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By the still river muddied with blood and bits of shattered armor, there it was, the proud glint of his battered gold shining through the grey, viscous smoke. A chest-plate of netherite, trimmed with continuous, terse dashes of amethyst, rested over his tender heart, speckled with a constellation of purple, like the crystals woven in his flowing hair. He closed his weary eyes, like two vividly bottomless lakes, as they teared from the noxious air.
Gunpowder.
It settled everywhere—dusting the grass, clumped in his purple hair, stuck in grey clots between the feathers of my wings. In his lungs too. As he tried to swallow a breath, it hitched in his throat, choked him midway. There was an arrow piercing his knee. Trailing red down onto the dirt. Red on his armor, on his face.
I stumbled towards him, flinching as my shoe landed in a puddle of watery blood.
“Egg?”
His voice was hoarse. It mixed with the crackle of flames, the concatenation of morse and a vile, raging glow behind us.
“Yes, it’s me,” I replied hastily. “Are you alright?”
But he wasn’t alright. He was injured, exhausted. His eyes were cold, devoid of their usual callow chaos, no longer graced with the archeology of his playful love. His fist coiled tighter around his mace, Gambit, raised it higher another inch in hubris.
I stepped closer to my friend and enveloped my wings around him—a blanket of snowy white silence was the best shield I could offer him. The wound on my back screamed. It wouldn’t be long now before all my blood trickled away. But for that ephemeral moment, the pain seemed bearable.
A pause.
He opened his mouth, baring his fangs in a something-smile under his crazed gaze. But tears streamed down his flushed cheeks in a hot cascade. I raised my hand to wipe them away, but they just kept coming, mingling with the dried mud on his face. “W- why do you keep returning?” he cried. “You could’ve left when you had the chance! Why do you stay with me of all people?”
“…”
He shuddered as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. I smelled the salty tang of the ocean on him, the sweet fragrance of wildflowers on his shirt collar.
“Wemmbu, you’re my best friend. It takes more than this for me to leave.” I considered my words for a moment, hearing the dry thud of his mace against the dirt as it slid from his calloused grip. “Even if the heavens open their gates to offer me liberty, I would still choose to walk through hell with you.”
“Hah, Egg. Egg, my sweet, sweet Egg. Oh you cornball, what would I do without you?” he hiccupped into my neck. Slowly, his arms reciprocated, drew me into a hug.
My heart eased as warmth returned to his body, to his bloodshot, rimmed eyes. His expression had softened slightly, but he was still crying quietly. His tears were like clouds drifting along an idyllic empyrean, our home—no longer bitter. As long as I held him, he was safe. He was safe.
I was safe.