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A black, fitted suit and a black shirt were looking at Ash from the corner of his room. He hung them there yesterday, so it would be easier to get ready. It didn’t work. The sight of the dark funeral attire made him feel nauseous, vomit coming up to his throat. He was barely able to stop it before he threw up on his own bedding.
His white, soft duvet didn’t provide comfort anymore. The warmness just suffocated him more, his body paralyzed, unable to do anything.
The whole room was perfectly clean at first sight. As you entered, you couldn’t notice any items rolling around the floor, almost no furniture located in any part of it. Just a bed, bedside table, small wardrobe and paintings hanging somewhere on the walls.
If you looked longer though, you would notice the thick layer of dust accumulated on the ground, little spiders making themselves at home in the corners of the big place, bugs racing themselves on the flat surface.
Ash didn’t care too much. He didn’t have the energy and enough strong will to get up and do something with it.
See, since he got the information of Ewron’s passing, he was pretty much unable to do anything. At first, he didn’t believe anyone telling him the news. Ewron was a cockroach, right? He said it himself. Nothing could kill him.
So for the first couple of days, he waited patiently for something to happen. For Ewron to sneak inside his room and tell him “Pstt– Ash. It’s me, I fooled them!”, with this always energized and cocky tone of his. He would scoff and roll his eyes at the frivolity of his blade, but he would still help him to plan something onwards.
But there was no occasion to do so. Nothing happened. There was not even a whisper, not a sign, not a book. Not a single word signaling that Ewron was still somewhere, stomping on this earth along with Ash.
Then, the body was brought back from the Nether. Tina took care of it, wanting to bury Ewron properly, his body decomposing on the sunny fields of Prawdziwa Polska, not the boiling hot grounds of the Nether.
There was no way to deny it now. He was dead— his body was, for sure. There was no way that inside the burnt and cold skin there was a heartbeat, not a glimmer of hope that Ewron could be rescued now.
He was truly gone.
After the sight, Ash’s heart was in pieces, his mind at war with itself. He wanted to believe that maybe Ewron’s soul was somewhere out there, waiting to be brought back. Waiting to be found, just as Ghosty’s was. But these situations differed a lot— Ghosty was a wrongfully killed kid, Ewron an adult man whose death could be blamed on him and him only.
Ash could argue that he himself contributed to the incident, putting the final nail in the coffin by not trusting him fully. Ewron would burn the whole world for him, and Ash couldn’t choose him even this one time.
The guilt was eating him alive, wandering in every single one of his thoughts. He felt blasphemous and dirty, a sinner that couldn’t ever be redeemed. It didn’t change anything. Even if Ash died, taking the blame to the grave, Ewron still would remain cold and stiff, his soul still as dead as it was now.
So Ash did what he was the best at— ran away. Locked himself inside the pantheon, hoping that if he cuts off from the outside world, it won’t be able to reach him. That in the comfort of his own house he will stay content, the already broken pieces of him not scattering across the ground like broken glass.
That was how he designed his own, personal hell. Closed off from society, the only guests being his own grief, sadness and anger. They dined there often, sharing parts of Ash like a delicious meal. They chattered with him, laughing in Ash’s face. The man just lied down and listened to the sound of his own heartbeat, wishing that he could put it in someone else’s body.
Pantheon became a prison, the walls closing off any time he tried to close his eyes. They stung from all of the tears that he was not able to shed, flowing down right to his heart, weighing it down, every drop of this salty liquid a heavy stone that Ash was bound to be carrying ‘till his final day.
Because Ewron was truly gone. He dedicated his life to Ash, and what did he do in exchange? Only hurt him, stabbing him in his back with his desperate need to please everyone. Too blinded by the idea of neutralness, too concerned about the enemies that he didn’t want to bring for himself, making the one man whose soul was linked with his the enemy.
What hurt the most was the impotence, the certainty that what was done was irreversible.
So Ash buried his nose in the greyish fabric of his originally white pillow, and let out a short groan.
Deep breaths.
In.
Out.
A raw sob came out of his throat. He was like an abandoned puppy, so confused and scared. His sadness was an uncontrolled storm. Sometimes, the rain was light enough to barely leave you wet. Sometimes water poured on you with such strength, leaving you shivering and cold with no way of comfort, loud thunder scaring you enough to not be sure if the shivers are caused by the fear or the coldness.
The clothes still kept looking at him, reminding to be worn. Ash felt like they were looking at him intently, laughing in his face like every other part of this room. He didn’t have enough willpower to leave it though. He knew the outside would hurt even more.
Ash pondered if he should even arrive at Ewron’s funeral. Not only because of purely selfish reasons as not wanting to scab the unhealed wound, but the guilt that followed him everywhere he went.
He didn’t deserve to be at the funeral as much as other islanders. Graf, Tina, Foolish… They deserved to bury him in peace, without a man who was an indirect cause of their loved ones death.
After he got the funeral notice, he knew there was no way to back out. Not showing up would look even worse than showing up, so he had to.
Pulling the heavy quilt from his body was torture. Ash’s muscles were stiff and stale, his body moving only sometimes to take something to eat from his stash of food— until now. Apples and bread had to be enough for his nourishment, as even going for the fruit was a hard challenge. Changing his diet didn’t come into play, as Ash wasn’t ready to leave the Pantheon yet. Everyday he told himself that he will go out tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. He gave up on lying to himself after a week..
As he put his foot on the white tiles, he felt thick dust clinging to it. The room was really unkept.
He didn’t even mind it, straightening his spine and getting fully up, his legs barely holding the weight of the man’s frame. His hair was dirty, tangled in unbearable knots that were almost impossible to untangle. He put them in a low ponytail for now, telling himself that he will take care of that later.
He looked at the funeral attire again. He didn’t move an inch, just staring at the clothing like it would fold under his gaze. He had a little blinking competition with it, just observing the way it hung still, not closing his eyes even for a second.
He shook his head. It was all so stupid.
He approached the hanger that he put on the knob of his small wardrobe and took it in his hands. He dusted off the clothes with his hands, handling the fabric as gently as if it were precious porcelain, taking it with himself to the bathroom where he was supposed to clean himself a bit.
As Ash glanced in the mirror, he noticed how filthy he was. The dirt under his fingernails, dead skin cells accumulated on most of his body.
The stink of his own self was unbearable, but Ash grew used to it just like he got used to the pain of being alone.
The water sliding down his body was getting gray, taking all of the dirt off from him. Ash really liked his unkept self. It reflected the way he felt on the inside— grimy, nasty and disgusting.
Soapy foam covered his whole naked body. It slightly stung, like putting alcohol on, trying to disinfect a wound. He squeezed his eyelids shut, a new wave of sadness falling over him. Salty tears fell on his cheeks, mixing with the water from the bath, embarrassing sobs leaving Ash’s mouth constantly.
He wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet, which was ironic, because he should have said goodbye a long time ago. There was a slight chance of Ewron dying all this time, ever since the resurrection of Ghosty, but Ash never even considered what he would do in such a situation. He always believed in Ewron more than he believed in himself, naming him the bravest and strongest human being in his own mind.
It was so deeply rooted in his subconsciousness, that he disregarded the possibility of Ewron not handling something.
Well, good thing that Ash was never a gambler.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
The person looking at Ash from the mirror seemed strange. He was well dressed, with hair that looked taken care of, smelling good, and looking the same way. It wasn’t Ash at all.
The only parts of him that stayed the same were his eyebags and bloodshot eyes. That was the spirit of Ash showing over the perfectly created persona. He combed through his hair the last time and then, he hesitantly started stomping towards the exit door.
There was no backing out now. His own wars had to be stopped to bury Ewron with proper respect.
As he left the big, white building, the sunshine blinded his eyes, which, used to the darkness of the unlit room, were experiencing big shock. He was barely able to force them open, stomping carefully on the grassy fields. He didn’t think much of the destination, his legs just took him instinctively to the fields of Prawdziwa Polska. It was like a habit, something repeated so many times that it felt like a normal thing.
It didn’t feel normal now. Everything around him, every ray of sunshine and blow of wind reminded him of Ewron. He became the whole world around Ash, taking shape of the bird’s chirped song, of the too bright lightning, of the grass that was greener than anytime else.
The universe didn’t seem to grieve Ewron— it became him, which stung even deeper. There was no way to escape him now. He was hidden deep in the roots of Ash’s hair, in every one of his skin cells, every breath that he took. They were truly linked together now, Ash living in a world full of Ewron, but still without him.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Arriving at Prawdziwa Polska, Ash noticed Tina, Foolish, Katie and Graf standing and conversing with hushed voices.
The eyes of some were bloodshot, others completely unbothered. Tina and Foolish were the ones grieving more, tears slowly rolling on Tina’s cheeks.
Graf was visibly sad, but also peaceful, almost unbothered. He stood there with his arms folded and looked at the beautiful landscape in front of him, not moving an inch.
Katie was there by accident. She didn’t look like she cared in the slightest, every one of her frowns fabricated and fake. She talked to Graf, snickering under her breath.
Ash looked at the scene with deep frustration. He could barely talk, his throat tightened to the point that nothing else but whimpers were able to form from the man’s vocal chords. They seemed fine. Mourning, sure. But they didn’t look like their lives had ended two weeks ago, their souls not rotting away with Ewron’s corpse.
Maybe this was his punishment— never being able to move on. Never leaving Ewron’s side was the suffering that he would have to endure forever, looking at people making peace with his passing, never being able to do so himself.
Ash approached the small group of people slowly, like he was about to get cursed and banished from the now sacred place.
Obviously, nothing like this happened. He got noticed by Graf, a warm yet laced with sorrow smile entering his face. Ash tried to reciprocate, the muscles of his face forming an uncomfortable grimace instead of a simple smile. He already wanted to run away and hide in the depths of his room, drowning in the dust and filth of his own being. Instead, he took a deep breath and came even closer.
“Ash,” Soft voice reached Ash’s eardrums. It was smooth like silk, as melodic as a piano piece. His tender gaze shied Ash away even more, “I’m so happy that you made it. I thought you wouldn’t come,”
“Yeah.” Ash barely forced the two syllable word out his throat, struggling not to break down here and there.
“So, I think everyone who we expected to show up already showed up, and we can begin,” Graf started awkwardly, announcing the beginning of the ceremony to everyone.
Ash was in deep shock. Was this really the amount of people that came to grieve Ewron? The man was aware of how many enemies his assassin had, but he couldn’t believe that no one else showed up at the funeral. It was so abstract to him, so strange.
It made him feel even worse. Ewron truly didn’t have almost anyone to cling onto. Ash would like to believe that he was that safe haven for Ewron, but he couldn’t keep living in his delusions. Ash’s arms weren’t even close to the warm and secure place that Ewron so desperately needed. They were cold, pushing him away when the presence of the assassin caused too much trouble. They didn’t provide Ewron anything, only demanding and begging for more.
And he still stayed loyal. Why did he stay loyal? What was the secret thing that kept Ewron so close to Ash? Was it nostalgia, the memories of the promises made on the open sea speaking through Ewron, overshadowing his common sense? Or was it the amount of life he already wasted for Ash, not enough time and ways to turn back?
He would never know, as the answers laid in the grave in front of him, closed off in a casket two meters underground.
It was covered with candles, some of them memorial, some just normal ones, lightning up the gray gravestone. There were a couple vases, filled to the brim with lavenders. The choice of them felt intentional, as no other flowers were left there. Were lavenders Ewron’s favourite flower?
Ash only now discovered that he may not know Ewron at all. He never asked questions about him, never expecting to have the neccesity to look for any things connected to him. Ewron sure did smell of lavenders, but Ash never paid more attention to it.
Graf cleared his throat and straightened his back.
“Hello everyone. We, as you all know, have gathered here to bury and grieve our beloved friend, Ewron.” He took a deep breath, scanning everyone with his hazel eyes. They all looked at him, deep in the depths of their own minds. Graf continued.
“He died, as you all know, in a battle with his own so-called ‘Master’, Dark Cucurucho. In an act of bravery, sacrificing his own life.” The fields fell silent. Graf, as smart as he was, didn’t know what to say next. You can never be ready to bury a closed one. Even if they weren’t the closest, they were still family, connected by their Polish roots.
“I wasn’t as close with him as you all were, so I’m kind off at a loss for words. For me, he was a good friend. Sometimes he annoyed me, and the entirety of the Polish Cave,” he chuckled. “Probably he annoyed most of the server. But there was something warm and comforting in that banter, which I will surely miss. I hope he rests in his well deserved peace.” Graf finished his short speech. It wasn’t professional, nor official. It was something deep from the heart— the funeral was only for the ones closest to Ewron, so there was no need for formalities.
Graf looked expectantly at Tina, who came up to him. They shared a few whispered words before she, with her teary eyes, turned to the rest of the crowd.
“Uhm, hi. I– I kind of don’t know what to say, and I think I should be prepared for this, since Ewron told me that there is a high percentage that he might die, but— It’s still hard.” A quiet sob stopped her sentence. “Ewron was an amazing dad to his animals, and an amazing friend to us all. It was an honour to be called a part of his family, y’know?” She smiled through her tears, soft sobs still escaping her mouth.
“If I could tell something to Ewron right now, it would be for him to know that even if he died alone, he’s not.” Her last words were almost a whisper, like she was barely holding up. After that, she nodded, signaling that her speech had come to an end.
Ash kept staring at the grave, not able to look into any of the speakers' eyes. His mind kept wandering off to all of the memories he had with Ewron. It felt as if he was already dying, experiencing his last moments, reliving the most beautiful ones inside of his head.
He felt a hand on his arm, a touch so subtle that he almost didn’t feel it.
“Ash, it’s your turn,” Graf muttered to him as Ash raised his head, realizing that all of the mourners’ eyes were turned on him.
A jolt of panic shot through him. He wasn’t ready— what was he even supposed to say? That Ewron’s life was one of the most important things in his own existence, but he understood that fact too late? Or that he was a part of the reason that the panda was lying in that coffin in the first place?
He anxiously walked up to the place the previous speakers stood, his palms sweating and shaking. His gaze didn’t leave the grassy ground, catching little glimpses of the grave. Clearing his throat, he nervously began.
“I— Hello,” His heart started beating slightly faster, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. “I– I could say me and Ewron were friends. Really, really good friends. And— I still can’t believe that all of this happened,” Ash chuckled miserably, feeling his breath shorten. “I said many things that I now regret.” He felt so out of breath as if he just ran a marathon. "And I didn't trust him, even though he did everything he could. For me. And I regret not telling him how much— not telling him how much I—” Ash repeated himself, not being able to finish the sentence interrupted by wild sobs coming out of his throat.
Not telling him how much I loved him.
The entirety of his body started shaking, almost collapsing on the ground. Graf caught him in the last moment before he completely lost his balance and fell on the grassy field. His touch was like a callback to reality, the grip warm and reliable in the world full of uncertainty.
As he felt Graf’s arms holding his own, he completely broke down. The other man just repeatedly shushed him, guiding his shaking frame to the Polish Cave.
Ash wasn't sure what was happening. All of this action flew in front of his eyes, every movement so sharp, every strike of light too bright for his sensitive eyes. The only thing he was sure of was the grasp of Graf, and the thought that he would take him somewhere safe. He was one of the most reliable people from the Polish Hussars, and in that moment he trusted him fully.
Graf slowly directed the almost uncontrolled body of Ash on his own bed in the Cave, still shushing him quietly, rubbing the back of the panicked man with his thumb. He took a seat right in front of the assassin, looking at him with this understanding of his.
“Hey, Ash," he started quietly. “I need you to breathe. Please, breathe." He took a deep, exaggerated breath to demonstrate to Ash, placing his palms on Ash's shoulders.
“I'm here, you're okay. I just need you to breathe."
And Ash followed, hastily taking in the air, almost choking on it. Every next breath was more calm, his breathing patterns and heartbeat slowing down.
As his consciousness came back, everything that happened hit him with double force.
He just embarrassed himself in front of everyone at the funeral, showing the most hidden, vulnerable part of himself to everyone.
He knew it wasn't a good idea to come, god, what has he done?
“Hey, Ash?" The man gazed at Graf with his bloodshot eyes, torn away from his thoughts with the sound of his name. “It's okay to cry, you know? It's okay to grieve. We all miss him a lot."
Ash just shaked his head helplessly
“No, you don't understand. He was— He was everything. And I, I messed up, thinking that I will have him forever. I messed up so bad,” He buried his head in his palms, the warm tears escaping his eyes, leaving wet spots on his hands.
Graf kept looking at him, realizing that there were no words that would be able to fix what was just broken inside of that man. He knew the pain of losing someone that he truly loved, and he resonated with Ash deeply, but he didn't know what to say. He just stared at him, powerless.
The cave fell quiet, only hushed chatter from the outside making its way to the cave.
Ash looked up from his hands as he heard rustling of the bedding, the bed itself squawking unbearably, signaling that someone got up. He gazed at Graf, who walked deeper inside of the cave, probably looking for something. Ash leaned his back on the wall behind him, looking out for Graf to come back, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier with every second, ‘till they fell all the way down.
He didn't open them even when he heard faint footsteps from the corridor. He was okay with how things were at that particular moment. His mind was at relative peace, which didn't happen really often. He savored every second of this state.
The bed sunk deeper in front of Ash, suggesting that Graf sat down there. Then he felt fabric on his shoulders, his eyes shooting open from surprise.
“What the—"
“This is Ewron’s cape. He lost one of them once, when he still lived in the Polish cave," Graf explained. “After Juan's death, I was devastated. And then, Multi gave me one of his bandanas. It made me feel a little better. I figured this could help you as well,”
Ash stared at him in shock, as he tightened his grip on the cloth, his cheeks staining again with tears.
" I—I don't know what to say,” Ash weeped. " Thank you, Graf. This— You don't know how much this means.”
Graf just grinned playfully.
“I think I might have a guess.”
The assassin covered himself with the cape as much as he could, sniffing the lavender scent of Ewron in the cloth, as his eyes closed again, his consciousness traveling somewhere else— maybe to an open sea, where he, standing on a boat, waited for a certain someone to arrive.