Following events that changed the course of Ardoni history, Ingressus finds himself amidst a new struggle, coming to terms with the new norm that surrounds him, getting by day by day as best he can with the aid of a select few Voltaris
However, afte...
Author's note: first things first: if you have not read "Unbroken" then this fic will make no sense whatsoever. if you chose not to read "Unbroken" then kudos to you, and fair play; but that still won't change things here. you could continue anyway and simply infer little things, which is also fair; but I would hesitantly recommend at least skimming UB first XD
second thing: UB was a very heavy fic. while this remains to be the sequel and therefore will reference back to certain events that occurred in UB, I have *halved* the angst. this will be nowhere near as heavy, or as angsty, or as dark, I can assure you. no major content warnings apply at any point. obvs it will have its moments where angst is present, but that's just my writing style
also to note: do not be fooled by the title. it has a meaning here, but it might not be what you think. just keep reading and ye shall see XD
I actually did a lot of experimenting and research for this, so when I say I've added the PTSD tag, it is because I forewarn you that I have done my best to write the effects of said disorder as accurately and as realistically as I can; so if you, like myself, suffer from PTSD, do take your time with reading it as I have done writing it
I thank my UB beta, Cloudless_Sky, for beta-reading my work once again, and for poring over certain aspects of this story and spinning the idea wheel with me because, quite frankly, I could not have come up with 100% of this. that *would* be unrealistic XDfinal note: Ingressus does appear out of character in the early stages of this fic. you'll see why as we go
now we have all that nonsense out the way: enjoy!
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Overgrown blades of grass graced his lower waist, and he fluttered his hand over their sharpened tips, letting them tangle between his digits; their roots coming loose as he tugged on their feeble structure. They weren't the luscious green that he had hoped. They were a burnt brown, hazy and crisp as they tickled one another, poking his bare skin as he walked. The soft crunch of the charred ground as he planted his heel was one such that he had only heard on the harsh ice of another place. He didn't expect the similarity and he shifted to step lightly, confused by his surroundings. He should have known this place, yet even in reality, he had not seen it with his own eyes; he had not the luxury of knowing a past that could have been his and so many others'. He sniffed; the air starved of freshness. He contorted his face, lost, and his stride shortened as he lingered with each step, sensing that something was amiss; yet he continued forth, his grip on the scratching blades tightening in anxiousness – although be it anticipation or nerves, he was unsure.
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"You will not breathe a word of this to anyone..."
The faint whisper carried with the winds around him, barely audible above his own shaky breath. He had heard these words before, from a time long past. He paused. He looked to the palm of his hands and balled them to fists. Then he splayed them again, stretching his digits carefully. He flipped his hands over to inspect the back, to check his wrists. The inflictions lingered – faded scars and blisters of a time that he should know every waking second of, yet his mind remained clouded, foggy to the details. He exhaled exasperated, annoyed that he couldn't remember what he knew he should so clearly never forget. The pain swirled his mind, yet the picture was blurred.
