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Death hunts Rhodes Island like a predator stalking prey. Silent and unassuming, leaving all utterly unsuspecting up until the last moment.
For someone like you, who walks the edge of the path stained of war—of blood, and rust, and ash—death might have been your one and only companion.
You have always been the clever and callous type. Your tactics in battle were unmatched and unrivalled by all. Those who dared to oppose you were crushed, completely and utterly, within your unyielding grasp. Soldiers, both allies and enemies, danced atop the palm of your hand as you strung them along to the rhythm of your tune. For the longest time, SilverAsh was convinced that he has met his match. The both of you were cut from the same cloth, you and him.
SilverAsh remembers stories of the esteemed Doctor of Rhodes Island—of their cruel and cunning nature, of their genius and brilliant tactical warfare strategies. In many ways, he knows he has met both a valuable ally and a worthy adversary. But now, with your soft-hearted disposition and inability to cope with the deaths that come with the blood-stained path you walk upon, he wonders exactly how much truth the stories he's heard have held.
He recalls the second time he met the Doctor, the second time he met you.
"I, SilverAsh, have joined your cause as a sworn ally," he had said. "Whatever your plans may be, do not disappoint me."
For a brief moment of repose, he expected you to respond in kind. He expected to hear the mocking lilt in your tone as you challenged him to do the same, to keep up to your high standards as you did to his. The foundations of your relationship had never been trust; the two of you simply couldn't afford to risk everything over something as fragile and tentative as trust. Once again, the two of you would dance a dance of clashing ideals and false pretenses, hoping that one day—someday, far from now—your views would be seen through.
Instead, you remained passive. Your face was shadowed by the hood of the long coat you always wore, so he couldn't tell what kind of expression you were making. Then, after a long and thoughtful pause, you removed your hand from your pocket and stretched it out towards him. A basic gesture of amity, he was sure, but the way it had spoken volumes in that moment stuck with him.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, SilverAsh. I hope we can get along," you replied, and although he couldn't see your face, he could hear the smile in your voice as he reached out and took your much smaller hand in his.
When you had let him go, a frightening thought seized his mind. As you turned away to accompany the younger girl who had been waiting beside you—Amiya, was it?—SilverAsh's gaze lingered on the spot you had just left. Even without you, your everlasting presence still managed to consume the space. Still, he wondered where the infamous Doctor you once had been had gone, and if, and only if, you had wandered too far out of reach for him to hold, would he still be able to follow?
Briefly, he entertains the idea, but there is a deep feeling of knowing ingrained in him that wherever you are, he will go.
On the battlefield, SilverAsh notices how you've become nothing more but a shadow of your former self.
The harsh winds whipped around the edges of your coat as you issued out orders that were not lost amidst the chaos raging forth between the Reunion forces and Rhodes Island operators. The fires that blazed through the wreckage sent smoke billowing up into the air, staining the sky in grey and scattering charred remains in a fashion similar to snow back in Kjerag. The city was in cinders with only destruction and carnage left in its place.
You were not any less of a tactician than you had been previously. Every order you gave out was executed flawlessly. If he had not known any better, he would have said you remained the same. However, SilverAsh took note of the way your hands tightened into fists at every casualty, at every life you couldn't protect. He could feel the frustration as it rippled off you in waves.
Rhodes Island won that day, but not without its consequences. Long after the Reunion forces retreated and the other operators had returned, carrying the bodies of their fallen comrades who still had bodies left to bury, your rigid posture was enough to tell him that you had thought this wasn't enough. It would never ever be enough.
You flinched when you saw operators who were wounded. The scent of blood was unbearable, and you couldn't help but want to turn away from the medical bays, even when you were summoned to help with the treatments. You prioritized safety over victory. Retreat was your first option when faced with an enemy you couldn't seem to beat. Any traces of the you from before was gone, replaced by someone who was so desperately trying to fill the same shoes you had left behind.
Back at base, while the others had either gone to the infirmary to patch their wounds or to the canteen to grab a bite to eat, Amiya gazed at you in concern as she inquired whether you would like to go with her. You had told her you weren't hungry and promptly refused her offer before walking off after having lied that you were fine. In a way, SilverAsh believed that you were punishing yourself.
Oddly, it was then when he remembered a short conversation he had shared with you in the past. It was a fleeting encounter, something so passing and insignificant he doubted you would remember even if you could. He had asked you of your ambitions each time you orchestrated another victory, and you had answered, in a tone so dismissive and without a shred of care, "I will never concede defeat so long as there are still those who can fight."
However, after witnessing the way you are barely held together, he wants to know if you have always been cruel or if years of fighting had taken its toll and forged you into someone else entirely. He finds out that he'll never know because there's no way that you will have the answers to his questions now.
He feels like he has gained a bit more of a valuable ally, but if that is to be the case, then he has also lost a bit of his worthy adversary.
It's some time in the late hours of the evening when SilverAsh finds himself wandering the long and winding halls of the Rhodes Island base. The sound of his footsteps are muted and practically nonexistent against the concrete foundations of the building. A majority of the operator facilities are closed at this hour, so the rooms are dark in contrast to the few flickering fluorescent lights illuminating the corridors.
A occasional patrol group walks by, parting to the sides as they shoot him a few wary and tired glances before continuing on their way. There's an unspoken air of mistrust in the air, but he doesn't bother himself with these small matters when there's a more pressing issue on his mind.
An ambush had disturbed the formations of the operators who were deployed on the field, and you had a close encounter with one of Reunion's leaders. Had Amiya not been by your side, you would have died. The thought of death didn't disturb him as much as it should, but he had never before entertained the inevitable possibility of your death. You had always struck him as the type to not go down silently, but to come to terms with the fact that you had almost been snuffed out as easily as a candleflame greatly unsettled him.
The automatic doors leading out onto the observation deck open when he passes by them, and he stops in his stride to glance outside at the moon shining up high in the sky. The scene is familiar, and he reminisces the time when you had caught him staring at the mountaintops in the distance and imagining the snowy landscapes of Kjerag.
That day, you had asked him what his aspirations were and what he had hoped to gain from this exchange. It's no surprise that the political affairs of Kjerag are in disarray. It's the reason why Dobermann and Kal'tsit expressed their vehement disapproval towards enlisting him as a Rhodes Island operator. His response then had not changed even now: to seize control. When he had taken the time to observe you closely—really, truly look at you—he caught sight of a flicker of a smile before it was gone. Turning around, you left him to his own devices with your words echoing in his mind.
"If that is what you wish, then I will see to it that the world bows at your feet."
Light spills from the crack underneath the reception room's door as SilverAsh twists open the doorknob and invites himself inside. You're busy at work—sorting through manila folders; writing and rewriting plans and strategies to use on the field; testing and retesting, designing and redesigning, the operator squads to prevent as few casualties as possible.
If you hear him enter or acknowledge his presence, you don't act on it. Instead, you crack open another folder, scribbling something illegible on the margins of one of the many papers crammed inside, before placing it to the side and repeating the process with another one. The whole room reeks of bitter tea, and SilverAsh catches sight of the kettle burning in the back corner of the room on the stove. Stepping inside, he raps his knuckles against the doorframe to alert you of his arrival.
No response.
He tries again, undeterred. This time, you startle almost immediately, clutching the pen tightly in your grip as you brandished it like a dagger. Upon realizing it was him, you make a surprised noise from the back of your throat, dropping the pen before straightening out your appearance. You were still cloaked in that large jacket of yours and your lab coat from when Silence had summoned you down to the medical wards.
"SilverAsh, what a pleasant surprise." You quickly reorganize the piles of paperwork on the coffee table before sweeping everything to the side as you made room for him on the couch. "Please take a seat."
The reception room is the same as ever, he notices. The walls are grey and the soft wall lights cast a golden white glow. Because the blinds hadn't been pulled down, the large glass window oversaw the rest of the compound. It brings back an unpleasant memory, one he wishes to forget. The last time he was in this room was when you had gotten injured after a skirmish in the outskirts of Chernobog.
It was sometime ago in the distant past, but you had gone off on your own and taken a selected squad of operators with you to check out a hunch you had about the Reunion forces. In the end, you were the only person who had made it back alive. You stumbled inside grasping your gun in one hand and covering the side of your neck with the other. There was so much blood coating your hands, covering your chest. The stains on the carpet were never quite cleaned up. It was the first time he had saw your face, and you smiled at him with a mouth full of blood as it dripped between your clenched teeth; he likened your image to a feral beast, whose savagery and viciousness knew nothing of mercy.
SilverAsh blinks out of his reverie when you set a cup of steaming hot tea in front of him before taking a seat beside him with a cup of your own. You had taken your outer jacket off, leaving you in your lab coat that you had rolled up the sleeves of. You look physically and mentally exhausted. Eyebags weigh heavily underneath your eyes and you appear sickly like you haven't properly slept in awhile; he doubted you had. You catch his stare with your own before you tear your focus away and finish rearranging a few more of the papers.
He catches himself eyeing the jagged scar running along the side of your neck, and almost as if you can tell that was bothering him, you tap a pile of papers against the table to straighten them, asking, "Something on your mind?"
"Nothing in particular," he answers, directing his gaze instead to a single folder labelled with his name—Enciodas Silverash. "Pardon the intrusion, Doctor."
"Well, if you don't have any questions, then I suppose you can answer some of mine?" you ponder thoughtfully, placing your tea on the table as you shuffle a few more papers. The table is mostly clear now, with the exception of a few documents with post-it notes all over them as reminders for you to doublecheck.
SilverAsh doesn't know what to make of your inquiry, so he responds, "It depends. Though, I'm not opposed to the idea."
You smile, softer now than you have ever smiled in his memories.
"That's more enough for me."
It ends a lot like how it begins.
The two of you stand side by side on the observation deck overlooking the Rhodes Island base towards the mountains far, far away. This time around, snow caps the peaks, and it reminds him of the home where he would be leaving you in order to return to.
You're wearing your jacket, but the hood is down this time. The rising sun just beginning to peak above the horizon bathes your features in gold. Your hands are tucked in your pockets, and SilverAsh knows that the gun you keep alongside you remains safely stored in your right pocket. War has left you never quite the same, even after Reunion's looming promise of death and destruction to all those who opposed them had been wiped from existence.
There's an understanding that he'll never have the person you once were back, and he's not sure why he feels relief because of the notion. You will remember nothing of your first encounter with him, nothing of who you were or who he was, and nothing of the promise you had made to him. Yet somehow, that was alright.
You lean over to rest your head on his shoulder as his tail instinctively curls around your waist and pulls you closer. There are no words exchanged, but it feels like everything needed has been said. The two of you enjoy each other's quiet company as the sun begins to rise on another day.