Chapter Text
[Location: Revenant's Toll]
The night never scared him, but it filled his dreams with terrors. The abyss a gaping mouth, an endless stomach. Black magic like tendrils of yearning, constantly edging at the back of his mind and grasping, grasping for him. Just waiting. Waiting for the day he took a step too far and stumbled off the cliff into its waiting arms. Its heartless embrace. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, Atlas was almost convinced to take the leap.
If Estinien's fury was a river of rage so strong it swept the dragoon into a hurricane, Atlas' grief was like the cocoon that encompassed Bahamut. It was all-encompassing and boundless, a terrifying cloak that caged you before you knew it. It choked him and smothered him and gasping for breath was like breathing in thick sadness, his lungs expiring with every second. It had built up over the years and continued to stretch and pull at him, reminding him of his fate with every fading heartbeat.
The shuffling of footsteps and the creak of the door broke Atlas out of his stupor, his gaze drawn to the sliver of light that peeked into his room. He was slumped against the wall, armor discarded carelessly on the ground. It was uncharacteristic compared to his pristine room and he would frown in distaste later. For now though, he really didn't care. Demi quietly entered, closing the door behind her as she sat down across the room from Atlas. She brought a small candle and book with her, seemingly intent to just spend her night reading.
"...Why did you come?" Atlas spoke lowly, his voice hoarse from shouting earlier. But in a room so silent, his voice felt too loud and brazen. He almost winced at it, facial muscles twisting in a grimace.
Demi ignored him, flipping her book open and adjusting her reading glasses. Silence fell over the two of them again before she spoke.
"I put him to bed. Eli. He'll be sore tomorrow morning but is otherwise unharmed." Her eyes flicked up to look at Atlas, gaze drawn to the quickly-forming bruise on his cheek.
Atlas scowled at her glance and looked away, as if covering the bruise would make it go away. With his pale complexion it would most definitely leave a mark for a couple days. Who knew the dragoon could hit so hard? He might as well learn to be a Pugilist. He sat in thought, ruminating on her words. Time seemed to slow in the room, or maybe it was speeding so fast that it didn't feel like anything at all.
After an eternity of thought, Atlas spoke again, his voice low and scratchy that it almost seemed like a whisper.
"I didn't mean to say it."
A flip of a page.
"I know."
Another flip of a page.
"It's not like I won't apologize."
The briefest pause before another page was turned.
"I know."
Atlas let his gaze drop, the tension bleeding from his muscles.
"It should have been me."
Silence.
"...I know."
Fin.