Chapter Text
Picking up the pace, Dragato briskly walked down the path off to the side of the training area. It wound partially around the base of the mountain before finally turning into the surrounding forest, rocky ground giving way to dry dirt.
The trees here always looked depressing - dark grey bark and branches covered in orange and red needles, which got blown around by the wind and then proceeded get stuck in everything, whether that was armor, hair or wings. The only plants hardy enough to survive in the red earth were the trees - which luckily yielded a perfectly solid wood to work with - and small, scratchy weeds. Faintly, the warrior recalled a scout's report about their roots being latched onto the trees', because the weeds could never reach far enough into the earth to draw out enough water themselves.
...Dragato wondered if there was a way to use the trees' root system to draw out water for their soldiers. That could free up the manpower that was currently being used to retrieve drinking water from the river. He'd make a mental note of the idea.
Just a short walk past the border of the forest, the trees abruptly gave way to an artificial clearing. It had been freed by them a little over a week ago... back when the first of their suriving group had succumbed to their injuries. To Dragato's surprise, a bunch of small rocks had been laid atop each of the makeshift graves since he had last visited, every single one of them engraved with a name and a little star.
...nova, there were so many of them. He knew the numbers, he had seen the records. But seeing this first hand... It felt worse. So, so much worse. Dragato bit his lip behind his mask, the fragile wall that he had built between himself and his emotions wavering.
The worst part of it all was knowing that this was just a miniscule fraction of the people who had lost their lives to the war.
Further ahead in the clearing, right between the graves, sat Nonsurat. His red cape was pulled tightly around the astral's tall stature as he stared off towards the horizon above the trees.
Ever so slowly, Dragato started to make his way over to the other warrior, scanning the names on the rough headstones as he walked. Some of them he didn't know, but there were more than enough that he did. His heart seemed to wrench into a knot at every familiar name he came across.
Lux, a warrior that he had bickered with over lunch at least once a week for years. Fligg, the young private whom he'd had to discipline for quite literally blowing up an engine last month. May the medic, who had actually made good on their threat to kick Dragato in the shin when they had caught him - for the fifth time - working in the hangar while his wrist had been broken.
Dragato almost stumbled into Nonsurat's sitting figure, barely noticing the red of the other's cape in time through the tears blurring his vision. The taller astral didn't react at all - not a word, not even a glance or any sort of movement that would indicate that he had noticed the other approaching at all.
Not that Dragato had anything to say either. The words had left his mind somewhere between the entrance of the graveyard and here. Instead, he lowered himself down onto the ground next to his old friend, following the other's look into the sky.
The sun was starting to set, illuminating the red dust swirling in the air and casting an even more orange light over the already fiery coloured forest. It looked like the needles were on fire. On another day, in another time, maybe Dragato could've described the spectacle as beautiful.
The deafening silence between the warriors stretched on endlessly.
It wasn't until the sun had almost set, shadows creeping from the base of the trees into the clearing, when Dragato finally turned to look up at Nonsurat. The other's mask was missing, most likely stashed away in his cape, as per usual. Less normal was the emptiness on the Astral's face. It was as if his soul had been sucked from his body, leaving a but husk with about as much life in it as the rocky gravestones around them. Nonsurat might've as well been a statue, watching over the fallen soldiers and friends around him.
His dulled, yellow eyes had yet to move an inch from the spot they fixated beyond the sky, their only motion occasionally blinking the dust away. There were streaks of dried tears on his cheeks, indicating that the other had cried not too long ago.
Dragato wanted to break the silence, but what could he even say to the other? How are you was a downright idiotic question. He was obviously doing terrible, as they all were. Besides, he had tried that question several times before, and the only answer he ever got was a quiet "fine". Unfortunately Dragato didn't fancy himself to be a diplomatic person, especially when it came to feelings, so he had never dared to dig further. Stars, diplomacy was his brother's thing, and feelings were definitely Falspar's. He was just the "very good at fixing objects" guy, people were way out of his expertise.
His wandering gaze fell onto the rock closest to him, prompting him to blurt out the first thing that came to his mind.
"You made those gravestones, didn't you." It was more of a statement than a question - Nonsurat was the only person with earth magic in their current group, and the precise lettering on the rocks was unmistakably the blue Astral's handwriting.
Nonsurat didn't reply, but his stare finally pulled away from the sky, shifting to Dragato.
"I... Thank you." Dragato mumbled, avoiding the other's empty gaze. The grief that was buried deep inside those eyes threatened to break down the last of his resolve. "I didn't have the time to come here myself yet. I'm sorry."
A quiet sigh escaped the other man before he finally spoke up. "What for?" His usually gentle voice sounded weak and a little distant. "You were busy. I should be sorry for not helping you more."
That was the most Dragato had heard Nonsurat speak for the past week. This was an opportunity - maybe he could finally tear the man out of his daze. "Hm. I'm not blaming you, you know." the pink Astral fidgeted with the edge of his cape. "None of us is... In a good headspace right now."
There was no answer, so he continued. "Look, if you'd like... Would you help me organize some scavenging groups tomorrow? We're running low on everything and whenever I manage to get a leg up on one thing everything else slips through my fingers."
Still no answer, just a nod. Dragato let out a defeated sigh, leaning back and staring up into the rapidly darkening sky. It wouldn't be long now until it turned completely black, the first starlight was already blinking through the early night's shadows.
"I miss Falspar." Dragato's voice was oddly quiet as he blurted out his thoughts. The resolve he'd been clinging to was starting to wear thin now, chipped away by stress, sleepless nights and the glum atmosphere of the silent graveyard. He didn't want to keep talking, but found himself unable to stop the next words from following the first. "And Meta." His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. "And... Everyone." Tears pricked at his eyes again, so he squeezed them shut, as if that could stop anything.
"Me too." Nonsurat mumbled softly, prompting Dragato to blink through his tears. The blue Astral wasn't looking at him, he just scooted a little closer and rested his hand on Dragato's back, right underneath the feathered wings.
The gentle touch was too much.
Finally, Dragato's resolve broke, the man crumbling to pieces on his friend's shoulder.
Dragato's mental to-do list:
- clean desk
- have a meltdown
- air out the room
- drink water
- research trees