It was hard for me to feel despair... that pure feeling of helplessness, that no matter what I did I wouldn't make it, that everything was already over, but my stubbornness refuses it.
I always refused to give up until the very end... even when I knew there was no point in raising my sword.
It was my way of life.
And now?
Standing on the beautiful sand, the whisper of the waves echoed behind me in a tune that soothed the mind, and in front of me the leaves danced with the cool night breeze along the edge of the rainforest.
I was late to notice the faint distortion in the space around me... it was barely noticeable, a slight shimmer in the air shaped like a dome covering part of the beach... just like the air ripples above a fire.
I stared at my severed wrist, my vivid red blood dripping onto the white sand, over the spot where my cut-off hand lay, and with it the storage ring.
I was far too late.
