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- Zenos.
Out of the corner of her eye she can see his bloodied fingers twitch. Like he is trying to show her he can still hear, a very last effort to reach out to her voice. She can imagine the damage, the pain, without even taking a proper look. Breathing is hard enough already. With every inhale her lungs are crushed under the piercing pressure of broken ribs, followed by streams of crimson flowing out of the cracks in her body with every exhale. Trying to get any sound out borderlines impossibility and yet in spite of all, she prevails. She always does and for as long as she does, so will he. They are inevitably bound by threads of fate. She came to realize that not long after their first encounter but only now, in-between life and death, does she see it clearly. A gentle, fading glow settles over the places where the void pact dissipates. His messed-up features bend out of place, twist and merge, until they overlap with a vague picture of a face with bright purple eyes shining from behind long, dark brown eyelashes. There is a whiff of citrus and vanilla in the air, mixing with metallic stench of blood. It’s all familiar, so very familiar. It feels almost insulting how long it took her to notice this obvious link. Where the dawn breaks, dusk ever follows. Just like when she was once Eos, he was her Selene. The siblings of another age. This revelation, seemingly so big, is but a little key to throw open gates long closed.
Memories flood her delirious mind, overwhelm her fading senses. Memories of times long passed, when there was no “her” and it was simply “them”. Them and their beloved little brother. She remembers long nights at their shared studium, the countless cups of tea and wine alike. The stains of ink on his fingers and the dirt underneath short nails after hours of research are nearly as vivid as the opening words of the first book they publish together. She can hear the sound of glasses cracking after they carelessly discarded them in a sitting place. Behind her closed eyelids she can almost visualize the little faerias dancing happily over the yellowed pages of the number of other tomes he wrote himself to guide the ones that come after. She recalls the smiling faces of those who recovered thanks to the magicks he theorized and they practiced. But she also remembers how he hid the anxiety when they first ascended to the seat of Azem. When they ran off for a new adventure. When to the very end he desperately held onto their bloody hand, forcing a smile as both their souls were torn into pieces.
So many emotions suddenly choke her body that for a moment she is sure it will force her out of existence. But the warrior of light cannot give up, not now. And so, she is the one to reach out this time. Her bones make disgusting, cracking noises as her hand slowly stretches out to desperately clasp over the rough fingers now drained from any warmth. Nothing hurts anymore. All she can perceive is the waning sound of her own heartbeat and his darkened eyes barely cracked open. If she tries hard enough, she can still see a slight spark, a tiny movement of the irises. His fingers relax in her embrace. Maybe because he finally understood it too, maybe because while she turned her head to the starry sky, he passed. She wouldn’t be able to tell. With the last remnant of strength she squeezes the lifeless digits and smiles to herself.
- Rest, sibling dearest. - Her words are barely choked out, more blood flowing through her mouth as she holds onto her last, precious moments. Her eyes fall closed, a single droplet of tear flowing down her bruised cheek and breaking against the starry pavement. She takes in an imitation of a breath. - I will… always… find you. Again… and again. And… i’ll love… EVERY… version… of you.
And i’ll lose you every time.