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“Tonight,” the voice over the phone says, wrapped in clouds of static and cold wind. “The school. It’s time.”
Kris hesitates for a moment, feeling the weight of the phone in their hand. “So, the–the connection, that’s when–”
“Correct.” Cold, clipped. “You know what to do.”
There’s a click on the other end and the line goes dead.
They stare at the black screen for a long few moments - then they clear out their call history with a few quick taps. When that's done, the phone falls from their hand onto the bed.
Somewhere a million miles away, their mom is calling them down for dinner.
With legs that feel like lead, they climb to their feet, heading out of the room.
On the way, they kick the wagon, making the birdcage rattle.
It doesn’t make them feel any better.
—
Red light floods their dreams. They toss and turn, lapsing in and out of sleep, and each time they wake up it’s gasping and clawing at their chest. Only exhaustion finally sends them crashing down, down, into the red, and–
“Kris!” someone calls. “Kris, if you do not wake up, we will be late for school!”
They open their eyes.
They know.
It’s not paralysis, like they had feared. They can feel their limbs, still, even shift them into a more comfortable position. They can tilt their head to look at their mom as she talks on and on about going to school. They can breathe, blink, exist.
It just feels like every action comes from a million miles away. Like they have to force everything through layer after layer of inertia and stillness. And then–
Then it moves them for the first time as they climb out of bed, and it is easy and natural and shifts their limbs as if they weren’t there at all.
They’d braced themself, of course. Told themself again and again that it was worth it, for the plan. For her. For everyone. They’d even wished for it to hurry some nights, when all they could do on their own was lay motionless and miserable on the bed. Surely anything else running their life would be a comfort.
But every motion that comes without their will, every forced direction to stare at their own lamp or Asriel’s bed or the cage in the corner, every time they try on instinct to head for the door and find their weak will overridden by another before they even have time to lift their leg–
They feel nauseated. They want to double over and scream. They want to dig the thing out of their chest and throw it into the cage and never see it again, to call and say the promise is off, to do anything but this.
Their hand twitches at their side a few times, but they can’t muster the strength to lift it.
Still, they’re made to go downstairs, to stare around their own bathroom and kitchen and living room like they’ve never seen any of it before, to go outside with steady steps. (Their legs should be shaking. Their teeth should be clenched. They keep trying, they keep trying–)
“Kris! There you are!” their mother calls, bright and cheerful. They wonder, for a moment, if she’ll see, she’ll know, but she just smiles. “We might still be able to make it!”
Did they even tell her they love her, last night?
Did they think about her at all?
They climb into the car, and they are given the freedom to lean their head against the window as their mother talks on and on about nothing at all.
They promised, they know. They’ll hold to it. They know that now, with everything begun, there will be only a few days like this, and then–
They can bear it.
They will bear it.
There’s nothing they have that’s worth finding the strength to fight, anyways.
They let themself sink into a numb haze, deep in their self, and they wonder if they’ll ever emerge again.
—
The King gestures, spade-shaped light flying through the air faster than they can track.
They force will into their legs before they can think, call their shield to their arm and lift it, hear the echo as the bullets slam in.
“Kris…?” Susie says, somewhere far behind them.
Despite themself, despite everything, even as the bullets crash into them from above and they feel their will drained away again–
They smile, a little, even as they fall.