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Kodya had thought he’d been getting better. He’d thought that the bleeding hole left inside him had finally stopped hurting. Maybe the dull ache that turned into an emptiness after almost two years would be all that was left. But after waking up after another dream of Gyrus, the pain was back, an almost familiar sensation.
He’d rather be empty than mourn Gyrus once more. By all accounts, Gyrus didn’t deserve Kodya’s grief. He was a murderer. He’d died laughing, basically telling everyone in the Room of Swords to go to hell. And yet…
It was so damn hard to reconcile with his own emotions. Gyrus had done something monstrous. But did it make Gyrus a monster? Was he the real monster, for loving someone capable of such things?
“He’s just confused, but he’ll always be mine,” Gyrus had said. And then Kodya had killed him.
Kodya puts his head in his hands. He hates those words, the ones that have been haunting him for the past year. When he decided to leave, to look for Gyrus, he’d been well aware of the consequences. People already distrusted him.
“Oh, please,” Ragan had snarled at him. She’d stopped by his room just before he left. “You’re still Gyrus’ pet,” she had spat at him. “His little soldier, loyal like a dog.”
Perhaps she was right. After all, Kodya still dreamt of him. Those nights when Gyrus would let himself be held by Kodya, and Kodya had those brief moments of clarity like everything was going to be okay. Maybe that had all been a ploy, too. To keep Kodya close. To keep him loyal. Perhaps that’s all he was. Just a broken soldier, to be used and then discarded once he served his purpose. A part of him wished that was the case, but he knew it wasn’t true. He’d heard Gyrus’ desperate thoughts before he died.
I love you.
Kodya’s eyes burn, but he refuses to acknowledge it. Maybe that had been a lie, too.
“He manipulated you. He manipulated all of us, Kodya,” the man in the wheelchair had said, brown eyes filled with pity. He’d grown accustomed to that look. It was almost refreshing when Ragan looked at him with such rage in her eyes. He stood up, gazing at himself in the distorted reflection of the water. He almost laughed, but the sound only devolved into a cough. With the dark circles under his eyes, and the choppy, long hair, he looked almost like… almost like him.
His eyes were drawn to his scar, and he touched it gently. For a while, he hadn’t been able to look at himself in the mirror. It was almost fitting that the thing that kept Kodya going was the man who’d ruined his life. The scar was a branding, a constant reminder of what he’d lost and what he had to find. If I do find him… He won’t have any scars. He’s a blank slate.
The thought is sickening. Gyrus, despite all the terrible things he’d done, had gotten to escape from his guilt, and Kodya had been the one to pay for his actions. Kodya was the one scarred and empty, searching for a murderer whose eyes still haunted the corners of his mind.
Maybe this was deserved. He was a monster, too. He had blood on his hands. He knew that better than anyone. He’d hardly used his ability since everything. Just the sight of the flickering blue glow made him want to be sick because that was yet another thing Gyrus had used him for. So much of Kodya had been intertwined with Gyrus. They’d been inseparable. He felt like his identity had been stripped away almost. Like parts of him had died with Gyrus.
Gyrus’ soldier.
Gyrus’ lover.
Gyrus’ crutch.
Gyrus’ murderer.
Gyrus had marked him more than just physically. Even his own identity was linked with his now. Kodya summons the sword, gazing at it. Sometimes he thought he could still see Gyrus’ reflection in the steel as he grasped at his throat, desperately trying to keep his life’s blood from spilling from him.
He touched his strands of hair. A part of him hated his hair, another part of him felt like it was distinctly his. One thing Kodya could change about himself. But even so… it looked like Gyrus’. Even in trying to break away from Gyrus, all he’d done was reveal how closely intertwined their lives had been. He gazed up at the black sun. Only a sliver left.
"Just remember... It's not over." Violet eyes flashed in his mind, and the hollow ache inside him is back. He tells himself it's just hunger as he stands in the barren desert, the sun beating down on him.
He presses the sword to his chest. Yes, it is. Because I will never let it happen again. He had nothing left. Nothing to live for, or hold, or protect. The man who had brought out the best in him had turned out to be a madman and a murderer. So what did that make Kodya?
I suppose it doesn't matter. Because I still love— Before he can let himself finish that poisonous thought, he plunges the sword into his chest. This pain is more than welcome. The world spins, his blood pounding in his head. He crumples to the ground, staring at the sky as his vision blurs and shrinks into a pinpoint. Maybe it's the heat of the sun or the fact that he has a sword in his chest. Or maybe it's because Gyrus has been haunting him for so damn long that he can't escape him, even in the day. But it's not Gyrus that's heading toward him.
It's Scout.
"User Gyrus is in critical condition," it chirps. "I have several safety protocols you could..."
The world goes dark, and Kodya embraces it with open arms. He just wishes he didn't have the knowledge that he'd wake up on the next voyage, still stuck in the same endless cycle.