Work Text:
At first, he couldn't believe what he saw with his own two undead eyes.
He wondered at first if it was a mere delusion, the sight he saw as he wandered the swamps. A rare respite of freedom from within the chains of the foul necromancy that bound him to this earth. Of course, he knew eventually he would have to drag back some beast or feral vampyre for Gregorovic to tear apart messily; it was technically the primary reason for his outing, after all.
But that slight glimpse suddenly seemed to make the past cursed decades melt away as if for a moment.
Familiar, wavy hair, though now it seemed more worn with time. What formerly was leather armor and a cloak were the simple robes of a travelling monk. She was carrying some kind of torch made out of splitbark bearing Saradomin's sigil, walking along the road with purpose in her heart.
Was it her? Anastasia? Had she really survived the slaughter his own careless desires had caused?
Even as he wanted to reach out to her, how afraid he was.
They had tried to kill him, the ones who knew him best when they saw what that monster had done to him.
What if she saw? The cursed hands? The shadowy miasma that wreathed them? The glow of undeath in his eyes? The necrotic flesh? The garb that was now a mockery of who they once were? Her rejection would pain him far worse than any mortal weapon or spell.
Unsure of how to handle the sight, he merely followed from the shadows. He discovered his body was sometimes less corporeal than he expected it to be, perhaps due to the sheer amount of the ancient element of shadow that took up residence within it. Whatever the reason, he could move along completely silently if he so willed it.
He wanted to approach. Yet, fear kept him confined to simple observation.
She was aged now. Some slight creases were scattered about her face. There was the slight hint of grey among her mop of wavy black hair. She was humming some song under her breath, one that as he listened to he realized was the the melody the Hunters sang before every trip to invigorate their spirits. She had likely lived a relative life of peace now, if her new garb and demeanor were any indication. Was she a healer? A miracle worker? Simply an older woman who shared her wisdom wherever she lived now?
The next action he took, he did without thinking. He began to hum along with the song.
It was quiet, hardly a breath at first. But once he realized what he was doing, slowly the notes he uttered grew louder and louder. A refreshing, nostalgic tune that both filled his spirit with comfort and a distinct stinging pain.
The woman paused, disbelief crossing her eyes. She glanced slowly towards his direction, and for a moment Silvarius panicked and hid himself. The woman glanced around, searching for the source of the echoed melody.
"Hello? Is someone there?" she called. The energetic and spunky voice he remembered was now tempered by time like a smith crafting a fine blade.
He breathed in, despite no longer needing to do so for his survival.
"Yes. Someone is here indeed."
Now the eyes, the familiar hazel eyes, shot open with recognition. She turned towards him, ever so slowly, though she saw no one there. Her lips quivered, trembled, even, before she spoke her next words.
"It can't be...Silvarius?!" she exclaimed. "No...You died years ago, I saw you die..." she muttered, the pain evident in her voice as the shadows of tears asserted themselves on her face. "You died a hero trying to save us, and now you're with Saradomin in the Eternal Choir..."
Now they weren't mere shadows of sadness. The sudden display of emotion pierced his undead heart, and now tears like liquid shadow flowed from his eyes like echoes. Perhaps that was the prompting he needed to finally come out of the shadows. So he did, now gazing into her eyes.
"Hello, Anastasia. It's...been a long time," he spoke, barely mustering a cadence more emotional than his usual flat voice.
As she processed the sight before her, what were streams of tears turned into waterfalls.
"You...You're alive...?" She inquired, both with longing and fear in her voice.
"Not precisely. You were not mistaken about my death," he explained, while fiddling with some of his silver locks with his claws. "I persist now through a curse of unlife."
"Saradomin, no..." she mourned, stepping closer to the undead one who wore the visage of her beloved. Some part of her could not believe it; part of her even worried it might be a demon wearing his face. But no... a demon would make him seem as if he had never died to tempt her. A demon would have no reason to make up a story like this. He was here, however mangled by time and by the curse of the land.
However, something about his beloved's words caught Silvarius's attention.
"...You saw me die?" he questioned, his eyes staring deeper into hers in interest.
"Yes...I almost didn't go. The other Hunters told me you were done for, I..."
She paused, her brow furrowing and her teeth clenching, her slightly wrinkled and weathered hands balling into fists. "I couldn't just leave you. I had to try, had to try with what little strength I had. I...was too late. I saw that monster destroy you, and had I not fled, it might have taken me as well..."
There was now a certain stillness in the air as the realization dawned on him like the fog over the Myre. The inky black that seemed to replace his bodily fluids like a toxin in his current state started to gather around his eyes once more.
"Y...You tried to save me..."
For a moment, one blessed moment, all the pain seemed to melt away. They said nothing; merely staring into each other's eyes and reading what had happened with each other's lives from the very windows of their souls. Silvarius smiled, seeing she was safe and unharmed; Anastasia looked mournful, her heart inclining towards his suffering.
"...Perhaps it is not too late. I have purged many spirits and set many restless souls free with my rites." Anastasia straightened up, a new look of resolve crossing her portrait. Both hope and despair then rose in his heart and seemed to have a debate while Silvarius stared apparently blankly.
"If she's alive, Saradomin must be with her! Certainly he can loose the chains," the shining aspect of Hope in his heart said.
"But if help only comes with her that means he's already abandoned you now," the aspect of gloomy and dark Despair answered.
"It only means my lord works in ways that we do not expect. The fact she is here now means something. Your vision may simply be too clouded to see his wisdom." Hope answered, his words burning like passionate fires.
For now, it seemed, the retort rang true, causing despair to sulk back to whatever hole it came from in his soul. He would take the chance.
"I trust you. Do as you will to relieve my soul's torment," Silvarius consented and sat down crosslegged, ready to echo whatever prayer Anastasia would compose. She joined him in sitting as well.
"Saradomin, hear the words of your faithful servant and attend to us this day," she started. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he could have sworn a lilt and a heavenly echo crept into her voice as she begam to pray. "The curse of the land has afflicted this faithful hunter, and he cries out for healing and relief. Let the chains be broken, and let he take his place amongst the faithful of your Choir!"
As she chanted, he heard the familiar voices aiding her. He swore he saw holy spirits of all the ones who had fought alongside them so many years ago, and those they had heard of in legends lighting up the dark landscape. Such a feeling of blessing had not met him for many decades now.
Yet, once it all faded, nothing seemed to change. He still felt the shadow course through his being. He still felt the puppet strings in the back of his mind, though they were loosened for the purpose of his hunt. They felt as if they were twitching like a sleeping dog soon to arise.
"...Nothing happened?" Anastasia pondered, dismay crossing her face.
"...It appears not. Perhaps I am simply too far gone. The shadow must have buried itself into the essence of my soul," Silvarius mourned.
"I refuse to believe it. It...it...it was because of you that I believed!" she suddenly shouted, hands balling into fists. "I never understood why before, but now I know...now I've seen it with my own eyes. This isn't fair. You of all people I've known deserve some rest!"
There was silence for a while as Anastasia trembled and calmed herself down.
"...Perhaps the help has already come. I know you're safe and sound, and that has given me peace. You were preserved, and I have complete faith you've done good in the time since I've seen you. You'll die in peace, and rest with the faithful." The faintest ghost of a smile crossed his face.
She slowly came closer. "You....you haven't changed at all..."
For a moment, Silvarius panicked. The misama...if she touched him...
"Don't come any closer!" He uttered, holding out a hand. "It's a part of my curse. If you do...I don't want to inflict that kind of suffering on you..."
"I'd rather feel what you've gone through with you than let you suffer it alone, Silvy." Her eyes were filled with the same determination she had as a youth, just refined and wisened by her years. She leaned in, putting her arms around his form, then pulling him close. If she was feeling it, it was not evident on her creased lips. As she gripped tighter, Silvarius was inspired to tentatively extend his own arms, mangled as they were by shadow, around her.
She didn't cringe. She didn't scream. She didn't shrink away. She never had, and never would.
"Thank you," Silvarius uttered. "You being here, you not running away is blessing enough for me."
But now the strings tugged insistently on the back of his mind. He broke from the embrace suddenly, standing up and drawing his bow.
"...I am sorry, but I must now go. The one who cursed me calls me back, and I have no choice but to obey," he mourned. "But not before a hunt."
He could smell the stench of a feral vampyre nearby; good, they weren't Gregorovic's favorite, but it would suffice.
"Farewell, Silvarius...Saradomin's wisdom be upon you, my beloved..." Anastasia called, watching him dissapear into the woods.