Ah... [She can feel how important it is, in the moment it spreads through her mind. It really is something so important... it seems like she's sharing a time where someone finally reached out a hand to her for the first time.
Even as the memory weaves itself into Mio's consciousness, she tries to grab onto its slippery form, wanting to do as she had pledged and help Gray maintain it once its given. It's like trying to hold onto a palmful of water.
It's already fading. But so is she, even if the slight twitch of acceptance that emerges from the Dryad is an encouragement. This could be enough to save them.]
... Her name was Miyabi.
[It's not the memory that Mio initially thought of, but perhaps that one is too painful to share now. There's an ugly peace to the scene that projects itself across the Communion they share. Pre-dawn, on a battlefield that's quieted down from the fight that preceded their arrival. Mio and another girl, flutes in hand and dressed in similar uniform, stand overlooking the carnage.
"Mio...have you ever touched a mote of light from a Kevesi? ...They're the same as ours."
As the two young women speak, the nature of their work becomes clear: They attend to the dead, and the Mio in this memory chafes against the restraint imposed on her by her position. They live to fight, after all, but the only difference they make is after everyone else is dead. No one else will ever see them.
But is it really recognition that she wants? Instead, the memory seems to be saying, what they do for the lost is worth any amount of commendation they could have received...a moment of significance in a life of endless service. The girl named Miyabi stands up and faces the fallen. "If we're forced to live this way, the least we can do... is this."
The memory begins fading as innumerable motes of light rise from the husks collapsed on the ground, music guiding their rise.
In the prison of roots and earth, Mio's face is wet with tears.]
more spoilers!
Even as the memory weaves itself into Mio's consciousness, she tries to grab onto its slippery form, wanting to do as she had pledged and help Gray maintain it once its given. It's like trying to hold onto a palmful of water.
It's already fading. But so is she, even if the slight twitch of acceptance that emerges from the Dryad is an encouragement. This could be enough to save them.]
... Her name was Miyabi.
[It's not the memory that Mio initially thought of, but perhaps that one is too painful to share now. There's an ugly peace to the scene that projects itself across the Communion they share. Pre-dawn, on a battlefield that's quieted down from the fight that preceded their arrival. Mio and another girl, flutes in hand and dressed in similar uniform, stand overlooking the carnage.
"Mio...have you ever touched a mote of light from a Kevesi? ...They're the same as ours."
As the two young women speak, the nature of their work becomes clear: They attend to the dead, and the Mio in this memory chafes against the restraint imposed on her by her position. They live to fight, after all, but the only difference they make is after everyone else is dead. No one else will ever see them.
But is it really recognition that she wants? Instead, the memory seems to be saying, what they do for the lost is worth any amount of commendation they could have received...a moment of significance in a life of endless service. The girl named Miyabi stands up and faces the fallen. "If we're forced to live this way, the least we can do... is this."
The memory begins fading as innumerable motes of light rise from the husks collapsed on the ground, music guiding their rise.
In the prison of roots and earth, Mio's face is wet with tears.]