Chapter Text
It's raining. A coffin now seals tight, surrounded in grey trees. Insects dance, wings flap, those veiled in black mourn.
It's not fair, the older Kōzuki brother – dead. Part of Britannian command, everyone believes his death honourable. They're half right but all wrong.
Naoto. Fighting for freedom that the world ignores. Kallen stood by him, even when he pushed her away.
Who's standing next to her now?
The metal man towers over Kallen. His puffed cloak repels the misty droplets, the faceplate distorting her reflection. Her chubby face, drenched and useless, waiting for the metal man to speak ill.
"This is Naoto's own fault. Your Brother took too many risks, leading a splinter cell faction was supposed to be relatively safe."
Kallen balls her fist. The muffles of raindrops drown the sound. The humans are silent, letting insects jump ontop them.
The metal man remains untouched. "Kallen, your Frame piloting skills don't matter. I won't sponsor detriments."
Splashes ricocheted off puddles, unrelenting. "Naoto is dead. Your insurrection should die with him."
The masked man is cruel, Kallen realises now. There's nothing left.
Naoto is gone, and he's ever coming back. No more gentle pats on her head, words of encouragement, or in-jokes. All those memories waver in the air, with the insects, stinging her.
"Where is Naoto?" Ohgi is motionless. No one lifts their head. To be expected, everyone is grappling reality as it slips away. The dead lose their secrets, and the same knowledge blinds the living.
Death. There is no abyss. No ledge to grab hold of: the end of a black hole is not comparable to this feeling. Yet Kallen knows death, visits it often. Her tongue splits from dryness, and her nostrils cloud. She's cold. Her heart, alone, frozen.
Her mothers and father to Kallen's right, loud and weeping. With deflated arms that nudge forward. But Kallen doesn't move. They can't reach her; they never will.
The keepers stop waiting on Kallen to the annoyance of the metal man. All that's left if for her parents to impart stale words, letting the lice scuttle on their backs. And the black crate lowers with a blue glow following it.
Movement, invasive, wavering then crouching. The metal man's mask is level to Kallen. "This is a warning. Stop fighting the world and live a simple life."
Kallen slants her eyes to the dirt ground. He's just a mask. What do they know?
Kallen roars at the fools clothed in black. "Don't you dare think it. Not one of you. I won't let you control me."
The reception only stirs at Kallen's outburst. Ohgi stares blankly – not listening. He's so stupid, paying more attention to a beetle than her.
Kallen stomps on the floor, twisting her foot into the mud. It doesn't matter. Even if they don't listen now, Kallen will keep screaming at the world. Her self-affirming promise.
Her vow: the ones in control are wrong. Kallen punches the metal man's shoulder. The clang is hard, the man unaffected – only bruising Kallen.
The man is hollow. "If you carry on the way you are, you will only make yourself and others suffer. Can you not forget your dense dreams? This rage isn't passion — it's selfishness."
Metal arms trap Kallen, blocking her escape. She resists, shaking her head side to side; a metal man can't possibly understand her pain.
Kallen looks over the metal plate. The eyes must be somewhere. "I won't ever stop. I'll fight for everyone in Japan. No numbers, no slavery, no Britannians."
The metal man digs his gloved fingers into his faceplate. The lump shakes, shivering.
"Dammit. Is that's how you're going to be? Then forget the pain of your Brother's death." Wet polysynthetic fingers press into Kallen's heart.
It's so unreasonable. Kallen, forget her Brother? This pain is her now, driving her heart. She crawls inwards. Small, dampened from the rain. Her mind fogs to the butterfly, crawling into her self-embrace.
Kallen can make out the mark on its wingspan, like that of a Rorschach test, with black pigment defining the pattern, spreading from the boundaries, accenting the blue. The butterfly hovers, flapping glowing blue wings that flicker the symbol of the flying crow, as thin as a portrait, and as dense as the moon, so unique to the red that fills Kallen's mind.
Why does something so cruel have to be so beautiful?