Chapter Text
Saparata gasped as he ran, feet crunching leaves and sticks underneath. He’s been running for so long, but he can’t stop, won’t stop. As he darts between trees, trying to avoid the sinking mud of the swamp, he can barely comprehend what happened moments before.
A distant click, the shrieks of stalactites falling, screams filling the room
Oh the screams
Saparata’s foot snags on an exposed root, and he cannot stop himself from falling face-first into the ground. Saparata pants, lifting his face off the ground, checking his surroundings. He shouldn’t stop; he needs to keep running, away from the carnage, from the yells demanding answers from him, from the shrieks. But he doesn’t, after checking that he is alone, he sets his head back down into the mud and closes his eyes.
His body sinks slightly into the ground, not that he minds all that much. The mud cools him down as he is finally forced to face the last half hour of his life.
All of those rulers, dead. The ceiling opened up silently, raining down death onto the table. It happened so fast that Saparata barely knew what had happened. He blinked and suddenly, there was blood everywhere. He was frozen in place for a moment, staring at the body of Akaline, how his blood dripped down the remains of his head, forming a small puddle on the floor tiles. When the screams morphed into angry yelling, anger directed at Saparata, that's when he ran. Ran into the swamps of the south, never looking back.
Saparata pushes himself up, the mushy ground now freezing rather than soothing. He wipes off the muck from his skin as best he can. Really, he’s just dawdling for time, trying to figure out a plan, the next step forward.
Word of the meeting will spread quickly; the chamber was filled with knights and a few diplomats, all of whom weren’t targeted by the trap. Wherever Saparata goes, he will most likely be immediately captured, or worse, killed. He could go to Fluixion; he would believe his innocence.
Saparata softens at the thought of his companion. They had been together last night, warm and protected in Saparata’s bed. They had finished his house a few hours earlier, so when they lay in bed, both were too tired to do more than sit in each other's arms. Saparata had been content with the quiet night, okay to simply listen to Fluixion’s breathing. He was strangely quiet, where usually he would be complaining about one thing or another, usually Illuminara and its bridge. Not that he minded the rants, Saparata liked hearing them since it let him bask in Fluix’s voice and warm arms.
It was settled. Saparata would go to Fluixion, explain his innocence, and together they would sort something out.
As Saparata began to walk, a small thought popped into his head. Fluixion wasn’t at the meeting today, barred from coming due to his outbursts at the last one. Fluixion was mad at first, but when he left Saparata’s house this morning, he didn’t even have a comment, a strange thing for Fluix. He also said nothing about it last night while Saparata and Fluix’s team finished his house. Saparata had to leave midway through building to send invitations for the meeting. When he approached Fluixion about it, he was slightly scared he would react badly, but he didn’t. He merely smiled grimly and wished Saps safe travel.
It hits Saparata then. The realization of who rigged his home. He stops in his tracks and leans against a tree, his breath shaky as the betrayal sets in. He can’t believe it; he refuses to believe it. Fluix wouldn’t do that to him, would he? Wouldn’t transform Saparata’s safe haven into a slaughterhouse, wouldn’t strip Saparata of his choice in the matter, wouldn’t make his lover the scapegoat….. would he?
Saparata doesn’t know anymore. His back slides down the rough bark as he settles down onto the base of the mangrove. He can’t go back to Fluix, not now; he doesn’t think he can face him now. Saparata finally breaks; he begins to sob into his knees. The events of the day and his quiet realization of his lover crash down onto him. Tears soak his knees as he mourns the death of the rulers. He cries for himself as well, terrified of what his future holds. Even now, a small part of him wants Fluix there to comfort him. To have his arms around him and have Fluix rub his arms while he cried.
But all he had was silence from the swamp, as if it could sense his sorrow.