Rewritten Fate (Akatsuki no Yona Fanfiction-New)

Assassination Arc (XXII)

There was nothing friendly about the snow outside; it fell thick enough to blind any traveler. The gale whipped each flake, so pretty on its own, into a projectile that hurt unguarded skin. The sky above had none of the moonlight that should have shine, so thick were the black clouds.

The blizzard removed the illusion of his eyes. With sight he wasn't alone, he was one of many in the world and the world was full of interesting things to see, to touch to feel, to keep his mind anchored in time and space. 

But as the white flakes whirled outside in an angry vortex, he was as alone as he would be in the bleakness of space and cold, so cold. "Blizzard" hardly seems an adequate enough word for what the world outside had become.

Sitting on the floor, Hak looked at the dancing snow silently. The partition was open wide, enabling the chilly night wind to blow inside. The table was put on his side, with tea and sweets laying on it. But none of them was touched. Those foods had gone cold as the time ticking away. Still, he paid no mind on it.

All that he felt right now is cold, pain and regret. This accident was not supposed to happen. He could prevent it, if only he was more careful. Yona had told him that she got a stalker, an aggressive one. If only he stuck close to her, or at least asked someone to watch over her, none of this would happen.

He let out a deep sigh. Unconsciously, he placed one hand over his heart, feeling the nonexistent wound, the wound which once rips his chance to live, to go back to his princess. It was dull, but the pain was still there, even if there is no wound, to begin with, the pain is still registered in his mind. Remembering how painful it was, the salty and bitter taste of his own blood... it made his blood gone cold.

It must have been painful for someone as young as Yona to get beaten like that. It was really painful for an adult; it would felt double or even triple for a young child. If he was a young child, he might have cried.

But he wasn't.

He wasn't a child. He was an adult. An adult in a child's body. A useless adult who couldn't do anything to protect his precious one.

He didn't ask for any of this. It was something beyond logic. Something that he had never wished for but never regrets having, this memory of something that had yet to happen but felt too real to cast aside. He struggled to sort them out, to choose which was a reality and which was only a dream. For years.

Somewhere along the way, he thought that 'The most beautiful of memories are the worst', they are cutting his insides as if they were shards of glass. He remembered all the times when he was among them, his real family, his friends, his precious ones, a place of guaranteed warmth even on the coldest of days. 

Now, Just the thought of them filled him a sadness he would never fully shake because as much as he wanted to, his memories were only a mere dream.

They aren't the same people as they were, they didn't share the same memories as he did.

Neither did her.

Being with her was a pain. She turned every moment they spent together into painful memories. They were sharp and cut right through him every time he thought about it. Even the sweet good moments they had were now turned into a knife that killed his already broken heart. She pierced his soul; she made him skeptical about people and love.

Each time he wanted to scream, to shake her up and shout at her, 'Have you really forgotten? Do you really not remember every single thing about us? Every single thing about me? Am I the only one that remembers about us?'

But it was alright, he thought. As long as they could keep living happily, it was enough for him. But then, problems arise. She was different and the course even was different. It left him wondering, just which one is real and which one is a dream? Which is which?

There should be a way to stop time when these things happen when some human beings chose to wipe out another bunch of human beings or whatever it was they did. We should be able to just say, "No more; no more suffering, time to throw the cards in the air and see where they fall." Maybe such power did exist under human's radar, like how the dragons are real and not just some stupid myth.

For months, he had to cope up with these memories. It was not only memories, but he also needs to cope up with the guilt that followed after each memory. When the guilt came, it took him down the old familiar path. He wanted to refuse to walk in it, pretending that he was the person he demanded him to be.

He wanted to see himself in sepia tones, not the perfect color. He wanted to scrub his head, but if he did, he'd never learned from what happened. And it's true what they say, "Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it." And he couldn't bear that. So he kept his eyes on the horizon and his mind turned to create a positive future; because really, wasn't that what everyone needed?

To Be Continued