“The cursed swordsman… sleeps before… the sacred tree”
That was what was written on the cold and silent tombstone. Your shivering fingers traced the words. Your wet, (h/l) (h/c) hair cascaded down your face as the rain kept pouring heavily from the darkened sky above. You were humming quietly. It was a beautiful song, a song that he always played when he wanted to call the rain. A song that you always heard whenever it was raining back when you both were in Termina.
The Song of Storm.
It was a long time ago. Long, long, long ago. Too long. You were late. He was gone. You stared at the tombstone. You didn’t even know whether the water on your face was raindrops or it was your tears, for all what they could do was to blur your own vision.
You bit your lips, trembling, trying to keep your face straight, for it was what a Lord of Termina should do. But it did you no good, since his smile, his voice, and especially his brilliant cerulean