[ Everything is been so crystal clear, there at the very end. He almost wants to tell Lune about it, that the apparent secret to perfect clarity is simply this: to look your death in the face and know that it cannot be escaped.
It slows down; all of it. The sounds of the waves crashing against the implacable black rock of the cliffs. The sound of his own breath, harsh in his damaged lungs. The pounding of his heart as it limped its way onward, stubbornly beating despite the terrible damage it had sustained. The warmth of his own blood as it wells from the hole in his breast, soaking his uniform, the uniform Sophie and his apprentices had gifted him. This, too, is your legacy, she'd murmured, and he hears her voice so clearly that he could almost imagine her here next to him, lending him her quiet strength, her belief. Even now his sleeves don't fall from their secure rolls at his elbows. The boys had done such a superlative job fixing them. He knows they'll do the same with every project they undertake. They'll keep Lumiรจre safe.
That, too, is his legacy. Engineers to fix and rebuild, using the skills he taught them. He never had children, but something of him will carry on even after he's gone all the same.
All this is so clear, and something else, too: Maelle, there behind him. She sobs and begs, fists pounding ineffectually on the barrier between them, and he could tell her it won't work, that if she even could break free she would need to run and leave him behind, but there's no time. All he can do is turn to her with all the love he's ever felt for her there in his eyes, the tiniest soft tug at the corner of his mouth. He's not afraid, when he looks at her. He wants her to see the truth, the bedrock of him, how he would do anything for her, even this. How he would always have done this, if it was what was needed so she could live.
For those who come after. For Maelle.
The fear creeps back in as he turns to face the white-haired man, as he realizes, again and again and over again, that he is going to die here, that his life will be snuffed out. But he still has to try. A flick of his hand; the familiar grip of his sword materializing in his palm. He lifts his arm, his sword flashing. He pushes himself forward into a run.
He dies.
Unexpectedly, some time later, he breathes, lips parting soft and sudden, his chest lifting with the first breath after an infinite, extended pause. His eyes flutter and open, blinking, bewildered, in the sunlight. He's...
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Date: 2025-05-28 01:59 am (UTC)It slows down; all of it. The sounds of the waves crashing against the implacable black rock of the cliffs. The sound of his own breath, harsh in his damaged lungs. The pounding of his heart as it limped its way onward, stubbornly beating despite the terrible damage it had sustained. The warmth of his own blood as it wells from the hole in his breast, soaking his uniform, the uniform Sophie and his apprentices had gifted him. This, too, is your legacy, she'd murmured, and he hears her voice so clearly that he could almost imagine her here next to him, lending him her quiet strength, her belief. Even now his sleeves don't fall from their secure rolls at his elbows. The boys had done such a superlative job fixing them. He knows they'll do the same with every project they undertake. They'll keep Lumiรจre safe.
That, too, is his legacy. Engineers to fix and rebuild, using the skills he taught them. He never had children, but something of him will carry on even after he's gone all the same.
All this is so clear, and something else, too: Maelle, there behind him. She sobs and begs, fists pounding ineffectually on the barrier between them, and he could tell her it won't work, that if she even could break free she would need to run and leave him behind, but there's no time. All he can do is turn to her with all the love he's ever felt for her there in his eyes, the tiniest soft tug at the corner of his mouth. He's not afraid, when he looks at her. He wants her to see the truth, the bedrock of him, how he would do anything for her, even this. How he would always have done this, if it was what was needed so she could live.
For those who come after. For Maelle.
The fear creeps back in as he turns to face the white-haired man, as he realizes, again and again and over again, that he is going to die here, that his life will be snuffed out. But he still has to try. A flick of his hand; the familiar grip of his sword materializing in his palm. He lifts his arm, his sword flashing. He pushes himself forward into a run.
He dies.
Unexpectedly, some time later, he breathes, lips parting soft and sudden, his chest lifting with the first breath after an infinite, extended pause. His eyes flutter and open, blinking, bewildered, in the sunlight. He's...
Alive? ]