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The darkness rots the air like poison.
He cannot breathe. He cannot speak. He can barely move, and he does little of that from where he is, because every time he tries, it is to reach for her, and she is gone.
The images come in cutting flashes, slice like whips across his mind; the sound is booming and jagged and inescapable as he watches through Her eyes, through the thing that pretends to be him, the thing that wears his skin. He sees them all—the Awoken prince, the Crow who thinks Osiris a mentor (not him, it isn't him), Zavala, who is supposed to know him; Ikora who should know better, who he taught better than this, look at me, LOOK don't you see it why can't you see it—
Saint—oh, Traveler, Saint, no, as She speaks to him (do not look at him don't you dare), as She is cruel and cold and refuses to let him near, as She rips away when he tries to comfort him (not him, not him that is not me IT ISN'T ME DO NOT TOUCH HIM), as the Witch Queen tears apart everything he had left, as he watches himself lose Saint again, again, again, and he cannot weep in this place, in this plane, but oh, he tries.
Sometimes it is dark, and he is not sure if this is worse anymore, if anything is worse than having to watch what She does in his name, the things she says, the way no one notices, please just notice, someone must, please—
She does not speak to her, though. Ikora, Saint, Crow—all of them, but never to her, and it is not until after what feels like a lifetime that the next image comes through, clearer than the rest have been.
Artemis Evo stands in the blue lights of the H.E.L.M. when he turns around. (Watches through the Witch Queen's eyes, hopes beyond hope that She will not hurt her, too, not drive her away from him as well—) He did not hear her approach. Neither did She, but somehow he feels the burn of her Light like a spark in the shadows. It burns Her, and he, miraculously, finds himself with the smallest glimmer of relief, a sick sort of enjoyment that Artemis' Light can burn Her already, from this distance, and that She simply has to stand there and live with it.
"I want you to teach me something," she says plainly. No greeting. The Young Wolf, always eager to learn, always wanting more power, always unapologetic. It was what he liked about her.
He hears his own voice, Her words, "What do you expect to learn from me anymore?" and Osiris wants to scream. (Nothing, he thinks savagely, nothing, you can teach her NOTHING, you will not corrupt her too—)
"I want to know..." whatever Artemis says is lost when the vision swims in and out. He forces his mind back—he needs to know, he has to know what's coming, what the Witch Queen is planning for her—
But she must have said something that She did not like, did not want to hear, or maybe didn't know how to respond to—because when he finally drags the vision back to the forefront of his mind, he sees that Artemis is no longer there. For a moment, there is fear—do not harm her, we need her, she has to save us from you—but it passes, because he hears her voice from behind him, and this time the burn reaches him, too.
"I felt it, you know," she says—and the Witch Queen stops in her tracks. "When Sagira... when... I felt it."
Oh, Osiris aches. He misses Sagira, and he wants to be home, and he wants her back, and he wants Her to pay, and he wants Sagira back, but Artemis is speaking and the Light blazes against the back of his neck. "I... you can talk to me, you know? I know we're not—" she cuts herself off, tries again, "I know it's not the same, but—"
"It's not the same." The Witch Queen snarls from beneath his cowl, (NO, do not—) and he feels Artemis' presence flinch. (No, NO it is not me, Artemis—) but She is walking away again, just leaving it like that, like it's ever something he would do—
"I cared about her, too."
She pauses again (Artemis' tone has grown colder, defensive), and he is left balancing on this sword's edge, waiting, watching, begging her to notice, for Her to give something away, anything, Artemis is so perceptive, she has to know this isn't right—
"She was like my Ghost, for a while. I had her Light with me. I cared about her, too. I know it's not the same, but you don't have to—"
"I am not discussing this with you any further."
Artemis flares like wildfire. "What happened to you?" She bursts out, and hope sings through him like Dawn, "You talk fine to everyone but me. You even talked about this with Crow! Why won't you talk to me? I thought we were friends! I'm asking you for help and you won't even—"
"Artemis!" The Crow. Oh, no, he thinks, not now, she was so close, no, don't shatter this for him now—
He is there, though, he knows; can picture in his mind's eye as he grabs her arm, stays her thoughtless tongue. He does not know Osiris like she does. He does not know Osiris at all, not really, and it cannot break this. "Leave it," he says though, and the fire dies alongside Osiris' hope. No, NO I know you can figure it out, you have to figure it out—
Artemis goes silent, she does not speak again—but her Light is back and it is burning. He feels her stare follow Her all the way to the end of the H.E.L.M., all the way through the doors, and despite it all, he feels Her knowing. She is running out of time. She cannot keep up this ruse forever.
In the dark, Osiris thinks of Sagira. In the dark, Osiris finds the memory of her Light, of lifetimes in the forest, of Artemis pestering him like a child; finds memories of these days because they are all he has here, even if he can never reach them, even if he might never see either of them again.
In the dark, Osiris holds onto the memory of Light, and the beacon of Artemis' suspicion, and the glow of Sagira's Light that stood in the shadows for days. Saint, the dream of warm serenity, the everything that could have been enough.
But the vision fades out again, and he is left Lightless once more.