It was that sort of day, the kind that'd soothe a rhythmic trance into your old bones, the kind of morning where the children were smiling and the flowers were fresh and everything was part of a luminescent picture book. But there had been one slightly off figure in that ideal image that had been Solemn Park. It was man, or a boy, rather, with a mop of blonde hair and a white hood thrown softly against his shoulders. His was the form of uncertainty and doubt, a forlorn expression adorning his sharp features. He had been traversing random paths with no clear objective for a good while now, and he'd only recently began glancing back at the sky above him after eons of staring down at the shadows lining his shoes, and though his eyes were hazy and unfocused, the cheery blue pigment was reflected clearly in the glass that made his irises. And as that part of the world continued to revolve around the soft-shouldered figure, the worlds inside him ceased indefinitely, and all there was a hole he desperately wanted to fill with something, anything.
And he'd been here, once, twice, and now he finds himself back again. But now it wasn't just Talonia or the musings of a dead man or the urge to fulfill a thirst to roam, like he always did. Instead, it was just him and his memories and the sepia filter that came with the autumn breeze, dyeing his everything with a subtle melancholic undertone.
"...It's been so long." he whispered, his figure wavering with the winds as they billowed over softly, "Am I really going to find my way home, I wonder..."
It was unavoidable then to find his heart elsewhere regardless if the morning was a quaint and pleasant one. Silly as it was to consider, the swordsman would come to terms with his petty homesickness like he was six, succumbing to the longing that came with it. His actions were uncharacteristically sluggish under the sunlight, which was unbecoming for his regular demeanor when it came to openly warm days where the adventure was bright and beckoning. And though he'd reason out that he might've just woke up on the wrong side of the bed earlier that day, he couldn't possibly escape his currently disorientated state even if he tried. Never mind the fact that the boy resulted to feigning ignorance, it was the way his shoulders heaved as he sighed that betrayed the mellow day's temperament.
With a little nudge, he'd force himself to lift an arm as he shuffled through his breast pocket, fishing out an old, crumbly photograph of a golden-haired boy being cradled in an elderly man's arm, a pair of twins standing on each end as their braids shone with the sheen of an exquisite chocolate color. Realizing that the boy, who had been him at age three, was the one who stood out the most, Terith began to believe that it was the same circumstance from back then. He obviously didn't belong in that brightly lit scene, where his morality issues were the fan to a relentless flame. And yet, he couldn't find it himself to turn around and leave, as if there were a drawing presence within the park, and he'd have to find it regardless of what he'd been going through.
The swordsman dug a frown into the curve of his jaw, shoving his hands down his empty pockets before continuing, walking down the left portion of the park with little care for the things around him. There, the waters from the fountain seemed to all but glisten in his eyes, and with long, lunging steps, he'd approach it and make use of a vacant spot on its rim to seat himself comfortably. He later assumed a bent stance as he pressed a pair of pale white knuckles to his temple, breathing in and out, gently, as if to quell the negative forces that began working around him.
That's right. It had been that sort of the day, where it was his father's death anniversary and he wanted nothing more to be back home to comfort his sisters as they wept at his grave. But with no means of reaching that world, the world that he once knew suddenly started to cease.