NaNo2014 day 21

[shamera]

There were no hands involved, nor were there any softness to his treatment. It would figure, actually. Most people tended to stay away from l’Cie give the change, even former l’Cie, it seemed. Instead, Hope struggled against the cold steel of machinery wrapped like a vice grip around his arms and torso, cursing his blindfold.

Focus, he thought to himself. Just because he couldn’t see what was going on, or even really feel it except for the cold wind through the yarn of his sweater, it didn’t mean that he was completely incompetent. The others would be able to find him, he knew, but until they did, he’d have to take care of himself.

Or even better, just get out the situation by himself entirely.

He could hear the distant voices of his kidnappers far away, the tone carried over only by the wind. They didn’t sound very happy, and he couldn’t make out the words, but there was shouting and anger and it was something that he could use.

Hope gritted his teeth as the machines jerked him up, his joints grating painfully at the whiplash. It was only getting colder, and he thought that must meant they were going up. A mountain? Up in the sky? Perhaps an airship, then. They could be heading for Cocoon, but the journey would take too long and then they would most likely be inside where it was warmer. At the moment, all he knew was that he was high up in the air and travelling fast.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He had forgotten all about this dumb group of radicals, since in the first timeline he had been sheltered away from just about everything while they were popular. Now, he was throwing himself out to the world left and right and he should have expected this to happen, especially since the group had been on the news lately screaming blame for the l’Cie and citing all the recent little flares of magic to be the fault of the fal’Cies’ downfall. They condemned the innocent children just starting to sprout magical abilities, citing them as ‘infected’ and a ‘blight upon humanity’.

It was the fault of the l’Cie, they spat in the news. It was because those accused beings were allowed to live and spread their evil ways.

And with all the rest of the former l’Cie safe in a large group in New Bodhum, Hope had been the obvious and easiest target.

He kicked out as the machines changed course yet again, but his feet met nothing but air. His skin was starting to prickle with goosebumps.

“Knock him out before he can use that evil magic of his!”

The shouting came from far below him, and Hope wanted nothing more than to shout back, or maybe just punch the speaker in the face. If he could use his magic, if he still had it, then why in the world would he have waited so long to use it on them? Given how high up they must be, Hope would have burned the entire place down if given the chance and access to his magic.

He missed being able to twirl flames around his fingers. It would certainly warm him up. Even better was if he had access to Alexander still. Then he would need to see in order to get out of this situation. He… he missed his Eidolon, really. It was ridiculous. Hope had gladly traded his magic and summoning in order to escape the fate of all l’Cie. He didn’t have a choice, but it would have been the same decision he would have made if he had been given a choice.

Right now, though, he was starting to regret that his lack of magic.

Just a little bit, he willed to himself. If only he could access just a little bit of his magic…

His feet kicked out again, this time in frustration as nothing came to him. Where once he could have willed the winds down, summoned lightning, freeze and burn opponents as well as throw them into a watery grave, now there was just nothing.

There was a prickling cold in his neck, and Hope’s eyes widened in protest, opening his mouth to yell, to shout, to insult… but then the world blurred and the feeling of metal around him slowly diminished. He tried kicking out once more, but didn’t succeed with more than a twitch before he rested his head against the cold metal of the machine gripping him tightly, losing his fight to keep conscious.

—

It was dark. Still so dark.

Hope startled away, shivering and tense as he pushed himself up to a defensive position in one smooth motion, his muscles aching in protest at the sudden change. He was in a dark, dank room with water covering the ground for maybe an inch. His clothes were soaked and he couldn’t seem to stop his shivering once he registered the cold.

There was a dripping noise coming from all around him like rain, except he couldn’t see the sky at all when he looked up. It was just dark and he couldn’t so much as make out a ceiling, but there must have been something because no matter how cold it was, it must have been colder outside in the dead of winter. He would have been passed out for a while, as his skin felt like ice.

Hope pressed cold fingers against his arms, rubbing to try and get some warmth back. His gloves were cut and torn and soaked, not keeping any of the warmth, and he had to pull with his teeth to get the leather off as it insisted on sticking to his skin. After he managed to get both gloves off, Hope curled his fingers together to blow on them, jaw tense with cold. His legs were stiff as he struggled to stand up, his limbs feeling numb from the knee down.

He tried to take stock of himself and his surroundings. The walls were made of stone, and there was just enough ambient lighting for him to make out outlines of things, although he couldn’t tell where the light was coming from.

He shivered. The sound of droplets was getting to him. He didn’t like this situation at all, not when all of it combined brought up sensations he didn’t want to remember. No. He was still alive, so no matter the situation, there was still that.

There didn’t seem to be any enemies nearby. He rubbed his arms harder, hugging himself tighter to preserve warmth, although he wasn’t sure how much warm waterlogged yarn was going to hold for him. He still had his pouch, good, although the contents were waterlogged as well and didn’t seem to be much use after that. His phone was dead, and while it was comforting to have his boomerang, the weapon would be of no use in a small confined space. He rummaged through the pack with increasingly numb fingers, trying to find something, anything, that might be of use to him.

Candy wrappers, napkins, keys, several credit chips, and then…

He fumbled at the odd object, only to breathe out the held breath as he realized it was the small crystal that Yeul had given him. He brought it up, the light within the crystal shining in the darkness, although the illumination did not spread far. There was no warmth in the crystal, but Hope could pretend as he held it up and close. While it had been a clear light when he first received it, dim but brilliant, it now shone a tinted green reminding him of his Eidolith.

His empty wish. Hope brought it up to eye level to gaze it at for a moment, but then covered the small crystal in his palm. He didn’t have the time to think about it for the moment. He wasn’t even sure how it would work. Right now, he’d just keep it on him and make sure the kidnappers didn’t realize how valuable it might be.

Slipping the crystal back into his pouch after weighing how useful it might be to have the dim light as a guide or not, Hope reached out blinding with his hands, stepping forward slowly until he found an edge of the stone wall. It was rough and chipped, but smooth enough that there would be no way to climb up. He followed it, fingers trying to find an edge that would indicate a door.

None. The walls were round, so round that Hope was sure he came back to the same point on the wall in under a minute despite how slowly he was moving.

He shivered. He had to find a way out soon or he might lose to hyperthermia before he could continue.

As if hearing his words, there was the distinct sound of laughter coming from above him, and he looked up into the darkness, squinting in attempt to see better. It was suddenly brighter as a light shone down from the top, and Hope yelped and raised an arm to cover his eyes even as the laughter intensified.

“Guess our little monster’s awake.” A young sounding voice called down, tone mocking. The person couldn’t have been more than twenty, twenty-one at best, voice still breaking slightly. “How are you doing, monster? Cold yet? If you think this is cold, wait till the snowstorm hits! Maybe you’ll freeze to death and end up a statue. Then we won’t have to deal with you anymore.”

There was more laughter, and a more feminine voice who responded, “Ooooh, don’t say that! Then we won’t be able to play with the little monster anymore. We might get in trouble — we’re supposed to make an example of him, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. Ending up a statue’s the best possible end for you, right? We wouldn’t want that, would we? Still need to expose you and your friends for the monsters you are.”

“Maybe,” Hope croaked back, his throat protesting as he called back, “maybe you need to look up a thesaurus someday, and maybe some brain cells since I’m sure the monster here is the people kidnapping others and throwing them into a hole in the first place!”

He was starting to adjust to the light, but it was still shining directly down, making it difficult to see anything beyond the light.

“Ha! He’s trying to accuse us of being the monsters?” The voice laughed, and then grew more serious suddenly. “Listen here, l’Cie. You can’t fool us. Whose fault do you think it is that thousands of people are dead? That our homes are gone? Huh? Maybe if you dropped dead when you were supposed to, none of this would have happened! You should have died during the Purge, monster.”

Hope swallowed down his anger, his shaking no longer just because of the cold now. The Purge had nothing to do with the l’Cie so much as it had to do with ignorant people who would rather massacre an entire city than deal rationally with a threat that wouldn’t have been a threat in the first place if they only talked it out.

All those people caught up in the Purge… all those deaths. It wasn’t just his mother. It wasn’t just Alyssa. It was the crying of children, the smell of burning flesh, the screaming and gunfire and explosions and so many running just to survive. Those had all been innocent people. Every single one of them. There was no excuse that would justify the Sanctum’s actions of purging the whole city over the presence of one Pulse l’Cie, especially since the war with Pulse ended five hundred years ago.

He bit down on his tongue to silence his protests, though. He had long since grown used to understanding the type of people who would listen to reason and the type who wouldn’t. There was no use in wasting his breath on them.

“Have fun freezing, monster.” The more feminine voice taunted maliciously. “Don’t worry — we won’t let you die. You still have to pay for my little sister’s death. She was in Eden, you know? Killed by one of those monsters you brought in from Pulse. Maybe you should think about that. You think you can get away with it just because you’re young? Well, think again. We know what you are. And we won’t ever, ever forget.”

The laughter was gone, and the light disappeared again as a loud thud echoed through his ears. A lid. It sounded heavy, like stone grating on stone. They had him in a hole and just put a lid on it.

Hope kicked at the wall in frustration, yelling a short expletive. Maybe he wouldn’t have done so as an adult, but at the moment he was tired and cold and plagued with memories of fire and gunshots. It was freezing, but the cold was nearly forgotten in his rage.

How — how stupid. He hadn’t even been kidnapped by soldiers, or anything of the sort. He had been taken by a bunch of ignorant, senseless kids. Granted, kids who were a good five years older than him, but—

He sat down in the water, unheeding of the cold in his need to stew over the information. It was difficult to reconcile the hate in this time with the slow acceptance that Hope had grown acclimated to. Was this what his father had been protecting him from all this time? The first time around, Bartholomew Estheim had been insistent on Hope getting personal tutors, on living in areas with excess security systems, and not leaving the house unescorted… and even then, only with a very good reason.

This time… Hope growled and kicked out at the stone wall, splashing water everywhere. This time he had been the one insistent that everything would be alright. That the others were doing fine, and therefore he would be fine as well. He had been too preoccupied with his plans to notice that there was danger around him.

At this rate… Hope rubbed at his eyes, willing the heat in them to leave. He needed his fingers and toes to be warmer, not his eyes. When Bartholomew Estheim died when Hope was twenty-six, Hope had thrown himself ever more into his work, this time busying himself with the Academy that his father built from the ground up. The doctors said it was exhaustion, over work, but Hope always privately thought that it was partially due to worrying over him for so long.

This time… just how much stress was he putting on his dad? First the accident, and now this, all within a handful of months. He didn’t know what time it was, or how long he had been unconscious. A few hours, maybe. But certainly long enough for someone to notice that he was missing.

Hope felt a pang of guilt. It wasn’t just his dad, either. The others all worked so hard on keeping him safe…

The first timeline, Hope might have been mildly irritated by the overprotectiveness, possibly from the fact that he was the youngest. Dajh, after all, would never have to worry about the hate garnered toward the former l’Cie, being a Cocoon l’Cie as he had been. His involvement had been kept secret, and even if it had been revealed, everyone would forgive a little boy burdened with the heavy fate of being a Cocoon l’Cie. At least there was that.

Hope would receive no such leeway.

He had to be the more mature one in this situation. He was technically older, after all. Older than his kidnappers, at least. He had more experience on his side, more wisdom—

It didn’t help. The anger felt like ice in his veins, along with guilt and frustration and layers of sadness and the feel of his skin going numb as it got colder and cold. He splashed at the wall once again, trying to work through the deluge of emotions before he could get back to rational thought again.

There was a curious sound as the water hit the wall, and a more curious silhouette that formed in the area. Hope paused, glaring at the spot before finally slinking out of the water to approach it cautiously, his elbows and knees now shaking from the cold. His socks felt like they were about to freeze inside his boots and trap his feet there forever.

He reached out to the silhouette, and then pulled back immediately as his fingers found solid form. Ice. There was ice on the walls. Was it really that cold? It certainly felt like it, but—

No, it wasn’t just a thin layer of ice on the walls. It was actually a significant amount, enough for a foothold. He reached back out to trace it, pulling his fingers back fast as the cold started seeping into his bones. It was frozen over. It was the water he splashed on the wall.

He backed up a step, dumbfounded. Another shiver ran through him, and Hope raised his hands to rub at his arms again, wondering if he should just abandon his wet sweater. It certainly wasn’t helping him at all, but rather gathering up and storing the cold instead of keeping in heat. In a split second decision, Hope pulled his sweater off over his head and let it fall into the water. After a moment, he decided to leave his soaked dress shirt and pants. At least he didn’t feel so heavy now, burdened by wet yarn.

Now lighter, Hope decided to try again, kicking at the thin layer of water on the ground to splash onto the wall. Once again, it hit the wall and stayed.

Magic, Hope thought in shock even as he traced over the ice with his fingertips. He looked down and suddenly lamented over the fact that there wasn’t enough water for him to keep splashing onto the walls, not all the way to the top at least. But magic. That was something he hadn’t witnessed, hadn’t felt, in a very long time. It didn’t feel like he cast magic at all. He was just… cold.

He shivered. Really cold. It didn’t feel like he was casting. There was no semblance to the tingling feeling of power coursing through his veins, or any real purpose. That in itself was dangerous, as he couldn’t figure out what he was doing or how he was doing it — or even worse, if it was even him doing that at all. Maybe it was something else… the place? The situation? ...The crystal?

He didn’t know. But it did mean an opportunity for him to get out… somehow.

He pressed his hand against the cold stone wall again, barely able to feel his fingers at all. What should have been sharp pains between the joints of his fingers were now dull and faded, which he took as a bad sign. If there really was a snowstorm heading his way, he wouldn’t make it through down here. He needed to figure out a way out, and possibly with the magic, as soon as possible.

He pushed against the wall, willing the ice to expand.

Nothing.

Hope frowned, and pushed again, feeling the rough contours under his fingertips. Nothing happened, and he growled in frustration. He bent down and covered his fingers in water before pushing at the wall again. And once again, there was nothing.

Stepping back, he kicked again at the water, listening intently but there was nothing more than the simple slash of water against stone.

No, no, no, he couldn’t have lost it already. Just what caused the ice?

He breathed out, trying to quell the rising panic even as his shoulders shook from the cold. He wrapped his arms around himself, hunched over and clenching his jaw hard to keep his teeth from chattering. Focus. How did he manage to do that before? If he couldn’t figure it out within a set amount of time, it was better to go onto other options. But currently, he couldn’t see any other way out of this hole.

He had been sitting in the water… had been so, so angry and so many other things. Hope closed his eyes, breathing in carefully before exhaling with only the slightest of shivers, his breath hitching. Cold. He was very, very cold. It was nearly all he could think about. He was so cold then that even his rage burned cold.

Distinctly, he could hear the crackling of ice, and Hope jerked as he felt something different under his feet. He tried to step away and found some difficulty until a sharp cracking sound gave way as he lifted his boots. He opened his eyes and gazed down into the darkness. Hope didn’t have to see it to know: ice. The water on the bottom had frozen over.

Shoving down a mixed feeling of exhilaration and unease, Hope once again stepped forward and pressed a cold hand against the stone walls. While he couldn’t see it, he could feel the freezing under his skin this time, the stone frosting over and finally turning to ice, spreading like veins along the surface.

He pulled back his hand slightly, willing the ice to follow. Slowly, ever so slowly, the cold continued after him until it formed a perch that he could safely grip, slippery as it was.

Taking a deep breath, Hope stepped on the lowest perch, the uneven ones formed by his splashing. He grabbed onto the top-most perch and pressed his free hand against the wall again, repeating the gesture.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he started making his way up the hole, although by the midpoint he had pretty much lost feeling entirely in his fingers and was grabbing clumsily and desperately willing the rest of his hands to work, pushing up with his elbows instead when he could. He was breathing hard by half way, but the higher up he managed to get, the more determined he was. This was going to work. The more he was getting used to the ice, the faster the footholds started to form.

He could see the top more clearly now. It was a wooden cover, outlined in a rusted steel. It looked extremely old, definitely not something that anyone from Cocoon would have made. Something of Pulse, then. They were still on Gran Pulse, although the elevation had to be higher for it to be so cold. Perhaps they were closer to the water, just as New Bodhum had been.

He could almost… Hope struggled with tired limbs to reach up and brush his fingers against the wood, feeling the frost spread along where he touched. He didn’t need ice there, but at this point the reaction seemed involuntarily. He just needed to… to push...

There was a noise beyond the cover, and he froze.

“ —no point in watching over him like this. Might as well go get something eat.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll take over.”

It was the very same voice that mocked him earlier, and Hope grimaced. He waited, shaking with both exhaustion and cold, until the footsteps retreated. He felt like he could fall at any minute, not because the ice was slippery but rather because his arms could give out any moment.

Well, he thought to himself grimly. Here goes nothing.

Taking just a moment to gather his strength and nothing more than that (he was growing weaker with every moment wasted, after all), Hope shoved hard at the wooden cover, just in case there was a height weight on it.

Luckily, there was nothing and the cover came off easily, pushed aside like it weighed nothing as Hope scrambled over the edge of stone and clambered out of the hole unsteadily, pushing himself up onto shaking legs even as the person there ‘guarding’ him started shouting.

“Oh no you don’t,” Hope croaked out, his voice barely there at all even as he sent as much cold as he could feel toward the person, readying himself to charge. He didn’t have to, though, as the ground frosted over in white and ice spread up in a thick vice grip around the kidnapper’s body, literally freezing them in place. Hope watched the young man’s expression shift over from shock to terror quickly enough, and felt a dark satisfaction deep in his chest before he shook himself out of that and stopped the ice as it reached the man’s mouth, ensuring that he wouldn’t be able to call for reinforcements. He willed the ice to soften just the slightest. Enough for movement to breathe. The rest would melt soon enough in contact with his body temperature.

He could have killed him. He could still leave the man there to die, but as Hope looked up into murky brown eyes, terrified of Hope, he stood down.

He wasn’t a l’Cie anymore. There were entirely different rules to this game, and he’d leave that to the authorities, even if the authorities happened to by the Guardian Corps rather than Psicom this time.

He looked up in the night sky, admiring the shining stars for just a moment before his gaze was lowered. The ground was fairly even, and the area was surrounded by trees, although the place near the hole was clear of any obstructions for a ways. He looked back to the stone hole in the ground, the top looking like layered brick and forming a circle perhaps a little over two meters in diameter. Was that what he had been trapped in? It looked so much smaller from the outside.

“Where is this?” Hope demanded, despite knowing that the kidnapper wouldn’t be able to answer. His feet stumbled, legs giving out from underneath him. He just… he just needed to sit for a bit, that was all. It didn’t matter all that much that he couldn’t much feel anything below his knees anymore. He could see frost on the blades of grass around the area, and the wind was harsher outside of the hole than it had been inside.

Hope was just too tired to shiver anymore, although he felt warmer now than before. Probably due to his climbing. There were several lights set up around the hole (a well, he finally pieced together, a memory from the future), and he reached slowly to grasp at one of them, the light little more than a chemically activated glow-stick.

He wondered what he should do now. It was fairly obvious that he was far away from the settlement, and that there were other enemies around. Even if the others noticed he was gone by now, they might not be able to tell where he was. He’d be on his own for this one. His grip tightened clumsily around the glow-stick. That was alright. He had been on his own for a long time. He could do this.

Hope stumbled to his feet again, wishing that there was at least a fire he could warm up by. But a fire would be too much light, would draw too much attention. He had to find his way out of here before reinforcements showed up. Preferably find an airship, or any type of transport.

Direction, direction…. He looked up into the sky, standing unsteadily. The stars were bright but offered no guidance. The trees around them were tall, but… he could see the crystalline glow of Cocoon, even if the shape was hidden from him. That meant he couldn’t be too far off. He followed the glow, turning slowly and willing his legs to move. Down. It was closer to the downward slope of trees. He’d have to—

“Hey! You there — stop!”

Too late, and too late Hope caught the glimpse of familiar armor — psicom — but of course those soldiers would be involved — before an explosive series of sounds forced pushed him toward the downward slope of trees, ripping through his side.

Gun. His mind warned him too late. Watch out for the guns.

He landed hard, his back crashing against frozen wood and his breath knocked out of him entirely even as he slumped and rolled involuntarily into the dense forest, struggling to catch his breath and panicking as pain ripped through him. He could feel a crack, several cracks, as he landed on the frozen ground.

My boomerang, he thought distantly. That didn’t sound good at all. Moreover was the shattering sound, and Hope panicked for another reason entirely as he realized that the crystal Yeul had given him likely hadn’t survived his fall intact.

He coughed, struggling to get enough air even as he pushed himself up with frozen and bruised arms. He could feel a wetness seep through the side of his shirt, burning hot. It was enough to snap his sluggish thoughts into attention, calling for one hand to press against his side immediately in attempts to stem the flow of blood, even as he hissed when his cold hand came in contact with the liquid which felt hot enough to burn his skin right off.

He struggled to assess the damage. It was to close to the edge of his side, less likely to be a deadly wound. Two inches off and the shot would have missed him entirely. As it was, the most pressing matter he had to worry about was blood loss.

Not to mention shock and hyperthermia, his mind warned him. That would probably get to him before everything else.

The situation felt far too familiar now. The cold, the wet, the blood, and the pain… Hope’s mind flashed to his last memories before he died. Ironically enough, it felt like the exact same situation.

He could see the soldier in his sight, illuminated by light and blurred in his vision. The trees were hiding him somewhat, although a few more steps and it wouldn’t be anymore.

No, Hope thought to himself. No. He could still fight. Would still fight, even if it was with flimsy magic that he barely had a hold on. The cold would be to his advantage. He’s use it to his advantage if he had to, freeze over the wound and shatter that soldier to pieces with cold. He wasn’t some helpless child and he wasn’t willing to be a victim or statistic on the page. This time, he’d get out of this alive.

Hope grit his teeth, and pushed at the ground with his other hand, willing the cold he felt within himself to seep out, the spread and climb and attack like painfully cold shards of ice digging into skin and sinew. He wouldn’t die here. He would be just fine, and he’d make his way home and sleep in his bed with the heater on full and wake up thinking this was nothing but a bad dream. One of many bad dreams.

He could feel the ice moving, could feel it connecting with the soldier like an extended limb, could hear the startled shouts, disbelieving until the sounds turned into screams.

Screams and —

His eyes grew wide. It wasn’t just his ice. Had it just been that, it would not have been enough to hold the man in place and the Psicom soldier would have surely shot Hope through the heart by now. Now, there was something else going on, someone else involved in the fight who was fast enough to barely be seen through the blur in Hope’s vision.

A blur of blue and glint of something sharp, something large, moved through his sight as the soldier screamed and fell silent soon enough.

What…? Hope tensed, readying the stream of ice running through his veins and willing his eyes to focus. Forget the cold. Forget the pain. Forget the clothes that were freezing to his skin. If there was a third party involved—

“Hope?” The voice was familiar. Shocked. Hope struggled to his feet, one hand still pressed tightly against his side and his expression grim and suspicious. The man didn’t sound very old, perhaps around the same age as the rest of his kidnappers. Perhaps a little younger. Except the man called him by name.

Who are you? The question was at the tip of his tongue, suspicious, until he finally registered the shocked blue gaze and the vaguely familiar tribal patterns. Like Fang’s. Like Vanille’s.

Hope inhaled sharply.

“....Noel?”