Story Reader / Affection / Alisa: Echo / Story
The transport craft slated to come has arrived, carrying resources to be delivered to other conservation areas.
While they did offer to take you back to Babylonia, you kindly refused them and asked them to first finish what they came to do.
Resources are life and hope—and a couple more days at Conservation Area 104 is nothing if it means the resources can be delivered to those in need as soon as possible.
Crackle—
A speck of fire pops out of the burning chunks and is gone with the wind before it even lands on the ground.
The firelight that dances on you and Echo strikes you as familiar.
It wasn't all that long ago when she told you about her past as she tried to break free of the shackles that had once held her in place.
Are you sure you're fine staying out here?
It's probably a lot cozier and warmer in the transport craft.
I wouldn't call this camping when all we have is this campfire here.
...S-suit yourself, then...
The night wind is far from being bone-chilling cold, but you're still glad that there is a nice campfire here to keep you warm.
Staying in the transport craft surely would be cozier—except you would feel bad about leaving Echo out here alone.
And Echo probably doesn't particularly fancy the idea of getting herself stuck in that tiny space with Pickman's minions...
When you cast a look over Echo, you see that she's writing something down in a notebook, the firelight shining upon her.
When gripped by writer's block, she bites the pen's cap absentmindedly, bringing to your mind the image of a diligent student grappling with some class assignment.
She looks at you dumbfounded, her cheeks a light pink. You can't be sure if it's the firelight or a blush.
But she quickly puts on her poker face again as she buries the notebook in her chest, seemingly not wanting you to see what she's written.
Well, writing poems just never crossed your mind as something I'd do... did it?
What... I bit the pen's cap?! Oh, you did NOT just see that!
Looking at the pen's cap, Echo appears genuinely embarrassed—a far cry from the person she is when she fights.
Can you please just forget what you saw, Commandant? I promise that won't happen again.
Seeing Echo upset, you try to cheer her up, not knowing where you even read about it.
But you thought it was funny!
What... I bit the pen's cap?! Oh, you did NOT just see that!
Looking at the pen's cap, Echo appears genuinely embarrassed—a far cry from the person she is when she fights.
Can you please just forget what you saw, Commandant? I promise that won't happen again.
Are you sure you weren't laughing at me just now...
Oh, is that so...
Echo casts a dubious stare at you.
In an attempt to seem credible, you give her a few hard nods.
Well... sort of.
It's just a way to get all these feelings off my chest.
A real poet probably would laugh their head off reading it, though.
Says Echo, lacking her usual confidence.
What do you mean by good students...
But I'm not trying to be humble here. I've been writing poems however I want to, and I don't even really stick to all the rules and whatnot that you usually see in modern poetry.
And I don't even write about the great and the good when I know I should...
Ohh...
Echo trails off. Then, a thought seemingly pops up in her mind. She picks up her pen and starts writing away in the notebook.
Moments later, she holds up the notebook to see what's written on it—before tearing the page off and feeding it to the campfire by her side.
Well... that one just now was for the refugees from today, especially those whom I couldn't save.
And I thought it'd be better burned than kept in this notebook, for me personally.
That's when you notice that a few previous pages seem to have been torn off the notebook as well.
This is probably what she has been doing in memory of those who lost their lives in Utopia.
I was struggling with the end of that poem and couldn't seem to work around it—until you gave me that piece of advice about ignoring the "shoulds" just now.
Echo watches the piece of paper as the flame devours it, her eyes glistening with the firelight.
Engrossed, she starts reciting the poem she wrote.
In the land through which the white aurora flows we trust.
From the land through which the white aurora flows we try to break free.
The dusk swarms around us with the gray smoke,
Swallowing the tears we have shed in confusion,
Turning them into a riverbank too far for us to ever reach.
As it hears the children's calls from behind,
The world halts not.
When the night and river stop the children hand in hand,
The children can be heard saying,
This place should be bright as day.
We shouldn't be looking for dawn.
It's dawn that should be looking at us.
You find yourself engrossed in the emotions carried by Echo's clear and composed voice.
All that can be heard now are the crackling and popping of the burning chunks.
What...?!
That's never my intention... See, this is the first time I've got someone's company while wrapping up work...
Hmm? Well, instead of seeking light... shouldn't the world simply exist in light?
I know we aren't quite there yet, given the way things are now, and I'm not going to let anything stop me from making that happen.
And I'm sure people who have lost their lives in our quest for justice will truly be able to rest in peace if there ever comes a day when we no longer have to seek it.
Hmm... It does feel a little weird how we're having such a serious discussion about it, though...
You need to come up with a poem and share it with me, Commandant, in the interest of being fair here!
That's fine. You don't really need to care about rhyming and prosody and all that. I mean...
Rules don't matter when it comes to your feelings!
If there is a memory you're particularly fond of or a feeling you want to get off your chest, that's something you can write about!
Wow, took you only a second to rise to the bait. Pretty confident there, I see.
Of course.
A promise is a promise, then, Commandant.
With it, Echo lets out a long sigh, seemingly relieved.
I never expected this, but sharing these thoughts and feelings with you isn't as bad as I would imagine.
It still feels a bit embarrassing for me, of course, but I can't really complain as the one who screwed up in the first place.
Say, if poetry ends up being your cup of tea, maybe...
...Uhm, never mind. I'll be waiting to give your poem a read, then.
