Alcina had a dream. A dream of an innocent young man thrown into the dying world. A dream of a man who wanted to find a home. It was a simple dream of a man who wants to find a place in a world he was thrown to.
It was a dream of a young man who was thrown into the chaos.
A young man who knew of peace, and witnesses a world turn into ruins.
It was never about courage, bravery, desire, and it never was love that drove him to fight.
Without a choice, he picked up the sword and admired a beautiful mountain flower. However, the flower turned out to be thorny, full of malice, and he could not escape it. He was under a spell. That spell kept him from looking away, yet the young man fought, not only for the woman who charmed him under a spell but for those who he called friends, fighting through a war that would consume the light.
It was a tale of a young man whose light could not be broken. Still, it was also a tale of a lonely woman, whose life had been torn to shreds, yet decided to save the world for it. It was a tale of two, but mostly, it was a tale of the young man who stayed strong, who did not shed his tears.
Then, it was a tale of a man who could only follow the woman he idolized. A tale of a soldier who fought with his companions and fellow soldiers, a tale of a soldier who fought to hold the line, a tale of a sad man whose love did not go well.
Then, it was a tale of a man whose only happiness is the end that waits for him. A simple wish that by the end of his life, he would find death and that death would embrace him - a tale of a man who fought for too long and whose only happiness was the thought of death that is to come. Accepting it, yearning for it, the man still fought, fighting in front, not denying his soul to the dance of battle.
It was a dream of an old man who had seen things. A dream of an old man walking under a sunless sky, an old man who walks a wasteland, guiding young soldiers, and offering what he knew, when the better and wisest choice was to abandon them to the fray.
This was a dream of an old man who thought he was unloved. An old man who fought for too long, that the thought of someone loving him was unfathomable. It was an old man who yearns for peace, knowing that such a dream has been turned to ashes.
Alcina had a dream.
A dream of this old man facing the last battle. Charging through the fray, fighting with the last of his soul burning, only to be sent away by those who sent away, it was a dream of an old man whose heart finally bled, seeing his comrades, companions, and friends seen him away.
Alcina heard them.
“Go and live old man! You have for too long!”
The old man did not hear it. He could only escape the battle in hopes that the voices of their hearts would be heard. That the world knows that those who fought reached the ends of the world, fighting as one. The old man didn’t care, only wanting to fulfill the wish of others.
Alcina had a dream.
The dream of an old man who walked the desert of the dead, living as best as he can, hoping to give the message, not minding the diseases that turns his body into a corpse, not caring about his illness, this man still fought, fighting with all of his life, in hopes that he could give those who give him the burden of their words.
Alas, despite the will, the aging body had taken its toll, and finally the old man succumbed to his death, and in his final minutes, he saw it, it was a beautiful scenery, a beauty he could not fathom, a scene of the light splitting the clouds apart, the darkness breaking, and the wasted lands, blooming, he knows it was blooming somewhere, the tainted land turning fresh, and his old lungs inhaling it.
The warmth of the sun, that big ball of sunlight, embracing him, made the old man fell asleep. The old man let go, happy that finally, death has taken him, and that he can rest.
Then Alcina dreamed of a stubborn woman that fought through the void where even the gods would falter. A woman who held the hope of meeting her husband, only to grieve in front of his grave, and ended her life to follow him.
Then, it became a dream of hope, of a woman who wore a purple robe, and her dreams of meeting.
Then, this dream became a nightmare, a nightmare of a young man thrown into a cycle of repeated suffering. All because of a collective of thought, and that of a woman who turned goddess, too afraid, too lonely, and too hateful to accept that such a madwoman like her could be loved. A woman who had done her best to destroy a will that was like a wind.
Alcina had a nightmare of a man who can’t escape, then a dream of that same man being sent home, leaving a single fragment to the world that had torn him, and beaten down.
Alcina recalled the hands of a young man who would reach out to heavens. Oh, he was sweet, that Alcina, the Cheery, could not help but chimed in, and helped him. She had helped that young man. And she had been doing her best to make his reach his end.
She recalled the old man who died in the desert, his ten fingers laid on the ground. And then she thought of the young man who suffers an endless nightmare, hoping, unwilling, charging on to find a light in the darkness, using all of his seven fingers to tear through the blockage of misery.