SSS Class Mythic Beast Master

Then the roots moved.

Not the passive growth consuming victims, but active tendrils that shot toward him with predatory speed. They came from multiple directions, above, from both sides, wrapping around his legs before he could react.

More tendrils secured his arms, binding them against his torso. Within seconds, he was immobilized, held suspended by roots that tightened with each attempt to struggle.

Mimir squawked in alarm, launching from his shoulder before getting caught. The crow circled overhead, clearly agitated but unable to help directly.

Then a voice emerged from the roots, not spoken aloud but transmitted directly into Reinhard's mind. It carried the tone that suggested vast intelligence, patience born from centuries, and something approaching genuine curiosity.

Why do you keep moving? Why do you keep trying?

Reinhard raised a brow at this thing. The way it was asking him and speaking to him was familiar to the memory of Dune, where the Night Terror questioned Dune on his motive. It is as if these things are curious about the nature of people's actions and can't stop themselves from finding out how they function.

Didn't you enjoy the dream you had when you were fighting with your friends? The voice continued, its tone almost gentle. Or would you prefer another one where you're fulfilling your goals and wishes? I can provide that. Show you success, victory, and accomplishment. All while you rest peacefully.

Reinhard frowned, his light blue eyes glaring at the roots surrounding him. "I don't need your help. Especially from a thing that disregards others' will and greedily takes their life force."

The roots trembled slightly. I only take some to help keep their dreams going. I'm sure you noticed many look like they've been here for a long time, and they have.

The voice paused, then continued. Here, let me show you their truth and what they wish to turn away from. What I help give them relief from.

The roots around Reinhard glow, and images flooded his mind. He felt the trapped victim's memories, their pain, their despair being displayed in his mind.

A young man appeared in the vision, perhaps nineteen years old. His face showed features that didn't quite align properly, eyes at slightly different heights, nose bent at an odd angle.

Not disfigured exactly, but different enough that others noticed.

The vision showed him walking through a village while children pointed and laughed. Adults averted their gazes, uncomfortable with acknowledging him. He sat alone during meals, his presence tolerated but not welcomed.

Reinhard could feel the loneliness from the memory mixed with desperation. The young man's expression showed he'd tried smiling, tried fitting in, but eventually accepted that his appearance would forever mark him as other.

The despair had grown slowly, accumulating like poison until even breathing felt exhausting.

The vision shifted.

A woman appeared, her face covered in burn scars. The damage extended down her neck and presumably across her body beneath clothing. She'd been beautiful once, the undamaged portions of her face suggested delicate features.

But the burns had transformed her, made her into something people flinched from instinctively.

The memory showed her attempting to enter a market. Vendors looked away when she approached their stalls, while children cried and hid behind their parents.

A young man she'd known before the fire looked at her with pity rather than recognition, his expression making clear their previous relationship was impossible now.

She retreated to her home, rarely emerging. The isolation became voluntary eventually, it was easier to be alone than face constant rejection. The despair showed in how her movements slowed, how her eyes lost focus, how even the sunrise failed to bring comfort.

Another shift.

A person whose gender was ambiguous, features mixing masculine and feminine in ways that fit neither category comfortably. Their clothing showed similar confusion, attempting to conform to village standards but never quite succeeding.

The memory showed them being turned away from both men's and women's gatherings, belonging nowhere despite trying everywhere.

They'd worked harder than others, trying to prove worth through labor. But acknowledgement never came to them, and they remained forever on the periphery, acknowledged when useful but never included.

The vision shifted again.

A warrior appeared standing alone against a tide of Phantasm Beasts. The creatures swarmed over defensive positions, overwhelming guards who'd fought beside him moments before. He stood at a narrow passage, the last barrier between the beasts and fleeing civilians.

His face showed no fear, only grim determination. He fought until weapons shattered, then used broken blades. When those failed, he fought with bare hands, even as the beasts tore him apart slowly, but he never retreated and never ran way.

The civilians were able to escape, and the village survived. But when reinforcements arrived hours later, they found only beast corpses. The warrior's body had been dragged to be consumed before the roots captured the beast and took the body.

Regardless, no one knew the name of the person who was just visiting Eastern Hesod and had just happened to be in the village at the time.

His sacrifice went unrecorded, his name forgotten, and his existence erased from history.

Reinhard trembled from this, this feeling of erasure. The man had done everything right, sacrificed everything just to let those people survive. Yet he was forgotten, as if he'd never existed at all.

More visions followed rapidly towards him. First, it was dozens of them, hundreds, and then thousands rushing through him.

Each one showed different forms of despair.

A mother abandoning her child, an elderly person outliving everyone they'd loved, a talented artist whose work was never recognized, a scholar whose discoveries were stolen by others.

Loneliness and despair in infinite variations, all ending with the person wrapped in roots and sleeping peacefully, their pain finally ended.

The roots' voice returned softly and said. You see? They all suffered, and all of them felt the world was against them. They wished they had an escape, a way to experience something different, and I provided that. Gave them dreams where they're accepted, where they matter, where they weren't pathetic, and where their pain doesn't exist. Isn't that mercy?

Reinhard remained silent for several seconds, processing what he'd witnessed. The roots waited, apparently expecting agreement or at least understanding.

Then Reinhard spoke, his voice carrying conviction that surprised even himself. "All of them were extremely strong people."

The roots trembled violently. What?

"Even though they all felt such despair." Reinhard continued, his tone growing stronger. "Even though all felt such pain, and all felt the world was against them. They continued moving forward and weren't willing to take their lives. Sure, some of them had given up, but that wouldn't have lasted because sooner or later they would have tried once more."

His light blue eyes blazed with intensity despite being immobilized. "So what if they looked pathetic? So what if it was painful? They still continued living and hoping life would get better. That takes strength beyond what most people possess."

The roots tightened, confusion evident in the pressure. But they suffered-

"And from my point of view, they never gave up." Reinhard interrupted. "Just for that, they are already so great to me. When the world comes crashing down on you, and you feel alone, it takes an amazing amount of will to continue."

How many times had he wanted to give up when trying to survive and provide for his siblings? How many times did he cover his face and cry at night while worrying about the next day? How many times did he feel anxious, nervous, and feel himself sweating as he tried to think of a way out?

Reinhard understands very well how much courage it takes to continue living after experiencing all of that.

"I will remember all of them and make sure to write them down. So for that, I thank you for showing me this."

Silence stretched through the mental connection, the voice apparently unable to process his response.

Reinhard's expression softened slightly. "You've proven the Forerunners weren't wrong in trusting that their belief would be carried on. These people, all of them, embodied that perseverance. They kept moving forward despite everything, even when it would have been easier to end it all. That's the Forerunners' Golden Age's true meaning. It isn't victory or glory, but refusing to surrender even when the world offers every reason to quit."

The roots trembled again, but Reinhard could feel the uncertain emotion through them.

"So thank you." Reinhard finished quietly. "For showing me more reason to destroy you. These people deserved to finish their stories on their own terms, not trapped in false dreams while you drain their lives away."

His Beast Symbol glows beneath the roots' grip, power building despite the restraint.