Under The Apple Tree

Ever since the night that he had found himself in Boreas and Auster he hadn't stopped thinking about his son and the state he had seen him in. His pitiful attempt at an intervention hadn't even phased his son and he worried that Balthier was simply too far gone to help. Still, when Allegro had been killed he had felt a peace knowing that they were safely in Abaven together and that Balthier would undoubtedly take his place in at least caring for Azzurra. His sickly daughter was the one he had worried about the most, but he had rested peacefully knowing her siblings would look after her. Now that peace was broken, knowing that how he expected them to stay was no longer the case. He had no idea where Psalm, Solo, or Azzurra were and with how he had found Balthier he assumed the worst. Regardless, he wasn't there and he couldn't help. After that night he had been pulled back to the realm of the dead and he was left to worry and wonder as he wished for some way to go back and actually speak with his son.

There was some kind of pull and tug as the wish went through his mind again and with nothing to loose Allegro followed it, walking at first and then slowly building up into a run across the misty, foggy land that had become his timeless home after he passed. Slowly the empty, foggy landscape gave way to sparse trees that were slowly more and more dense, the fog falling away, and the trees beginning to thin once more. All at once the air felt different, the light changing to a cool moonlight, and as he slowed to a stop he glanced up and saw the castle up ahead. He was back. He didn't know what was happening or what kept pulling him back to the world of the living, but he was grateful for the chance. The shattering of a bottle only a dozen or so feet ahead of him made his eyes snap toward the sound and through the trees he spotted the familiar black and gold swirled form of his son. Mismatched ears flicking back against his head, Allegro stepped forward, finding Balthier crying over a simply marked grave at the base of a tree. He looked over the broken pieces of yet another wine bottle and he sighed, his heart wrenching in his chest. "Balthier..." he said softly, half expecting his son to not be able to hear him again.

Walk | "Talk" | think