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Unfortunately, we have to announce that our mission failed. The Third, Il Dottore, died tragically on the battlefield and there was nothing more we could do to save him. Capitano’s fleet has been requested to return the soldiers to their homelands.
Pierro had gotten the letter, unsigned, delivered personally to his office sometime late at night. He knew because he’d been up, restlessly pacing around his room. Something had been off the entire day and no matter what he tried to do, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling.
The anxiety coiling in his gut faded away as he read the letter. Dottore, who had been in their ranks since the age of 25 – and who was in his forties by the time he died – was gone.
He was gone.
Pierro felt his stomach sink as he collapsed, paying no mind to the way his knees hit the hard floor with a crack and jolt of agony upon contact. His fingers curled around the letter and he reread it once, twice, three times before crumbling it up and throwing it to the side as hard as his body would let him.
It hit the wall and clattered to the ground. Pathetic.
He stared at the letter for a moment, his vision fuzzing in and out as he processed. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes but if they fell, he did not notice.
Dottore was gone.
The man that trusted the situation enough to trail him like a little boy out of Sumeru.
The man that listened intently every single meeting, but only when it was Pierro’s turn to talk.
The man that had come to his room after a nightmare years later, seeking comfort in his arms. They’d laid there that night, Pierro holding the other close despite his half-hearted protests, and he was pretty sure that was the night he realized.
He’d been watching all along from a distance. Admiring, even.
And now there was no one left to admire.
It was too late. Pierro didn’t tell him in time. He had no idea how Dottore died and he could only hope that it was painless and quick, that Dottore had no time to think before he was gone.
Because if Dottore had that time, Pierro had no doubt he was longing for Pierro to be there. And he wasn’t there. And now Dottore was gone.
He didn’t notice the tears staining his cheeks as he stared numbly at the wall until his head fell back and a shrill scream of grief released from his throat. Salty tears fell into Pierro’s mouth and he only sobbed harder, louder this time.
His chest hurt and he vaguely realized he was covering his mouth with one scarred hand in an attempt to quiet his sobbing. The same hand that held Dottore’s at one point.
The same hand that gifted Dottore his delusion.
But Dottore was gone now.
And Pierro was left with no one.
Again, he was useless to save that which was most dear to him and again, he was paying the price for his actions. Or rather, the lack of actions.