Arriving in Elegia was undeniably one of the scariest experiences I've ever faced. The palpable tension coursing through my body had me feeling so paralyzed that I could barely move. Instead of gliding gracefully just above the ground, I felt more like a tightly wound, floating ball of nerves. To steady myself, I decided to stay close to the most reliable member of our crew: Beckman.
His calm demeanor was a reassuring presence amidst the chaos. Babysitting this motley crew, myself included, wasn't an easy task—especially with Shanks, who was busy embracing his trademark chaos. His unpredictable antics were somewhat overwhelming, adding to the moment's tension.
Yet amidst all this turmoil, Uta's infectious joy shone like a beacon. The light radiating from her was genuinely heartwarming, a stark contrast to the apprehension that surrounded us. It's a rare sight to encounter someone whose life's darker realities have not yet hardened—her bright, untainted eyes sparkled with hope and innocence, reminding me of the beauty that still exists in the world.
I'm not even sure how it all happened. One moment, we were carefree, wandering the lively streets of Elegia, where the scent of blooming flowers mingled with the melodic sounds of street performers. Uta, the little music lover, danced and sang with pure joy, her voice rising above the hum of the crowd. Somehow, we found ourselves invited to the grand palace, where the music-loving king was hosting an extravagant ball in honor of the art.
As I scanned the room, my eyes landed on Shanks, a familiar figure, standing with Uta by the side rails. An unsettling sensation washed over me, a dizzying awareness that felt as if reality and my visions of the future were colliding in a chaotic, spiraling motion. The pressure built in my chest, making it hard to breathe, and I felt a wave of nausea threatening to overtake me.
I can't stay here.
Desperate for relief, I bolted to the restroom and locked the door behind me. The stark, cold tiles pressed against my back as I leaned over the sink, dry heaving, no longer being able to grasp the realm of time. It felt as if my insides were trying to claw their way out. An overwhelming sense of despair flooded my mind, twisting the very air around me into a suffocating haze.
NO! The word reverberated through my thoughts, echoing with urgency as if a premonition had finally materialized. I couldn't hesitate any longer. Racing back into the ballroom, my heart pounded in my chest, a drumbeat of dread.
What I saw sent chills racing down my spine. Uta stood near a dark, foreboding pile of music sheets, an eerie glow surrounding them as if they had a life of their own. Without a moment's thought, my body lunged towards her, driven by an instinct I couldn't quite understand. With wide eyes, I snatched the fragile sheets from her small hands, feeling the chill of the ancient paper against my skin, and began to shred them, my fingers working frantically.
Gasps erupted around the room, a chorus of shock and horror as I tore the music into pieces smaller than confetti. The sound of ripping paper felt sacrilegious, and I was aware of how I was defiling something beautiful. Uta's eyes widened in disbelief, confusion flooding her gaze as tears streamed down my face. The gravity of what I was doing settled heavily in my chest—I realized, with devastating clarity, that there may never be a way to restore our lost bond.
Without a backward glance, I turned on my heel, choosing the familiar escape route I had always relied on: running away.
I didn't even bother to seek out the rest of the crew. It struck me that the only person who truly comprehended the intricacies of the prophecy I carried was Shanks. As I recalled the fervor that had swept through the crew when Shanks announced our course to Elegia, a chilling realization settled in. He had never made it clear that our journey to Elegia would ultimately lead to devastation. If anything, the crew viewed this expedition as a grand adventure, an opportunity for Uta's future, and a fun little vacation to paradise. But for me, it was despair, a tragic ending to thousands of lives and the heartbreak of everyone in the crew.
A grim thought suddenly crept into my mind like a shadow. Shanks was oblivious to the fact that it was Uta who would spark the cataclysmic events foretold in the prophecy. I had failed to convey to him the full extent of the danger; I never found the right words to express that Uta had sung that ancient, demonic song—a melody so potent it had the power to unleash a realm of destruction and chaos. The irony of it all twisted in my gut, and I couldn't help but let out a hollow laugh at the absurdity of my situation. Here I was, feeling utterly useless, unable to communicate effectively even in everyday conversations, let alone to convey the weight of such dire news.
There was no turning back now. I propelled myself forward, as if a pack of ravenous wolves were nipping at my heels, urging me to escape. The only path left to me was to forge ahead; the further I distanced myself from the past, the better I hoped I would feel. With each wingbeat, I tried to shake off the weight of my failures, chasing the fleeting notion of freedom that lay just beyond the horizon.
"KOUYA!!!!!" The sound of Shanks's voice rippled across the vast expanse of the sea, distorting slightly in the salty breeze. I instinctively turned to face the faint figure of my friend, a mere speck on the horizon, but unmistakable in his iconic straw hat. He stood on the shores of Elegia, a place that now felt light-years away. Next to him was a small girl, a delicate silhouette barely reaching Shanks's knees, her new dress swirling around her as if it were a reflection of her joyful spirit. It was the dress she had so eagerly chosen for the grand ball, the very occasion that I had just irreparably marred.
"KOUYA!!!!" Uta's voice followed, ringing out with a desperate quality that floated on the wind, each note laced with confusion and concern. My heart raced with a mix of fear and regret. What was I supposed to do now? The thought of Uta ever forgiving me for destroying what should have been one of the best moments of her life was almost unbearable. I didn't want her to thank me for stopping her from singing that fateful song, the one that could have unleashed catastrophe upon our world.
Yet, if she were to forgive me without knowing the full truth, it would mean she prioritized her bond with me over her own happiness. How could I bear the idea of her sacrificing her joy for my sake? In that moment, I felt completely worthless, consumed by a tide of overwhelming guilt. I never wanted her to think for a second that her worth was tied to the decisions I made. She deserved so much more than the burden of my decisions—more than the shadows that my choices cast upon her young life. She should never have to grapple with the idea that she might hold the fate of thousands in her hands, a weight far too heavy for her gentle spirit. To me, she was a little star, radiant and full of potential, meant to shine brightly and be loved unconditionally. She embodied all the joy and playfulness I had once faintly known: the laughter that danced in her eyes, a smile so wide that it hurt, and an infectious silliness that made everyone go along. My only fervent wish was for her to grow and thrive without ever becoming a reflection of the struggles and darkness I had faced. She was my light, a bright spark, full of potential and innocence, and I felt an overwhelming urge to shield her from the shadows that had engulfed my own mind. I wanted to protect her from ever becoming like me—gripped by fear of their own thoughts and feelings, struggling under the weight of relentless self-doubt and crippling self-hate. Never being good enough, not being wanted. I couldn't bear the idea of her losing her confidence, or her light dimming under the same pressures that had haunted me for so long. It was a battle I'd fought silently, and I hoped that she would never have to fight it at all.
Without listening to reason, I followed my instinct.
I ran.