[Before you, a green-haired soldier falls to his knees, defeated in battle. He was wearing a mask, but it clatters to the ground, and even before he has time to shield his face you know...your suspicions are finally confirmed.
Because he has your face, too.
The others around you startle as they see it, too, so you decide there's no point in hiding this anymore. You sigh, stepping forward.
Just as I thought...you are also a replica of the Fon Master.
The others stare at you, faces torn in shock, so you persist. Your words feel like stones as they echo back in your ears.
I'm Fon Master Ion's seventh replica: the final one. You glance guiltily over your shoulder toward Anise. I'm sorry. It's only been about two years since I was born.
You can tell what she's thinking before she says it: the reason that she was assigned to you so suddenly, the reason the other guardians were dismissed: it's all because you were a fake. It's all been one big lie. The replica on the ground speaks, so you're able to tear your eyes back away from her and face him.
You had the closest abilities to the original unlike us trash.
Your stomach churns in violent discomfort.
Don't call yourself that.
He doesn't even meet your eyes, his teeth gritted in pain and bitterness.
That's what I am. My powers were so weak I was cast alive into the mouth of the Mt. Zaleho volcano. A replica that can't serve as a replacement is nothing more than garbage.
You try again. Desperation claws away at your ribcage.
Don't talk like that. You can come with us--you and I are the same!
You step toward him as he staggers back to his feet and extend him a hand. You hope...you hope...
And he slaps your hand away, angry, hateful. You're used to the hatred of the Grand Maestro, but this is something different. This is an intimate, deep-seeded resentment that is much more personal than a man hating you for what you are. This is someone hating you for everything that you took away from them. Everything you never wanted, and that you can't give back. The sting in your hand travels all the way up your arm.
No, we're not. I'm only alive to be used. Only the useful ones are ever kept alive...out of pity.
You don't know what to say, but you don't have time to react as, without a word, he steps backward, off the edge of the landing you stand on, into a chasm of certain death. Your whole body feels still as you watch the void where the other you once was. Your heart is pounding so badly it hurts, but you don't move. You don't know what to do, what to say. You don't know what you feel. But your eyes are burning and raw, your face hot.
Anise steps forward to examine the spot where Sync once was, then turns to look at you and her face falls.
Ion, please don't cry.
Her words confuse you.
I'm not crying, you assure.
But, those tears...
You lift a hand to your cheek, and find it comes away wet. You still don't know what to say.
I guess I was sad, you decide. This is the first time I've ever cried.
You understand now, this wrenching in your chest. You understand that the fear was never just fear. It was always heartache. Always loneliness. Always sorrow. Always everything terrible all at once.
WEDNESDAY
Because he has your face, too.
The others around you startle as they see it, too, so you decide there's no point in hiding this anymore. You sigh, stepping forward.
Just as I thought...you are also a replica of the Fon Master.
The others stare at you, faces torn in shock, so you persist. Your words feel like stones as they echo back in your ears.
I'm Fon Master Ion's seventh replica: the final one. You glance guiltily over your shoulder toward Anise. I'm sorry. It's only been about two years since I was born.
You can tell what she's thinking before she says it: the reason that she was assigned to you so suddenly, the reason the other guardians were dismissed: it's all because you were a fake. It's all been one big lie. The replica on the ground speaks, so you're able to tear your eyes back away from her and face him.
You had the closest abilities to the original unlike us trash.
Your stomach churns in violent discomfort.
Don't call yourself that.
He doesn't even meet your eyes, his teeth gritted in pain and bitterness.
That's what I am. My powers were so weak I was cast alive into the mouth of the Mt. Zaleho volcano. A replica that can't serve as a replacement is nothing more than garbage.
You try again. Desperation claws away at your ribcage.
Don't talk like that. You can come with us--you and I are the same!
You step toward him as he staggers back to his feet and extend him a hand. You hope...you hope...
And he slaps your hand away, angry, hateful. You're used to the hatred of the Grand Maestro, but this is something different. This is an intimate, deep-seeded resentment that is much more personal than a man hating you for what you are. This is someone hating you for everything that you took away from them. Everything you never wanted, and that you can't give back. The sting in your hand travels all the way up your arm.
No, we're not. I'm only alive to be used. Only the useful ones are ever kept alive...out of pity.
You don't know what to say, but you don't have time to react as, without a word, he steps backward, off the edge of the landing you stand on, into a chasm of certain death. Your whole body feels still as you watch the void where the other you once was. Your heart is pounding so badly it hurts, but you don't move. You don't know what to do, what to say. You don't know what you feel. But your eyes are burning and raw, your face hot.
Anise steps forward to examine the spot where Sync once was, then turns to look at you and her face falls.
Ion, please don't cry.
Her words confuse you.
I'm not crying, you assure.
But, those tears...
You lift a hand to your cheek, and find it comes away wet. You still don't know what to say.
I guess I was sad, you decide. This is the first time I've ever cried.
You understand now, this wrenching in your chest. You understand that the fear was never just fear. It was always heartache. Always loneliness. Always sorrow. Always everything terrible all at once.
All this time, I had it wrong.
You shouldn't have been the one they spared.]