[Hunger...] The giant grey serpent slowly coiled around Soren's form as it floated in the void—a predator claiming its prey.
Its three pairs of rainbow eyes stared at him. [Hunger...]
Soren opened his eyes to it. The hold on him was tight, and it was getting even tighter. He tried to struggle, but it was to no avail. The snake's mouth opened wide.
And then a loud HISS—its forked tongue dancing in the air, it dove to swallow—
"NO!!!" Soren's eyes shot open. He sat upright, eyes darting about the place. His chest heaved, and his blood raced. The contracting feeling had instantly disappeared, but some tightness lingered.
He looked below. His hands—no, his entire body—were bandaged.
The worn-out cockpit of the Bulb had been far from comfortable. Added to what he went through, he now had multiple injuries marking his body.
He was alone in this room.
The smell of the mixtures filled the air, but it was unlike the conventional oil smell he was used to.
Medicine.
He concluded.
There was some leftover in a bowl on the wooden table at his side, together with a pair of scissors and some unused bandages.
The room was bright, with aether-powered lamps scattered throughout. It had been a long time since he had seen them.
Even the workshop used coal or fuel like the rest of the town. Machos had some, but because of the cost of maintenance and the lack of aether to fuel them, he swore to use them only during 'emergencies.' Of course, that was another fancy word for 'my precious...' Another of his collections, which he admired but never used.
The thought of the old man brought memories flooding back to his mind.
—His blood, the eldritch flames... Those green eyes.
His heart raced again as a thought came to his head. "Machos... Machos is..."
He turned to his right. The scissors were on the table.
Through the pain ravaging his entire body, he leaned for it, and without wasting time, he brought it to his neck.
SCHHHLLLL.... He slit his throat.
[You died.]
————-—-—————-—-
He woke up again, still in the same room, with the same bandages, the same smell of medicine... and scissors on the table.
"No! No! No!" he muttered in denial as he leaned for the scissors again.
SCHHHLLLL.... He slit his throat.
[You died.]
————-—-—————-—-
[You died.]
————-—-—————-—-
[You died.]
————-—-—————-—-
[You died.]
————-—-—————-—-
He wanted to slit his throat again, but the scissors fell from his trembling fingers. The sobbing, uncontrollable and suffocating came from within.
And then hot tears fell.
"What good is this power if it can't bring him back? Please take it from me. I don't care If I have to fight another damn eldritch, just... just give him back. Give me back my Machos... My father."
His fingers dug so deeply into his palm that he bled. But the pain brought no comfort. Soren was long past the stage in his life where pain could bring relief. This loss, this burden—he would have to carry it alone.
He coiled, folding himself on the bed for some comfort. Even a hug from someone might have helped.
But comfort escaped him. At least it felt that way.
Machos, that old man with a greasy bald head who whipped him into shape but was always willing to dive into battle on his behalf, with a wrench in hand, was now no more.
Soren felt like his life had lost its way.
It had lost all meaning. He had lost that 'smile.'
In this state of deep grief, he did not even notice the door open.
A deep, manly voice that commanded attention spoke. "Everything that happens is as familiar and customary as the rose in spring and the fruit in summer. Such is disease, such is death, such is slander..." He walked into the room, boots kissing the earth loudly enough to announce his arrival. "Such is every event that befalls fools and wise men alike."
It was Commander Jared. He had a book in his hand. On its back was titled "The Discipline of Sorrow." (First volume)
Soren might have been poor, but school was necessary even in poverty. It was one thing the empire ensured all children had access to, as it allowed for the continuous praise of its values, traditions, and Soul Mecha legacy.
After all, dreams were never dreams without external stimulation. It was only natural to control the source of inspiration.
Everyone knew this, but no one minded it. Soul Mechas were just too incredible to ignore.
As Commander Jared walked towards Soren, the boy turned to him, sitting upright as he tried to wipe away his tears.
Seeing him closer, Soren had to admit that he was indeed a huge man with the right kind of presence. The Commander stained his fingers with some saliva, then flipped to another page: "...When you have lost a thing, or a person, remember that nothing of what has happened is new or strange. Every event is familiar and customary, one might say, to the human race."
He raised his head from the book, eyes locking with Soren's as he whispered, as if aiming to talk into his soul. "Boy... Death smiles at us all. And all we can do is smile back. It is all we should do."
He threw the book to Soren, and the boy instinctively caught the journal.
"Inspired by the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Written by the First Soulbound Pilot During the First Generational War." Commander Jared stopped by the edge of the bed. "Let this be the first lesson you learn as a Soulbound warrior. There is no time to stop and mourn. We are all in a continuous state of grief..."
After that, he turned and walked to the door. He reached for the handle, but before he stepped out, he paused. "You did well, kid. If there is anything you want, as long as it's within my power, I'll do it." He gave a smile that was not a smile. "You have a VERY bumpy future ahead of you. And oh, We move out by 6:30. Be ready by 6:00. Your instructors won't be so kind."
But before he could leave, Soren called to him, "Wait! Please, there is something I'd like. It concerns my friend's mother. She has ectoplasmic poisoning."
Commander Jared gave a side smile.
'So he breaks the norm, and even when he is grieving, he still thinks of others. We might have struck goldwith this one.'
"I'll handle it."
The door closed behind him.
Soren was filled with pain emotionally, physically, and mentally, but even he could tell that Commander Jared was trying to help him cope with it all. He cuddled himself on the bed once more...