2025-12-13: Once More Unto the Breach
- Cutscene: Once More Unto the Breach
- Cast: Hyousuke Suzuki
- Where: A hiking trail near Mt. Katatsumuri
- OOC Date: 2025-12-113
- IC Date: Sat Aug 25
- Summary: Hyousuke attempts to collect his thoughts before the assault on the Palace, but the silence is deafening, and he leaves in no better a state than he arrived.
BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkoLxwCahrE
The trail was quiet that night. The cool air of the summer night was still, disturbed only by the faintest of evening breezes, or the distant chirping of cicadas gathered in the greenery. Even the sky itself adhered to this, manifesting as an endless sea of black. It was a yawning, fathomless void that seemed to stretch out for eternity, without even the faintest pinpricks of light to illuminate the emptiness. Hyousuke himself did not dare to break this quiet, breathing softly and moving little as he gazed up, as if the world around him were made of brittle glass that would shatter at the slightest disturbance.
It was not a peaceful kind of quiet. It was stifling, smothering him as he looked upon the abyss that hung over him. It was the kind that weighed heavily on the mind, instilling a deep sense of unease in those mired in it. It was the calm before the storm, heralding destruction and chaos that no man could hope to control. It was the silence of the deep forest, prowled by some razor-fanged predator as it stalked unwitting prey. It hung in the air like a miasma, choking the calm from those who dared to breathe in its presence.
Hyousuke attempted to keep this unease from his mind. He steeled himself against it, doing as he had been taught - breathing slowly in, and then releasing the breath in a gentle exhale. It did little to calm him. His fingers clenched around the steel of his flask, pallor spreading across his digits as his grip tightened. His foot tapped impatiently against the grass to an uneven rhythm, dampening the soles with what remained of the morning dew. His jaw clenched at the thought of what awaited him, only for him to force it loose when he realised what he was doing. He presented himself as calm and unassailable, simply meditating on that hillside clearing, but even a cursory glance was enough to reveal him.
He tipped the flask of still-hot tea to his mouth in an attempt at steadying his nerves. It was the only thing he could think to do. He did not voice his thoughts to a friend or a mentor - he had no desire to share this moment of vulnerability with them on the eve of such a momentous battle. He did not immerse himself in battle or training, allowing his single-minded focus on success to drown out any thoughts of what was yet to come. He required every ounce of strength he could summon for the fight that lay ahead. He had nothing, and he had no-one - that singular luxury he had afforded himself was all that he had.
The first mouthful he swallowed threatened to burn him from the inside out. Scalding and searing, it shot down his throat like a lump of molten steel, the sensation only beginning to settle after a long few moments. He should have flinched, let out a quiet hiss of pain, or even allowed an instinctive contortion of his face in response. But nothing came, save for a slight tensing of his jaw. He could not keep from displaying his displeasure or his unease - not entirely. But what he could control, he would. If he could not stop himself from feeling it, he could at least stop others from seeing it.
Dread probed at the edges of his mind, hastened by the ominous quiet that stilled the air. Hyousuke recognised it, but did not address it. He refused to so much as think on it. He pushed it down, clenching his jaw as he tried to eliminate the few telltale signs his body yet exhibited. He could not allow his misgivings the chance to take root. He could not allow himself to be vulnerable. He could not display weakness. Even in the private moment he had allotted himself away from civilisation to collect his thoughts, free of both judging gazes and gentle words, he would not tolerate his own weakness when his friends needed him the most.
He continued to drain the flask. It was a cheap blend, and he could taste it. What little pleasant flavour there was in it was muted, either by age or dilution of its ingredients, leaving nothing more than some thin slop cauterising his throat. Yet, he drank it still. It was all he had. He did not want to show vulnerability to people that needed his strength. He did not wish to show even the slightest hint of weakness when there were others that were more scared than he had ever been. He did not wish to show anything other than his own fortitude in the face of great odds, even in this quiet, private, moment.
It was not long before dregs were all that remained. A few drops of it near the bottom, some streaks along the side, and the mouthful he swallowed down. It had not distracted him long enough. In the time he had taken to drink it, the silence had grown ever louder. Where it had once crept into the crevices of his mind, snaking in and prying it apart like weeds, it now pounded at its walls and demanded to be let in. The feelings he'd suppressed clamoured from the bottom of the pit he had pushed them down into, thrashing and screaming to be let out. But he ignored them. He pushed them down again and turned from them, as he had always done.
The night wore on, the air grew colder, and he... he was no calmer than when he'd trekked up the mountain. Even that place of peace and quiet meditation offered him little solace. A distraction, perhaps, but not a solution. Nothing that would help ease his worries before he once again took up arms in service of someone else. He took some small comfort in the knowledge that it was for a cause and for people that were worth fighting for, however. That, if nothing else, helped keep his darker thoughts in check for now.
He slung the flask into his pack, and the pack over his shoulders. There would be time for solemn contemplation after they had secured their futures. But now, the hour was fast approaching, and he needed rest.