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Rhaast walked towards the ruins, ignoring the world crumbling before him. His brothers, and sister, walked beside him that lacked their usual pride, with the very same aim: to know what they could have done differently.
Rhaast was free from his scythe, thanks to Kayn’s death, thanks to his siblings who broke him so Rhaast could take over. They had judged him for sure, but he was free. Not weak, not imprisoned. Strong, and walking with his scythe in his grip.
Varus too, had defeated his hosts over time, who could not take the betrayal of Rhaast to Kayn lightly. They’ve seen Kayn’s death, months after Varus had promised redemption to himself. They believed Varus would do something to stop it, but he didn’t. Kayn, who slept soundly near the fire was gone, and Rhaast was there. The lovers that tried to teach Varus honor were gone, the monster that history created was left.
They’ve brought destruction to this world. They began the moment he was free. Bloodshed was what they were known for after all. No one could live in this world without feeling their pain. Their scars. Their hatred.
However, that hatred wasn’t here now. They stood in the ruins, the moon casting a soft light on their hardened features. Naafiri’s tail swayed with the passing seconds. She did not talk, did not growl. Not this time.
They’ve come here, not to save themselves from the destruction they brought, but to know what they could have done differently. What they could have had. It was Varus’ idea. They resented it at first, but there weren’t elsewhere left to go. Aatrox and Varus came to his sight soon, waiting for the very same reason. To see.
These ruins, once filled with laughter from mortals they’d sworn to protect before the fall, were now empty, the only sound being the thick magic of the ruins humming peacefully. Too peaceful. The place known for its high amount of magic had survived the fall of Shurima, countless wars, and lifetimes of pain. None of them talked, waiting for something to happen. The place, the magic, must’ve known why they came here. If it was anything like the mortals had claimed, it would.
It did.
The magic understood. They could feel it in their bones, in their corrupt minds. It lingered between them, in them as the ruins shifted to something else, a dark hall. Too familiar for Aatrox’s taste. They looked around to see old paintings and some lockers. The walls were lit with torches, which led to a grand door they could see in. They weren’t shocked, not anymore. They’ve seen too much, lived too much, and experienced too much to be shocked to see Aatrox’s mansion’s familiar walls. A mansion that is supposed to be long gone.
They slowly peeked towards the door where the light was coming from. It was the living room, the common room, where Aatrox, and sometimes his “siblings”, enjoyed their dinner with drinks and chatter. Back when everything was peaceful, and they weren’t called Darkin. Back when mortals were deserving of protection in their eyes.
The eyes of the Darkin focused on the scene before the great gate. They did not know what to expect, but nothing else they could have encountered could have surprised them more. This was different from the lives they had never cared about, the precious things they had never looked at for more than two seconds, after thousands of years of living.
It was different because they were all together. Naafiri was sleeping by the fireplace, her tail resting near her pack and her expression calm, unbothered by the world. Aatrox, who seemed smaller in size though he was still the biggest, was sharpening a fancy blade in a black leather chair, Varus was reading a book on a large, comfortable-looking couch, and Rhaast was sitting across from someone who could only be Kayn, the man they had killed, at the fancy dining table, throwing food at him. Throwing food. At Kayn.
No one said anything. They didn't look at each other. Their breath held; eyes fixed on the scene.
“Take this!” Kayn yelled in his long-forgotten voice and still intact braid, smiling and laughing despite the mush on his cheeks as he threw a handful of vegetables at Rhaast, who seemed to dodge it very easily. He growled, but it wasn’t violent.
Kayn, looking pleased with himself and the reaction he received, took another handful of puree from his plate, but he threw it not at Rhaast, who looked ready to dodge and grinned like a clown, but at Aatrox, who was sitting calmly in his chair.
Aatrox watched from behind the door. Not just himself, but everyone. Everything. His house was as he remembered it from thousands of years ago, except that instead of the Ascended he knew as his brothers, he knew as his brothers, he had the Darkin, and Kayn. Varus looked up from his book, still the half-darkin who had never killed his human hosts, and looked at Kayn. His normally unpretentious face was filled with curiosity, not because of why Kayn threw food at Aatrox, but of what would Aatrox do.
From his chair, this Aatrox did not move but looked at Kayn, who was grinning, with a heavy, meaningful look. As if he had remembered something from the past and it bothered him, and he was unsure whether to be grateful or angry. But he did not draw his sword and kill him right there. He did not yell. He did not look into Rhaast's expectant chaos or Naafiri's half-open eyes which seemed to be waiting. He simply picked up the food that had come to his face unexpectedly, and with a devilish grin and superhuman speed, he threw it at Kayn's face, who was unable to dodge as Rhaast pointed at him and laughed. Laughed. Genuine.
None of the Darkin standing at the door heard what was said next as the magic showing them the scene started to dissolve, but they all saw Aatrox sitting in his chair with an unusually relaxed expression as he looked at right them as if he could see through the curtain that time, the universe, had placed between them, waiting to see how they would react. Then he nodded slightly, so slow and hidden that no one in the room could notice.
The magic that held the vision together dissolved into the shattered world around them and vanished into thin air, but the Darkin remained where they were. They had never experienced anything like it, but the vision was so real. With the human they had killed, whose long braid Rhaast still wore on his belt like a trophy. With the mortals Varus had shared his mind with. It was hard to accept, but the unknown and forgotten feeling of happiness and warmness of the scene was replaced with something heavier.
The one who broke the silence was Naafiri, looking around as if she had seen God itself, trying to make sense of what she saw. "It's been a long time since we saw him."
“You are so smart,” Rhaast said sarcastically, whose hand unconsciously went to his belt, where Kayn’s braid had been hanging from. He could still feel Kayn’s warm blood in his hands, washed off, but always there. Varus and Aatrox didn’t speak, but their silence said more than their words.
Kayn. Shieda Kayn, the man they killed. The man Rhaast took over. The mortal that dared to sleep near them was there. Throwing food at Gods as if nothing had happened. They didn’t understand how, or why. But it felt right. They had no pride remaining to question the vision they saw and ask why such beings like them were coddling a mortal. The world was crumbling beneath them, they could hear it. The cracks, the wind. It screamed that their end was near. They brought this upon themselves. The end was what they craved, but what they potentially could have had instead remained unspoken, but seen.
None of them laughed. Or made fun of the situation. No jokes were cracked by Rhaast or Naafiri. Aatrox didn’t say something about mortal’s weaknesses, and Varus did not make a logical comment to take them out of the hands of the grief that lingered in the air. The grief of a lost ending. Maybe this was what they deserved after everything. Die knowing it could be better. Die, while you grieve. Die, understanding you made the wrong decision. Hope, maybe in another life that could be you. That it is you living the scene rather than watching it from afar.
If Kayn was here now, after everything, he would not look at them the same way he did in the vision. The mortal would pity them. But it did not matter anymore, because the world was dying, and taking the Darkin with itself.
Darkin wasn’t the one to plead, but a silent exchange happened between them. Aatrox muttered something hard to understand. Naafiri looked around as the sound cracks echoed around the ruin, the floor beneath them visibly shaking. Then it spoke. Whether it was magic or a divine being, they didn’t know. But it spoke, in their very ancient language.
“Do you see yourself deserving of a second chance?”
Nobody questioned where the voice came from. They had seen so much, it wasn't shocking anymore.
There was no answer to that question. Even if they said yes, they knew what they had done was unforgivable. Varus's eyes went to the bow. He had lost his chance at redemption. They all had. If they said yes, they would be lying to themselves. Because they were ruthless. They didn't think, they didn't care.
But they couldn't say no either. Was it really their fault that they were in this state? Was it their fault that the void that had taken over their minds had spread so widely? The world had forced them into this. This world wasn't fair. Not to them, not to the mortals. Not to the strong, not to the weak. Who was responsible for this?
Before one of them could answer the question, the voice spoke again. It understood.
“Don't waste it."
The words hung heavy in the air, a chilling prophecy before the ground shattered, and they plummeted into the endless void. None of them did something to stop the fall. There was nothing to return if they survived.
They opened their eyes to a figure sleeping by a small fire in Ionia. Darkin remained where they were. Rhaast had no other chance, he could not move, his consciousness trapped in the scythe that stood next to Kayn. Varus stood a short distance from the fire, his bow in hand. His body was not quite Darkin, but he could sense Kai and Valmar’s presence, even if he could not hear them yet. Aatrox stood beside Naafiri, who seemed to be watching Kayn in shock.
They had returned to Ionia, despite the world having been destroyed seconds ago. Varus looked at the other Darkin, a calculating, questioning look in his eyes. Had they seen what he had seen? Had the world been destroyed with them seconds ago too?
“How?” Rhaast said, his voice coming from inside the scythe in shock. He was not free, but he did not seem to notice. “You saw it, did you not?”
“Yes, yes, we saw it. I saw it,” Aatrox replied, his voice deep. He looked down at Kayn sleeping on the ground. “Is this a vision? Are we still in the ruins?”
“No, we shouldn’t be,” Naafiri said, stepping forward. He stepped closer to Kayn, looking into his face. The others watched as if history were about to repeat itself, but Naafiri simply watched the assassin’s breathing. “He is real.”
Kayn didn't move from where he was, oblivious to everything, and he had not woken up straight away when he died. They all remembered this day. Especially Rhaast. They had killed Kayn here while he was sleeping. They had woken him up first. They had cut off his long hair then. Rhaast had been freed.
They could kill him now. Rhaast would be free again. But they hesitated. They did not know if what they saw was real or a shared dream, but they remembered. They remembered destroying the world, the massacres. They remembered freedom and power. Then they remembered going to the ruins. The scene they saw, and the emotions they felt, all weighed down on them like a heavy anvil.
No one died that night. They just sat by the fire, looking into the distance, thinking. No time had passed, but they had lived a lifetime. No one killed Kayn that night. Valmer and Kai did not speak, but they were there.
“Don’t waste it.” It spoke. They all remembered.
Rhaast did not press for freedom. Kayn's hair remained on his head, and when he woke, he asked Rhaast why he was so quiet.
Several years had passed, and getting rid of Kayn had proven harder than they had thought. After what had happened that day, they hadn't tried to kill him, but they hadn't expected Kayn to become such a big part of their lives either. Now they were sitting in the living room of Aatrox's old mansion, spending time together.
Aatrox sat in the large black leather chair he claimed as his own, sharpening an obsidian knife Kayn had found in a ruin. He didn't need to look up to know what the chaos at the dinner table was about, for Rhaast and Kayn's shameless laughter and insults told him that the situation was already dire. Varus was sitting on the couch a short distance away, reading a book, or pretending to. The familiarity of their situation was a pain that only Kayn could not understand, if it could be called pain, of course.
Aatrox looked around. Naafiri was sleeping with his flock by the fireplace, but Aatrox knew that she wasn't asleep, that she was waiting for something. He glanced at Kayn, who was hurling insults at Rhaast at the dinner table. He was covered in food, but it didn't seem to bother him. Rhaast was no better than him, if anything Rhaast was encouraging Kayn.
He focused on the dagger in his hand again, but before he could do anything, a piece of juicy food suddenly landed in his face. He looked up and saw Kayn smiling smugly at him. He looked ready to run away, but he didn't. He was obviously waiting for Aatrox's reaction. He looked at Kayn for a moment, thinking. How had he ended up in this situation with the mortal Rhaast was supposed to use and throw away? If he was his old self, he would have pulled out his sword and killed him right now and here, but he knew too much to do that. Kayn had spent too much time with them to die. He could not leave yet.
Before Kayn could move, he grabbed the food stuck to his face in his hand, and with superhuman strength, threw it at Kayn's face. The boy threw his hands up to his face in shock and stared at him in disbelief, but then he started yelling at Rhaast for making fun of him.
Believing he had given Kayn what he deserved, Aatrox looked at the doorway of the common room. He remembered the moment, they all did. They killed mortals. Immortals. Everything on sight. They had brought destruction to the world. And in the end, they lost themselves. They went into the infamous ruins in the hopes of seeing what could have happened instead. To know. It was Varus’ idea. At first, Aatrox despised him for it, but now that he was here, he still owed him an apology.
Because in the end, all they were left was what they could have been. And their failure. If somebody told Aatrox that he’d be spending his evenings with mortals and childish Darkin, he’d have their heads. But he was here, relaxing in his dear chair as a mortal made fun of their whole existence, and it did not feel wrong.
He looked at the doorway. Once, they watched this very same scene happening and felt the gnawing regret and grief of their actions from there. They were distant, seeing it, but never living it. Being forced to watch someone else’s happiness while you drown in your pain. But these days were long gone. They were in it now.
He didn’t know how, or why, but they had been given a second chance. A chance they did not deserve. His gaze lingered in the doorway before he slowly nodded, assuring whoever was behind the thick veil of time and existence, that it would be okay.