Flame-chasing Captain.

1 - Pink.

Everyday, (Y/N) came to the same flower patch, tending it with care.

In all realities, this flower patch was different, sometimes gold, sometimes red, sometimes blue,  and sometimes turquoise, but this time, it was pink and fresh, water flowing around its edges as it was sheltered by several rocks, with the sun barely shining through.

Yet that was enough for it to survive. Flowers were delicate and could be unknowingly stepped on, but this one was lucky. It was kept in a place where no one could step on it nor unknowingly injure it, with the only negative being that it never got any water.

Thus, (Y/N) decided to water it, keeping it has alive as he could.

He had made a small moat for water to collect around the edges of the flowers, and designed it in a way that he would only have to come back once a week to give it more water.

And yet, he never understood why he always came back. There were hundreds of other pink flowers just like this one, and yet it always seemed to be more significant, more noticeable than the others.

Sometimes, he swore he could hear the faint sounds of song, voice, or hum coming from its roots, only to be immediately proven wrong by the rain or wind brushing by his ear. This patch of flowers was probably, if not definitely, starting to drive him to the brink of sanity, while also tipping the scale enough to keep him alive. 

He always comes here when he wants to relax or mellow down; (Y/N) wouldn't have it any other way, he loves this place, and he wouldn't trade it for anything. It wasn't just the flowers, however, that kept his soul at peace in the woods. The faint chirping of birds, gentle water running down an unknown stream across from him, and the rustling of the grass and leaves always tended to excite him or put his soul at ease. 

What Anti-Entropy couldn't do, the woods could, and that was why he came here every week; it was a place away from what was now his home, job, and occupation; his job as Captain felt almost void here, and it felt like he was all by himself, tending to his one joy. 

Alas, his time here was quaint and couldn't last forever; the people at base were still studying the Herrscher of Dominance core that was so gratefully given to them by the now-deceased Otto, and he had his own part in it by having to transfer scientists to the Hyperion or Salt Lake Base.

Thus, he eventually had to go and see his flowers off, their pink color almost dripping down his eyes. 

It drew him closer while also drawing him farther away, almost as if he was stuck in some limbo between hesitance and something else. So many emotions swirled around his head while staring at them as if they were staring back at him. Rage, happiness, peace, anger, joy, confusion, guilt, sadness, regret: these emotions were always there when he looked at them. One day he'd wish to pluck them from their roots, and another day he'd water them while singing them a song. Then, the next day, he'd lament and share his sadnesses with the flowers, and then the next he'd realize that it was all pointless. He'd go through this cycle every few weeks, and he swore that the flowers would cry at his sight when he got frustrated.

He never got angry; it wasn't like him. He was timid yet adventurous, scared yet always intrigued, cautious yet dangerous; it almost felt like he was made up of contradictions, all competing with each other to rule on top. 

And yet, there were no winners, and there was only one loser: him. 

The puzzle of his heart, soul, and emotions may never be solved, but he wished for them to be unlocked one day. 

No one would ever know this, hear about this, or remember this, all except for the flowers that slouched or raised their heads depending on the seasons, changing like the shape of water: constantly ebbing and flowing.

One day, these flowers would die, but he would keep them alive for as long as possible.

Not because he thought they were living, but because he thought they were something he could share his feelings to.

He had to go now, his phone was ringing.

And so was the clock, as well as the moon, and the flowers o'th dawn.

Always waiting for him to come back, to hear his smooth voice once more.

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 This is the start of the Elysia route.

Anyways, that's it for this one