Chapter Text
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Eat, sleep, work.
The daily routine of nearly a decade was finally wearing Meta Knight down.
But it was such crucial work, he had no choice but to embrace it. As he did, sitting by one of the many workbenches lining one of the walls in the hangar of his halfway finished battleship, blueprints before him, pencil in hand.
Though, ever since the King of Dreamland's fascination with monsters —and rivalry with Kirby— grew, there were some variety to his daily life.
Much to his dismay.
It distracted him from his work, but he couldn't deny what a golden opportunity it was in terms of challenging the new Star Warrior in town.
And Meta Knight, like everyone else, had grown quite fond of the child.
He fully expected that the fondness would bring worry alongside it, but that feeling never came. He watched Kirby from a distance for the most part, and he was confident that child was more than capable of holding his own, despite his young age. He just needed a little guidance or get a little help from those around him, as any child would. And Meta Knight remembered just how skilled he himself was in his youth, even at that age. He wasn't worried.
That young Star Warrior had many challenges laid ahead, but he made great strides towards fulfilling his destiny.
It all made Meta Knight question his own role at play. He had asked himself, time and time again, what his purpose was. He survived the final battle, when no one else did. It had to be for a reason.
He figured he had survived solely to help Kirby to fulfil said destiny.
...it only strengthened his resolve to finish up his battleship as soon as possible.
Him and his two squires-turned-friends had been hard at work since they arrived in Dreamland, many years ago. Long before Kirby, long before the constant threat of monsters bought by the king.
Back then, the driving force, and the only thought consuming him all times had been revenge.
Revenge against the monstrous being responsible for the growing shadow across this once peaceful galaxy, who brought about the downfall of the GSA. The death of his teammates... his friends.
He flinched, tightening the grip on the pencil in his paw.
A thought so simple, yet it made him flinch every time it weaved its way to the forefront of his mind. No matter how much time had passed, it never failed to make him physically react with the enormous effort it took to shake the passing thought away.
He had no time to dwell on it. He couldn't—
...
He couldn't.
...
With greater effort than usual, he pushed the thought aside.
If only his plans of revenge were not so slow in the making.
Such plans, so all-encompassing as he could manage in the hopes they would make him prepared for anything to come their way.
These day, the burning need for revenge had died down into tiny embers. Still there, still noticeable, but no longer as pressing as it was before. The peaceful lands he'd ended up in seemed to have a significant influence on him. It wasn't really about the revenge itself anymore, just a need to vanquish the darkness once and for all, so no one would have to live under it any more.
He just didn't know exactly what the future will hold, but he knew of the prophecy. He wasn't all that superstitious, but with the combined information he had from several different sources, including Galaxia and Kabu... it all seemed to point in the same direction, all making sense.
This young Star Warrior would be the one to defeat Nightmare.
And Meta Knight had vowed to himself, he would provide the means to get them anywhere they needed to in order to do so.
He sighed.
It resonated with something deep inside him, something that had been dormant since that final battle. It was his ever-present hope. And that smouldering hope had sparked into a new flame, akin to the one that had always burned within his very core.
They would always tell me I were relentlessly hopeful.
The thought came unbidden, grinding his thoughts to a halt, and the grip on the pencil he was hovering an inch above paper loosened, almost dropping it onto the workbench.
He faltered for only a split second, took a deep breath, and tightened his fist around the pencil again. Regaining his composure.
It wasn't fast enough to escape Blade Knight's notice, who were not so subtly watching him from the other workbench only a few paces away.
Meta Knight dismissed his unspoken question with a wave, and turned his attention back down at the papers, not really seeing the numbers scribbled onto the notepad.
Don't think about it.
That mantra was one he'd repeated to himself for far too long. He'd kept the painful and sudden thoughts of his late friends at bay for the past decade, he knew he needed to take some time to reflect, but he just couldn't afford to stop for the amount of time he knew he would need in order to sort out everything of his past.
Memories, all weighing him down. Memories always at the edge of his consciousness, waves of them waiting to crash down the moment he let his guard down.
It had been much harder to stop those thoughts since...
Focus on the task at hand.
Getting the Halberd ready was much more important.
Kirby was gaining more of Nightmare's attention for each demon beast he defeated.
By now, it all seemed like some game, as if Nightmare were merely toying with them. Testing. Observing.
It was only a matter of time before he would grow tired of the games, and decide to attack with monstrous creations of greater strength.
At least, that's what Meta Knight believed.
He needed to have the Halberd done and ready for take-off before everything goes south.
He had no time for...retrospection.
He had no time at all.
No time.
They had no way of testing the ship beforehand either, and they had no way of knowing when Nightmare would attack Dreamland. They just had to be ready for when he did, and pray the ship would hold strong.
Of course, they had made good progress, and the ship was coming together nicely. By the looks of it, he believed it could be primed and ready within the year.
Still, no matter how many obstacles stood in their way at this time, the end was in sight.
Why does such an achievement feel so hollow?
His two companions were hard at work too, but only Blade was with him at the hangar this morning while Sword took the usual rounds around the castle.
It wasn't always easy to keep up appearances for the king when they needed all hands on deck most of the time for their work to run smoothly. But they were lucky that the king didn't care enough about the accuracy of their morning and evening reports, as long as one of them appeared before him at the throne room to deliver it.
Most of the time, the king wasn't even there, too caught up in his latest interest to even show up.
It was probably for the best that the King didn't pay attention, or else he would easily realise just how little work they did around the castle.
"Did you hear about the cave with ancient relics, sir? The one Mr. Curio discovered this morning?" Blade asked, breaking the silence. He'd likely noticed how Meta Knight hadn't actually done any of the calculations he had stared plotting down on the paper in front of him. Only staring, lost in thought.
Meta Knight hummed, trying his best to get his act together. "Yes, I saw it earlier."
"Saw it, huh?" Blade chuckled. "I should've known you'd be up and about at the crack of dawn to get the latest news... you can be a real gossip hound sometimes, sir!"
He really wasn't, and at any other day he would quip back with something in return, as he often did. It wasn't something he would do with just anyone, but seeing Blade laugh made it worth the effort.
Yet, Blade's light-hearted jests fell flat this late morning, and he responded with a detached hum.
The casual conversation felt empty in a way their interactions never had before. The warm feeling that usually filled his chest just wasn't there.
...and he knew the reason why. And it was the same reason for his memories resurfacing so frequently as of late.
It had only been a week since Knuckle Joe left Dreamland, and with him left the carefully constructed barricade within Meta Knight's mind.
Seeing his old friend's son all grown up made it real.
It had been ten years.
Over a decade since the loss of his two best friends.
The mere thought sent a chill through his body. He couldn't stop the wave from crashing into the shore of his mind this time.
To lose them both within the span of one year was painful enough, yet he managed to pull through. Diving head first into any battle and any task his superiors would give him.
Since he woke up in the early hours every morning since Joe left, he'd averted his gaze from the shield adorning the top of their fireplace, desperately avoiding the thoughts swirling about inside his head. All to keep some sense of normalcy.
But there was no escaping the fact that he was only ignoring the gaping hole in his heart. Avoiding it like the plague.
Acknowledging it would only make it even more real.
And he just did not have the time.
His breath hitched, the sound just loud enough to get a puzzled look from Blade.
Knowing he had failed his two old friends so miserably tore at his soul if he thought about it for even just a second. He'd failed, and Jecra's son had grown up without his father. With it brought the thought of Garlude's daughter, who were certainly out there somewhere too, grown up without her mother.
He'd just buried it too deep in the vain hope of keeping the tsunami of emotion at bay.
"You alright, sir?"
He kept himself still despite the surprise of Blade suddenly standing next to him, gloved hand gently placed on his elbow.
Good thing he was so well-versed in avoidance at this point.
"I'm fine," he replied curtly as he got off his chair, and unclipped his cape to unleash his wings. "I'll be working on the main engine, call if you need me."
With a powerful flap of his wings, he took off towards the helm of the ship, leaving a very confused Blade behind.
If he could just make it through the day without thinking too much, it would pass like it always did, and tomorrow would be a new day, back to normal.
He took hold of the emotions threatening to escape his bleeding heart with already blood-stained paws, in a futile attempt to force them back into their previously somewhat dormant state.
Just one day, he thought, gritting his teeth.
He could do it.
He'd held up his calm and collected facade for countless days before, he could do it again.
Just one more day...
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