Fanfiction:Zipp Dementia Chrono Break 4
Chrono Break
By Zipp Dementia
At night, Gaurdia castle became quiet, quiet made lonely by the distinct contrast to the busyness of its days. When Nadia had fallen asleep and even the lowliest servant had finished their chores, Crono would sometimes rise and wander the halls, his footsteps echoing back only to himself, a harmony to his heartbeat.
In recent days, during these restless hours of the night, his wandering had gained some direction, if not necessarily purpose. He found himself more often than not in the basement of the castle where the kingdom’s greatest treasure resided: the sword Masamune.
Masamune: the blade of dreams. The sword had a history almost as long and convoluted as time itself. Crono was one of the few people living who knew the history in its entirety. It wasn’t a tidy history. The blade had never been at the center of a war. But it had been at the outskirts of many, always present to strike a decisive blow and turn the tide towards the favour of the just and right. Justice... Crono knew what most tried to deny... justice was a term soaked in blood.
The sword had come to rest in the castle since the end of the middle ages, when its last possessor had given it into the hands of the royal family before he passed away. At first it had been proudly displayed in the castle’s upper halls. But as the kingdom grew, and with it the castle’s daily traffic, suspicion of theft had arisen and the relic had been moved. As suspicions grew higher, so the sword traveled lower, finally finding itself in the castle’s deepest and most secure chamber, a chamber that only the King himself had the key to. There the gleaming broadsword sat unsheathed on a pillow of blue velvet. It never required polishing, and it never rusted. It simply sat, lit by twin electric lamps, a testament to time and the ever lasting glory of the enduring Gaurdia line.
Crono was in that chamber now, scrutinizing the blade and pondering its purpose. It was said to be a holy relic, but Masamune was, for all its bard sung qualities, a weapon. Could a weapon ever truly be righteous? The question plagued him.
Visiting Lucca hadn’t given him the peace of mind he desired. It was true, she had fought along with him and Nadia, traveling the time stream and witnessing the whole of human history, and preventing its eventual demise; despite this, he felt more comfortable here, with the blade that had endured the same trials, rather than at Lucca’s chaotic house with the person who had shared in them. A blade was ultimately a simple thing, its motives no more complex than the arm that swung it, not near as conflicted as the mind that seized it. Crono yearned for the days when his whole being had the easy purpose of the blade. He hadn’t had to consider all the little consequences, only the major one, that if he didn’t act, humanity would suffer. He had been a saviour, and no one (least of all himself) had a place to question his motives. What he’d done he’d done for the good of humanity. He’d attacked those who had threatened his well being. Evil was well defined. The planet itself had graced his actions with its blessings.
And now? He supposed he was reaping the benefits of his brave selflessness and sacrifice. He was, after all, ruler of the most powerful kingdom of the time. And he was married to the most beautiful woman in the land, a woman he undeniably loved. Our reign, Nadia had called it. And yet, it wasn’t a true statement. More and more he realized how little he was actually needed, now that evil had been defeated. Nadia had a place in the new world they had created, but himself? At one point he had been willing to sacrifice his very existence for the future of the planet. Now it seemed a small thing to give in comparison to the endless meetings he endured every day.
Times had seemed simpler then. And yet, what had made them simple except men who were willing to act? What made them more complex now except the lack of such men? Perhaps one day he would be needed again. Surely evil couldn’t have been vanquished, only put off for a time. Maybe Gaurdia would need military might more than political prowess in the future. Then he could demonstrate how much he loved his people and his country by defending it with his life. Wasn’t that what had earned him the love of the people in the first place? And what had he become? These days he feasted and grew fat while his sword arm atrophied at his side, exhausted at the end of each day not from defending his country but from signing his name to treaties that had little practical meaning to him. He had weakened and, in his heart, he felt that this was the true reason Truce had turned against him.
Even Lucca had said it. A kingdom had to be strong. Wasn’t that why Masamune, a weapon, had become the symbol of Gaurdia’s legacy? Why both her rulers had once been warriors? Crono liked this line of thought and followed it to its natural end: wasn’t it his duty, as King, to show the strength of Gaurdia in the face of adversity?
Masamune seemed to shine brighter on its pedestal. Words from the past seemed to drift from the blade to his ears, the words of the last “person” to wield it in combat.
“My hopes and dreams and those of Cyrus are held within this sword. I must wield it. The sword leads me. That is my sacrifice.”
Crono nodded. Glenn had been right. There was always a need for strength. And someone always had to sacrifice themselves to be that pillar. Silently he knelt and thanked the blade in front of him. He knew now what he had to do. The Masamune did not respond. After all, it was only a weapon.
Meanwhile, in their bedroom in the highest tower, Nadia rolled over. She was dreaming that something precious to her was lost, and she couldn’t find it. Her arm searched unconsciously for Crono’s place in the bed, and the pendant around her neck gleamed softly in the moonlight.
From: Fanfiction
