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Ororon is a stranger to regret. Or, perhaps it is better to say that regret is a stranger to Ororon.
That is to say, he has never once found himself in a situation where he has needed to regret before. He has always been bold and brash and loud, saying what is on his mind (something which, growing up, had endlessly annoyed Granny, and had gotten him in trouble more times than he cared to count). He has simply never had cause to regret. With one foot in the grave, with only half of a soul, living anything less than constantly in the moment felt like a betrayal of sorts.
It was easier, in a sense, to avoid it. If he lived in a way where he’d never have to regret, then he’d never have to come face-to-face with his own particular, peculiar brand of mortality that made him strange to the other Masters of the Night Wind, to most that he met.
Pain and loss, he knows like an old friend, being from Natlan. Even with the Ode of Resurrection, it was impossible to move forwards through life without loss, without loving and losing those who fought so valiantly against the Abyss. No one fights alone, truly, but losing those that you fought with was a fact of life. Everyone from Natlan knew that. Everyone. So regret was often seen as pointless, especially where battle was concerned. Regret was an emotion that could cripple your ability to fight, one of the only ones that could truly incapacitate you in battle. If you were weighed down with regret, how could you continue fighting on? Beyond that, to Ororon, it felt selfish. To make the loss of others about yourself. This, too, was something he had learned from the Masters of the Night Wind, where there were grand ceremonies for the departed, and then everyone moved on. Or, allowed themselves to move forward, with whatever emotions they kept close to their heart. It was always difficult to tell, with the other members of his tribe. They were all a bit odd, a bit eccentric in their mannerisms. Although none as much as he was. Even he knew that.
Regret was useless, and it was selfish, self-serving, and accomplished nothing. This was a fact of life as much as pain and loss were.
Although, perhaps, one of his reasons was more shallow, and decidedly less noble, than all of that. Ororon had simply never cared for anyone enough to regret losing them. There were only two people in his life that he would truly feel pain for if they departed; his Granny and Ifa, Archons forbid anything happen to them. Any hypothetical regret he might feel when he considered their passing was just that: hypothetical. And Ororon, philosophical and poetic as he was, was not someone that oft dealt in hypotheticals. There was simply no point in considering things that might or might not come to pass. It was like regret; something he just didn’t have time for, in the scheme of his life. He had vegetables to tend, his radishes and carrots, and the aphids that frequented his garden. Surrounded by the present, how could he worry about the future, or be so caught up in the past? It felt almost like a luxury that he couldn’t afford.
But now, standing before the throne on which the Captain rests, he felt it hit him powerfully, like a weight in his stomach that brought him to his knees from its force. He stared at the form of the Captain, proud and stoic, even in…
He could hardly bring himself to admit what this was.
Even in death.
The feelings that he’d had for the Captain were complicated, at best, and of course, actively difficult for him to understand. He had saved his life because he had seen something in his heart, in his very soul that had made him curious, that had made him believe him when he’d said that he wanted to help save Natlan. He’d always known that the Captain was an old soul, inconceivably old, surrounded by death, surrounded by rot. He could sense with startling clarity the slow decay of him, could feel it permeating off of him like a tangible aura whenever they were together. On the occasion where he had asked to see the Captain’s face, brought about by a curiosity that had never fully gone away, he could sense the rot even in his hesitation, the bitterness of his refusal.
“You shouldn’t ask such things,” he’d said, “you forget yourself, your place here.”
He had accepted that answer, back then, but the curiosity had never abated. How foolish he had been, to not press more. Even rotting from the inside out, the Captain was one of, if not the, most honorable men that he had ever known. And he had truly cared for Natlan, even if he had sometimes acted like his mission was for the Tsaristsa, and her alone. Ororon was pretty sure that some of his brashness, some of his attempted callousness, was a ploy to stop him from getting too close, to keep him at arm’s length. He knew it with a startling clarity, with origin unknown,
Fool as he was, however, that didn’t stop him from getting closer to him. That didn’t stop him from marching himself into his tent whenever he was in the Fatui camp like he owned the place, didn’t stop him from talking to him whenever he had the chance, from staring at his very soul like it was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen. He had told him as much, once, and had been dismissed in the Captain’s typical, brusque fashion, although not without a hint of fluster about him, as Ororon had noted with some pride.
Only now… it didn’t feel like enough.
The feeling of regret was new, bitter on his tongue, heavy in his throat, like a physical lump that he had to swallow around. It tasted like the herbs Granny used in the potions that he took to give himself even a modicum of stability, but with a decidedly sour twist in his gut. It punched the very air from his lungs, curling around his heart like a snake, temperamental and covetous, threatening to strangle him from the inside out.
Oh, he realized, as he knelt in front of the throne, his folded arms resting on one of the armrests, chin on top of them. This isn’t just regret. This is grief.
Grief. Grief was less of a stranger to Ororon, although it had certainly never felt like this. Even those lost in the ultimate battle against the Abyss weeks earlier, he had not felt such grief for. He’d felt sad, of course, he was no monster. He had felt pain, but not this body-wracking grief that made him want to sob with every breath. Each shaky, unsteady breath that sent pangs through his aching heart, the snake around it hissing at each beat, each movement, making it physically painful.
How did anyone bear it? This all-consuming, rotting feeling?
It occurred to him, albeit briefly, that this is what the Captain must have felt like since the fall of Khaenri'ah, having lost everything that he had ever known. No wonder he was so intent on helping Natlan. Ororon would do anything to get rid of the crushing feeling in his chest, the bitterness on his tongue, the physical pain that swept through his body in a fiery torrent of emotion, the likes of which he had never allowed himself to feel before.
It was all-consuming, raw in its intensity. Perhaps it was just that he was unused to it, but it was, without a doubt, the worst he had ever felt, even counting the multitude of times his half-soul was almost the cause of his demise. His breath hitched in his throat, and he kept his eyes closed, no longer wanting to see what was before him, not wanting to accept the cruel truth of this world that had taken the Captain from him far too soon. Far too soon.
“Ororon.”
A deep voice, almost chiding, sounded behind him, jolting him out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts, and his ears twitched minutely in his hood as he registered it, a bit delayed in his reaction only because he didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to give himself a taste of hope, lest it be wrenched from him when he opened his eyes. They, and the area under them, were damp, and he realized with a shock that, oh, he was crying. When did he start crying? That was a bit ridiculous. Ororon could count the number of times he’d actually cried on one hand. His Granny had always thought him especially weird because, even as a child, he rarely cried. He was always eerily quiet, and pensive when sad or hurt.
Yet, here he was, crying before the Captain’s throne, the sound of his voice almost too much to bear. Was he imagining it? He had to be. There was no way-
“Ororon.”
A second time, this time nearing impatience. Jewel eyes blinked open, and he reeled back with a start when he realized where he was, the familiar craggy surface and darkness of the sky surrounding him. The Night Kingdom. How did he get here? Usually, it meant that he had missed a dose of his potions if he was here, which always had the effect of endlessly worrying those around him. The last time he’d been in the Night Kingdom, his soul had been possessed, and he’d had to fight through it. He’d been terrified, frankly. But now, he felt no such worry, no anxiety.
Instead, he felt the warmth of concern, of someone reaching out for him.
When he looked up, he was met with a cool gaze. A maskless gaze, for once. And he realized, he had gotten his wish, despite everything.
Eyes that had once been deep blue, now sunken in skeletally, the remnants of a peculiar star-shaped pupil in the left one, with the right white and seemingly unseeing. Deep blue cracks that criss-crossed across what had once been a strong, pointed face, a jawline that had skin cracking and peeling off of it, revealing rot and bone and blood and viscera beneath. It looked… painful, to say the least. But also beautiful, in a particularly tragic way. Long hair that was, inexplicably, full, and almost healthy-looking set the appearance off a bit strangely, but it was so quintessentially Capitano that it made Ororon positively ache.
Ororon realized he was staring. Realized the Captain was staring back at him, and swallowed almost nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck with one of his gloved hands.
“Sorry,” he started, although he was quickly interrupted with a raise of the Captain’s gauntleted hand.
“There is no need to be. I’ve already told you, you don’t need to apologize so much,” there was a wry sort of smile on the Captain’s peeling lips, a crack of blue seeming to grow when he did.
“I know, but… I shouldn’t stare like that, beautiful as you are.”
The Captain scoffed at that and shook his head, looking almost amusedly at Ororon. Something passed between them, unnameable and delicate. The same thing that had passed between them after Ororon had first saved the Captain’s life.
Not that it mattered, in the end, he supposed, the thought hitting him with a sudden burst of bitterness and regret.
He truly hated the feeling.
“You’ve always been a strange one,” the Captain said simply, amusement clear in his expression as he watched Ororon’s face.
“So I’ve been told,” he responded with a small chuckle of his own, the improbability of the situation hitting him all at once. The Captain’s consciousness had fused with the Lord of the Night, in order to fix the Ley Lines. So how was he here, speaking with him right now?
Perhaps he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak, but it was in his nature to be curious about these things, to ask questions that might be considered annoying to others.
“You’re wondering what you’re doing here. How this is possible. Quite frankly, I am, as well,” the Captain was looking through him, now, as if reading his very thoughts. A habit of his that Ororon had for himself, but rarely found himself on the opposite end of. It was almost disconcerting. Is this how people felt when he waxed philosophical?
Shaking his distracted, racing thoughts away, he nodded, almost embarrassedly.
“It doesn’t usually mean anything good, when I come to the Night Kingdom,” he said simply.
“I know. I remember well,” the Captain(‘s apparition?) walked a slow circle around his kneeling form, studying him closely. Ororon felt like a disciple in front of a god, praying for a miracle. In many ways, he was. The man who he had sworn allegiance to stood in front of him once more, expression softening minutely.
“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, “but… I am glad that you’re here,” he admitted, a trace of bashfulness flashing across sunken, rotting features. “In this selfish indulgence of my consciousness.”
“What do you mean?” Ororon asked, confusion wrinkling his brow.
“The Lord of the Night has granted me a wish, so to speak. My consciousness is… heavy with the Lord’s influence, already, but I am whole enough for this.”
For this, Ororon repeated in his head, wondering what this was, exactly. What did the Captain mean by a wish, exactly? Was the fusing with the Lord of the Night not as full as he’d originally thought? Did he retain his consciousness enough to, perhaps, be brought back one day? Could the Ode even apply to him?
“What do you mean?” He asked again finally, dumbly, not wanting to get too bogged down with his own questions. No foolish hope would ever be enough to bring the Captain back. Not fully. If it was even possible, he would have to work for it. Not that it was possible. Not that he even hoped it was. He knew it was cruel, to wish an old soul back into existence, one that was so clearly happy with his decision, who was finally at peace.
“You’ve already asked that,” the Captain’s mouth quirked again, amusedly, before indulging Ororon’s practically slack-jawed stare. “But, for the longest time, I have been ready to give up this curse of immortality. Before the rot overtakes me completely. Until recently, that is. Until you deigned to save my life, even at the expense of your own Archon.”
“Because I saw your soul, Captain-”
“Thrain.”
“Thrain?”
“My name. It’s Thrain. Given the situation… I rather think that I would prefer you use it.”
“Thrain…” Ororon tested the name on his tongue, and found that he quite liked it. “Because I saw your soul, Thrain. I always knew I wanted to be by your side.”
It felt too heavy a confession, even for a moment like this. But the Captain found himself smiling, not a trace of amusement or derision in it.
This boy is impossible, he thought to himself.
“You were never particularly subtle, you know,” the Captain told him, “I could always see it in your breathing, and in your eyes.”
“I wasn’t trying to be subtle,” Ororon said simply, in that earnest way of his that many found disconcerting. “I’ve always…” he struggled to find the word, having never said any of this out loud before, “admired you, I suppose.”
“Admired me?” The Captain’s smile reached his eyes, a gentle look and tone that Ororon was rapidly coming to realize was reserved solely for him.
“Yes,” he nodded, cheeks flushing a bit embarrassedly. “You’re honorable, and kind, even if you insist that you’re not. And your soul shines so brightly. I’ve always been drawn to it.”
“That sounds dangerously like a confession, little bat,” there was something impossibly fond in the Captain’s voice.
“I think it is,” Ororon admitted, his face still flushed pink, “and I… regret that I never got to tell you. Before this happened.”
The Captain’s smile dimmed, replaced by the smallest of frowns.
“You can tell me now, Ororon. I will remember it.”
The words came easily to Ororon, now.
“I’m in love with you, Ca- Thrain,” the name was still difficult on his tongue, but it felt important to him, to say it.
“I suspect it goes without saying that I am fond of you, beyond fond of you, as well,” the Captain took a small step forwards, taking Ororon’s hand, fingers brushing across his knuckles in an endlessly, and surprisingly, gentle caress that almost brought Ororon to his knees.
“I wish-”
“There is no point in wishing, in regretting, Ororon.”
“I know,” he sighed deeply, “it’s a new feeling that I’m not particularly fond of. Especially because you’re here now.”
“I am,” the Captain agreed, “and for the time that we have here, the time that the Lord of the Night allows us, I won’t allow you to focus on your regrets,” he was firm, resolute in his tone. The hand that wasn’t holding Ororon’s carefully went up to the base of his ears, and a shiver ran through him.
“I believe we made a deal once,” Ororon managed to get out. “That you’d let me see your face if I let you touch my ears.”
The Captain smiled again, like the sunrise. It almost flattened Ororon.
“Perhaps I am making good on that now.”
The gentle feeling of the hand on his ears made him sigh deeply, eyes almost fluttering shut before the fear that the Captain would disappear if they did overtook him. They stood like that for a long moment, the Captain caressing his ears, Ororon squeezing his hand ever so gently, like he was afraid he would hurt him somehow, even though he knew that he was now beyond being hurt.
This was the land of their souls.
The Captain leaned closer to him, lips brushing against his cheek.
“I will stay with you, Ororon. Until the end. Even if you cannot see or feel me. Our souls are connected, you know. That is why I can talk with you like this, why I could make you my wish.”
It is a solemn vow, one that echoed in Ororon’s half-soul. The Captain - Thrain - kissed his hand, lips brushing across his knuckles just as reverently as Ororon had knelt before him, holding it close to his chest. There was no beat of his heart, Ororon noticed, although he didn’t dare comment on it. His cheeks were flushed pink, and he leaned forwards and closed the distance fully, gently pressing his lips to the other’s.
They were warm, despite everything.
Ororon greets his regret like an old friend, with understanding in his heart, and a half-soul fulfilled, if even for the briefest moment. Regret’s hand is cool in his, but beside it lies something far warmer: hope. And love.