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sp-aceagecrystals · 6 years ago

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Divine Oasis (part 1)

There is a certain sense of unreality that comes with walking through a room of thousands of quietly seated student, their matching uniforms blurring together near the edges. This feeling comes with knowing that against almost absurd odds, your name was picked from the ornate glass bowl sitting on a marble pedestal before the crowd of your peers. It comes with the sudden realization that you will die very, very soon.

Word count: 1785

Warnings: death (by drowning)

Author notes: this is my first finished long creative writing piece, and I’m really proud of having finished it! This is going to be the first part of probably a 6 part series, as it’s the origin for all my Reborn OCs! (Also, the character uses multiple sets of pronouns, so I shifted between them throughout the piece)

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As Joan sat on a bench at the edge of the expansive room, her eyes focused on a small knick in the hard stone floor. Her caretakers flanked her on either side, two lovely old ladies who had treated her like the little daughter they never had. She had never been interested in these ceremonies; it was always the same speech, the same crushing silence as a name is drawn, and the same somber-yet-anticlimactic finish of some kid getting sent to their own special deathbed. Not to say they didn’t find the process itself interesting, this was just always the most boring part. She was almost entirely zoned out when they felt Ms. Heather lean towards her. She didn’t really process what the woman said, but she quickly noticed the silence that had fallen over the room. The administrator on the podium shifted on her feet slightly, the wait for some sort of response was now getting uncomfortable. One of the four Reborn lined up beside her - an older boy with curly gray hair - reaches over and plucks the name that had been drawn straight from her hand. He clears his throat before repeating it, his tone growing a bit impatient.

“Joseph Harper, please come to the stage.“

Maybe because of the name they called, or the fact that she had missed the name getting picked, but something doesn’t click for a moment. She feels stuck, like all her bones and joints were suddenly concrete, nailed to her seat. Eventually, though, she finds the will to stand. The loud clack-clacking of her formal shoes seems to echo through the entire room as she makes her way to the stage. To ignore the thousands of eyes trained on her, she focused in on the details of the Reborn. The aforementioned boy, a chubby black-haired girl with a warm smile, a red-haired kid who seemed to be shivering, and a younger skinny boy with borderline iridescent eyes. They all looked happy, bored, or some combination of the two. As she comes up the steps, the gray-haired boy helps them up, an indecipherable look of concern in his eyes.

She forces herself to sit still on the stage, simply turning to face the crowd and folding their hands behind their back. The administrator has started droning on again, and soon enough she’s being lead out of the room. Everything feels numb, like all the sound and movement is on another plane, physically close but mentally distant. Someone tells her to sit, and someone says the wait won’t be too long. She listens obediently, trying to drag her mind back to the present. They look towards the closest Reborn, the older boy. Joan notices the way hair seems peppered with a darker gray at the tips; this soot-covering followed throughout his outfit, most notably on the dense black coating on his leather boots. He must notice her assessment, as he glances over to her. With a readjustment of his position to face them, he offers out his hand. She smiles blankly and shakes it, only vaguely processing being informed that his name is Mirror. “A bit of an odd name?” She wills herself to say, though it comes out quiet and empty. He grins slightly and chuckles, “Well, my power is smoke control, so that might help it make a bit more sense? You know, like ‘smoke and mirrors’?”

“Ah, that... works.”

“Yeah.”

And like that, the conversation is just as dead as she will be. He opens his mouth to say something, but the loud slam of the old office doors cuts him off. The two turn towards the source, where three figures cloaked in pure white robes approach. On the top of each hood is dual sets of wings, silky blue embroidered in silver. Their steps are silent, making their very presence seem ethereal and unnatural. Of course, that is fitting for the Holy Hands.

One holds out a pale manila envelope in their hand. Joan takes it, easily prying open the weak adhesive. Unfolding the paper inside, a message is clearly printed inside:

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SACRIFICE FOR MADARIS

YOUR DESIGNATED METHOD IS DROWNING

She stares unthinkingly at the letter, unable to process it, until one of the cloaks’ lowered voices cuts through her thoughts.

“Whenever you are ready…?”

She nods, and the group parts to allow her out of the hall. Hesitantly, she makes her way through, until she turns the corner and freezes in awe. In the past, the main hall had always been surrounding a tall, circular wall, intermediately supported by ornate marble pillars. Now the pillars stand without walls, exposing a flourishing oasis of plants with a small lake (or a large pond, however you want to see it). The spaces once walled in now let soft daylight spill into the main hall, breathing a sort of life into the now empty space. Approaching the edge, even the smell of such untouched wildlife was almost suffocating. Taking a step in feels somehow invasive, as if this sanctuary will be corrupted by their presence. As Joan makes her way to the water’s edge, they spot a small pier nearby. Vines and moss fill the gaps between the sun-bleached boards, wood creaking so loudly she was honestly considering the chances of it snapping under her. The toes of her shoes poked out over the glittering blue-green ripples. They forced a few deep breaths in and out of their lungs, a pathological survival instinct screaming in her mind to reconsider.

Maybe a more dramatic end would have been more fitting; reeling back and taking a running jump, or diving in with the elegance of a natural-born swimmer. They were neither that brash nor that graceful, though, so instead she simply tilted on her toes further and further, until she could sense her weight shift. For a split moment, they processed the sensation of falling, a primal panic jolting through every nerve in her body. But just as quickly as they had started falling they had hit the surface, cold and oddly invigorating. Her clothes were immediately soaked, their too-tight shoes like leather bricks flailing blindly above them. The water stung their eyes and her lungs burned in her chest. Having never learned to swim, Joan was unusually relieved by their inability to save themself at this point. Finally, after battling against every instinct she had, she opened her mouth and took a desperate breath.

The pain was unimaginable. Her throat was being ripped open, shredded from the inside; or at least that’s how it felt. They couldn’t really comprehend whether they were breathing in or out now, not that it made much difference. The water seemed to fill her instantly, her stomach and lung convulsing in some last ditch effort to live. Vision doubling, the deep murky teal of the lake faded into a pure, divine white. Everything they ever knew flashed before them; names, places, colors, voices, sensations. Their final thought was a single statement. Not in a sense of hope or reflection, but a triumphant and bitter promise.

I’m going to live, dad.

•••

They didn’t know how long it’d been once they open their eyes. For a brief moment, she even wondered if she was dreaming. Silt from the spongy floor rises in plumes as they shifted, slightly at first, then attempting to sit up. The cerulean shade surrounding them seemed foggy, almost suffocating. It’s this thought that drew her into a startling awareness that she wasn’t breathing. Not that they were drowning either; no, she was long past that point. Her lungs expanded and deflated uselessly in her chest. They went through the motions to stand, balance practically nonexistent against the water’s pressure. The only interruption to the turquoise landscape was the dark silhouette of one of the pier’s support poles. Lost for a better way to reach the surface, she slowly made her way to it and began the climb up.

The journey was uneventful and seemingly endless. Beams of light cut through the liquid atmosphere, giving hope to a coming end. Finally, their hands gripped over the flat, splintered surface of the pier. Despite not necessarily needing oxygen by this point, the energy she exerted to bring herself atop the boards left her desperate to take a breather. Naturally, her first reflex was to cough up the water now entrenched in her body. This was about as painful as it had been earlier, a fiery hot pain cutting through their esophagus for what must have been forever, until they felt unnaturally empty. To her shock, there was no blood. She desperately wanted to lie down and sleep for the next hundred years. Somehow, though, they found the will to stand, legs so shaky she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk. They only had to stumble for a moment before their body fell back into the rhythm of the living. Only at the edge of the oasis do they realize that the walls had resealed in the time they were underwater. Too drained (both literally and metaphorically) to try and find another way out, she simply pressed a hand to the ivory wall, leaning into the cold surface for support. In an instant, it began to shake and, with a loud groan, slide to the side. She jumped back in surprise, wrapping her arms around herself. Instead of the coarse fabric of the academy uniform, though, their hands met bare skin. A glance down showed them that they were now wearing some sort of dress, made of a smooth, water-resistant material. The front went down to right above their knees, while slits on the sides separated it from a longer back section that, while rounded, reached halfway down her shins. The dress was sleeveless, the top rounding off below her collarbone and connecting to a matching choker with a black fishnet. Besides the fishnet and matching black leggings, the whole outfit was a similar murky teal to the water they had died in. The cacophony of sound from the wall had stopped, bringing their attention back to what was in front of them.

All the other Reborn stood or sat idly in the main hall. Aside from the younger boy, who had fallen asleep, everyone’s attention had shifted to her. Mirror (was that what he said?) stepped up first, eyes silently taking them in. His gaze met theirs and, offering out a hand, a crooked grin came to his lips. “And who might be joining us?”

They hesitated briefly, mind racing to create a new identity. A single word repeated, again and again, in her head until she smiled back and shook his hand confidently.

“Maritime, at your service.”

#creative writing #original character #trans character #fic #sp aceocs #oc maritime #reborn canon #my fics

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