Chapter Text
The reactor was a different story. He couldn’t just… block it out or move on. This could affect everyone--could kill everyone . He couldn’t trust the kids to fix the reactor. That wasn’t their job, it was his. He could remember it, vaguely. How the reactor worked, what needed to be done. It would be painful. It could be deadly. It was a risk he had to take. It was a calculated risk, he had already measured his options. Maybe if he cast Blizzard on himself a couple times he could balance it out, if he even had the time to do so while working on the reactor. He didn’t have much hope, but he had to keep strong--for the children he was with.
It hurt, maybe more than anything, to know that regardless of the outcome this would be an image that rested in the back of the children’s minds for as long as they would live, likely. Desch wasn’t sure if it was better to remember too much or to remember nothing at all. It was a very brief and existential thought, and he decided not to ponder on it too long. Instead, he took a cursory glance around the room.
The reactor shone bright as ever from his vague memories of it, with molten hot lava at its core. The room itself was bare, save for a few instruments he could pick out as tools to keep it maintained. A few rods off to the side, likely to keep the temperature stable enough to function. It was incredibly cold, even with the burning lava reactor. It felt empty, devoid of life. He remembered brief things here, helping Owen with maintenance, learning what certain things did, not that he could remember all of it clearly.
Desch knew what he had to do, but he hesitated. He had so much to live for, and besides, how would the kids react to this? Would Luneth become bitter over it? Would Ingus break under the pressure of watching someone close play with death? What of Arc and all his quiet energy, or Refia and her fiery temper and grounding presence? What would Salina think?
What would Salina think? He hadn’t known Salina for long before he had run off and got himself captured, but he cared for her. Greatly. He wished he got to tell her where he had gone off to, what he was about to do. She deserved to know, he thought briefly, and it should be him to tell her, not that it was looking like that would happen any time soon. Desch thought for a moment, silently contemplating, hoping it just looked like confused hesitation. He liked to think she’d be understanding. Sad, no doubt, but eventually the grief would fade. It was for the good of everyone. If he didn’t make it, at least he had some time with her. She would understand. He told himself that a couple times, he really didn’t want to hurt her.
A deep inhale. Shoulders Square. He could do this. He had to do this. This was his job, this was his tower, his home, his set of stairs and hallways and toads that he could barely remember. This was his empty room and the girl he couldn’t remember the name of. It couldn’t be one of the young kids in his charge, they wouldn’t make it, no matter how tough they thought they were, how fire-proof they tried to convince themselves that they were. It had to be him.
He was Desch. He was 1,020-ish years old, though he certainly didn’t look it, in his opinion. He was the protector of the Tower of Owen, and by extension the continent. He was woken up to do just that. He had no choice, and he had to accept that. Fate was ordained from the start, and he couldn’t run from it when it counted most.
So he turned. He faced the 4 children, possibly for the last time. And he smiled. He wanted it to be reassuring, he didn’t want to think about the grief and despair painting their faces like ink spilling on letters. He wanted them to be happy, more than anything these kids deserved to be happy. In the short time he had been with them he had learned so much of their pain and struggles, their dreams, their motivations. These children had to survive. This continent had to survive.
They tried to convince him to think of something else, of course. He wanted that too, truly. He figured there had to be another way, somehow. But he couldn’t remember any other way to fix the reactor, and even then relied on the memories from 1,000 years ago. Who knows how faulty they were. This was a huge risk, he understood that very well. But someone had to do it, and it couldn’t be these kids, already tasked with something much, much larger than they were ready for. This would help them, in the long run. He was doing this for the continent, for the kids, for Salina.
Desch smiled, and he walked calmly into the reactor. He didn’t have some witty reply, this was his destiny, who he was. He hoped, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he’d live to see their smiles again, and that Luneth would punch him in the arm, angry for worrying all of them. Refia would tell him to go see Salina and apologize profusely. He walked further, the skin searing flesh. He gritted his teeth, continued forward. He could deal with it, this was for everyone. So he continued on, didn’t look back, didn’t give anything a second glance.