by Tari Gwaemir
He is at her side.

This new world is harsh, built from cogs and gears and whistling steam. The air is stained with soot-black smoke that rises from countless chimneys. The continuous rattle of wheels over cobblestone, the raucous noise of stomping feet, the sullen voices arguing around them create a noise denser than silence, so thick that it seems to separate them.

He leans over to tell her, "Stay close to me, we musn't get lost," but a person rudely shoves between them at that very moment, and they are carried away from each other by the ceaseless stream of moving people. He panics, turns, weaves in and out through the crowds, calls again and again in a frantic voice, "Princess! Princess! Sakura!"

He closes his eyes and stands in the middle of the street, indifferent to the people pushing him impatiently out of their way. He wills his beating heart to silence, he clasps both hands over his eyes, and as all the huge deafening sounds of the city wash over him, he hears--

"Syaoran? Syaoran? Where are you?"

In less than ten seconds, though it seems like hours, he is at her side, once again. He takes her hand gently in his own and says, "I'm here, Princess."

She could call across a city, a desert, a hundred worlds--her voice would always reach him, no matter what lies between.


Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle belongs to CLAMP.

Written for Card Mistress (card_mistress), on the word "cacophony".