Vanguard
Vanguard opened his eyes wide, but ultimately smiled and nodded in acceptance. Yes, it was correct.
"I see. You really are an amusing one, Meti. You know, I had a daughter once. It's a bit crude, but you remind me of her a little." He closed his eyes and chuckled a little,like he just thought of something funny. "Tell me, have you ever thought of growing old?"
Almost seamlessly, he slipped through the air like a phantom, kneeling before the woman and pressing his hands on hers. His voice was tempting, perhaps even alluring, like a snake's. But his eyes were focusing solely on her, looked past her body and stared at her being, her soul. At that moment, there was a ghost on his face, no human expression could match the one he was wearing.
But whether he be a saint or a demon, a hero or a monster, there was only one truth. No words in the entire cosmos would ring more true then the ones slipping past his chocolate lips.
"I admire you, to have achieved such prodigal mastery at such a young age. So young, so beautiful, unsullied by all these troublesome anchors such as flesh and mind. You are a sword, you are pure. But, there are things even a sword cannot cut. Like a beautiful flower reaching for greater heights, growing more strong and beautiful every day, even you will begin to wilt. As all living things, you will become slave to the hourglass, ticking away until you crumble into dust."
Bones will grow old, skin will shrivel, your own body will refuse to obey you. Perhaps, even your reason will escape you. Which is why I know, you cannot bear the thought of being unable to raise a sword. You've devoted your entire life to the sword, can there be a thought as terrifying as dying without one? Nay, but he refused. Be it the gods or the natural laws, one cannot bear to entertain the possibility of something beautiful fading away before it reaches its climax.
At that moment, his body leered closer to hers, almost like insects crawling atop her, but not pressing on her body even once. And how could one refuse? Because not once did he oppose her, he simply guided her like a river, slipped through her cracks in order to touch her true self. He could easily do so without her consent, but he wanted to give her a chance. He wanted the words to come from her lips, not his hand.
To see the world as he saw it, to witness the truth. There was no smile, no pretense to his visage. Such false expressions only served to deceive, but to tempt another, one must speak from the heart. Fingers twirled on her hair, stroking the lines of her scars gently, as if he thought they were no grotesque disfigurements, but the beautiful marks of a warrior.
His lips neared her ear, and he whispered.
"There are heights taller than mountains, heights that a single lifetime cannot bear. But you can, your spirit can, and so will your body soon enough. Which is why I want to grant you an opportunity, a chance. To be able to swing to your hearts content, unburdened by the rot and the muck and the unfairness of this world. I will give you the greatest gift of all. Time."
