Rainbow

Zunair had just left the hospital after a devastating mission, what seemed, all week. He was tired but not, almost like mentally drained getting healed up. The mint eyed Hyūga sighed as he looked towards the sky. The late-night sun had decided to hide behind the peak of the mountain, making the overcast skies bathe the world in a soft blueish grey with the mixture of oranges and yellows. Although Zunair quite enjoyed times like these, he did enjoy the rain more. Without an umbrella, however, he was content with only the muting of Japan's usually vibrant colors. Since it was getting later, all the nightlights had come on. Even though it was colder, the nightlife made it seem warmer.

A nice, peaceful day, perfect for leisure activities. Activities that Zunair typically didn't partake in, well, he never really had the chance. Still, it was a nice day, and Zunair decided to eat out for once and maybe meet some people instead of going straight home after his mission. There was a wonderful eatery in the town, after all. Once upon a time, it was a very small sushi stand, but over the generations of various important people eating there, it expanded and grew. There was still the old sushi bar, but there were plenty of tables and chairs to sit and eat as well. Zunair even helped the old man when he first started doing missions.

Entering Musashi Sushi, Zunair was surprised, and relieved, to find the place was mostly empty, except for the few scattered groups around the room. His ears were filled with loud calls to the chef with the background noise of the few groups of people talking. He looked around the room and decided on where he was going to sit, well, since he wanted to meet some people, he decided the best thing was to sit at the bar. Maybe some food will get him out of his comfort zone and make him more approachable. Zunair took a seat at one of the barstools next to the window, looking out into the sunset.

“I’ll just have some water and a Rainbow Roll,” Zunair said, the chef nodded and then handed him a glass and started making his order. Zunair hoped this stuff was good, as it's the first time he ever ordered the rainbow roll. But he's always interested in trying new things.

[TWC: 399]

Zunair halted dead in his tracks. This voice was different. He turned suddenly to determine its location as it echoed from the forest and bounced off the water to confuse him. The voice wasn't so much a cry as there was need that strained in the strange combination. Regardless, someone needed his help, and he was desperately trying to figure out where they were.

"Where are you?" Zunair called in alarm towards the wilderness. Hearing the voice as if it came from the water, Zunair felt compelled to bend over the embankment. Surely, it was no water god attempting to play a trick on him as he peered hard at his own reflection.

Suddenly, a tall shadow appeared next to his reflection.

Now all he could hear were quick, ragged exhalations and marveled at the realization that it was his chest that was heaving. Placing his hand upon his forehead and feeling the cold beads of sweat that had formed, Zunair wondered at his sudden trepidation. Something or someone was calling for him, but he could not imagine who or what. The reflection in the water had been dark and indistinct. When he turned to see who was behind him, the figure vanished, and the identity of this individual remained a mystery.

"Zunair," was the last time she heard that voice as he jerked and fell into the water. The last voice was still a combination, but as he heard his name called, the male Hyūga was certain he caught the deep timbered voice of a man.

Now in the water, Zunair begun sinking into the dark abyss that consumed the depths below. Struggling, his arms moved frantic as he tried to swim up, but it felt as if something was dragging him down. Was he getting dragged to hell? Was it because he didn't believe in some imaginary deity who has let people suffer for eternity? So be it. Closing his eyes, he let his body be taken by the current that was pulling him under.

[TWC: 1,061]

It starts out slowly, to the east. Just a shift in the sky, reaching up from far behind the mountains, spreading lines of a deeper blue. If he keeps sitting there, and he will, it will shift further, the blue mingling with an ever-growing haze that wavers into a softer shade of golden-green, like a transparent curtain, before it all goes tipping and spilling over into a harsh, rich crimson, flooding the valley with a blood-red dawn.

Zunair checks his footing, pulls himself up that last bit of the way so he can lean against the branches, turn his face towards the rising sun. Here, in the heart of the woods, where the trees stand almost bark to bark, boughs curling together so tightly that he could walk across the canopy like a carpet, nary a light reaches down beneath the leaves, giving the forest floor an air of perpetual gloom. He likes it that way, much prefers not to see what lies beyond, the vastness of a world that has lost its meaning. Dawn is the only time he allows himself to do so, to climb to the top of the highest tree and watch the night turn into day. To ascertain, in the manner of someone who has been asleep for too long, that everything is still in place, the Earth is still turning, and it will be another quiet day in the below.

In the moments he retained from another time, dawn was a relief, an end to the grip of primal fear that took a hold of men when they were lying in a pitch-black hole, clutching at what may well have been twigs for all the good they were going to do, listening to the staccato of their own breaths in the darkness and praying that they would remain the only ones. Dawn was something to be greeted, celebrated even, a joyous kind of collective relief sweeping through the ditch at something that should have been a matter of course, but wasn't. He remembers different dawns, long ones, gray ones, brilliantly piercing ones, and he remembers thinking them beautiful in the way an amnesiac knows that a portrait of a person used to mean something, but now...

[TWC:1,433]

By now the rain was coming down in thick torrents, invisible against the black of night and heavy. Every once in a while, a flash of white lightning would split the air and draw shapes into form, intelligible only by the brief, dazzling outlines reflected by the water. For those slight instances, the landscape was bright, and inexplicably beautiful. Splashed in iridescence, the shattered rock and splintered wood had not looked so alive in years.

Zuniar wasn't used to rain like this. Further north it came slowly, with clouds that drifted languidly between horizons for days spilling cool drizzle, sometimes warm showers. But here-somewhere in the cuff of Italy, he assumed-the storm had come suddenly with little warning. In a matter of moments, the gentle coastline seemed to sway with each gust of wind across the sea, pulling old stones from their rest and drawing waves high over the old structures that had once held them. He had even considered taking shelter. But with the storm at its peak Zunair found himself settled beneath the corroding marble of an old statue. In his haste he hadn't been able to identify the figure, save that it was barely enough to keep the rain from him. His hair was soaked, sticking to his neck and jaw so that he could taste it at the corner of his mouth. Worse was the loose cloth clinging to his thighs, parting in just the right places to spread the cool chill up and down his limbs. Every once in a while, the wind picked up enough to throw droplets into his face; he would tilt his head back, letting them slide through his hair, over the bridge of his nose and down his throat.

[TWC: 1,722]

A mere two weeks had passed, and yet Zunair found the cold, restless pit creeping into his stomach once more. Before, when the answer came to him, it seemed like a simple solution; he'd wanted to see Hikari. Just to know that she was all right, to make sure she wasn't being mistreated. Now it would be just as simple to find her again, and yet he was somehow hesitant to do so. He had let her go, was supposed to have turned his back and left her to her own life. At the time it had seemed a perfectly natural decision, and even now he did not regret it. There were only times like these when his insides felt hollow, something deep behind his ribs aching. It was a need that was as tangible as it was fierce.

Thunder echoed overhead, and Zunair lifted his head slightly, shaking it so the rain slapped against his cheeks and neck. It didn't help him feel any dryer. He was finally considering searching out a new resting place when another clap resounded, this one far closer than the last, and this time accompanied by a flare of brilliant orange light. Zunair gasped quietly as the once prosperous port town was bathed in reflections of bright fire. He couldn't help but imagine if that was what the city must have looked like as it died, glistening like a burning jewel against the night.

[TWC: 1,962]

As soon as Zunair stepped out fully from under the shelter of bronze he was soaked through all over again. The first few steps brought him to a deep puddle that splashed cold water up unpleasantly against his bare calves. He almost gave up his curiosity right then, but then his ears caught on the clanging resonation of steel—blades meeting. Scowling slightly, he trudged through the miniature rivers that had formed around his unintended pedestal, toward the origin of the explosion.

It didn't take long; Zunair had barely traveled more than a minute when the sound of heavy footsteps pounded toward him. He could still barely see, however, and he stepped carefully aside as he peered down the empty street. When the figures flashed by, they were running at top speed, like wraiths streaking through the falling curtains, splashing more cold filth against his uncovered flesh. There were more than he had anticipated. As they stampeded past, he caught only a glimpse of burning neon against metal, the smell of electricity and wet iron and blood. It was familiar somehow, but he didn't know why until the mass drew to a sudden halt. The sting of clanging swords resumed, and in the tiny sparks borne from the thin air that he could just barely make out a recognizable uniform in the fray. He stared in confusion. With that, he had to go.

[EXIT]
[TWC: 2,194]

Claiming:
+42 to AP
2,194/4,000 to Creation Rebirth

Approved.