occupied with a group of beings so utterly powerless against its will; and as the exact second the realization that there would be absolutely zero chance of anyone survive to tell the tale hits him,
"WE CAN'T WIN THIS! RUN!"
A desperate plea of someone that knew the fact that absolutely every possible warning was too late anymore,
And It's over.
In a fraction of eternity, it destroys the world.
It's not the end of the world, surprizingly.
It's the utter destruction of a world.
The sheer force of blinding power blows away like they are nothing more than a thin layer of dust across the table, atomizing half- no, almost all- of the defenceless group in a span of seconds.
He sees too little and too much, unconsciously hugging himself as his vision crashes into chaotic shards of ended lives:
The Hero and the Mercenary is the first to fall, the royal mage following shortly after as her goddess's protection fails against the light hellbent on destruction; the commander is struck in the place of a man wielding a golden sword, his effort proving meaningless as the light gathers effortlessly even before the man gets the chance to shake off the utter shock and horror of his gaze.
A King succumbs in a blind effort to save his child, his roar of fire disintegrating as the same moment as a Battler who refused to leave his three partners in the threat of death; the Prince succumbs despite his father's effort, tearfully searching for his father until the last second he burns.
A broken twin, elder with curling fire, standing with unbridled anger and determination; the royalty he served had fallen from the first wave of destruction, and his brother with cackling thunder had been the one who took the blow in his place- his fire crackles with the pure flames of revenge, two streaks of inferno roaring across the air until there's nothing but floating ashes left in his footsteps.
A Tactitian and a Warrior jumps in front of a knight at the same time, sheilding the blow that was aimed for her with no second thought; the Knight merely has the time to desperately grab at the only remains of her family - A discarded tome and a abandoned blade - and whisper a tearful "Take me to Father, I beg of you." as she lowers her gaze to disintegrate with the tome in her arms.
The light simply evaporates the rock where the orange and blue ink is melded on; A grizzled soilder pulls a set of children under a flimsy cover of a cardbard box, determined to shield them from the fear of inevitable death; A goddess sacrifices herself for her cohorts, only for the twin set of angels fall to their demise as the light shatters her protection like glass; A being defter than the winds tries to save a soul, only to lose his own altogether.
They burn, one by one, taken by surprise or anger or simple resignation; there's less than a half left after the eternal fraction of a second, then a handful, then-
A boy stands alone across a bloodless calamity.
An Oracle, he realizes with a sad finalty.
An Oracle who was defenceless against utter destruction of everyone he loved; his gift of seeing over flow of time bending into a curse against fate utterly unchangeable.
A group of such powerful warriors definitely would have had an Oracle in their legion, he wistfully muses, watching the boy jump across with graceful ease; he wonders whether if his warnings was ignored by it's sheer bizzareness, or whether it was simply a vision came too late.
There's a chaotic mix of utter regret and despaired acceptance pooling in his eyes- he holds his blade in a way more like a dying soldier clutching a rosary rather than a warrior wielding a sword, his visions aiding him to dodge incoming steaks of light well enough to be in the handful of survivors from the previously crowded group of warriors.
He levels his blade against the sky, towards a shooting star streaking hapzardly across multiples of blinding destruction- and he breathes, and he breathes, and he cries out a "MONADO, SPEED!" with such utter desperateness that it sounds like a plea against the almighty rather than a cast for a spell.
The star glows green for a fraction of a second, then shoots away into a world unknown with a pleasant sound that reminds him of silver bells and a shatter of stardust; the Oracle sags in visible relief, softly kneeling against the floor as the exhaustion finally takes over.
He turns his head to the direction that the light is fated to strike, the action coincidentally locking their eyes- a stare of complete resignation against his own, a blank broken blue staring across the carnage of a bloodless massacre.
A streak of shattered prism;
Galeem sings, gracefully clear, hideously beautiful.
And It's over.
Just like that.