Traces of Home Page 2

Traces of Home
(Rocco)

The first thing he knows, before anything else, is light.

.

.

It burns.

It hurts his eyes and he can’t seem to see anything. It presses down on him in a way no light ever should, and ever had before, and even when his eyes squeeze shut it presses in like sharp quartz.

He doesn’t think it’s ever going to end, and he calls for someone to stop it. Anything, something. What is going on, he thinks? What’s happening to him?

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t remember. But he feels, and what he feels is that he’s heavy, and that his eyes hurt, and that he wants to go home.

He remembers things, slowly. In the way bits of snow flutter to the ground on a clear night, with no indication where it comes from.

He remembers his people first. Crystalline guardians of all shapes and sizes, chief among them his and their leader, guiding everyone through the snowfields of their land. Nobody left behind. A mighty task all of them had, and everyone had a part to play.

He remembers being young. He is young. Barely a budding of mineral compared to the great stalactites of his elders.

He remembers…something dark. And his people, they-- He had lost them. They’d gone away. Where. Where were they.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what happened. But it had been dark, and though he was familiar with dark, this was different. It sunk into his core.

It hurt. He’d never been...hurt. Before. He didn’t know what hurt was, but he felt it. He didn’t like it.

Where are his people. Where are his kin. His friends. Where is anyone to come and stop the light? It’s not right. He feels so heavy and the crystal that makes up his little form, it feels brittle. Loose.

Where is he? Where are they? Where?

He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to hurt.

He wants to go home.

He wants to go home.

“?□?□□ □□□ □?”

His eyes snap open at the sound.

Light floods.

Something leaves him and it is cavernous. It rings in his ears like a crashing boulder in an empty cavern, reverberating enough to leave his head pounding. Hoarse, and it burns, and something wet stings his face.

“!!!”

It’s a voice. It’s a lot of voices, all at once. Loud and fast.

He doesn’t know who and he can’t tell where, but he hears them and for a minute he doesn’t feel so heavy. His kin, he thinks. They’re here, and they’re worried. They’ll help. They wouldn’t leave him alone and hurting like this. Nobody left behind.

He pushes through the burning in his eyes. Fueled by an immovable will, ready to push through anything and everything in his desperation to see them, he squeezes his eyes shut and opens them, again and again.

And, eventually.

Everything comes into focus. Slowly. The light dims until it no longer presses in, and things start to take fuzzy shapes that sharpen into clear cut figures. He pushes through it all like the crystalline force he knows he is.

The world evolves before him, for the first time in a very long time.

…

There are creatures around him and they are not his kin.

There are a lot of them. Five or six, colored the various shades of snow and ice. All of them make noises and move and look at each other, and it sounds like something – like a word he might be able to catch, but he doesn’t understand. It’s too soft. He can’t comprehend them.

“What?”

His voice comes out raspy with disuse and one of them, the closest, it turns and stares at him with two-tone eyes. It speaks, because it’s the only thing he can think of to describe it. “ ??□□□□ □□?-?□□ □□ ?□? ”

He.

Where is he.

What are they. Who are they. Where is his kin. Where is his leader. Why do these creatures look like that. What are they.

Something shudders in the core of his body. The crystals of his form sharpen and crack, and he backs up when it gets closer and makes another sound. “No. Go away. Where is everyone. Where is King?”

He doesn’t understand, and he looks around, frantically, trying to, trying so hard to get it. To see any snowfield, any sign of the stars above, a hint of the great jagged stalactites that is the birthplace of all of their kind.

Nothing. There is nothing. He doesn’t know what he’s looking at.

In front of him are creatures that only look vaguely like snow, but around them – around him – is a place, a world that he don’t know how to describe.

Home was a snowy drift. Fields of snow and ice as far as the eye could see. Home was a labyrinth of rock, of crystal and glass caverns, of towering black and blue mountains that scraped the sky forged by the collective efforts of their people, a race of floating crystalline beings given life and power by King himself.

Home was a vast, near eternal inky blanket of stars and nebulae high above, giving the world color on an otherwise pure and empty white canvas.

This place...was not home.

It’s the color of it all that strikes him first, above everything. Greens and blues and yellows. The greens of the ground, decorated in a fuzz that isn’t snow but something else and he doesn’t know what it is.

The blues of the sky, peppered in white clouds that don’t look natural at all, and the sky never has been or should be that color. Something that hurts to look at bears down on him with a burning warmth that makes the crystals growing from his core itch.

Sculptures and iron growths jut from the ground like little shoddily made attempts at caverns or mountains, pockmarked with holes covered in glass, all of them in different colors that he knows only exist in the sky and the stars. He stares at one of these hollow caves for too long and something peeks from within, and he gives a caterwaul that sends him careening to the side.

“Where am I?” He shrieks. “Where am I! I wanna go home! I wanna go home!”

Something grazes him.

He turns and one of those things with their bi-colored eyes and their appendages and too-wrong faces reaches out and he screams.

“Go away! Go away!”

With a burst of power, crystals shudder into existence. Deadly things, glimmering in the light of the too-wrong sky in hues of powder blue and deep indigo, each one as large as those creatures are tall. Each one slamming into the ground below in a spray of debris that sends everything running with a chorus of screams themselves.

King said not to use one’s power without cause. They were creators. Beings of his own make meant to mold their world for the coming ages. That came with responsibility, and to harm another of their kind was simply to perpetuate the destruction of the past. It was not him and was not them.

None of this is a thought in his head. He just wants them to go away. Stop looking at him, stop touching him. The fear in his core is colder than anything he’s ever felt. King said snow was cold, as his friends had told him. Is this how snow felt?

It curdles inside of him and he can’t think. He can’t move. He floats there, stock still, and the crystal in the ground shudders and takes root, grows by his power as more begins to transfigure in the air.

Something calls, yells. Over the din of everything else, and it gets closer. He turns and the shard above him points, ready to strike, and he sees--

...Kin.

Amidst the blinding colors of the ground and stone structures and jutting growths of mineral and light, past the creatures of not-crystal that have run away and given him a wide birth, another being that looks a lot like him floats closer.

The buzzing in his core and the cold that weighs him down starts to loosen, faintly. In its place is something that flutters quick and fast, because he isn’t alone, he isn’t left behind.

“Please!” You call, begging, pleading. “Help! Help me! We need to go home! I wanna go home!”

But they make a noise that isn’t their language. They look at him like he’s a strange gem growing from the rock of a recently shaped mountain cliff, and as he moves closer, panicked and desperate both, he sees the crystals of their core aren’t crystals at all, and there’s something wrapped over them that he doesn’t recognize.

The kin know each other. Each and every one.

And this one. This one isn’t kin.

It looks like him, like King and all the others, but its crystals are all wrong and its core doesn’t shine and it speaks and talks to those creatures that lean in and whisper to it like...like they’re kin themselves.

“Y-You’re not…”

Something curdles inside. Something twists and presses in, cold, cold, he think this is what cold is, he’s sure of it, and the edge of his vision goes fuzzy.

He can’t focus. He can’t think. Everything is too warm but he feel so cold. Everything is too heavy. Nothing is right and nothing is real.

He’s scared. He’s scared. He’s scared.

The crystal growing in the ground cracks. Cracks and splinters and branches and twists. Shards permeate in the air and grow, and grow, and as his vision fuzzes and fades all of it flies, and he can only hear the world around him just as a faint buzz in his ears.

Screaming, everywhere, and the rumble of earth.

Fear was a mirror of anger. Anger was a response to attack, whether real or perceived. King never liked it when he got mad at his kin, nor when they got mad at him. Everyone needed to work together and that meant figuring out squabbles without losing one’s reason. King always knew what to say to keep everyone together.

And he was angry. He was angry. Everything crawled in his core and he cried and screamed and shouted, no matter what anyone did, what noises they made or how they moved. Crystal scored the ground and flew through the air and the destruction was almost as loud as the ringing in his head was.

There’s not one thought in his head as the power he wields tears everything around him to pieces. He isn’t looking at them. He can’t. He’s scared. He’s angry. He’s scared. He’s scared and angry and he wants to go home.

He wants to go home go home go home go home go home go home go home go home go home go home go home- -

“Hello!!”

.

.

.

.

Everything stops.

.

.

He looks up.

There’s crystal. Embedded in the ground in great jagged arcs. Everywhere, all around him, dug into the soil beneath to expose rock and mineral. Stretching on for far and far away, and lodged anywhere they can reach. It almost looks a little like home.

(Little one, now. Is that a way to use your gifts? One must treat this world with care. Try again, child.)

Creatures too. He can’t see their eyes, because they’ve gone far away into their fake stone sculptures and shoddily made caves. All of them have gone away and disappeared and he thinks GOOD.

(Kindness, child. We are all one here, and all of use have our part to play. Think you that we can forge mountains all by ourselves? No, our home has seen enough fighting.)

And he sees them, too. The one that looks like him, like kin, but it isn’t, it isn’t, and he feels the cold and the buzz begin to set in again as he looks at them and they back up, making their noises to a new creature beside them that he doesn’t recognize, that looks at him and stares for a long, long time.

He watches as that creature steps closer. Past the crystal that stretches far, far higher than they ever could be, past the shards sticking out like glittering gemstones. They have a green color to them. A faded kind of green that makes him think of a dust of color in the backdrop of the sky, so far away but he could see it if he tried. Something drags on its back and something soft grows from its face, and it reminds him of--

(Is there something on my face, child? Ahh, this? Why, maybe you will grow one too one day!)

He yells.

“STAY AWAY!”

And crystal permeates the air and flies for it like nothing else he’s ever made. Dozens of shards, dozens of jagged spikes, all in one general direction but no refinement to their target because he had never been taught.

Many of them miss. Spray into the ground behind it, on either side, kicking up dirt and rock, shaking the ground with each hit that could very well have skewered them as easy as kicking up snow. It doesn’t move.

Many miss.

But not all of them.

And even if it doesn’t move, the cry it makes, muffled as it is, makes him shudder and heave. The not-kin beside it shrieks, loud, and somehow that sounds worse, makes him wither and curl up inside himself, and he’s scared, he’s scared, he just thought he had heard--

(It’s alright to cry, child. To feel fear. It’s a vast world, and such a thing can be quite scary indeed. Even for one such as myself, the idea seems overwhelming at times.)

Home. He wants to go home. He wants to go home.

Slowly, the creature looks at him. Faded green and now with flecks of ruby red beading from where the shards had embedded into its strange not-clay form.

That green thing, too round and too squishy. It looks at him. It gestures to the one beside it with a noise and doesn’t stop looking at him.

.

.
And it speaks.

“Why hello there, little one. My, aren’t you a sight to behold?”

.

.

He stares.

.

.

Nobody had spoken like him before. Not here. Not in this strange, fake, not-real world where nothing was right or real and all of it needed to go away.

Nobody, since he opened his eyes, had ever said one real word. Not one.

It sounds weird. It sounds not right, like a cavernous echo bounced around one too many times to make out clearly, but the words are there, and he can hear them. Real, actual words.

And he stares, and he stares, and something in him shudders with the weight of something that begins to come loose like coarse gravel. He stares, and he stares, and as that thing inside him cracks and squeezes and crumples, the creature beams at him, calm, peaceable, so very happy to see him, and it looks like-

.

.

(King, the first time he sees you. Your creator and the progenitor of every crystalline guardian around you, all kin, all family, who looks down at you, eyes shining as if he had never seen anything so wonderful.)

(Why hello there, child. Aren’t you a sight to behold…!)

.

.

.

He wants to go home.

He wants to go home.

He wants his family. He wants the snow, and he wants the stars. He wants to play with his friends, and he wants to help make caverns and learn how to do the rest.

He wants King. He wants to go home.

He

wants

.

.

.

Rocco flutters into the arms of a creature he doesn’t know and wails.

-The End-

Artist Comment:

January 6, 2024

-----------------

This is a VEEEERY overdue continuation to this piece here.

I'm so so SOOOO happy this is finally done. This is a very special project I've been so eager to finish. A lot of things prevented me from finishing it, the main being, I deleted my watercolor-like brush and had to try to recreate it. ;;;; It bummed me out, so the coloring style is slightly different from the first page. But it's finally done and now I can talk more about Rocco and his origins. Rocco is such an important character to me, and I hope you enjoy learning more about him in the future. ;v;

I will post some small history of him below: (General knowledge of my series must be known. I will be mentioning things about the Legendary three)

--------

Rocco is a crystal Gordo. Crystal Gordos have been long extinct for millennia, only appearing in the era of The Legendary Three (AKA the first Star Warrior. Thousands and thousands of years ago), They were sadly wiped out and mined for their crystals from Paverok Kalmari (The son of the first star warrior who was under the influence of Dark Matter)

The Crystal Gordos are known to be one of the first nomads of South Nova. Their leader, King, was a very good friend of Kelderon Kalmari (The second son of the first star warrior) King is the protector of South Nova , and a very wise and kind leader who sees all the crystal Gordos as his kin. Rocco greatly looks up to King.

But long before the extinction of their kind, little Rocco fell into an abyss and ended up becoming frozen. He went into a type of suspended animation and was untouched for thousands of years. Millennia later, he was found by a group of Ice Leos deep within a cavern. After discussing what they should do with him, Wulfric, once being informed by Kes, instructed to take him to Kalmari Town since several Gordos reside there. (Cellic and Felice.) Cellic being the adopted son of Nonsurat.

Rocco is still frozen in the ice, so they had to lug the giant piece of glacier all the way to Kalmari.

Because he lived in a completely different era, Rocco does not understand English and speaks a dead language spoken several thousand years ago. Only a veeeeery few know the language as of today, and unfortunately when Rocco was brought to Cellic, he had no idea what Rocco was saying.

And Rocco was scared. Kalmari looks nothing like South Nova. There are roads, houses, lights- any sort of modern living that didn't exist thousands of years ago is causing him to freak out and panic. There are Ice Leo's and strangers alike surrounding him and speaking in an alien like language.

--

And Rocco attacks when one of the Leo's gets a bit too close to him. Crystal Gordos are literally one of the strongest creatures in GW. Even if Rocco is a child, he can summon large ice crystals and use them to spear his enemies. He's a massive powerhouse and everyone begins to run away in fear. Rocco is starting to rampage out of fear.

Cellic knew his dad spoke the dead language, so he asks him to help translate.

Nonsurat sees the frightened Gordo and Rocco spots him.

"STAY AWAY!!" Rocco shouts.

When Nonsurat doesn't move, he shoots several crystals at Nonsurat. Cellic cries out for his dad, but Nonsurat calmly instructs him to stay calm.

Then Nonsurat speaks.

And Rocco stops his rampage when he begins to hear traces of home in a modern, futuristic, scary world. Someone is speaking the language. Rocco looks at the elder, and for a split second, he's reminded of King.

Tears well up in his eyes, and he goes to Nonsurat for comfort. He apologizes and tells the elder he's scared and wants to go home.

Nonsurat knows the demise of the Crystal Gordos. Rocco is likely the last of his kind. Tears begin to fall in his eyes. He knows everything the little Gordo once knew and loved is gone.

Rocco's Past Life

With Rocco's home, it dates back millennia ago. When the world was still recovering from Dark Matter's reign. It's only because of the First Star Warrior and Dyna Star was the planet saved. (North, South, East and West Nova) It was on the brink of collapse due to dark matter's corruption. The outcome is barren, empty land. There's only a few survivors due to a good chunk of the population perishing from Dark Matter. The surviving population of all 4 planets is very low. Like, 70% of the population was wiped out. The planet was literally on the brink of destruction.

The world was quiet.

(**ALSO!!!) This point in the GW timeline is very different. Very powerful creatures ruled the world. Legends. Myths. So if anything sounds a bit weird or crazy, it's just because the ancient times were very crazy times. ,XP

-————--

King is the creation of all Crystal Gordos. They are created when parts of his crystals begin to shed and fall. The fallen crystals grow, and in time (likely a year or so) they become Crystal Gordos after being blessed and given life by King himself. King created a cavern so the crystals can safely grow without being disturbed. It's been mentioned previously in GW lore-

Heaven's Spine. King specially created this massive landmark as a haven for all of his kin grow. While Heaven Spine is a safe place, King, along with his followers, wander and travel the land constantly. Their kind are responsible for forming the peaks, mountains and caverns of South Nova. They don't necessarily have a village. They are travelers and wanderers of the land. They only visit heavens spine a few years, so more Gordos can be created.

Rocco was created when Paverok was around 500. ( Lifespan is longer compared to modern Gumball Warrior era) Paverok is one of the sons of the First Star warrior who will cause mass destruction due to DM influence. He is also the one who uses Crystal Gordos appearance to creature the synthetic Gordo. Aka, the creature Gordon is. A fake imitation of the original.

Rocco is around 5 years old at the time of him being frozen. Paverok being 505 give or take. But before being frozen, Rocco is just like any little crystal Gordo. Travels the land with his kind. He's currently learning to help make caverns (the easiest of the task) The small group of children stick close and learn from their elders. He doesn't necessarily have a family. Family isn't really a concept for him atm. He is just one part of a large herd. But that doesn't mean they're strangers to him. Everyone protects and treats the other as someone important. King sees everyone he creates as his kin. Even if the concept isn't traditional or normal by any means.

--

The weather does not affect them. Gordos are VERY resilient. So they can travel without ever getting tired. But King likes to stop occasionally at night. During these breaks, King spends a lot of time with the youngsters. Passing down stories. Looking and reading the stars above. He tells the story of their kind, and legacy for their future. Rocco loves to spend time hearing his stories.

The world around Rocco is beautiful. South Nova has no light pollution. In fact, he's ever seen fire or light before. The sky is always illuminated with stars. The world around him is quiet when they're not creating the world around them. It's a simple life, but it's the only life Rocco knows.

----

Kalmari is vastly different. Just the surrounding itself (basic things) Trees, dirt, grass. It's nothing he's ever seen before. Rocco's has never seen anyone other than crystal Gordos before. He's heard of King tell the story of the first star warrior, but has never seen a squishy before. The weather is warm in Kalmari. And Rocco has never felt warmth before.

It's just a lot for him to take in. Like, it's one thing after the other. It's something he's not able to process right away, and it doesn't help that Cellic and a bunch of Ice Leo's are hovering over him and speaking a different language.

The old world was quiet and beautiful in Rocco's eyes. Simplicity, the world of soft hues of blue and white. It was home. It was safe.

But Kalmari- so much color. So bright. Lots of noise. Things he's never seen- houses, buildings, strollers, planes, toys. Nothing in the modern world can resonate with Rocco. Even the smell of food toys with his nose. He doesn't eat food. (He eats crystals and stuff, but not actual cooked meals)

The world Rocco came from was considered new. A place that is beginning to heal and repopulate after near destruction. A world where legends and myths roamed. A world where only few existed.

And this new world is millennia in the making. So many people, lots of construction. A result of progress and evolution.

Rocco has A LOT to learn and accept. He's scared and terrified and wants to go back home. But unfortunately, his people are not of this world anymore.

-------------------

Anyways, I think that's all I have to say for now. I'd love to work on more pieces of Nonsurat and Rocco. He's the only one Rocco has, sort of his reminder of home. <333

The literature written for this illustration was a very last minute commission by my good friend, Dogblog. (dA- Shadowrealmprincess) I reached out to them the day before New Year's eve~ (Sorry!! ;;;; ) Thank you kindly for all of your hard work over the years. <33