Knight | ナイト

Dearest Blossom:

As much as I hated base life, being sent to an active warzone is definitely so much worse.

It's never quiet here in the encampment. There's always noise going on—the camp smith hammering away at damaged weapons and armor, working to get them fixed. The crackle and roar of the campfires that are interspersed here and there, serving to give warmth and light to this frosty, chilly exoplanet. The hustle and bustle of platoons hurrying out to take their turn at the almost-never-ending battle a couple of valleys over; the slow and heavy drag of exhausted, decimated platoons returning to eat, rest, and heal before going back out and doing it all again. And, of course, the low, perpetual thunder of the battle in the distance; always quiet and at a distance, except for when we're actually out there, but always there all the same.

Worst of all is over by the medical tent. The screams and howls of the injured and dying. The heartbreaking sounds of the wounded begging for death. Worst of all, the wails of the mourning, as a lover or sibling or even, rarely, a parent or child is taken from the world.

I try to avoid the medical tent, needless to say.

I'm thankful I'm not a medic, Blossom. I could never bear it. I have endless respect for those who do, those who fight to ease the pain and suffering and comfort the dying and the survivors both, all at the same time. Some of the soldiers act as though the medics and nurses are below the fighters, as though their lack of combat somehow ranks them below those of us who do the actual killing. But in a way, I feel like they're fighting the hardest battle, trying to be gentle and kind while staving off despair and death at every turn.

And the battlefield nurses. Don't even get me started on the battlefield nurses. Going out into the fray, into the bloodbath, with the goal of rescuing the wounded and getting them out. The bravery it must take to go into the gaping maw of chaos and violence, knowing that the only reward that awaits them upon their return is still more pain—both emotional and physical.

I don't know how they do it, Blossom. I really don't. But I'm so thankful they're there.

I pause, trying to think of how to word what I what to say next. I tap my pencil against my mouth a couple of times before beginning to idly gum on the eraser, as if that will help me concentrate better.

The hard, dusty ground beneath me is cold, even with an insulated sleeping bag keeping me apart from it. The blanket I have wrapped around my head and shoulders does little to fight off the bitter chill of this permanently-wintry planet; neither does the small oil lantern that gives off just enough light to write by. Of course, it doesn't help that the only thing I can really sit against in the thin-walled tent that me and Seraph currently call 'home' is the tentpoles. The cold metal leaves an ever-present chill all through my back, even with the layers of fabric between.

Seraph whimpers in her sleep. My eyes immediately fly to her, where she lies on the opposite side of the tent—which really isn't far away, just on the other side of the lantern. I watch her to make sure she doesn't start trembling or hyperventilating. She's been having night terrors recently, and I've been trying my best to wake her from them as soon as I can tell they're getting bad, so she doesn't have to suffer as long. But when she's not showing too many signs of stress, I let her sleep. She needs the rest.

I know I do too. But I find it incredibly hard to sleep these days. My nightmares may not be on the same level as Seraph's, whatever it is her brain is torturing her with every night. But they're still terribly unpleasant, and the dread of them makes it hard to fall asleep, unless I'm so exhausted I can pass out into a dreamless stupor. That happens pretty regularly, so I get enough rest to survive.

Seraph doesn't make any other movement. Or noise. At least, none that I can hear over the sound of one Star Warrior snoring in the tent next door, the quiet conversation of the couple in the tent across the way, or the clanging and ringing of the smithy just a few tents down from here.

I let my gaze return to the legal pad in my gloves, which I have propped up against the front of the blanket nest I have wrapped all around myself, leaving a small open space to see out of and let the light in through. My mask rests on top of my head, helping hold the blankets in place above me, and sitting within easy reach to pull back down over my face anytime.

Putting pencil to paper again, I continue.

I mean this entirely as a compliment—I feel like if you were here, you'd be either a medic or a battlefield nurse. Probably the latter. You could fight, of course, Blossom, but you were always so good at uplifting the hurting and healing the broken.

Father may have been a doctor, but he wasn't a healer. You may not have had any professional medical training, but you were still a healer of sorts. Even if the only physical wounds you ever really tended to were childhood bumps and bruises, and later the small cuts and burns of the battles we fought. But you still... I don't know how to express it fully. Maybe I'll find the words someday. But for now, suffice it to say, when I think of the medics, I think of you, not Father. And I'm glad of that, even if it sounds silly.

I pause in my writing again as Seraph whimpers once more and hugs her blanket and sleeping bag more tightly to herself. I lean forward, ready to shake her awake, but she settles with a sigh. After watching her for a long moment, I sigh as well, setting back against the tentpole once more and carrying on at my task.

Seraph's hanging on okay, I think, aside from the night terrors. I let her see my face in our tent now and again. She hasn't ever said anything about my eyes, thankfully. I still hate them. But since she doesn't bring them up, I don't mind letting her see them as much.

But I have no idea if the whole 'white eyes curse' thing was something known about everywhere on Star World, or only in Chivalry Province, or even only in River Village. I'm not particularly desperate to find out. And besides, I don't know these people. They don't deserve to know me.

Seraph, on the other hand... Well, she knows me far more than anyone else here, at least. And she deserves my trust, I know that much. After all, Seraph's risked her life to save mine multiple times at this point. And I still owe her so much for saving all of my letters to you all those months ago. I keep them all safely in my cape now, like I probably should have done from the beginning. It's not like anyone pays me enough attention here to notice me taking things in and out of my cape. And that's a good thing, I guess, because it's not exactly like I have anywhere else to put my things.

At least on B-612, I had a room and a bed. Now I just have a sleeping bag; we don't have enough cots to go around. We're supposed to be getting a shipment of more any day now, but they've been saying that for weeks. Apparently there's some supply chain issue thing keeping Halcandra from making as many or something like that. It's way over my rank, so I don't really understand what's going on. All I know is I wish we had those cots.

And it's not just supplies like cots that have been getting delayed in getting here. We have most of the absolute necessities, like food, water, blankets, and bandages. But things like painkillers and IV bags have been in much shorter supply, from what I've heard.

A particularly awful scream goes off in the direction of the medic tent, making me wince and snuggle deeper into my nest, as if the thin, scratchy fabric will somehow block the sound.

Mail has also been delayed the past few months. It makes Seraph worry about Deputy Maize and his family. She used to get a letter once a week. They've still been consistently writing just as often, but she only receives the letters several at a time along with a care package or two every month or so when the mail actually comes in. She's been writing longer letters to send in return whenever the supply ship actually shows up.

I'm glad I went with her to spend Christmas with them last year; it was a lovely time and good for both of us, I think. I know I've mentioned it before, but they're lovely people, and they've been sending me cookies and candies and things too in the parcels they send to Seraph. I wish I could tell them just how much I appreciate it, but anytime I try to write or talk to anyone who isn't you, I find myself struggling to find the words.

That's yet another sheet full. I sigh as I flip the page on the legal pad, holding the already-penned leaves to the back of the pad with my glove that's not holding the pencil. After a quick glance at Seraph to make sure she's still doing okay, I get back to work.

Blossom, it's so hard to be kind or appreciative as Knight. Years into being him, and I still haven't figured out how to do so in a way that's both convincing and in-character.

I sigh. Here I go talking about Knight as if he's a different person again. He's me, and I know he is. And yet, he feels so distant from me, as if he's a character I'm playing all the time. And I know that's what he's supposed to be, a version of me that's safer to be than the real me. A more grown-up, surer version of me who's not just some scared twenty-something acting like he knows what he's doing. But trying to be him all the time frequently makes me feel like a background inhabitant in my own body. I guess it beats the alternative, but in some ways, it gets harder and harder to bear the more time goes on.

I guess the hardest part is knowing nobody knows I'M in here. But I don't even know how I'd try to explain it to Seraph, or how she'd react if I let myself be myself around her, rather than always wearing Knight as an emotional and mental mask the same way I almost constantly wear the physical mask. She's used to Knight after being his backup the past couple of years. If I ever just... dumped Meta on her out of nowhere, so to speak, she'd probably think I'd gone insane or something. If anything, she'd assume META was the false face, not Knight.

I'm pretty sure I've worked myself into a corner there. But it is what it is, I guess.

I roll my eyes at myself and change the subject before I start rambling any worse.

Anyway. As much as Seraph and I both disliked base life, I think we'd both go back in a heartbeat. It was boring as anything, but it was calm and consistent, and we had three square meals (two, technically, in Seraph's case, but that was by her own choice), and warm beds to crawl into every night.

Then again, I know Seraph appreciates that her reputation didn't precede her to our current platoon. It also helps that people don't point out her colorful condition as often anymore. People have bigger things to worry about than a Split as the war keeps getting worse. And I know I've mentioned it before, but every so often Seraph brings up how thankful she is that nobody had heard of her among this group of soldiers when we were added to their ranks after her burns had all healed.

I'm still so grateful and somewhat amazed that she survived that day that B-612 fell to Nightmare. I don't know what I'd do without her at this point. It's nice to have at least one consistent person I can pretty well rely on and who cares that I'm here. She still hasn't managed to kill anything in battle, but she does a good job of watching my back and brutalizing anything that gets too close. More and more that's the symbiosis we're working towards; she's my bodyguard of sorts who roughs the monsters up so that I can finish them off after. It's still not perfect, but we work a lot better together now than we once did.

I'm proud of her. She's grown a lot. But I'm still worried about her, and these days, that worry just keeps growing.

As if on cue, Seraph cries out in a screech of terror.

"Please, no. I promise I'll be good; I promise I won't be sinful anymore; just please don't hurt me," she sobs, clear as day, as if she's speaking to someone in the room. But she's sleep-talking, begging someone in her mind for mercy.

All of her night terrors are like this. They started while she was healing from the burns, and at that time, they only happened every now and again. Anymore, they come every night.

Leaning forward, I give her arm a gentle shake, even though that's rarely enough to rouse her. Sure enough, the only response I get is a second, louder scream of abject fear.

"Please, no. Please, I'm sorry; I'm so sorry," she wails.

Sighing in worry, I grasp her arm tighter and give her a couple of rougher shakes. As per usual, she immediately springs upright this time. I instantly roll out of the way as soon as she rises, moving just in time to miss a lunge past the lantern and a solid punch sent straight into the tentpole I was just leaning back against.

I learned to dodge reflexively like that after the first time I had to shake her awake. That time it was my face that met her glove, not a tentpole.

She may not be able to actually kill anything, but the Corporal throws a mean punch.

Seraph pulls her glove back from the metal pole, shaking the strike off as she gasps for air. Her eyes are wide as she swallows down oxygen like it's a limited resource. I can tell she's fighting to center herself back in reality.

"Try to breathe slowly," I remind her quietly. Her eyes dart over to me, meeting mine where they hide inside my nest. She nods once and begins shaking her gloves in closed fists to let off some of the anxious energy. But she's still trying to hyperventilate, poor thing.

I set the legal pad to the side and pull the blankets back from my head so she can see my face more clearly. "Seraph, breathe. Follow me. In," I inhale slowly in an exaggerated fashion, loud enough for her to hear. "Out." I exhale in the same way.

She nods twice, still shaking her gloves. It takes her a moment, but she begins trying to copy my breathing pattern. She struggles at first, the slower breaths frequently interspersed with more panicked gasps in and out. But over the course of a minute or so, she's able more and more to match me. And after a moment, although she's still trembling, the terror has left her eyes and the hyperventilating has fully stopped.

Exhaling extra slowly, she stops shaking her gloves and hugs them around herself instead. "Sorry," she mumbles, her eyes falling to the floor in embarrassment. "I'm sorry I'm like this."

"No," I say firmly. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault and I'm not bothered by you, alright?" I've been trying to emphasize that lately; I'm not sure if it's getting through. She nods, but I can tell she's not listening. "No, Seraph. I mean it. You're not a bother and I don't mind helping you. You don't need to apologize."

"Okay," she mutters, still staring at the floor and still trembling.

I sigh, leaning back against the tentpole at the back of the tent now, and watch her. I wish I could ask her what the nightmares are about, but I know it's not any of my business, and she's expressed more than once that she doesn't want to tell me. It still upsets me, knowing how little I can do to help.

After a moment, Seraph pulls the blankets around herself again, now settling into a sitting position. But she's still trembling. After a moment, I realize it's not just panic, now; she's genuinely cold. I don't blame her; this planet is always freezing.

I watch her for another long moment as I pick up the legal pad and settle back into my nest, tugging the blanket back around my face. Finally, I exhale heavily and reach out one glove, gesturing for her to come over. "Come sit with me. It'll be less cold."

She finally raises her eyes to meet mine for the first time since she started calming down. "You sure?"

I nod.

After a moment of hesitation, she scoots over with her pile of tangled-up blanket and sleeping bag and leans against my side, not really having a tentpole to lean against since I'm currently occupying it. "If I'm making you uncomfortable, tell me to move, okay?" she asks, looking up at me from within her own blanket nest.

I roll my eyes down at her in a friendly way. "Seraph, I'm the one who asked you over here. You're fine."

"I know," she mutters, then yawns. "Thanks for being here and putting up with me, Knight."

"Thank you for the same," I tell her gently. "Go back to sleep."

"What about you?" she asks drowsily.

I half-lean my head down against hers. "I'll sleep after I finish this letter to Blossom, okay?"

She half-smiles. "Tell your girlfriend I say hi."

I snort, feeling a blush rising to my face. "She's not my girlfriend."

"She will be someday," she says teasingly, and yawns again. "At least, she will be if she knows what's good for her, or I'll fight her."

I snort again, looking down at the Corporal in a fond manner. "I would prefer you not fight my theoretical girlfriend, Seraph."

"See, you agree she's your girlfriend in theory," she mutters, half-smirking as she dozes off. "And besides, as your sister-ish person it's my job to be annoying, right?"

I blink in surprise as that last remark, but it's honestly not that shocking that she'd say something like that with a sleepy lack of filter. And to be fair, I've considered that thought in passing more than once. After all, our relationship reminds me a lot of the dynamic there once was between Forest and I, at least in some ways.

I watch the pink-and-blue-split Star Warrior for a long moment to make sure she actually falls asleep and isn't just faking for my sake. But as her breath grows slower and more even and I can feel her heartrate fall through the blankets, I know that she's actually given into slumber once again.

Gently leaning my head back down against hers, I pick up the legal pad again and resume writing once more.

Speak of the devil, Seraph just had another night terror. She's alright now, and back to sleep, but I still worry about her. To paraphrase something she just said from another angle, it's my job to worry about her as her brother-ish person.

She says hi, by the way. And that you have to be my girlfriend or she'll fight you.

I look at that last sentence for a long minute before erasing it and starting into a different one on the next line down.

I don't remember if I ever told you this, Blossom, but when I was about 4, maybe 5 years old—before we moved out of Knowledge Province to River Village; ergo, also before you fell from my sky—my parents talked a lot about having another child. They both really wanted a little girl—Father because he wanted to be as close to the 'average' family as possible; Mother because, as she joked a lot at the time, she thought it'd be fun to have 'one of each.'

I think they thought I had forgotten all about it by the time you arrived, but I remember Mother teasingly asking me in the Knowledge Province language back then if I wanted to be a big brother. And I remember saying 'si,' yes. And I remember doing crayon doodles of me and a purple—always purple for some reason—little sister riding Warp Stars or playing on the beach—again, we still lived in Knowledge Province at the time.

And I remember how we still had all of my baby things packed up in a couple of boxes in the attic, in case we ever needed them again.

I remember the hushed, excited conversations I heard between Mother and Father almost every day that fall. And I remember the day I came home from kindergarten in Lateautumn to see Mother lying on the floor in the living room, staring at the wall, unresponsive to me asking what was wrong. I remember dialing the phone number for the clinic with shaking paws, the first time I'd ever used the phone, and getting a local pizza place the first try instead, having to try twice again before I finally managed to get the number right. I remember Father rushing home and me being taken to Abuelita's house—Mother's mother—and staying there for a few days. I remember no one telling me what was going on.

I remember that's when the talk of moving started.

I remember how when we moved about two months later, the boxes of baby things stayed with the old house, along with the crib-turned-daybed that I'd slept in my whole life up to that point.

I hadn't made any of the connections at that point. I was scared but excited to move, and the promise of having a 'big-boy bed' at the new house was just part of the adventure. I didn't wonder at the time why we left all of the baby things behind.

I sigh and half-close my eyes. I've processed all of this before on my own, but it still hurts to think about. Opening my eyes again, I keep writing. It feels strange to mourn someone you've never met, even stranger when you're not even certain whether they ever actually existed. I don't know the details. I don't know if Mother miscarried or simply had a phantom pregnancy. All I know is my parents were almost definitely expecting a second child, and after that day in Lateautumn, there was never any talk of it ever again. From that point on, I was an only child, set in stone.

I miss her, Blossom. And I don't know whether 'she' actually was a she, or even if 'she' actually WAS, at all.

I pause for a long moment, letting myself sit with the strange, old grief for a second. But then, as always, I pick up and keep going.

But at least I have a little sister now, of sorts. A fiery, determined, mouthy little sister who throws a mean punch and is liable to get herself in deep trouble one of these days. But at least she's got a level-headed big brother of sorts looking out for her, who'll hopefully be able to get her out of said trouble if she ever does fall into it.

I glance fondly down at Seraph once more, still holding the pencil to paper. The Corporal stirs in her sleep and sighs, making me also sigh in grateful relief that she seems to be getting some peaceful rest, at least for the moment.

I can't wait for you to meet Seraph someday, Blossom. You'll love her, just like I do.

I miss you, Blossom. So much. But at least I have a friend now. It makes it slightly easier to be without you.

I still miss you all the time. There's not a second I don't. And that will never change until the moment I'm with you again. And once I'm with you, I'm never leaving your side again. You'll be stuck with me forever once that time comes. I promise.

I love you, Blossom. With all my heart and soul. I hope to somehow see you soon.

Ever yours,

-Meta.