All That Is Not Lost

Prologue: When The Gods Are Silent

Pairings: MarVex (I think), Zemyx (of sorts), AkuRoku (of sorts), XemSaix (also of sorts). And you'll soon see what I mean by "of sorts"

Rated: M

Warnings: MECHAS, first and foremost. Yes, KH characters piloting mechas. Don't say I didn't warn you. Paganism, religious themes, mature themes in general, graphic scenes, slash, violence, AU-ish-ness, and just plain weirdness.

Summary: He had thought all was lost. Then he woke up on a strange beach in a strange land, a land where the people fought wars with massive machines. Why did he end up in this land, and how is his destiny tied to it? MECHAS, MarVex, Zemyx, AkuRoku, XemSaix

Notes: I don't know what inspired me to write this piece of complete, utter, bizarre random-ness which I may or may not even continue. Well, all right, there are two major factors that inspired me:

a) I discovered an excellent author (who many of you may already know), TheCrimsonLunaDiviner, who writers some wonderful MarVex. In fact, her writing has inspired me to ship the pairing in the first place, whereas before I wasn't that fond of it. Now that I see it can be done well, I'm trying my hand at it myself. (That being said, this prologue is more Zemyx-y than anything).

b) I've recently gotten back into mecha anime, after briefly falling in love with Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann (PIERCE THE HEAVENS WITH YOUR DRILL!!!) and then falling out of love after it ended. Then I found Gundam 00, which I watched mostly because the character designer is Yun Kouga, but it was pretty decent. And then I watched all of Vision of Escaflowne. So now I'm doing mechas. In feel, this will probably be more similar to Escaflowne, becae it's "fantasy" mechas versus "scifi" mechas, but I'll give my own unique spin to the mecha angle.

This is the prologue, and it might not be so sensical right now (and doesn't involve Marluxia or Vexen at all), but don't worry, all will be explained in chapters next...if I ever get around to writing them. This was entirely spur of the moment, so who knows if I'll continue.

Don't...

Don't go...

You know that I have to. You know what she said. There is no victory without sacrifice.

So? You still don't--this isn't--if you go out today, you will die!

There is a high possibility that'll happen. I'm not denying it.

Then why go! Why why why, why go and leave me? Don't you ever think about what's important?

I should be asking you that question. You know what's important. You know there are things out there that matter more than you and me. You know, you know what we're fighting for.

That may be so...but..the thought of losing you...it's more than I can bear.

I know.

I wish I could fight alongside you.

...you're not useless because you can't fight. Stay here, stay here and wait for me. The thought that I'll have you to come back to--that only makes me fight harder. The thought that I'm creating a better world for you.

Say what you like....

What? What is it?

She told you, "There is no victory without sacrifice."

Yeah, and...?

"When the time comes, what will you be willing to sacrifice?"

....you know what I said in response, don't you?

Yes. I already know. Because I know you.

I have to go.

I know... I know. Fight well. Fight for me.

I will.

...I...I truly do...I love you.

The feeling's mutual.

Please come back alive.

I'll try.

"There is no victory without sacrifice. When the time comes, what will you be willing to sacrifice?"

"That's easy. Do you even have to ask? Myself, of course."

He lay on his back, envisioning the battlefield.

It would be splattered crimson with blood. The smell of burning--of burning flesh, of burning hair, of burning metal--would hang thick in the air like smoke, heavy and hot. And the machines...the great machines, joints screeching as they advanced on one another, swinging their weapons with hisses through the air...

One of them would be his.

Please don't die, he thought, sending what had to be his hundredth prayer to the sky. He didn't know if it would be answered. Lately, very few of his prayers had been answered at all. He hadn't lost faith--not yet. Gods were not obliged to care about the clashes between mortals. To the mortals, this was the greatest war they had ever fought--but could gods even differentiate between mortal wars? They must appear like ants, scampering over one another and dying quickly for no reason. Humans didn't worry about battles between ants.

Gods didn't worry about battles between humans.

Still, he prayed. He prayed as he lifted himself from the hard pallet, not because it was uncomfortable, but because he couldn't sleep--not when images of the battle constantly tumbled through his mind. He prayed, softly, in his mind, as he parted the curtain dividing his sleeping area from the rest of the hall. The hall was divided by multiple plain white curtains into individual sleeping areas, but most were unoccupied. During battles, most priests congregated in the central temple to send their combined prayers for victory together. He had been exempted this time on account of his illness, giving him the privacy he wanted. The privacy he needed.

Please do not let him die. Do not let the one to whom I have pledged my heart die, he repeated as he stepped through the archway between the sleeping hall and the temple proper. Do not let him die.

He didn't pray for victory, because it struck him as a selfish and silly thing to ask a god for--what did a god care which side won? The other priests didn't much like this line of thinking, pointing out that the enemy consisted of infidels so the gods would of course care if they were struck down or not, but he had always been of the opinion that people were but ants to the gods. Why did the gods care if the black ants defeated the red ants, or vice versa?

"With that worldview, you might as well not pray at all," his priest-mentor had snapped. "Why become a priest? Why serve a god that doesn't care?"

He replied with firm conviction, "Gods do not care about people in groups. What the gods care about are people as individuals."

Which was why the only prayer he sent was for one person only. Emyd of Lantea. Do not let him die.

The open walkway that connected the residential halls with the rest of the temple was chilly, because it was still early in the morning. He clutched his robe--made of white linen, trimmed with black; the robe of a novice in the Temple of Reason--tighter to his body, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. A cool early morning breeze ruffled the slate-colored strands of hair falling into his eyes; he shook his head irritably to dislodge them. It was probably a bad idea to be outside with his fever as high as it was, but the cold helped clear his mind.

He nonetheless breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped inside the warmth of the temple's easternmost altar, used only by novices and priestesses. Much to his disconcertation, the altar wasn't empty--he'd been hoping to be alone, like the last time that the gods had spoken directly to him.

A girl stood before the altar--it was a small one, bearing a single statue of the Lord of Reason and four march-fire candles. The altar in the central temple reached the ceiling and was festooned with over a hundred candles. He had never liked praying there, because it felt too public--there was always a crowd of priests there, each asking his own questions and sending his own offerings to the gods. To the gods, it must resemble little more than a flock of birds bickering over fish.

The girl turned to him--she was a slimly built, small teenage girl with long blond hair and bright blue eyes in too innocent a face. Her plain white robe proclaimed her an initiate priestess. He lowered his head politely to her.

"Good morning, Namine."

"Ah--Ienzo!" cried Namine, stepping back in surprise. "Should you really be up and about? Or has your fever gone done?"

Ienzo shook his head but gave her a pointed glare that clearly said that he was not to be bothered. She stepped aside, though looked a little uneasy; probably wondering why, if he'd expended the effort to get up in the first place, he didn't go join the other priests.

He closed his eyes as he knelt over the altar, holding his hands over his heart in prayer. Once more, images of the battlefield came rushing in--of the cracked earth, the cawing carrion birds, the great machines shaped in mockery of the human form, lurching towards one another and clashes their massive swords--

One of them would be his. Emyd's. A machine made from blue-tinged steel, tall and graceful in form, wielding a longsword. Though he didn't want to, Ienzo imagined the machine splattered with blood, its sword broken, lying useless and battered in a ditch...and its pilot--

Stop. Do not think this way. You must not. He will survive. You must believe that.

He didn't even realize he had begun praying out loud--usually, he kept his prayers to himself, especially if there were others around, but something about the atmosphere in the altar compelled him to say them aloud. "Please, Lord of Reason, protect him. Protect him, protect Emyd. Protect him so that he can sing another day...protect him so he will have a life with me..."

No one answered. He had been expecting it, yet he still felt a faint stab of disappointment. The last time that he'd stood in this temple, he had heard voices back, had even seen the Lord of Reason. A figure in white, glowing even in the dark altar...he had approached Ienzo, step by silent step, extending a glowing hand towards the young priest...had explained in quiet words the way the gods saw the word. That gods answered to individuals with names, faces, and histories; not to mobs and masses.

But now there was nothing, nothing but the chill silence of an early morning. Ienzo lowered his head, letting his hair descend around his eyes, trembling inside. No one was answering. No one cared...

"Protect him," he whispered one final time.

When the gods were silent, it was all he could do.

That's all for the prologue. I was going to call him "Myde", because that's one of the more common names in fandom, but meh, I thought "Emyd" had a more poetic sound. And I really don't know why I'm using their Other names, except that I feel they're more compatible with a fantasy setting (all those "x"es would be just weird...). And there are vague connections to canon, mostly with Marluxia's character (if I ever get around to chapter one)...but we'll see. A lot of the plot is very iffy.

I'm aware that I'm probably making a lot of my watchers very angry because I've been updating a lot these past two days but I haven't done a single thing for my most popular story, Tainted but Beautiful. Feel free to castigate me. I've started chapter twenty-six, but hit a massive block for some reason...I think I've lost my taste for ginormous chapters, but unless I want to make the work even longer, I need long chapters to finish it...so we'll see. I actually wrote this because of my block on Tainted.

And as always, check out "The Chrysalis Project" on my profile. All reviews are appreciated!