Work Text:
“Wait for me, brother!”
Ithnan turned around upon hearing these words only to be met with an unrecognisable crowd. No one was looking for him, and no one was calling out to him. This was just another city that Al-Thamen travelled to. He had nothing to do with anyone living here, nor does he recognise anyone. However, the phrase sparked a sense of nostalgia.
Someone, somewhere, a long time ago used to call him with the same fondness, enthusiasm and joy. At some point, even in his memories and dreams, this person stopped calling him “brother” anymore. He can still vividly picture the person: dark skin, glasses, purple hair and golden eyes with the mark of sinner on his forehead just like himself…yet in those same memories, he became unable to hear anything this person said to him: Not the way this person used to praise him; not the way this person chastised him for overusing his divine staff; not even the way this person used to call him ‘brother’.
Ithnan could no longer remember this person’s voice.
***
“Dunya is playing with dolls again,” Apollonius said mockingly as he watched Dunya ‘fix’ Isaac with gravity magic and sand, smiling and talking to the ‘doll’ she had created as if it was the person in her memory.
“It’s rather humorous how she continues to play with the dead, wouldn’t you agree Lord Ithnan?” Apollonius said to the masked man beside him.
“You…” Ithnan started without finishing the sentence as he observed the bags under Dunya’s eyes.
He knew she must have stayed up all night fixing ‘Isaac’. He witnessed how much she overworked herself just so she can get Isaac to speak the same way he used to. In reality, making Isaac was a waste of her magic because she put too much attention to details in her dolls, but Ithnan didn’t stop her from doing that. Instead, he instructed her on how to perform magic more efficiently.
You wouldn’t understand…the feelings of those left behind.
The words that Ithnan wanted to say remained unvoiced. Instead he replied, “…I wonder about that…”