Chapter Text
“I cannot let you do this.”
Elidibus looked at him in silence. The resigned silence that Emet-Selch knew he would be met with. He felt Elidibus’ aether shift under a profound weight, one that made his own soul ache just witnessing it. The younger Amaurotine lowered his head.
“If this is how I can fulfill my duty as Elidibus, then I shall do it with pride.”
“Is that truly enough?”
“What else is there now?”
Elidibus sat in the Convocation hall, small, so small in the wide and open room under the warm light of the chandelier, white robe pronounced against the dark wood and gold. Emet-Selch stood before him, lips parting at Elidibus’ words. His carefree yet devoted brother, carrying the fate of the star, perhaps something even greater, upon his narrow shoulders.
“One life is not worth the price of the entire star. Should I be spared for the moment, in the end I will perish nonetheless. As will we all.” He turned, his white cowl falling to hide his face, not even his scarlet mask visible to Emet-Selch. Feeling as if his posture was confrontational, he moved to sit next to Elidibus on the bench.
Emet-Selch observed his soul. He knew not when it would be torn and shredded and reformed to bring life to the will of the star. He wanted to remember it as it was now.
It was a vibrant blue, like the sky opening after a storm, spreading and dissipating at the edges. A wonderful color to perceive, he always thought. It suited him.
He recalled their first meeting when Elidibus was inducted. A young man, younger than any current member, filled with passion for the vacant seat he would fill. His excitement was palpable, his dedication made immediately apparent. He remembered how overjoyed Elidibus was to meet him, the “most powerful mage he had ever heard of.” What an honor it was to protect the people of the star alongside a man such as him, he had said.
Elidibus had been deemed the best candidate for the will, for Zodiark’s, heart. He did not balk at this, did not protest, but saw it as an honor. But now, as the hour inevitably approached, Emet-Selch could see it in his posture. Anxiety. Doubt. Fear.
“There must be another way,” Emet-Selch said, more of a plea to the universe than anything else.
“If there is, perhaps we could find it with time.” Elidibus raised his head and faced forward. “Time we do not have.”
His hands grabbed the fabric on his thighs, bunching it in his fists. Finally, he looked at Emet-Selch.
“I cannot bear to see my people break. Please, Emet-Selch,” he quietly pleaded, “I do not wish to be here to see it.”
There was nothing he could say. Nothing with meaning. Not anymore. There was no way to bring him comfort. Words failing him, he instead raised a hand to rest on Elidibus’ shoulder. A touch not of understanding, for he knew he could never understand, but as a grounding reminder of their proximity. That, in the current moment, Elidibus was still here. His brothers were breathing, and so was the star. It had not been lost yet.
Elidibus surely understood this gesture, Emet-Selch thought. He heard a small intake of breath as Elidibus seemed to realize this. Then, unexpected weight fell on him as Elidibus leaned into him, arms around him tight. The pointed beak of his mask dug into the gap under his sternum.
“I’m scared.”
For as much as he tried to shield his stronger emotions, Emet-Selch could not fight them back now. Beneath his mask, his eyes burned. He placed his hands on Elidibus’ back, a gentle weight, and leaned over him, his body like the wing of a bird shielding its young.
“When my soul is spent, and my duty fulfilled… Will you guide me? To the Underworld?” he asked into Emet-Selch’s robe.
“I promise you,” he said. “You will be delivered there. I will see to it. You will know rest at your duty’s end.”