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When the decay fell upon the world and twisted its flow back to overwhelming greenery and living wood, few were able to adapt—hell, even survive.
The rest that did, swarmed together like flocks of birds, finding flight and direction through each other, carried by nothing but the wind’s currents.
Lignarius was lucky enough to have found like-minded people despite the apocalypse, lucky enough that they've survived through most of what this wasteland has to offer, together.
His team consisted of few people, Congregator, Compasso, Arachnidopter, Aviatorus, himself, and Incendere, all specialists in their respective profession.
Congregator took charge of their supplies, often food or whatever useful materials they might gather along the way. Compasso was the guide, her enigmatic—yet not unwelcome—knowledge of the new world they face aiding in their further survival. Aviatorus was the guard, fighting despite all fears of life slipping through his own fingers. Arachnidopter served as the transport, no matter the environment nor climate, she never failed to take the team through the ever-changing hostile environments. Lignarius was the Prosthetist, the one who aids their ever failing bodies fight by creating anew. Incendere rids of all dangerous articles through his means of fire and chemicals.
All together, with the dilapidation of the world and its indelible turning, they ventured through. Moments of silence carrying not one of peace alone, but of the forgotten pasts the seemingly endless wilderness took.
He'd never forget all those they've lost in this disaster, the lives they lived, the people they once knew and even themselves in pieces.
Dauntingly in an unknown world, alone yet together, he couldn't help but feel a constant dread at how one day, this moment, sitting around a fire, enjoying a meal with his companions, stories and laughter accompanied by the certainty of rapport, could be seized by the grasslands too.
“Lignarius?” A familiar voice spoke, just to his right. It was close enough—deliberate—to overtake his attention unlike congregator's correspondence with the others in the team on his opposite.
He'd turned his eye, meeting the gaze that of Incendere, ever so observant. “Yes?” He spoke heavily, it was quite clear that his thoughts were not of joy even in a moment bubbling with it.
“Don't be so tense, we're all here, safe,” a smile bloomed against the blonde man's lips, much like those flowers of purple that he so deeply adored. They were in season after all.
Lignarius’ face relaxed, he hadn't even noticed how his brows furrowed and his lips pressed into a fine line of worry. He couldn't understand how Incindere could pay attention so closely especially with it being this dark out, the campfire barely lit the area.
He nodded in surrender, there was no point in going against his already concluded thoughts. “Right…”
He understood that rationally, Incindere was right, of course. But what do they know? The revert was catastrophic, sudden. Not a disaster one could've prepared for. Who knows what may happen next?
Incindere noted his resistance to the thought. He understood why, but he doesn't wish his dearest companion to be tormented by such ideas at a time like this.
Standing from his head and to the little girl's side, a whisper left his lips, a secret that only Compasso and Congregator could apparently hear.
Lignarius found it strange, looking up at the three as they gleefully stood and turned to the distance, what were they possibly conspiring about?
Aviatorus was no less confused, indicated by his question; “Where are you three headed?”
“Don't worry! We'll be back soon, just going to scout!” Incendere spoke while the other two sped off to the fields of green, lit gently by the moonlight and the fireflies that thrived in it.
They couldn't so much as give input on this idea’s recklessness before the three were gone.
With a sigh, Lignarius and the others stared at the shifting flame, something akin to worry shared through their minds, ready to aid if they so much as heard a sound out of place.
***
It wasn't ‘til a few moments passed did the others return, the rest who were left, immediately perking up at their gleeful expressions.
“Where did you three—”
“Ta-da!” Incindere and the others spoke in unison, placing upon their heads a crown threaded with flowers.
The prosthesis paused at the light weight against his hair, shoulders slumping at the gentleness of its presence. He reached up, gentle hands plucking the craft off and examining it quietly.
It was neatly done, fragile of course, that's just their nature, but beautiful. These were the flowers Incindere loved so dearly, they sprouted only after the cataclysm took over, resembling a few flowers that existed long before, columbines, mainly.
“Thank you,” he spoke, barely audibly. He didn't quite know what to say. On one hand, he absolutely despised Incindere’s carelessness, but at the same time, the gesture was sweet, almost uplifting at this time of apocalypse. “Still, never run off like that again, especially with those two.”
The other man only laughed at him, “Yes, yes of course, I never take unnecessary risks.”
He eyes the blonde a touch longer, before he ultimately decided that he'd let off on the scolding tonight. Turning his gaze to the flowers neatly arranged, a dim joy lights up in his heart, reflecting further to his lips. Maybe it wasn't so bad to let his guard down after all.
***
“Lignariusss!” Congregator called out, waving her hands as they waited a few strides away. “Come along!” She cheered with a grin, eyes of cedar reflecting the gentle sunset back to him.
They looked back at him too, eagerly waiting for him to join back the fray so they could continue on their journey.
His gaze lingers on the purple patch of flowers blooming at the ground, a rare sight against the dizzying, endless green of this ethereal hell scape.
A reminder of the one he'd lost.
Ultimately, he turns away, sorrow was a part of this world, far grander than that of fleeting affections.
The grasslands sway against the wind as he walks forth.
Maybe in a better world.