Chapter Text
Тардас держал Расидо в своих руках, прижимал к своей вздымающейся от адреналина и страха груди. Он дышал - пытался дышать сквозь копоть и ограничения респиратора.
Он сидел на одном колене, сгорбившись в три погибели, чувствуя, как горят легкие. Стазис щекотал его хребет и плечи.
Он находился в очень узком пространстве - едва помещался сам и обнимал тело титана. Вокруг него были непробиваемым стазисные стены, вечно меняющиеся, словно текущая ртуть. За ними стояли шипы, направленные наружу, в сторону войск Легиона Теней, исчезающие и появляющиеся в резких, почти злых движениях, перетекающие с остальным льдом с места на место. Снаружи был грязный, пыльный воздух, звуки взрывов и сотни кабал. Внутри был он и Расидо.
Псион мерзко закашлялся и почувствовал, как сжимает его плечо рука титана.
- Тардас. Я живой.
Псион медленно расслабил свои руки и открыл глаз.
***
Tardas does four steps forward, gaze locked on the surface, watching water freeze in grid patterns. His hands are outstretched, his feet are bare and body is covered by a long piece of fabric, folded into a makeshift dress. His sleep attire is elegant and does not strain his movement. A perfect choice for what plans he has in his vast mind.
He exhales softly, watches the clouds emerge from his nostrils, his breathing mask os left on the beach. He is risking his life for no reason.
He is doing it all the time, he tells himself. This time isn't any different.
With the next step he pulls the cold with his mind, thoughts distant and dissolving. He inhales steadily, swings his hands before his in a form of twisted arc, pushes the cold into the tips of his hands and lets go, falling to his knees - shard of darkness pulses on his wrist and he thinks of protection, the village, his partner, pushes his mind into a shape of a barrier around him and closes his eye.
At first there is a flash of blue and sharp cold around him. As always, his stasis is trying to peirce him. Then there is the clicking, resonating sound of crystals forming and then there's silence. The deed is done.
His psionic gaze washes over the crystals around him, analyzing. He digs into them and finds them lacking. He grips and pulls, and they shatter with a growl under the weight of his mind. He stands up to look at the remains. It is a rather disastrous picture he doesn't want to look at longer than he has to, as it is a result of his mistake. He puts his hands down and listens to the cries of ice fade from his reach. When they are gone he summons the cold into his fingertips and toes and jumps away into bare water.
The ice forms under him as soon as he touches the surface, however he stumbles clumsily and falls, slipping off the ice and into the water.
And now that's it. He barely holds his breath, as even before the air wasn't enough. He reaches out and stumbles again, fingers frozen solid. He tries to think rationally. He pulls his mind into a shape of bubble, and he is warm now.
He needs to get to the surface. His bubble does exactly that. He cannot breathe, still.
When the fingers reach the land he lets go of the water and tries to breathe, coughs violently and grip the mask. He puts it onto his face, hands trembling from cold and oxygen deprivation. The mind buzzes with painful activity, he calms it down and lies still.
He is alive. He is alive. He is alive. He failed, but he is alive.
He turns back to the lake and watches ice disappear. He is exhausted.