Work Text:
He couldn’t breathe. Thick smog coated his surroundings, the dust crawling down his throat, latching to the tender flesh. He was choking. Choking on nothing. Dirty, ash-covered fingers clawed at his neck reflexively, scratching and scraping against the once soft skin he so desperately seeked. Scott was supposed to be regal - royal, even. But at this moment, nothing described him better than “pathetic”. Utterly pathetic. For years, he exerted himself, trying to reach the expectations of his family, of his council, of his people. Yet, here he was, choking on nothing but fragments of a bygone. He had so diligently followed every instruction, doing everything, but for what? He was going to die, here, at the wretched remnants of his château.
Scott had worked so hard for his place in this kingdom, in this empire. Though the people had not a king, he slotted perfectly amongst the intricate system as an ambassador, although he might as well have been the head of the monarchy. He represented the empire day in and day out, having meetings, discussing trades, and his resolve never faltering as the time passed. It was arduous to negotiate with other kingdoms - but as a faerie, Scott’s lineage intimidated the other sovereigns. He was respected and revered among nations.
Flecks of snow scattered themselves across the ruins of the empire, each flake gently melting upon the arrival to its first and final destination. The cold remains, biting at Scott’s skin, his flesh rising like a range of mountains, the bumps spreading across his body. Winter has arrived, and has brung the bone-chilling weather alongside it. Cold winters were not unusual in this empire, tucked away amongst the alps, hidden from the rest of the kingdoms. The silk garments covered Scott’s body, draping from the prominence of his collarbone, to the lower half of his person. His plump lips curved into a frown as he strode towards the doorway, hoping to formulate a plan of escape. It was his inauguration today - a hefty load of responsibility was soon to be placed upon his shoulders, and he was not sure he could withstand the weight of it. But he had to stand tall, and bear the expectations of those around him, he had to be the Atlas of his empire. Regardless of his own desires.
Red, hot flames licked at the remainder of the empire, lighting anything ablaze it could reach. Further and further it spread until it could no more, until all that was left were charred remains of a cardinal rule. Many bodies lay crumpled upon the blanket of ash, twisted in horrid positions, left in the wake of destruction. Few people lingered before the inevitable, their fiery resolve struggling in a pointless duel with fate itself. The people had been failed by those they trusted most. Young children were scattered amongst the debris, desperately trying to get their loved ones to arise, to awaken. But it was futile, Scott had failed his empire. He had not been able to bear the weight of the sky upon his back. His kingdom has fallen, crashed, and burned, quite literally, to the ground. What was the point of all his work, if this was the ending he was doomed to face? Why go through all that pain, that turmoil, when it wouldn’t even work out in the end? His suffering would be eternal - knowing he let down thousands of people. He had let them believe in him, and he had let them die. And for what? Recognition? Glory? For fuck all?
The last remnants of the fire smoldered away as the empire faded into an abyss of silence, nothing but the last crackles of destruction could be heard. Scott laid crumpled on the filthy ground, unable to take in another breath. His eyes remained open, glossing over as air could not reach his longs, a desperate want for oxygen blooming in his chest. He had followed his path, and this is where here he laid. With his people. No more, and no less than those around him.