Chapter 53 – Concrete Abstraction
The moon loomed low in the sky, a distant sentinel casting its cold, silver glow across the sprawling forest. Shadows stretched and twisted between the towering trees, their branches contorted like the claws of ancient beings. A breeze rustled the leaves, but the air was dense, pressing in on everything with an intangible weight. There was a quiet in the forest that did not feel peaceful one that left the soul uneasy.
Tsaya stood motionless amid the eerie quiet, his body rigid as if in defiance of the tension that thickened the atmosphere around him. His tail flicked lazily behind him, the motion betraying his internal restlessness. The moonlight glinted off the black fur of his tail, illuminating his tense muscles. He exhaled deeply, a sigh that carried the weight of unspoken thoughts.
“This makes me feel so heavy to be here,” he muttered, his voice low, barely more than a whisper.
The words dissipated into the night like vapor, yet their weight lingered in his mind. His tail flicked again, more insistent this time, as though trying to shed the unseen chains that clung to him. His amber eyes, usually sharp and piercing, were dulled by exhaustion, reflecting the faraway glow of the moon. They held a distant weariness, the kind that had settled deep within his bones after countless trials and burdens.
“How have I gotten to be so burdened by life?” he asked himself, his voice wavering with a mix of disbelief and sorrow.
Tsaya took a hesitant step forward, his boots sinking into the wet mud beneath him. The earth seemed to pull at his feet, clinging to him as though it wished to drag him down. Cold, thick mud enveloped his soles, creeping up his legs like tendrils of despair. It wasn’t just physical; the weight he felt was suffocating, an invisible force that tugged at his every step, clawing at his resolve.
The sensation was overwhelming. His breath hitched as he stared down at the muck, the feeling of it pulling him downward striking him as a cruel metaphor for everything he had faced. The cold dampness pressed into his skin, and he could almost feel the earth trying to seep into his very soul, trying to choke out the light within him.
“The mud,” he whispered, gritting his teeth. “It tears at my eyes, pulling it apart… suffocating what I wrote.”
His fists clenched, the frustration rising within him like a wave about to crash. He felt trapped—not by the mud, but by something far deeper. His chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths as his heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out the gentle rustling of the forest leaves. Tsaya’s anger and despair warred within him, each fighting for control over his spirit.
“Everything… everything happening to stop me,” he growled through clenched teeth.
The forest remained still, uncaring to his plight, as the dark roots of a nearby tree crept ever closer. They moved slowly, coiling around his ankles as if the very earth sought to ensnare him, to keep him from moving forward. It was a reflection of the struggle within his mind, the doubt and the pain that gripped his heart. Each root that twisted around his legs felt like another strand of doubt, binding him tighter, pulling him deeper into the mire.
“To destroy my will.”
His voice trembled as he spoke, the raw emotion evident in his tone. He closed his eyes, feeling the cold night air bite at his skin. His body shuddered slightly under the weight of it all—the burdens, the endless battles, the relentless questions that plagued his mind.
“Abstract vibration,” he murmured. “Who must I kill?”
The forest, the night, the very world seemed to hold its breath. The wind, which had stirred the leaves moments before, stilled. There was an eerie quiet, as if the entire world waited for his next move.
“This whole play… none of it makes any sense.”
He opened his eyes, lifting his gaze to the moon, partially obscured by a passing cloud. The light dimmed, casting the forest in an even deeper shade of blue, the shadows growing long and menacing. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke again, revealing the vulnerability he fought so hard to conceal.
“I climbed to here for what?”
His heart ached with the question, one that had gnawed at him for so long. Why had he fought so hard? Why had he climbed through trials and tribulations only to feel more lost, more burdened than ever before? It was a question he had no answer for—a question that lingered like a thorn in his mind.
“To crumble under the weight of my mind?” he asked, almost incredulous.
The roots tightened their grip around his ankles, and his breath became shallow. The suffocating presence of the forest pressed in on him from all sides, an invisible force that sought to crush him under its weight. The air itself felt like it had thickened, turning into a heavy, suffocating fog.
“I get no peace… no pardon.”
His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, as though he feared speaking the words aloud would make them true. But they were true he knew it. He felt it in every fiber of his being. The guilt, the self-blame, the feeling that everything had somehow been his fault clung to him like the roots around his legs.
“How is it always my fault… where is the bright side?”
The roots gave another subtle tug, urging him to stay where he was, to stop fighting, to surrender to the despair. The cold night air sent shivers through his body, but Tsaya remained still, his gaze distant, his thoughts tangled in a web of doubts.
“I just want to be alone…” he whispered, his voice carried by the wind into the depths of the forest.
He didn’t want to run anymore. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders. All he wanted was space—space to breathe, to build, to roam freely, without the burdens that haunted him.
“To have my space…”
With a deep breath, Tsaya reached for his iron bokken, pulling it from his side with a deliberate motion. The familiar weight of the weapon in his hands gave him a fleeting sense of comfort. The moonlight glinted off its surface, illuminating the well-worn handle that had seen so many battles. His fingers curled tightly around it, and for a moment, his eyes hardened with resolve.
“I’m tired,” he muttered, his voice gaining strength. “Practice is my only purpose… but I can become more.”
The roots around his feet quivered, as though reacting to the surge of determination within him. They loosened ever so slightly, as if they sensed the shift in his spirit, the strength that still lay dormant within him. Tsaya’s breath steadied, his heartbeat slowing as his resolve grew.
“I just want to go home,” he said softly, lowering his head.
The truth was, he didn’t even know where home was anymore. It was a concept that felt distant, foreign—something he had once understood but had long since lost. Home was no longer a place; it was an idea, an unreachable destination that eluded him at every turn.
“I don’t even know where that is anymore.”
A heavy silence followed his words, the weight of them pressing down on him like a shroud. Tsaya’s eyes flickered toward the distant horizon, where the moonlight barely touched the edges of the forest. He inhaled deeply, the air cold and crisp in his lungs, and let out a long, slow sigh filled with exhaustion and longing.
“This journey,” he began, his voice trailing off, “sometimes it feels like it’s going to crush my soul.”
The forest remained silent, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the distance. But then, from the shadows ahead, a figure began to materialize. Its form was dark, ethereal, with eyes that burned like two flickering flames. The **ONYX CREA** hovered just above the ground, its presence commanding yet familiar.
“Remember, Commander,” the Crea’s voice echoed, low and reverberating, “you only get what you ask for.”
Tsaya’s brows furrowed as he turned to face the Crea, its words stirring something deep within him. The flames in its eyes flickered, casting an eerie glow on the surrounding trees.
“Accept the uncertainty,” the Crea continued, its tone both soothing and unsettling.
Tsaya clenched his jaw, frustration flaring within him once more.
“Everything is uncertain, Crea,” he shot back, his voice filled with bitterness.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his gaze locked on the Crea’s glowing eyes.
“I just want one ounce of certainty,” he said, his voice firm.
The forest seemed to still, as though even the trees and wind were waiting for his next move. Tsaya’s eyes dropped to the ground, where a **BRICK OF MATERIA** lay half-buried in the dirt. He knelt beside it, his fingers tracing the strange markings etched into its surface—a lock and two flickering flames, symbols that mirrored the Crea’s eyes.
“To let the dream coalesce…” he murmured, his touch gentle, reverent.
The wind began to pick up again, swirling around him in a gentle, almost playful dance, as if the forest was answering his unspoken call.
“Where is the space of freedom?” Tsaya whispered, his voice carried on the breeze.
He rose slowly, his grip tightening on the bokken, the resolve in his chest hardening like steel.
“Is it here… now?”
His eyes flickered with a mix of determination and weariness as he stood tall, feeling the weight of his journey, yet choosing to press forward.
“I want to go home,” he said, his voice filled with longing.
“The foundation…” he whispered, “I must trust it is solid.”
He raised his head toward the sky, his tail flicking once more in the moonlight, this time with a renewed sense of purpose.
“I must let it pour out.”
The wind swirled faster around him, lifting leaves and dust into a small, spiraling vortex.
“I repent,” he whispered, his voice soft yet stubborn, “my prayer sent out.”
His tail flicked one last time as he gazed into the distance, his heart heavy but his mind clear.
“I pray again… for an answer to it.”
The forest remained silent, the world still as if holding its breath, waiting for what would come next.