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It was the anniversary of the day of the fall.
The day that Millions Knives had done what he could to save his family. One hundred and forty-nine anniversaries had passed since then, and in that time, he’d spent nearly all of the anniversaries in the same exact way.
This one would be no different.
Nearing the end of his journey, Knives stopped in front of the familiar metal door that sat at the end of the staircase. He didn’t move to open it, not when he could hear footsteps coming up behind him.
Stopping behind him.
“Return to the surface, Legato,” Knives said, not bothering to chastise the human for following him to this place. He wasn’t angry at Legato’s loyalty. He just didn’t have the time for it today.
Didn’t have the patience.
“Of course, Master.”
The longing in his servant's voice did not go unnoticed by Knives, but it did go unacknowledged. He could reward the human’s deeds some other time, on any other day. But today was about Knives.
Though, it was about someone else too.
And that person was not Legato.
He listened attentively as the human walked up the stairs, each one of his steps making a clanging noise that grated on Knive’s already tattered nerves. Finally, when he heard the ninety-fifth clang, he reached out and placed his palm against the door’s lock. No one besides himself could enter this room. No one was allowed to ever see its contents. In truth, it had been a boon to allow Legato to follow him even this far. The pathetic, yet loyal human was fortunate Knives had allowed him to walk down all ninety-five steps to this door.
To this hallowed place.
The door slid open without a single sound, and Knives stepped inside, the bouquet he’d been hiding from his servant materializing in his arms. It was a large arrangement of red geraniums, their sea of scarlet only interrupted by a few blue ones that he’d mixed in. The addition of the blue flowers was Knives’ personal touch. Something he’d thrown in to make the bouquet striking. His mother had always enjoyed his sense of creativity, she’d always smiled when he’d shown off his abilities.
But only when they were alone.
So Knives waited for the door to slide shut behind him, to leave him alone with the stasis chamber that took up the majority of the space in the small room.
To leave him alone with his mother.
To leave him alone with what remained of her.
Sometimes, in his weak moments, he imagined he’d return to this room and find something different. That his mother would be whole and alive, tucked safely away inside the stasis pod, just waiting for when her loyal son would awaken her. Awaken her into a more perfect, more pure, world. But Knives had very few weak moments. And the pod held only what it had held the previous year, and all the other years before that.
A single photograph that Knives had managed to tuck into his pocket before he’d crashed the ships.
A lock of her hair that he’d taken from her burnt remains, remains that he’d spent days trying to find. All in the futile hopes that he’d find something else entirely.
The final item in the pod was the ashes of the remains he’d found. They were more than likely part Rem and part the burnt remnants of their home. Knives had not been able to separate them.
He was happy to have the few pieces he had.
He was happy to have at least some of her.
“I never meant for you to die,” Knives said, his voice cool and emotionless as he approached the chamber. He kicked aside the dried remains of last year's flowers and set the new bouquet in their place, arranging them so they were easy to see. “When I held my hand out to you, I expected you to take it, not to scorn me.”
He’d said this, or at least a version of this, every year he’d come down here. He’d said it one-hundred and forty-nine times. And he would say it one-hundred and forty-nine more. He’d say it every year, for as many years as he lived, because it was important. It was important that Rem knew the truth.
That at least someone did.
Knives didn’t hate Rem; he never had. How could he possibly? She had raised him and Vash. Protected them from meeting the same fate as Tesla. She’d tucked them in at night and read them stories. Brushed their hair and laughed and kissed them. She’d been his mother, the only mother he’d ever known. He had loved her.
He still loved her.
But he forced himself to try and hate her for Vash’s sake.
His brother clung to the memory of her, using her to justify his loyalty to the humans, to fuel his misplaced guilt. So Knives had to hate her for Vash, to try and show him what Rem had protected them from. What might have happened had they stayed on that ship.
“You were so quick to get us to the escape pod. As if you’d planned to get us off that ship at some point all along,” Knives said, his voice a whisper as he stared at the photograph inside the pod. As he stared at his mother’s smiling face.
“It couldn’t have been a system failure. That ship had been flying without issue for over a hundred years at that point. No, you had planned for us to escape from the humans, not from a ship failure. Because you knew, just as I did, that it wasn’t going to last. Humans are full of greed and fear. They want what they can’t have and fear what they aren’t. You were running on borrowed time raising us as you were. Borrowed time that you knew would come to an end. That’s how you found me so quickly, how you got Vash and I out. And I will forever be grateful, mother.”
Knives stepped closer, pressing a hand against the cold surface of the pod before he clenched his fist, his teeth doing the same.
“But you could have joined us. You could have escaped with us, and yet, you didn’t. You made me kill you. My own mother,” Knives choked out, forcing the tears back. “So I’ll never forgive you. Even if I continue to love you.”
With that, Knives turned around and strode from the room, hearing the door slide shut behind him.
It was the anniversary of the day of the fall. The day that Millions Knives had lost his family, but he’d get them back. Or at least, the only part left that he could.