Old Love

He dreamed.



He knew he was dreaming because he had not caused the destruction that plagued whatever hell he'd found himself in.



Burnt buildings collapsed all around the man as he walked forward. Husks of what should have been corpses fell apart as ash in the wind as he stepped over and through them.



He walked until the flames had died.



Until the rain began to wash away the ash.



Until the smoke no longer tried to smother him.



He walked until he found a small pile of debri that had been spared from the merciless flames, and the small hand falling back into a small hole.



He was beside a small child now, empty golden brown meeting silver for an endless moment.



He picked the small child up and continued to walk.



The asphalt eventually gave way to an endless expanse of dirt and smog. Shattered swords littered his path, all broken under heel as he continued to walk.



The wind howled past him as he shielded the boy in his arms, countless shards of steel attempting to shred their bodies and failing to even tear his shroud.



He walked and walked. Until the wind died down and the sky cleared. An asian man and woman were before him, dressed in modest clothes from centuries long past. A small smithy behind the two offered no smoke for the breeze, as the woman smiled gently at him and the man watched him calmly.



Both were waiting for something, had been waiting for a long time.



Envy and adoration warred inside his chest as he met their gentle eyes.



He looked down at the child only to see countless blades sprouting from his skin, empty eyes watching him in silence.



The man stepped forward first, closing the distance in an instant to grab hold of one of the blades impaling the small child.



There was no blood as the older man pulled the blade free, only dust sent flying as he walked towards his anvil and shattered the rusted blade with one swing of his aged hammer.



The woman finally acted, walking slowly up to the man and child. She stopped just inside his personal space to look into the child's empty eyes, only now had the boy looked away from the man.



She brushed his dirty hair away from his face, and gently kissed his forehead. Gently scooping the boy out of his arms and moving to sit beside the bellows as she cradled him into her lap and ran her hands through his short rusty red hair.



The man felt himself turn around, to walk away, to flee from the feelings that thundered through his heart.



He blinked.



The woman was cradling his weak body tight enough to guarantee he had no escape and humming a gentle melody as the man pulled a half broken dagger from his throat.



The hammer met the blade.



A sword was shattered.



The world seemed a little more lively.



A little clearer.



Warmer.



The man, the boy, closed his empty silver, golden brown, eyes and allowed himself to rest.



All he could hear were blades shattering and bellows being pumped to keep the crackling coals hot.



Sometimes the dream would change; he would be a man once more, up to his waist in blood and bodies he'd been made to slaughter.



Sometimes he would stand again and again as he was struck down by beasts and gods. By men and monsters.



Yet every time he found himself fading, he'd end up back inside the small smithy with the man ever dutifully pulling weapons from his, the boy's, mangled body, and the woman's gentle voice lulling him into peace once more.



They would come and go, each nightmare lasting less and less through every repetition. His body growing with every sword pulled out and shattered by the man, yet never leaving a wound.



And so, both the boy and man found peace in the small smithy, two beautiful married blades clutched tight in far too small hands shining with their gentle inner light as the strange man and woman kept him company.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Notes: A smaller chapter than usual, still looking for any kind of motivation, got plenty of inspiration though.