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All Surtalogi could do was crave in silence.
Dainsleif was everything - everything he wanted to be, and everything he wanted to have. He was a star, his star, shining brightly while he admired him, yet forever out of his reach. He possessed talent and strength he was incredibly jealous of, yet he could never dare to be jealous of someone as wonderful as Dainsleif.
People knew him as his best friend, the guy he always hangs out with. And by association, they believed he was as wonderful as him (though, most would immediately drop that belief upon getting to know him).
Surtalogi believed he was unworthy of Dainsleif, unworthy of being associated with him, standing next to him, let alone being his best friend.
He believed Dainsleif deserved better, someone who shone as bright as him.
And yet, Dainsleif would always smile when he saw him. He'd always ask about his day, invite him over to his place, and suggest training together. He would always gently squeeze Surtalogi's hand when he felt he was getting anxious, or encourage him when he could see he felt down. When they were alone, he'd always caress his cheek to comfort him, or giggle after saying a corny joke to cheer him up. In a way, it was obvious that his best friend was also craving him, that he wanted something more than just their friendship. And maybe that something would satisfy Surtalogi as much as it would satisfy him.
But he would never indulge, because he knew he was unworthy. Such brilliance should not remain besides someone like him.
...
The first time the voice spoke, he thought it was his own imagination creating ridiculous fantasies to entertain him.
He'd hear Dainsleif whisper sweet words of encouragement every time he was training late at night. He'd praise his effort, tell him he's getting better, and yet...
"Do you really think this is enough? Come on now."
Surely, it was only his brain's sick way of pushing him to keep on training.
Which he would do, of course.
Dainsleif's voice followed him everywhere. It would affirm his worries, and yet always give him hope, hope that he could perhaps reach that star one day.
At first, it was only during training. Then, it started speaking to him within his dreams.
It would be harsher, more mocking. But he brushed it aside, attributed those words to silly nightmares, even though what it said would never leave his mind.
"I pity you. It's why I keep you around, Surtr, because I pity you."
After a while, it became another part of his own thoughts. Because of course, that's what it was : sick thoughts of his taking the voice of his dearest Dainsleif.
"Surtr..."
Always that nickname, that only he ever called him by.
"Are you even trying?"
"You thought it yourself, didn't you? You're not worthy of a star."
This feels insulting. Surely his intrusive thoughts could do a better job at this. In what world would this be believable? He knew that if he ever fell for something so dumb, he'd never even be able to look at Dainsleif's starry eyes again. Out of shame.
"Those stars that shine across the universe do not belong to anyone. So it is also impossible for you to steal them. No matter how much you want them."
This time, he internally yelled at these thoughts to shut up. Intrusive thoughts sounding like Dainsleif was one thing, at least it allowed him to pretend he was spending time with Dainsleif. But this? It felt too wrong, for a reason he couldn't quite pinpoint. It broke any kind of false immersion he could have had, and left him with nothing but disgust in his stomach. He still couldn't tell why.
Since when did his thoughts even have the skill to pinpoint his flaws so precisely? He's usually better than this at ignoring them. But more importantly...
How dare his self-hatred tarnish Dainsleif's name and voice with such words? If the actual Dainsleif was like this, Surtalogi would probably never have seen him as a star to begin with.
...
When he lost his limbs, the voice became softer.
He was still adapting to the mechanical replacements, staring at his metal arm that moved way slower than he wanted it to. He wishes he could forget it was there, wishes it wouldn't constantly remind him of what happened, and all the effort he had lost along with his arm and leg. How much more would he have to train to go back to his previous level? And knowing he was still not enough back then, how long would it take him to get even stronger?
"Surtr... It's alright."
"What you lost is slowing you down... But as you grow stronger, you will not need those pitiful mechanical limbs anymore."
He had accepted that the voice wasn't just his own thoughts.
He didn't want to overthink what it could be, though, so he simply interacted with it just like he would have with Dainsleif.
"How so?"
"Once you become stronger, you'll be able to let go of those instruments and regrow your own limbs."
"Hah... I don't think that's humanly possible."
"...
Don't you want to stop being human?"
...
After a while, he finally came to the conclusion that the voice of Dainsleif was none other than the Abyss itself. Of course, he was familiar with this phenomenon, but he was never particularly interested in it himself. Why it decided to take Dainsleif's voice, why it targeted him, he was still not sure.
After coming to that realization, it stopped being a voice only.
In his time in jail, the Abyss would take the form of Dainsleif. It wouldn't say anything anymore, but it would comfort him the same way Dainsleif would have. Many would have felt distressed by this - hell, he didn't understand why he wasn't - but he was so miserable, so lonely, so sick of everything, that all he needed was the feeling of his palm's warmth on his cheek. He didn't care if it wasn't actually Dainsleif, didn't care if it was all a way to sway him.
Did it even matter, anyway? For some reason, the abyss gave him phantom sensations not even the real Dainsleif gave him.
Dainsleif felt more real, of course. Dainsleif felt much more...much more like Surtalogi, if that made any sense. It did to him, at least. For now, it did.
"You could become stronger."
"Stronger than all those who look at you as if you were a dirty parasite."
Dainsleif would never tell him that. Why take his form if just to sound nothing like him?
"Stronger than those who will hurt you just to prove that you're weaker."
He would never, would he?
"Stronger than those who pity you."
Maybe he would. After all, the abyss probably knew more about other people than he could. Maybe the abyss knew Dainsleif better than he did. It's not like he was ever any good at understanding others.
"Strong enough to show your worth to him."
Or maybe Dainsleif was too complicated to replicate.
"Strong enough to reach all the stars beyond the eggshell."
"Don't you want this Surtr?"
The nickname would have usually made him snap out of it, but not this time. He was starting to forget how the actual Dainsleif sounded like. Maybe his tone was always like that? As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he took Dainsleif for granted too often, and didn't pay enough attention. Had he listened more, maybe he would have been more unsettled by this half-assed imitation.
But it was too late now. Dainsleif was too far away for Surtalogi to be able to compare this voice to the real thing.
And yet even in this moment of weakness, in this moment of envy, he couldn't help but wonder-
"Would Dainsleif want that?"
...
"Does it matter?"
Yes, of course it matters...is what Surtalogi would say, had this question been asked to him just a month sooner. But now?
"If you become stronger..."
If he was stronger, he wouldn't be here in the first place.
"Then he's the one who would be chasing after you."
He wouldn't, would he?
...would he?
In moments like these, Surtalogi remembered a saying he once heard. He could swear it was from a boring play he sneaked his way into once as a child, because the streets were cold that night, and the theater was warm. He barely paid attention to the plot, he didn't understand why all the people in the theater cared so much about it anyway. Do they have so little to worry about in their lives that they need to worry about fictional people's problems?
He didn't know that, and he most likely never will, but he was too busy judging the spectators' sense of priorities to notice the single eye watching him from the catwalk above him.
Another thing he will never know is that after he was spotted, a man arrived backstage, and had one actor change just a single sentence in the play. Enough for generations of actors —had they lived long enough free of curses and cataclysms for the next generation to ever be born— to resent him for it. The change was minor to the plot, and it seemed to only serve to make the actors' job harder. But the additional line happened to catch the intruder's attention.
"Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower ; but only so for an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf, so Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day."
At the time, Surtalogi didn't know why that part of the play stuck with him. Maybe he had heard it somewhere else too? Who even was that 'Eden'? Sounded like the type of things you hear of in a bad fantasy novel. Whether it was in a book, or in a poem, it hardly mattered anyway. His memories of such insignificant events have always been fuzzy. But as the abyss still failed to perfectly replicate the embrace he knew he'd never have, he wondered if that was why.
No, of course not. It was just some saying in a pointless play. Either way, Dainsleif certainly isn't made of gold, and most people's lives aren't green leaves.
Still, just like in the play, Dainsleif's "hue" was hard for Surtalogi's mind to hold onto. Especially since every day, for months, he would see a slightly twisted Dainsleif. At first, he noticed the differences. Either the tone was off, or the hair was styled differently, or the eyes had a different size. He always noticed what was wrong. But as more days passed, leaf subsided to leaf, week subsided to week, and the abyss got better at mimicking Dainsleif.
Did it really? Maybe it didn't. Maybe Surtalogi was just forgetting what the original sounded like, what the original looked like...maybe the play was right. How did that story go again?
"So dawn goes to day. Nothing gold can stay."
What a fucked up play.
...
"Surtr..."
When he was allowed to leave his cell, Dainsleif was the first one to meet him.
Though, due to his lack of sleep the fact he hadn't ate anything other than a piece of bread last week, he couldn't distinguish if the Dainsleif in front of him was the real one, the Abyss, or just his imagination trying to give him some sort of comfort.
He ruled out the possibility of it being a part of his imagination when he fell into his arms. At least, it was physical.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of you-"
Pity.
He broke out of the hug, and faked a smile, not looking at him in the eyes once. He was too scared of seeing his face's details, and only then noticing just how much of it he had forgotten.
It felt pathetic.
"I'm fine on my own, you don't have to worry Dain."
It felt weak.
And before he could protest, he walked away from him.
Every step he took felt just a little colder on his skin. Maybe it was the metal of the prosthetics? That was always cold.
No, it didn't feel cold in that way.
Maybe it was a more...intense cold? The kind of cold that left him shivering for so long that he felt the need to sneak into that theater on that night. The kind of cold that you need a few hours of warmth to fully get over.
No, it didn't feel cold in that way.
But let's spare you the details of Surtalogi's endless confusion, as he will never figure out what kind of cold that was.
It's a cold he experienced for the first time today : loneliness.
The cold you feel when you're alone.
He never noticed it until now, but he has always felt cold. More than ever, though, walking away this time felt cold. But regardless, he kept walking away.
Away from the Dainsleif that kept reminding him how weak he was.
Because he could be stronger.
He knew he could.
After that day, he never heard Dainsleif's voice in his mind again. It had already told him everything he needed to hear, anyway.