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To a creature conditioned to violence, survival is not only a fundamental instinct but a constant state. Pangi didn't belong to that realm, he was prone to tendencies that this world wasn't built upon. A world with an unknown danger that he couldn't fight, that he couldn't kill. When all he knew was to kill, everything around him would die. There was blood on his hands, not only of those who had wronged him, but also the innocent, and those he'd loved and sworn to protect. He couldn't help it, it was in his nature.
Back in his world there was no domestic life when everything could be ripped away from him at any given point.
You couldn't get attached. Anything you loved would be held over your head and used against you.
Silent pleas would fall from Pangi's lips as his eyes welled up in tears. He was kneeled over the corpse of an arctic fox — an innocent, unsuspecting creature that he had killed. He didn't mean to, he said. He swore he didn't. However, he had still killed it, and it didn't make the creature in his arms any less dead, no matter how many times he'd repeat it to himself.
You couldn't trust anyone. In a world where you're meant to take from others betrayal is inevitable and you could never let your guard down.
Pangi watched his friends from a distance. They were talking about him, they must've been. They were plotting against him and preparing to jump him at any given moment. He knew they wanted something from him, and he was well aware of the lengths people would go for the things they want.
You couldn't settle down. People would be willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want, and when you have the thing that they want that means tracking and hunting you down.
Only the soft sounds of the fireplace crackling and slight shuffling of pen against paper can be heard in the laboratory office. Lukey is fixated on his writing, furrowing his brows and mouthing the words silently. Pangi sat on the desk, looking down at Lukey and following his every movement with precision. For a moment he could almost pretend that this is where he was meant to be — that he could spend the rest of his life like this. But it wasn't right. He could only allow himself to indulge, but he knew it wouldn't last. Lukey knew he was watching, holding back a smile tugging at his lips every time he caught a glimpse of the man beside him from the corner of his vision. “Why are you just staring?” he’d giggle. And one day he'd have to tell him the truth. But he couldn't bring himself to, because once he's said it out loud, he can no longer lie to himself. He can no longer pretend. And even as the day eventually comes, with the question laid out in front of him; “what is your endgame?”, he still holds onto a sense of hope that it isn't over.
Pangi laid against the deepslate wall on the floor of a quiet base. He was all on his own, as he has been for the past few months. He hated this, he hated how he had no distractions from his wandering mind. The only sound came from the turtle farm in the other room, and he hated what it reminded him of.
How can you miss something you chose to leave behind? He was right where he was meant to be. But was it what he wanted?
He worried his lip. He couldn't tell himself to stop thinking about it because that would only make him think of it more. He just had to stop thinking. He desperately needed a distraction.
He looked over to the row of chests in the hallway, immediately picking himself off the floor and making his way to them. He'd go through the chests individually, scrambling his way through the contents in an attempt to find something of use.
Soon he'd find himself holding a chunk of clay wrapped in a slightly damp towel in his hands. It's been a while since he's done any sculpting, and with all this time he had to spare it could be put into good use. He stored the chunk of clay under his arm in order to free a hand to grab a bucket and fill it with water.
After taking water from the cauldron he'd move back to his previous spot, dropping the bucket on the floor and sitting crosslegged right next to it with the chunk of clay now in front of him. He didn't exactly have a plan in mind, but surely the malleable clay would eventually morph itself into something after tossing it around for a bit.
He'd start with removing the cloth from the clay, moving it aside then setting the uncovered clay back down onto the floor. He’d spend some time mindlessly molding the chunk into a ball, going over different things in his head in search of inspiration.
But allowing himself to think made his mind wander.
It had been a long day working on the potions, but even a longer day for Lukey who had been grinding long before he joined in. He wasn't certain when the man had last rested, but upon convincing him to take a break it didn't take long for him to be fast asleep on the comforter he'd put down for them on the floor of the potion room. He laid right by him, staring at his sleeping friend. He watched the way his chest fell and rose with the rhythm of his breathing, noting how his lips were slightly parted, letting out soft sighs whenever he breathed.
He wanted to reach out, to trace his fingers along his features and burn them into the back of his memory so he could never forget him again. His eyes followed the slight curve of his nose. He had always been a fan of how it contrasted his own, as if they were to press their faces against one another, they'd go together like two puzzle pieces.
It was weird, the way they just clicked. It was almost like they were molded from the same soil then taken apart and moved across time and space only to find each other again, as if fate. He hoped that would happen again, that even when they were to part again it wouldn't be the end.
He stared blankly at the sculpture in front of him.
It wasn't the most flattering, only slightly resembling the image in his mind. He hated it. He hated how he couldn't capture any of the features quite right. It was an ugly reminder that he could only ever see him through memories again.
He left him, he left him and he'll never see him again. But he will, because he's right here. He's right here with him, right where he belongs. It's like he never left!
Tears started welling up his eyes and his vision began to blur. There was a pit in his stomach. His wandering mind had begun to spiral and his head started to spin.
He left Lukey behind. He left Lukey all on his own. He couldn't protect him — he'd sworn he would, but he couldn't stay true to his word. There is nothing he could've done, but he should've. He should've been able to keep him safe.
The pathetic excuse of a Lukey stared back at him. Something twisted in his guts and in a fit of rage he grabs the clay and smashes it into the ground, immediately breaking into a sob and covering his face into his hands in frustration. He nearly digs into his skin with the amount of pressure he puts into the grip. The air quickly filled with shaky breaths and hiccups as Pangi gasped for air between sobs he could no longer contain. Everything he had kept within just boiling over in an instant.
He wished he could stop feeling this way, longing for something that wasn't meant to be. Why would the world give him a glimpse of a life he could never have? He wished he could've never met Lukey. If he hadn't ever met Lukey he wouldn't be this miserable, and maybe he had that sense of belonging that was now almost non-existent. Nothing felt right anymore.
He will spend the rest of his life finding Lukey in every passing moment, constant reminders of the life he could never have. And he'd have to bear the memories growing more distant as time goes by, until he can no longer remember what’s missing. But the longing will always remain.