Chapter Text
Dying at the ocean’s end isn’t such a bad way to go, is it?
That’s the one thing Tsumugi can take comfort in, if all else fails.
Sunburnt, sickly, bones aching, poorer than dirt, weapons and dignity lost for a bite of bread and cheese once every other day…but at the very least, the sight before him is beautiful.
Despite it being by death’s door, his current position is leagues better than what he deserves for his ugly upbringing and the even uglier deeds under his name.
Tsumugi always thought his passing would be as lonely, yes, but the scenario in his mind was usually a lot dirtier; his lifeless body thrown aside with the rest of his kind, burnt and cleaned away, and in the best of cases, a proper burial overseen by his king. It was probably selfish to imagine someone like him would deserve such a high honor, he knew as much, but at the same time, he wouldn't ever doubt Eichi Tenshouin’s kindness and dutifulness to reward a lifetime of service-- because he’d obviously died for his beloved king’s sake in each and every thought that involved his own corpse. He knew Eichi enough to be sure that's probably how things would turn out.
...Ah, but that’s not the case anymore, is it?
He could almost laugh. If not for the pain, he’d be grinning already.
The specifics that brought him to this point all felt like they had happened slowly, even if it was actually all so sudden and frantic; the split second Tsumugi could manage to catch the look of shock and recognition in King Leo Tsukinaga's eyes as he sneaked up on him, when his own poisoned blade was unsheathed and stabbed into the wrong chest, and how quickly the young king's fear and surprise contorted into rage at such an outcome. Then came the screaming. The running. The arrows. Even more running.
Honestly, the fact that Tsumugi's last mission would be coming out so disastrous was rather obvious even to the naked eye, and he had nobody to blame but himself for it.
It's almost funny, how typical it is that all he decides to do for himself always turns out so badly.
And, sadly enough, just as typical, he can’t find it in himself to be surprised or angry about the turnout. One would usually blame how little he cared on his constant state of fatigue and stress, but that was only excusing his thoughts this time around; Tsumugi has never had much of a use for care, anyways-- not when there were coins to be earned and people to serve.
And now that there’s neither, he can only press the other side of his face to the hot sand beneath him. He’s been lying down for so long that the tiny rocks, though soft, have already made some sort of a texture across his cheek.
He’s barely taking in the heavy scent of salt and the dampness of his clothes when he finally closes his eyes to blink, but finds himself unable to open his lids right away. Somehow, it burns a little to close his eyes for more than a few seconds, but the realization that this was just the relief for the rest his body has been demanding for weeks makes it worth it. Nice, even. Maybe he’ll finally be able to sleep without worrying about cleaning a deck next time he opened his eyes. Maybe someone would be merciful and stupid enough to drag him away from the lazy crash of the orange afternoon waves.
Or, best case scenario, maybe he wouldn’t open his eyes again.
In the midst of his passing out for what he thinks will be the last time, Tsumugi is incapable of noticing the light footsteps that approach his beaten body, and much less of replying to concerned calls asking if he was in any need for assistance.
In fact, he’s already passed out so heavily he doesn’t even notice as he’s skillfully levitated deep into the woods overlooking the beach, and later the insides of a simple but lovely hut.