Chapter Text
Jiang Ling woke up to darkness.
The lights had yet to turn on, meaning she woke up earlier than she was supposed to. She closed her eyes to fall asleep again but could not. She blinked quickly for a minute in hopes for her eyes to adjust the darkness. She managed to see outlines of her bunk but not much. She saw the sink near the vent. There’s the open air wardrobe where her clothes were. The Radianite crystals on the desk. And she herself on the bed.
Whenever she woke into darkness, Jiang Ling prayed she had woken up in her bedroom at home in the mountains. Her cats would meow and pounce her on bed demanding food. She would hear the wake up call from the drum tower, her early risen relatives tending the gardens, her father preparing breakfast downstairs.
She wanted those back. She yearned to be there again and for good. She wanted to stay there until she married the love of her life, have children with him, grow old, and pass away peacefully. No power will be involved no matter how useful it may be.
“Imagining ‘what ifs’, girl?” a ghost asked under her bed.
“You can’t run away,” another at the farthest corner of the room said.
“Fate can’t be changed,” said a third on the ceiling.
“The pen has been lifted. The ink has long dried,” a fourth loomed from the foot of her bed.
“You can’t run away.”
“Walk this path.”
“No choice. Like us. You have no choice.”
“Erase the thoughts.”
“Ease yourself of bygone possibilities.”
“Let them go.”
Jiang Ling turned to face the wall. It was plain cement. No paint or wallpaper. A constant reminder how she will never wake up to her real bedroom anytime soon. Most ghosts would taunt her, especially her mother’s killer. These don’t. These remind her of … life in general, it seemed. Nothing about how cursed her power was.
A fraction of bliss. She took it and went back to slumber.
The mission at Haven was chaotic to say the least. They did not expect their other selves to have recruited their own Neon. Her ultimate attack was as bad as their Neon had warned. Fortunately, nobody had died from her. Yet Sage took most of the voltage before her own Neon shot her dead from behind.
Sage suffered burns running throughout her torso, gasping even when walking, feeling her muscles twitch now and then. It took a full twenty four hour healing from Skye’s flowers and her own healing orbs to erase the effects. Still, Sage stayed in the med bay with an IV inserted to ensure full recovery. She went to sleep in for the night assuming the day would run normally as usual.
Instead, she woke to darkness. It was not cool darkness, rather it was warm as if there was sunlight kissing her skin … but no light.
Sage closed her eyes and opened them again. Still the same. Warm darkness. Panic crawled up her spine as she repeated.
Close her eyes, rub them, open. No light.
Close eyes–harder–open. Still no light.
Her hand flew up to the light above the headrest to turn it on only to feel the intense heat of the bulb as soon as she touched it.
What is happening?!
“Skye?” she called out. “Skye? Skye! Skye, where are you?!”
A rush of footsteps approached her. Not knowing if it was actually the nature Radiant, Sage tried to pull away from it, almost falling off the bed if it were not for arms holding her back.
“Woah–easy there!” exclaimed the familiar Australian accent. “I’m here, Sage, what’s wrong?”
Sage breathed helplessly trying to find her friend’s face.
“Sage?” Worry crept in Skye’s voice.
“Can you turn the light on,” Sage said.
“I … What?”
“Skye, please , turn the lights on. Please…”
“Sage…” her friend began hesitantly. “The infirmary’s bright from sunlight already.”
Her fears were confirmed.
.
.
She felt like a child again.
Because the only way to feel one hundred percent safe was by putting her whole body head to toe under a blanket. She did not do this in front of the team. She did not want them to see her like this. Not even Skye. However, her current situation put an exception on the Aussie. Her calloused, strong hands and arms were the first she could recognise in an instant. Everyone else needed more time.
Eventually, Sage recognized Jett’s hands who often cooked meals for the healer. Then she recognized Viper’s. She took her old position in the med bay back until Sage regained her sight. Her touch was twitchy and reluctant. But never once she spoke out her resentment to the bastion. Soon afterwards, Sage can recognize every female members’ hands, touch and even footsteps. The men, on the other hand, were a bit of a challenge.
Brimstone and Breach’s footsteps sound identical as they were the biggest persons in the team. If neither greeted her first, Sage could not tell who it was. Sova’s were heavy too, but his footsteps sounded careful. He was the first male member whose hands she recognized. Phoenix and Yoru were similar in footstep and hand. The only way to tell the difference was Phoenix's rings, his upbeat voice and the warmth that radiated his body. Yoru was cold and hesitant, but he was trying his best, Sage knew. KAY/O advised that he was not suitable to be around people with Sage condition, and she understood that. He was a Radiant killer robot after all. She prepared to have Chamber offering help in his little-too-friendly manner but he only talked to her; so she never had a chance (nor wanted) to feel his hands.
The only person left was Omen. Sometimes Sage can feel his presence standing at the corner of the room. However when she called out to him, he vanished. It hurt her more than it should. She guessed he was afraid he might hurt her. She reminded him before when he wanted to touch her face, “You’ll never know unless you try.”
Omen touched her face by gently stroking down her cheek with the back of his fingers. Always two fingers, never more, and never with his whole hand. Sometimes he would lean so close, Sage thought he wanted a kiss. She never asked and neither did he. Most of the time, she would respond by putting a hand on his bizarre face and he leaned into it for a long minute before letting go.
That was their most intimate gesture to each other, but it was everything to them. Especially to Omen. So why won’t he talk to her?
“Brimstone,” Sage began when her captain visited to help her with some documents. “Can you bring Omen to me?”
She heard him stop typing on his laptop and how he held back a sigh. “I wish I could, Sage. But I doubt he’ll listen to me.”
“Why? What happened to me was not his fault.”
“It’s not guilt that’s holding him,” the old soldier explained. “It’s hard to say. He wouldn’t even talk to Viper.”
If Omen would not listen to Brimstone or Sage, he would surely listen to Viper. Surprisingly, the chemist’s words fell on deaf ears on him as well.
Viper told the pair, “He’s being … unstable lately. He’ll come around.”
“When?” Sage muttered aloud without noticing.
“For all of our safety, he'll come around when he wants to.”
It took another three days for the time to happen. Sova came to Sage one afternoon and told her that he managed to convince Omen to properly visit her. Before the hunter left, Sage asked him, wanting to make sure.
“Is he scared to hurt me?”
“In a way.”
“Physically or … something else?”
A brief silence. “Mystically,” answered Sova, seemingly unsure if that was a proper answer. “His reason is vague. It must be a secret of his, so I don’t press him about it. Does that answer your question?”
Sage thanked him, and waited to welcome Omen into her room.
He did not come.
They were making fun of her. Those things that refuse to move on.
Despicable.
Now that her blindness prevented her from seeing them, they moved to haunt him.
It did not bother him. He can always go to Reyna whose power often devours them. He can always borrow religious books or audios from Brimstone and Cypher to irritate the things away. He can always go to the mainland, to religious places, and sit and wait while a prayer is commencing.
All of those methods weaken those things, but it was futile to some. Some seem to wait for him to return to his mundane schedule to crowd him again with whispers of their insults about her.
False angel of life. Soft-hearted manipulator. Weakling resurrector. Mother-killer.
“Wrong,” Omen reminded himself–reminding them. “You speak of false facts. Best you leave this world lest you want to tire until the end of days.”
Truth be told, Omen had no idea if his words would work. His time as a phantom had him hear countless of ‘exorcisms’ (or anything close to it) that drove away invisible guests without causing them to hold a grudge. Know your right as true owners of your home. Conceal as much fear as you can from your thoughts. Speak no ill to the ghosts for not all invisible beings were souls of the dead.
Those were easy to follow. Omen knew his place, he was not afraid of the unseen, there was no reason for him to insult the dead. He had died multiple times. He dreamt of death every night. Should he never become human again, he might become a real ghost himself.
He was not afraid for himself. He was afraid for her.
He wanted to hold her hand, and tell her comforting stories. Read her favourite book series to her. Bring their cats and kittens to play around her. He wanted to comfort her throughout her temporary blindness.
However, when he tried to visit her for the first time not long after she regained consciousness, the ghosts were waiting to pounce on her. They were using his unhuman-ness as a vehicle to ram into her frightened state. So Omen stayed in her room at the farthest corner until she sensed his presence, the moment the ghosts were about to pounce on her.
Omen avoided her for her own sake. But it hurt him at the same time. And he knew she must be hurting more.
.
.
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