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Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Each step became heavier than the last, his movement slowing with every passing second. His boots had fused with his flesh, and he wasn’t sure his coat was doing anything to keep the cold at bay anymore. All he could do was move forward, driven by a single purpose that kept him going—if it were anyone else in his place, they would’ve given up long ago.
None of the bastards he had hired were worth a damn. It had been days since Saparata’s escape from his very own trial, using the border lift to his advantage to cross over to the enemy island. “He was seen at the Covenant base,” one had told him. “He was trying to forge a deal with Schpood at Westhelm,” another had confidently claimed. But every single lead had led nowhere; it was as if the world had split in two, and Saparata had fallen straight into its core.
For that reason, Fluixon decided to take matters into his own hands. If he wanted to become the true ruler of his island, what better way than to hunt down the enemy himself?
He began to think. If he were Saparata, where would he hide? Where would he run? Where would the perfect place be—somewhere far from prying eyes?
All those questions swirling in his mind had led him to this place. A vast, abandoned stretch of Island One, where snow fell endlessly, never stopping for even a single second. The snow reached just below his knees, and it would climb higher still if he didn’t find shelter—or more importantly, find Saparata. Tracking footprints was impossible here. Fluixon couldn’t rely on anything but instinct, and he had always trusted it. Right now, it screamed at him, urging him onward, telling him Saparata was here and that he couldn’t afford to stop searching.
Don’t give up. Don’t fall here. You have one last step left. When Saps dies, you’ll finally have everything you’ve ever wanted.
With a protective arm raised in front of his eyes to shield them from the relentless snowstorm, he continued walking, slow step by slow step.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
The sun shone brightly above him, but it did nothing to warm him. In fact, for a long time now, he had felt unbearably cold, no amount of heat enough to melt the ice coiled around his soul. Had it started back in Luminara, when he was cast out?
No… no. Perhaps he had simply been born this way. Twisted to the core, forever craving power, never satisfied with what he already possessed. He wondered what he would seek next after dealing with Saparata. What other sacrifice was waiting for him, who else he would betray for the sake of a greater good that had never truly existed…
The cold was beginning to sink into him. Flux had never been one to linger on such trivial discomforts.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, cru—
Far ahead, just peeking over the rise of the hill, stood an unmistakably human-made structure.
Fluixon stopped in his tracks at once, his arms falling to his sides as he stared ahead—at what looked like the tip of a tower glaring back at him from the distance. Was exhaustion finally driving him to hallucinate? How could there be a tower in the middle of nowhe—
Unless… unless…
In that instant, the fatigue seeping through Fluixon’s bones evaporated, replaced by a sudden surge of adrenaline. His hands grew slick with sweat, eyes locked onto the sight ahead, not daring to blink for fear it might vanish.
Before his thoughts could catch up with his mind, Fluixon began to run.
He ran, he ran, he ran and he ran, driving himself deeper into the snow with every step, tripping, falling face-first, yet forcing himself back up almost immediately. His legs ached, trembling on the edge of failure, and he knew he would pass out if he stopped for even a single second. He ran. He ran so, incredibly fast, all the way past the hill that had blocked his view. He ran until tears spilled from his eyes, freezing into sharp shards of ice as they dragged across his cheeks. His vision narrowed to white and pain, the world reduced to the sound of his own breath tearing out of his chest.
Then, finally, he stopped.
A coughing fit seized him. He dropped to his knees, hacking his lungs out until there was no air left to give. Spit dripped from the corners of his mouth, splattering onto the ground before vanishing into the snow.
But none of the pain mattered. Not to Fluixon. Because with one, unsteady glance upward, he instantly knew where he was.
“I’d love to build a tower in a remote place one day, and spend my time there.”
“Hey, Flux. Why don’t you tag along? We could grow into two old men tending to their gardens.”
“No? Come on! Why not? Aren’t you getting tired of worrying about Luminara? Your hair’s gonna turn white before you turn thirty.”
“Well, my offer will always be there. If you ever need an escape in the next couple of years, you’ll know where to find me.”
Flashes of memory tore through his mind, the voice of his mortal enemy echoing in his ears, promising him nothing but hollow words. There was once a time when Fluixon had pathetically believed everything that left Saparata’s mouth, clinging to the hope of a future they might have shared.
Did Saparata ever come to realize that it was Fluixon who had allowed himself to linger in their friendship far longer than necessary, when all along, his plan had been to use him as a scapegoat?
Of course he did. He had to. Saparata was a clever man—that much, Fluixon could admit. But even if he knew, he chose to remain at his side anyway, and there was nothing Fluixon despised more than foolish kindness.
He wearily blinked at the bleak white tower ahead. The harsh glare of the snow reflecting into his eyes made it difficult to discern any details. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place. It was a simple, minimalist tower, likely built in no more than a single day—an utterly fragile, barely standing structure, designed to provide shelter for one man alone. Even if he wasn’t here now, Fluixon was determined to wait, no matter how long it took, willing to lose a limb or two to the cold—as long as he had one arm left, just one arm to deliver the finishing blow.
Out of his five senses, Fluixon had been relying on his sight for so long that he had forgotten to heed the rest. As he struggled to stand upright, a whiff of a gnarly scent—distinct from the empty nothingness of the snow, lingering where the wind should have carried it away—seared his nostrils.
That was odd… Where was it coming from?
He scanned his surroundings, turning behind him, then to his sides, but nothing out of the ordinary met his gaze. The area stretched white upon white upon white acro—
White…?
All white, except for one specific point ahead of him, on the ground, closer to the tower. It was barely visible unless he squinted—the nonstop snowfall masking most of its color. But that faint glint of a darkened splotch was all Fluixon needed to take a shaky step forward.
The snow crunched beneath him, some slipping through the gap where his tucked pants had come loose from his boots. The rapid quickening of his heartbeat thundered in his ears, thump, thump, thump, thump.
What was he so afraid of? What was this creeping unease? His fingers had curled into his palms without him noticing.
The closer he drew, the clearer his view became. The clearer his view became, the more nausea churned in his gut.
No, no, no, this—this was fine. Fluixon had spotted a few rabbits, and foxes along the way. With how deserted this place was, it was no surprise if most struggled to survive, eventually succumbing to hunger. There was no reason to panic. Fluixon never panicked.
Crunch, crunch, crunch… crunch.
Oh.
Oh, oh. Oh, this— Oh.
His entire body tremored violently as he stared down. The wind picked up its pace, weaving through the snow particles, threading through Fluixon’s damp hair, his soaked coat. He stayed rooted to the spot, uncertain for how long, barely blinking, barely breathing.
This was no animal.
This was no animal.
This was no animal.
The snow concealed most of it, but it hadn’t concealed enough. Fluixon wished it had. Fluixon wished someone would tear his eyes from their sockets, crush his thoughts until the image was purged from his mind for good.
Right there, scattered across the area, lay dried blood, dark enough to be mistaken for black, mostly swallowed by the snow.
Right there, beneath the frost, a thin sliver of silver braid peeked through.
Whatever will he had left drained from his body for good, and he came crashing down. His knees struck the snow heavily, the bag he had carried all this way thrown carelessly aside.
“Hmmm, how tall? Good question, I haven’t thought that far actually. But I’d want it pretty tall. I want it tall enough so with one glance, I can see our island, and every nation in it.”
A string of unintelligible sounds spilled from Fluixon, like a chain of broken curses, slipping free from him, chanted without meaning. The flashing memories never stopped. Every conversation looped through his head, relentlessly, unforgivingly.
“Will you help me build it, Flux?”
Slowly, terrifyingly, like a child who had just heard their first horror story and now dreaded every small movement they made, he looked down once more.
There was so much, so much snow.
Fluixon no longer felt in control of his own body. He moved like a machine—leaning forward, shoving the first small pile aside with his hands, using them like crude shovels. If it was meant to hurt, then his senses had long since dulled. He simply kept digging, pushing the snow away, and digging again.
His hands froze midair once there was no more snow to move. Time stood still, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away, as if trapped in a trance.
This was just his mind playing cruel tricks on him. He had exhausted himself from days of endless travel, and now he was finally breaking.
Because why else—why in the world—would he be staring at Saparata’s limp body on the ground, mouth slightly parted, packed with snow? Why else were his limbs twisted into unnatural angles, wrong for any human form? His desire to see Saparata gone had taken shape like this, and in reality, he had only been digging through nothing at all, hadn’t he?
Yes, of course he had.
This wasn’t real. This wasn’t—
Fluixon’s hand brushed against cold, frozen skin. The hallucination remained. He stroked silver strands, threading his fingers through them. The hallucination remained. He pushed aside the tangled, crunching bangs, revealing clouded eyes, bleached completely pale. The hallucination remained.
“S-Saps…?”
There was no answer. The hallucination remained.
“Saps. Saps—” Fluixon grabbed him with both hands, shaking as hard as he could. “No— no, you’re not real, you’re not real, this isn’t real, t-this—”
Saparata remained.
The cold… this freezing cold had slowed the deterioration of Saparata’s body. Fluixon could still count every individual eyelash, could still make out every visible mole on his face.
Fluixon glanced upward, at the tall tower stretching toward the sky. Why did he have to build it so tall? Why did he never know when to stop? Why did he take that step?
Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, whywhywhywhywhywhy why why why—
He snaked one arm behind Saparata’s stiffened back, and slowly lifted him as he scooted closer. His other arm draped over his shoulders, his hands locking together.
“This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen,” Fluixon barely recognized his own voice anymore. “How— how dare you? How dare you—”
He bent forward, his head dropping against Saparata’s chest. No heartbeat. No breath. No movement. This body was nothing more than an empty husk, wearing the face of the man he had spent so long hating.
Hating…
Did he… did he ever hate Saparata, to begin with? If he had, wasn’t he supposed to rejoice? Wasn’t he meant to bring his head back to their island, to claim victory over the death of the so-called traitor?
Every drop that fell from Fluixon’s eyes soaked into Saparata’s clothes, frosting over the moment it landed. Eventually, small drops turned into heavier ones, spilling freely now, with no restraint. He couldn’t stop the dam even if he wanted to.
Oh, Fluixon, you idiot man.
You loved so deeply, you didn’t know what to do with it. So you thought hatred would be easier. Foolishly, you convinced yourself you wanted nothing to do with him, when all along, you wanted him in everything you did.
His hiccups grew louder as he clutched Saparata tighter, burying himself deeper against him. Snowflakes began to gather atop them, forming a thin layer of white. Fluixon thought of lying there beside him, letting nature claim them together until they became one.
But… did Fluixon even deserve an ending as peaceful as that?
“No, you don’t.”
…Huh?
“You don’t. You don’t deserve anything. You did this. This was all you.”
What? Huh?
Fluixon barely mustered the strength to lift his head, scanning the area. As expected, there was no one else around—
“I died because of you.”
Fluixon snapped his head to the other side. There was no one. No one. The voice. Why did it sound like—?
“I died because of you. Because of you. Because of you. Because of you. Because of you—”
“S-Stop—”
“—Because of you, because of you, because of youbecause of you becauseofyou becauseofyoubecauseofyoubecauseofyoubecauseofyou—”
“N-No, no, I— I—” Fluixon heaved, his gaze snapping down to the body clutched in his arms. The same clouded, golden eyes stared back at him, barely visible through half-lidded lashes. Saparata was still here, still cradled against him.
“Dead. Gone. Gone forever. I’m dead. I died. I died. You killed me. I died. I died.”
A shadow loomed from behind, stretching longer, larger, until it swallowed their figures whole. But when Fluixon twisted his head sharply enough to strain his neck, there was no one there. Absolutely no one.
And just like that, the shadow had vanished as well, leaving them alone in the vast brightness once more.
Ah.
Fluixon had already begun to lose his mind.
How much time had passed, he no longer knew.
He was never great with goodbyes, so after picking Saparata up and dragging them both inside the tower he had built, he continued clutching him tightly for hours on end, never moving an inch. It wasn’t until the cold that had preserved Saparata’s body for so long finally faded, and the unmistakable stench of death burned his nose, that he came to his senses for the second time.
This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a hallucination. The very man who had driven him to keep living, all for the sake of a petty, fabricated witch hunt, was gone now, and the stone-cold weight resting on his lap was proof enough. He realized that all along, he had been willing to let himself be killed by Saparata, under the pretense of meeting him in battle. Deep down, he had always known he never truly had it in him.
A cowardly tyrant. That was who he was.
And this cowardly, terrified tyrant desperately yearned to hear his friend’s laughter one more time. Another foolish desire—always so selfish, so self-centered.
He was never great with goodbyes, but for Saparata, he had to at least try.
A burial barely fitting for the real hero.
A spot reserved beside the home that had been forced upon him. None of his belongings were inside the tower, not even a small bag carrying a fresh set of clothes. Saparata had come here with a clear purpose in mind, fully accepting his point of no return.
“You won.”
Whispers of a dead man murmured against his ear. Fluixon squinted his eyes, scrunching his face as he shook his head, as if swatting away a fly.
“You won. Are you happy, Flux? You won.”
Fluixon crouched in the snow, leveling himself with the clumsily crafted grave, an ice block he had found near the tower serving as its gravestone. He pulled his sword from his back, and began carving into the ice.
“You won. You won.”
He shoved the plague in his mind aside and spent minutes, or maybe hours, carving carefully, tenderly the way a friend might. His hands remained surprisingly steady despite the cold gnawing at his fingers. He paused often, breath fogging the air, brushing frost away from the ice to check his work before continuing. When he was finished, he gently stabbed his sword in the snow, beside the grave.
It hurt. It hurt so much. It hurt everywhere. Every bone, every tendon, every nerve, every corner of his soul—this pain was unlike anything he had ever endured.
Standing up and taking a step away from his grave hurt. Turning his back on it hurt. Gritting his teeth to stifle his sobs hurt. Saparata’s voice ricocheting through his mind hurt.
Everything… everything hurt.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
It hurt.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
The farther he walked away, the more it hurt.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
It hurt.
ʜᴇʀᴇ ʟɪᴇꜱ ꜱᴀᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴀ
ᴀ ʜᴇʀᴏ
ᴡʜᴏ ꜱʜᴏɴᴇ ʙʀɪɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ ☼
THE DAILY BREAK
Civilization Daily News
SAPARATA CONFIRMED DEAD
Daybreak Media confirms the death of Saparata, previously designated a traitor to the islands.
According to verified reports, Fluixon, former Vice President of Luminara, successfully located and executed Saparata following his escape from trial proceedings. Officials state that the operation concluded without further casualties.
The death of Saparata brings an end to the ongoing pursuit that followed his defection and alleged attempts to destabilize inter-island relations.
Leaders across multiple nations have acknowledged the outcome. Preliminary statements suggest this development may mark a turning point in current diplomatic tensions.
Further details will be released as they are confirmed.
— Daybreak Media
Since his return, there had been nonstop attempts at dialogue from news outlets all across both islands.
“What really happened out there?”
“How did you find Saps?”
“Did you two battle?”
“How did you kill him?”
No one knew the truth. No one but him, and the one resting beneath the snow. In everyone else’s eyes, Fluixon had become a true hero—someone they could place their trust in if anything were to go wrong.
That was what he had always craved, wasn’t it? For everyone to finally see him as the hero he had tried to be from the very beginning, all the way back when he warned the nations of their foolish belief in sending aid to the other island. Now, he could spend the rest of his days among them, even those who once looked down on him, gazing at him with nothing but admiration.
Fluixon had truly achieved every goal he had set his mind to.
So why was this growing misery inside him, gnawing away at his very life force?
“You won, Flux.”
“I… won…”
“You won. You won.”
…Did he?
“What are your future plans now, Flux?” Thomas asked calmly from his seat at The Conspiracy’s hiding spot. “Will you take Luminara back from 3Below?"
Fluixon was slumped in his own chair, dazed beyond the point of considering what his “future” plans were.
His eyes were fixed elsewhere—more specifically, on an empty corner directly across from him. Whether it was sleep deprivation finally splintering his mind, or his deep, painfully selfish desires taking shape, he didn’t know.
“Flux?” Thomas’ voice echoed in his ears, followed by the harsh screech of chair legs scraping against the wooden floor. Fluixon didn’t react—he was already a man trapped in a cage, with no way out. All he could do was stare straight ahead.
Straight ahead, at Saparata, beaming at him with that smile that had always made Fluixon’s heart flutter in a way he never understood. He found himself smiling back, unguarded and genuine. Butterflies twisted and gnawed at his stomach when Saparata tilted his head affectionately, his beautiful silver braids shifting with the motion, slipping across his face.
Ah. He still looked devastatingly beautiful.
“Flux…?” There was unmistakable worry in Thomas’ tone—Fluixon barely caught the tremor. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from Saparata and looked at Thomas instead. He had already risen from his seat, standing only inches away now, brows drawn together in concern.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”
Okay…? Why wouldn’t he be?
“You’ve been out of it ever since you came back.”
Came back? Came back from where?
“I know Saparata was a good friend to you for a while, so despite the circumstances, it’s normal for you to feel upset.”
Fluixon furrowed his brows in confusion, lips parting, then pressing together again, unsure how to respond. Saparata was still a good friend to him. Just the other day, they had gone mining together, hadn’t they? And even now, Saparata was here with them—so how was it right to speak of him like this when he could hear—
When Fluixon stole a worried glance back at the spot where Saparata had been standing, it was completely empty. There was no trace of anyone. No trace of anything at all.
Huh…?
What… what was this feeling? Why did his heart feel like it was being crushed by a force he didn’t recognize?
“But now that he’s dead, we can focus on the future of Island Two, and gather everyone to our side.”
Ah.
Ahh.
“That’s right…” Fluixon mumbled, the corners of his lips twitching upward mechanically, eyes widening. “Saps is dead.” He echoed Thomas’ words, then repeated them in his own mind over and over and over and over again. “He’s dead. I killed him.”
“That’s right.”
One simple blink, and Saparata was back. His figure glitched and trembled, as if he were moving and standing perfectly still at the same time. Another blink, and he was gone again. One more, and he was back in his place.
But there was no sign of his beautiful smile anymore—Fluixon couldn’t make out any features on his face. Where his eyes should have been, there was emptiness. Where his nose should have been, there was emptiness. Where his mouth should have been, there was emptiness. An empty canvas that spoke directly to Fluixon’s mind.
“You killed me. I died because of you.”
Fluixon tried to draw in a deep breath, but the air lodged in his lungs, forcing him into a violent coughing fit. He clawed at the collar of his shirt, tearing it open in a desperate attempt to help himself, but it did nothing. His throat was closing in, completely cutting off any supply of air. Pale, freezing hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing, crushing his windpipe.
“You won, Flux. You won.”
“—Gh—” Fluixon tried to stand and rush outside, hoping the open air would snap him back to his senses, but the dizziness and pounding ache in his head made him stumble over his own feet. He collapsed only a short distance from his chair, barely catching himself with shaking arms.
The shadow loomed over him again, just like back then. It grew larger with every passing second, pressing down on him with a familiar, suffocating weight. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a silver braid swaying back and forth.
“N-No…” he rasped, squeezing his eyes shut, heart hammering against his chest as if it might burst from his ribcage at any moment.
Saps, Saps, Saps, Saps, Saps. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Saps. I’m sorry, I—
“I-I’m sor—”
“Flux!”
Fluixon snapped his head up instantly.
There was no shadow.
“T-Tho… mas…?”
Instead, a pair of firm hands were gripping his shoulders, holding him steady. Worried eyes met his tear-blurred ones, scanning his face for answers.
“You okay?” Thomas asked, concern seeping into every syllable. “You suddenly turned pale and tripped over your own foot.”
Only when Fluixon felt the hard floor against his palms did he realize he was, indeed, on the ground.
“I’m fine.” He tried to push Thomas away, but there was no strength left in his body. “Just leave me be.”
“You should get some rest,” Thomas insisted stubbornly, scolding him the way he always did. “Look at the bags under your eyes. Have you even been getting enough sleep at night?”
When was the last time Fluixon had closed his eyes for more than an hour without waking from some kind of nightmare? Too long—he had already lost count.
“I said I’m fine.” With a deep, trembling breath, he shoved Thomas’ hands away, nearly stumbling again as he stood. He immediately grabbed the armrest of his chair, steadying himself to keep from collapsing in front of his friend—his subordinate. “Who do you think you are, to tell me what to do?”
As he dragged his feet across the room toward the door, he ignored Thomas’ worried stare, and the tingling, shivering sensation trailing behind him, like a warm breath brushing the nape of his neck, raising goosebumps along his skin.
“Flux. Do you feel guilty?”
He didn’t stop walking.
“Ah, it’s our hero!”
“Fluixon, over here— over here! Come on, strike a pose!”
“Thank you for bringing justice to our world! Cheers to Fluixon! Cheers to Luminara!”
“We knew you were innocent all along, Flux! That traitor Saps needed someone to blame—trying to turn everyone against his own friend! What an idiot. He deserved everything coming to him!”
“...Fluixon, are you holding up okay? You look like you’ve lost weight. Are you eating well? You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”
“If any traitors try to disrupt our peace again, we’ll deal with them for you.”
“Thank you for everything.”
“From now on, Tricolor stands with you until death.”
“Westhelm welcomes you with open arms! Let me know if you ever want free tickets to the colosseum!”
“Despite The Covenant’s hesitation toward Island Two, you, Fluixon, have proven us wrong. You are free to come and go as you please.”
“You surprised me, Flux. I never thought you’d take care of the traitor like that. Infernus sends its regards.”
“Flux! Flux! Flux! Flux! Flux! Flux!”
“Our hero!”
Luminara now belonged to Fluixon.
After the recent events, almost every citizen of Luminara wanted him back—not as vice president like before, but as their president, removing 3BelowZero from his position entirely. At popular demand, a presidential election was held, and Fluixon was appointed as the new president by a landslide, gathering most of the votes, even from those who had once so vehemently condemned his ideas, now praising him as if he were their god.
Everything disgusted him beyond belief. There wasn’t even a trace of joy left inside him.
Luminara. Becoming president. Citizens willing to grant him anything with a single snap of his fingers. Things that had once been his life’s purpose no longer stirred him at all. If anything, he already loathed the thought of having to mingle with them, to smile and pretend he was some benevolent leader—someone they could call a friend.
He didn’t want to do anything.
He just… he just wanted to rest.
Thomas had become one of the vice presidents at Fluixon’s insistence, so for the time being, Fluixon left Luminara in his care despite Thomas’ objections, and his repeated insistence that Fluixon was far more fit to rule a nation than he ever would be.
There was no place on the throne for him. None of his achievements were things he deserved.
“Being tied down to a nation sounds stressful. I’d rather not be forced to pick a side, even with you telling me to join Luminara, Flux.”
The memories resurfaced once more. Fluixon no longer tried to push them away.
“Then, what if we create our own nation?” Fluixon whispered, sprawled across the bed, lights off, curtains drawn tight, not a sliver of sunlight slipping through. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, greeted by nothing but emptiness.
“You want to create a new nation with me? Why, though? Sure, you might not be vice president of Luminara anymore, but you still have people who respect you well enough.”
Back then, why had he asked that? What foolish thought had even crossed his mind, when the entire reason he befriended Saparata in the first place had been to set the trap, and frame him for everything?
“Pfft. Yeah, you’re right,” Fluixon let out a hollow chuckle, the sound scraping his throat raw. “Ignore what I just said.”
“Hahaha, what the hell, dude? Don’t worry—just because we don’t belong to the same nation doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
Just as quickly as the smile tugged at his lips, it fell apart. “…Friends. Yeah.”
Friends.
What a friend he was.
“What a friend you are.”
Fluixon didn’t have to look to know.
“What a friend you are. What a friend you are.”
From the corner of his peripheral vision, he saw white—still as untouched snow, bright as frost, standing out too clearly against the darkened room.
“What a friend you are.”
“I know.” Fluixon’s bottom lip trembled.
“Do you feel guilty, Flux?”
“…Yes.” He draped an arm over his eyes, the sleeve of his shirt already darkening as tears soaked into it. “Yes, I do.”
“Why? Why? Why? Why?”
He had no answer. Everything felt like an excuse spoken by a hypocrite, and no matter what he said, the dead did not return. The dead stayed where they were, buried ten feet underground.
The dead weren’t going to come back. Saparata wasn’t going to come back.
Because Fluixon killed him.
To some, losses in life pushed them toward growth. To some, loss was simply a part of living, something they learned to endure, moving forward despite the grief they would carry for the rest of their lives. To some, loss marked a new beginning.
To Fluixon, loss was the beginning of his end.
Rarely did anyone hear from the President of Luminara. Rarely did anyone know of his whereabouts. Catching even a glimpse of his violet pupils was no easy feat, and just as quickly as he was seen, even quicker he would vanish.
Where he went, no one knew. Days upon days upon days would pass before his quiet return, back to his humble home, where he would spend even longer days cooped up alone with nothing but himself.
A very peculiar guest would greet him from time to time, entering his personal space without permission. The guest’s sunlit gold eyes would trail his every movement, always watching from a careful distance.
“Flux,” the guest would call, his name echoing within those four walls.
“Yes?” Fluixon would always respond softly, sitting on the edge of his bed, hair grown long enough to brush his shoulders, bangs long enough to partly veil his vision, messy and tangled, his posture slumped as if even holding himself upright took effort.
Messy and unkempt he had become. The man who once cared so deeply for his appearance no longer existed. In his place sat a lonely boy, speaking to the remnants of a dead man.
This lonely boy missed this dead man dearly. He yearned for his touch, for his voice, not the hollow echoes his own mind supplied.
This lonely boy wanted to go see him, so very badly.
“Hey, Flux?”
“Yes. Tell me.”
The sun shone brightly, slipping through the narrow gap in the curtains. It glimmered and warmed, spilling across the room in pale bands of light, illuminating dust in the air and touching everything it reached, brighter than it had been in a long time.
“Come see me.”
Oh…
The lonely boy smiled, perhaps for the first time in what felt like forever.
All this time, he had been waiting. Waiting for permission.
“Okay.”
To Thomas of Luminara,
Once you find this letter, I will no longer be in Luminara.
Due to certain circumstances, I have decided to step down from my position as President of Luminara. From this point onward, the nation belongs to you. I know you will take good care of it, far better than I ever could. You have always understood Luminara in ways I chose to ignore.
I am sorry for not treating you better. You stood by my side even when, at the time, it cost you your own standing, and your own peace. I repaid that loyalty with distance, arrogance, and silence. I am sorry for being a selfish bastard until the very end.
I am certain the citizens of Luminara will welcome your presidency. They deserve someone who can look at them without resentment, someone who does not see leadership as a burden or a weapon. You have always been stronger in that way.
There is something I must ask of you. It is not a small request, and I know it will place you in an impossible position. Even so, I am asking it of you, because I trust you.
I want you to gather a meeting with the leaders of every nation, including the leaders in Island One.
I want you to tell them that it was I, Fluixon, who was responsible for the deaths of Jophiel of Tricolor, AlkalineAlke of Aperion, and Korulein of the Commonwealth. Let them know that Saparata was innocent all along. Let them know that every accusation placed upon him was born from my own design.
Let them know that I killed Saparata, and that I reveled in the power and recognition that followed. Let them know that the peace they now celebrate was built on a lie I willingly upheld.
This is my final request.
I know you will oppose it. I know you will hesitate. But I also know you will fulfill it, because you have always done what was right.
Thank you, Thomas. I do not regret a single moment we spent together, even if I failed to show it.
Take care of Luminara. Take care of yourself.
Thank you.
Fluixon of No Man’s Land
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
With nothing left to his name, Fluixon walked across the vast snowplain. Each step grew lighter than the last, his pace quickening against the heavy snow with every passing second. His heart hammered against his ribs, adrenaline surging through his veins, knowing he was one step, then another, then one more step closer.
He began to run. The cold tore at his face, but the pain had stopped registering long ago. A wide smile stretched across his lips, breathless giggles and laughter spilling free as he ran as fast as his body would allow. The world blurred around him, collapsing into a single point far ahead.
Crunchcrunchcrunchcrunch.
The sun shone brightly above him, and its warmth seeped into his soul, urging him onward. You are so close, it seemed to whisper, like a trusted companion at his side. You are so, so close. Don’t give up, Fluixon. You are almost there.
Crunchcrunchcrunchcrunch.
Crunchcrunchcrunchcrunch.
Crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch—
Fluixon stopped in his tracks. His lungs screamed for air—he gasped, wheezed, struggled to steady his thoughts and keep himself from blacking out.
He was here.
Ahead of him stood an unmistakably human-made tower, gleaming as brightly as ever, welcoming Fluixon’s return.
“I’m here.” His lips moved, though he wasn’t sure any sound came out at all. Desperation surged through him, and he ran again, stumbling and falling again and again as weakness gave out beneath his legs. It didn’t stop him—it only fueled him further. He ran until raw and unrestrained laughter tore from his chest, echoing through the empty expanse.
He stopped for the last time.
He lowered his gaze, looking down at his beloved friend.
The weight he had carried in his shoulders lifted all at once. His eyes squeezed shut in something close to bliss, a smile stretching across his face like a child’s, warmth spreading on his cheeks, spreading, and settling.
This was Fluixon’s home.
This was where he was meant to be.
“Hello, friend.”