Thump.
The door to the clinic shook yet again, as it had been wont to do for some time. The cabinet rattled slightly, the locks and thick glass keeping its contents from spilling out onto the floor. How long the attempts to enter had been going on for was a mystery; only some wisp of lucidity even noticed it happening at all.
Thump.
It seemed the frame was reinforced, which made sense for a room designed to treat the injured. Barring structural requirements, were one to awaken here, it wouldn’t be unexpected for at least a single instance of confusion to necessitate stronger walls and locks.
Thump.
Would that mean it utilized an unknown alloy? Perhaps it was constructed with some sort of alien technique that rendered her explosives inert or useless?
Thump.
Did it really matter?
Thump.
No, not really. It was only a matter of time until whatever was keeping them out would give way, and then her life would join the list of things taken from her.
Thump.
The last vestige of interest waned, Sunundra’s focus dissipating entirely. There was nothing worth thinking about anymore. There was no reason left. Only cold. Only the warmth that bled from her body, feeding one who would never again reciprocate it. Only the broken form which lay beneath her curled existence…
Numb. Cold. Alone.
Broken.
Tears had ceased, her cries gone unheard by both the Mother and reality. The shaking stopped, for even that was too strenuous an activity for the one waiting for the Void to claim her as well. Her sorrow had vanished.
Or, more accurately, there was nothing but sorrow, and thus it became all she knew, as opposed to an aberration.
She was numbed in mind and body. She was cold in both flesh and soul. She was alone.
Her bond was broken.
And so was she.
Sterile white walls contrasted crimson-smeared floors. Silver metal lay stained with vermilion. Her grey and yellow fur had long since been matted with deep reds and mottled orange. Everything carried evidence of their struggle—their futile attempts to persist. Everything touted her failure as a mark of inadequacy, surrounding her with bloodied hues of laughter and mockery. The shadows that waited under overhanging countertops crawled outward into the open, absorbing the light as it crept closer and closer.
They taunted her, the tendrils reminding her how little effort they spared in slipping past her attempts to shield her other, stealing him from her pitiful grasp. Now, they meandered along the edges of her periphery, flicking and swaying as they made their languid hunt towards the unmoving and unresponsive, toying with their prey and enjoying her despondency. Soon enough, they would claim her, no matter how long it would take. Either they would cut and crush her from the inside, or the enemy would dispose of her with a spray of weapons fire. She could save time and suffering by ending it herself, of course…
…But she didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want him to be cold. She didn’t want him to be alone. She would fall to the Void with him in her arms, hoping that he felt her devotion while he waited, and that he was warmed by her embrace, knowing not to stray too far. Otherwise, they might be separated in the endless eternity.
Perhaps the Hunt Mother had smiled upon him, bestowing access to her Great Hunt as a guest. He would likely balk at the idea of exercising vengeance against his foes for eternity, though he might find solace in being welcomed amongst the pack of the valiant.
‘A gift to the abandoned,’ he would be titled. ‘A kin of different form,’ they would call him. And Sunundra would be denied his presence, standing outside the silver brickwork of the Lunar Fortress and the joys within. The Mirrors would reflect nothing, for that was what she became. The Scale would never judge her offerings as enough. The Smoke would obscure her view, and the Torch would never light the way. The Stars would never share their knowledge of where she went wrong.
She would be as she always was, rejected and discarded, while Bill would be pitied by the beloved for suffering her presence, and the misfortune of being gifted to a defective. Generations upon generations would offer him respite and companionship in return. He was kind, if strange; they would understand. He would be cherished by them. He would be loved, receiving affection endlessly as he adjusted and smiled with his new pack. He would be happy.
She would be too, as long as he was.
Would he pause and gaze into the distant fields, wondering when she was to join him? Or would he forget her, immersed in more than she could ever provide? More than she was going to give…
‘They could have a den with just the two of them,’ she had thought, only now knowing what she would deprive him of. ‘She might host his kits, gaining their approval and easing his mind,’ was the plan, though it had become apparent how misguided that would be. ‘He could learn skills for fulfilling employment,’ amongst those who would scowl and detest him for the defective’s scent lingering on his skin. ‘They would live away from the cities,’ where she would trap him unknowingly, robbing him of the meaning which came from an actual den-pack.
Blinded by the light of gaining what she thought unobtainable, she was willing to limit him from having those very same comforts. Her preparations to enjoy the company of another would be at the cost of his everything. She was greedy, content with claiming him for herself, while never considering what he would be denied in her avarice. She had failed to treasure the gift, thinking she would be enough. Were it another defect who spent their life devoid of care, then perhaps she might be, but for one unafflicted? One who knew the affectionate touch of another, and who received smiles instead of scorn? No. All she would do is shackle him. She was foolish to think otherwise.
And so, he was taken—a penance for making light of the Mother’s generosity.
Thus, the pale-furred female lay atop the unmoving form of the one who showed her the difference between tolerant fondness and love, her ear pressed against his chest while her muzzle tilted up to nuzzle into his neck, inhaling the last of his deadened scent.
She listened to the heart that would never beat, her own slowing to match. She felt the cold that would never warm, her temperature falling as well. She heard echoes of the breaths that would never again fuel his caring words, her lungs losing strength without him. She blearily gazed at the pale flesh that would never redden in that adorable way, and the lips which would never meet her own in that odd kiss, their differences making the connection all the more special. Her pads rubbed over the skin that would never shiver under her touch, and the dull claws that would never stroke her fur.
Numb. Cold. Broken.
Tired. She was tired of trying. She was tired of failing. She was…just tired. Tired and alone. Though, hopefully, not for much longer.
The clinic faded behind her closing eyes. The end would come soon, and when it did, she would learn if he had been welcomed or discarded. If he awaited her, then she would have eternity to apologize for her worthlessness. If not…
Well, she would drift, but he would be happy. He would have everything he deserved, and everything she had ever wanted. That was enough.
She let the darkness take her.
= = = = =
“That’s it?”
Heroon blinked, registering the criticism as his own a moment after saying it. Flares of indignation burned in his throat, irrational anger and doubt being restrained by careful breaths and tensed muscles. The defect lifted her gaze from the table, a shadow of a sardonic smirk pulling at her muzzle. It only made him more irritated, but the exact reason for why escaped him at the moment.
“You gave up?” he continued, though against his better judgment.
“Yet I live,” she replied weakly. A heavy guilt remained in her voice, but at least she was no longer nearly silent. It didn’t do much to stop his scowl from deepening.
“If your objective was to convince me that your bond is true, then I believe that alone is what caused you to have failed. Few remain after having a primordial part of themselves torn from their soul, and fewer still do not seek to avenge it. Those who do not are unable to do more than writhe in agony until the Void lays its claim.”
And history agreed with him. Although he had never bonded himself, it was a rare occurrence that most all strived to achieve, and those in positions such as his were required to know it well. There was a reason why separating bonds was considered a deplorable war crime; it is likely to cause civil unrest in the best of cases—a revolt at worst.
The knowledge that one’s other half was being kept from them led to very similar occurrences as those described by the pale-furred female. In instances where they were unable to rectify such, those who were successfully restrained had been reported to have suffered greatly until expiring—typically from wounds that were self-inflicted or gained while trying to reunite with their bond. If the bond itself was forcibly broken, then it was a foregone conclusion that the remaining bonded would not willingly cease until any who were even tangentially related to the event were but corpses. Only then would they join their bond in what lies beyond.
‘Broken’ did not simply mean despondent; it often referred to the shackles of civility and reason which clattered to the ground, releasing a feral thirst for vengeance and blood. It alluded to what would become of those who had brought such release to begin with.
“There was nothing left to fight for,” the defective whispered airily.
It was strange to be so dejected by the statement, but he silently chastised himself all the same, feeling his commiseration turn into a foundation of ire. He had been starting to truly accept that a defect might have bonded. Ah. That’s what the feeling was: disappointment. He was disappointed in someone whose plight had gained his sympathy. Surprising as it was for a defect to be the target of such pity, he couldn’t quite retain the neutral cadence he had used until now, slipping into a detached, if bitter drawl.
“So be it. Continue.”
“I have not uttered falsehood, High Quesitar.”
“Of course. You may continue.” He couldn’t quite hide the dismissal in his voice, nor bring himself to much care for his monitoring equipment. The rest of this interrogation was going to be but a formality—records held as proof they did as tasked.
The female tightened her paws into fists. “You must believe me…”
Heroon exhaled. “As I have stated, no bonded would be still when their bond has been removed by another. Say what you will, but that has been proven as fact time and time again.”
Her form trembled, fresh ichor spilling onto the tabletop from clenched claws piercing her pads. Her fur bristled as her lowered gaze focused on the crimson streaks.
“I know not of others, high one, but I am viciously aware of what it is to lose one’s self,” she hissed, pain and anger adding an edge to her clipped response. “I have not lost a ‘part’ of myself, but the whole. I am what remains when one is broken so entirely…”
She looked back at the dividing one-way wall, vexation pulling her lips into a small snarl as dampness shimmered in her eyes.
“…I learned what it was to have my heart stop, yet still have a pulse. To suffocate, yet still breathe. To be blinded, yet still see. To fall so cold, yet bleed warmth into the one who could never be warmed again.” The visage of simmering rage subsided, returning to a look of shaded suffering. “I learned what it was to have my form shut down, system by system, while watching him fade in my embrace, unable to do a single thing to stop it… There is no falsehood in saying that, High Quesitar. I learned what it was to die.”
“And yet you live,” he sighed, echoing her own words back at her. The bonds were potent, but far from enough to cause such overblown descriptions. They swayed emotions and opinions, but never with such force. They caused phantom sensations at times, but would never do as she claimed. Barring her sudden penchant for the dramatic, he was slowly finding himself in agreement with his assistant; the contained one seemed to have gone mad some time ago.
The defect nodded listlessly, that singular flicker of hope in her eyes giving life to an otherwise decayed expression. “Technically, yes.”
The wry humour in her voice had him raising a brow in morbid curiosity. “Technically?”
She smiled at them—a weak and fragile smile, but a smile all the same.
= = = = =
It was dark. It was always dark, in a way, yet she knew this darkness would persist. She could travel for as long as she liked, until even her ashes could move no more, and she would never find an end to the crushing black expanse. It would always be black.
So, she drifted, letting the tides of nothing carry her where they wish. There was no reason to fight it anymore. There was no reason to question it. There was no reason to be anymore.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
She had failed to protect the only one she had.
The nothing continued, though she couldn’t tell how long she allowed the current to drag her along. Not that she deserved to know, nor would she be able to in the first place. All she gleaned from the infinity awaiting her was that it was overseen by a malevolent force, because the endless darkness eventually did give way to something else; she just wished it didn’t.
Sunundra regarded the enclosure with a neutral expression, flexing her paw as she ignored the room from her youth. Her claws passed through the door, proving she was an ephemeral visitor of times since passed. Walking through it proved fruitless, leaving her to take in a place she would rather forget. It was a cruel joke, surely, to be locked away by herself where affection was but a twisted dream.
Yet Sunundra wasn’t alone.
Small, unmoving, and curling her tail around herself in a pale imitation of an embrace, a grey and yellow-furred kit held her knees to her chest, staring at something that didn’t exist in the confines of her sparse room. A bed lay perfectly made, the thin layer of dust coating its surface from when it was made so many moons ago. Old clothing populated long unopened drawers in a modular dresser, never having seen new additions for at least a year, and rarely being interacted with in the first place. The floor was in much the same condition as the furnishings, save for two spots that were slightly less unkempt—the spot where her younger self was, and another near the door. She remembered often pressing an ear to the barrier, pretending that the voices filled with affection would, one sun, be directed at her as well.
They never were.
That eventually changed—or she believed at the time. Her blood-mother had apologized, teaching the neglected kit how to pray and what to ask for. It was the first time in a sea of isolation that the pale-furred offspring had smiled, the sensation straining underused muscles. The occasions where they petitioned the Goddess together were frequent at first, but slowly tapered off until she would spend their agreed upon moons sleeplessly waiting for the only kindness she knew to return.
After it became apparent that only a sparse few of those moons would allow her to have willing company, she started praying on her own—first on the planned suns, then beyond such. It soon became every moon that she absently gazed at nothing in particular while she spoke to the Mother. Maybe it was in an attempt to become ‘good’ at prayer so that her blood-mother would approve, but it became a heartfelt effort to have someone…anyone listen. Knowing that she was heard kept her sane. It taught her patience. It taught her how to be alone.
…Well, she thought so…
There wasn’t as much negligence in cleaning as there had once been—a product of her den-father praising the neatness, then criticizing the dust. Though bitter and dismissive, they had been the most positive words the kit had heard in a long, long time, so she took it as a kind-hearted direction on how to improve. He never commented on it again, but she eagerly assumed that was good, and maintained it as best she could, though long stints of not seeing those of the den she lived in had finally worn down that misguided enthusiasm. Naught but a tray of food regularly left in front of her door assured her that she was not forgotten. It meant they still cared, even if she was unsure why they wouldn’t speak with her anymore, nor why her presence outside the room made everyone so upset. Still, she tried to be tidy. She tried to be quiet. She tried to be good.
Just as they liked it. Just as she should be.
The door opened without a single knock, illuminating the darkened room. The kit’s eyes snapped towards the intruder with a mixture of surprise and hope. Sunundra stared at the brightened face gazing through her as the details of the moon came to mind. As much as she wanted to, she knew nothing would come of trying to warn her past self. All she could do was watch.
Her blood-mother stepped in excitedly, the broad smile needing no confirmation for the observer to remember every minute detail. Her blood-father and a den-father shared the same expression, though tinted with what she would come to know as manipulative amusement.
Sunundra’s throat dried as she watched the older Lilhun hug the kit, the small one frozen in shock and worry as good news poured into impressionable ears. Her arm reached out to stop the hated young from beaming with joy and disbelief when the two males joined to confirm that they were going on a trip to the church—that her condition would be cured, and how she would be included in the den’s lives again. Her legs gave way as she rewatched the last time she had truly believed that suffering was temporary.
The kit revelled in the touch of another, stunned by how warm and soft it was after so long without. The tiny one shed reluctant tears when she was told she was loved, forgetting what those words had sounded like. The gullible young took in the scents of various foods and places outside, not quite sure what was wrong as she indulged in the subtleties of where everyone had been while she was locked away, only that she could smell fine, and that the unseen problem would be fixed soon. The kit didn’t notice the scornful glares of the males, the rapturous relief of the one who birthed her, nor the manic tone that coloured those promises.
But Sunundra did, and she was powerless to stop her younger self from ever being deceived.
- - - - -
Idle chatter filled the nearby street, the dense population near the city centre filling walkways with their conversations until they came close. Their disdainful stares and venomous remarks went unacknowledged by a somewhat older kit, her paws on her lap as she dutifully watched from just beyond the steps of the church. Faithfuls gave her a wide berth as they passed, even though she had already moved several times in an attempt not to inconvenience others as much. The few that slowed to contemplate if they should shoo her away were met with a smile. It hadn’t yet become as practised as it would eventually be, but it was a genuine display of her intention to be friendly. They ignored it as usual, scoffing before departing to complain to the priests about the filth polluting the air on sacred grounds, leaving her smile a little more strained each time.
Sunundra stood behind the hopeful kit, watching hatred accumulate for one who only wanted to be visible when her den returned for her, regardless of the years it had been since she was abandoned. Chemical burns blackened the fringes of grey fur, most hidden behind the outdated clothing she was afforded or found hidden in the back of storage. An old notepad rested alongside her, doubtlessly filled with speculation and copied notation from the few books she owned, detailing potential chemical reactions or records of previous findings. The forefront of the pages were dedicated to powerful cleaning compounds that would eventually become the basis for most of her demolition charges.
Sunundra allowed a wry smirk at how simple the transition had been, and how stubbornly optimistic the kit was determined to remain. She remembered how beaten those books were, and how hard she studied to understand them. She could recall the resentful way they were given to her—a solution to her insistent requests to access the library—but she was so grateful that she burst into tears anyway, blind to the revulsion as she showered the dispassionate priest with gratitude.
The moon graced the horizon after a fruitless wait and only a single rock being thrown, the kit having long since grown to accept that she would have to try again the next sun. Her den hadn’t come, but there was less shouting to endure this time, and no one had forced the priests to come get her, so it was worth the attempt. It didn’t stop the cracks in her facade, nor the swelling in her arm from where she was hit. Tears built in her eyes, but she slapped her cheeks and doubled down on her outward joy, appearing happy and welcoming, no matter how much it hurt.
Just as she was taught. Just as they wanted. Just as she should be.
The kit stood, stretching out to her diminutive height before collecting her things and staring at the restaurant across the street, her stomach painfully empty. A recent advertisement for the United Military in the window caught her attention. Sunundra recalled the words printed on it without looking, the promises of loyal packs and good intentions having been all she hoped for, and the lofty ambitions they claimed to offer were indeed provided.
But not to her.
The kit headed back to the church before she was disciplined for taking too long, ready for the routine of cleaning and studying. She would accidentally stumble across her first proper explosive that moon, then spend the remainder of it cleaning up the mess. A lock would be destroyed, having malfunctioned long ago and far too expensive to call a specialist for. The priests would begrudgingly thank her for what amounted to being reckless with dangerous chemicals, and careless with how she applied them. The aggressive lecture would be drowned out by the miniscule praise still ringing in her ears.
The young defect would become enamoured with the craft, learning that there was more than violence to be achieved if she continued to explore her hobby. She would stop waiting by the steps for her den, convinced that she simply wasn’t yet accomplished enough to be worth their attention. She needed to be better, make her den proud, and then they would welcome her back with open arms.
And she had just the way to do it.
The kit contacted a recruiter once she had a small variety of prototype charges, planning to show how useful she could be in search and rescue operations, or assist in clearing debris inside collapsed buildings. She was accepted.
The reception of the other soldiers may have been cold, but she was regularly assigned to certain groups, so some came to cease their hostility and resign themselves to scarce words or wilful indifference. For a time, she was happy. Others spoke to her, regardless of how poisonous their tone was. She knew they appreciated what she could offer when they were deployed, even if they never actually voiced it. They learned of her schedule, and those who could tolerate her condition the most would weather her presence, allowing her inattentive company for her meals.
It was more than she thought she deserved, and back then, she believed it the most she would ever get. It motivated her to try harder, create more specialized charges, and perfect the ones she already had. She gained a title besides ‘defect’ due to her efforts, and despite how ironic she found it to be, she was overjoyed to be called ‘Demolitions.’ Her ceaseless striving to be useful had been acknowledged.
She never considered that her exploits would be noticed by higher stations, nor that accepting the honeyed promises would only lead to more hurt. She didn’t think that her new moniker would become all she was allowed to be, and that her name would never be uttered by another. She left the church after thanking the priests for everything, receiving thinly veiled relief that she was too excited to hear.
The pale-furred kit stopped being a person at some point. She became a solution to specific problems, and nothing else.
But she was happy.
Sunundra watched the delusional kit from afar for every fragmented event, wondering why she had never tried to swallow her own explosives long before she was given the chance to be shown how miserable she really was.
- - - - -
The pale-furred female stood stiff before the Third Claw of the United Military, a practical male who gazed at all beneath his station with the same hostility he afforded her. It made her feel normal, if only for a few moments. Being the smallest of the gathered unit was a fact that took some time to get used to, but it allowed her to place charges in spaces that others of her specialty couldn’t. It made her uniquely effective on occasions, and was part of why she was in the presence of one so highly respected.
Her legs burned from the full extension, her joints protesting how strenuous the limiting posture was—a requirement for showing proper subservience, but tiring all the same. Her tail was pinned to her spine, pressing her black and red training uniform to her back, the recently singed fur exposing a small cut on the appendage. The most recent deployment had earned the attention of her superiors, and so the group was summoned to be inspected and tested. Her own examination went as silently as any other time someone was forced to check her health, but the ‘test’ had been an exercise in saving a ‘civilian’ from a simulated hostile stronghold.
By herself.
Of course, being that she had experience with getting others into wherever they needed to be during emergencies, her concern was doing so safely. After a quick examination of the structure's exterior and likely floor plan, she made it to the captive in four well-placed explosives, with one smoke charge to cover her movements. No one had the chance to reveal if the weapons they equipped were loaded with training rounds or not, and she had never drawn her own to check. It was a bloodless success.
The Third Claw started at the end of the line, summarizing the task and method of each soldier, as well as criticisms that the committee had regarding their performance. His voice was cold and threatening, though it became surprisingly warm when he was pleased by someone’s result. He praised bravery, ingenuity, quick thinking, persistence, and in the case of an accident injuring the ‘civilian,’ he recommended a rank increase for a candidate who simultaneously treated their target’s wounds while fending off the enemy.
Sunundra leaned against the wall behind all those nervous soldiers, retrospectively seeing the dejection in those that failed to meet expectations, and the smug sense of malicious respite as the male drew near the defective. She saw the vicious grins as they leaned in to hear the specifics of how horribly the unwanted female had performed, then the blank expressions when the Third Claw simply said that she was in the wrong branch, ordering her promotion effective immediately. That stunned silence became bitter hatred when they discovered that she was being transferred to his chain of command, and it worsened when they couldn’t find out where. They asked, but she didn’t have an answer to provide.
The pale-furred female’s elation at receiving recognition for her efforts quickly sank when subjected to her unit’s true feelings. Yet she held hope that it would be enough for her den to accept her.
Then she was informed that she couldn’t ever tell anyone of where she was being assigned, and would need to pass several routine checks to get leave in order to see them. She did, but they had moved away, leaving only the empty husk of a deprecated building behind.
The last thing she held onto hope for wavered, caught by the layers upon layers of self-delusion and years of repeating the same prayers she was taught so long ago. She smiled, redirecting her efforts to making friends amongst the others, ignoring the buried hurt and knowing that she would only ever be ‘Demo.’ She persisted through the rejection and constant hostility, reasoning every chip out of her resolve as but one more thing she would need to become better at.
Sunundra closed her eyes as the memory played, a pale-furred female jolting off her chair when a male spoke to her while she was mixing compounds aboard the ship. She clenched her fists as that male offered the defect his paw and helped her up, the pitiful demolitions expert falling smitten with what she thought to be a blindingly genuine smile.
She fell quiet when that bright, excited female entered the cafeteria with hope shining in her eyes. She felt her stomach roll as the final crack in that fragile soul was made, the name she was to never give becoming a slur specifically for her. She was unable to stop the female from abandoning her post for an opportunity that would scar her more than suffering ever would.
She had never been happy, but that’s what made enduring through the years possible. It was why she was certain that she could never endure it again.
She knew what it was to actually smile now, instead of merely donning a mask and platitudes to cover the agony. She knew what it was to feel another’s touch beyond mandatory examinations. She knew what it was to hear her name said warmly, and to be subject to honest affections. She knew what it was to be welcomed, and not just delude herself into accepting the slightest tolerance as kindness.
She knew what it was to love.
She knew what it was to break.
Yet, even as the Union shuttle lifted off of the unmanned flight pad and shot off into the sky, Sunundra hadn’t even called out to the delusional female heading to meet that fate, nor had the urge to. She was surprised to feel a wistful smile on her face, knowing how treacherous the coming suns would be for the defect who entrusted her body to aliens in hopes of being fixed.
Because, no matter how fictional it might be, that female would learn what it was to love as well. And for however short a time…
…She would truly be happy.
Just as she should have always been.
- - - - -
Thump.
The hazy scenes faded, leaving her in the endless darkness once more. She closed her eyes and brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her tail around herself as she had done so many times before. At least she had known it to be a pitiful emulation of the real thing since she was young; comparing this to how Bill held her would have just made it painful.
She drifted in whatever vacantness this was in wait for the enemy or the Void itself to lay claim to her demise. She wasn’t sure if it would be different, nor if it mattered in the first place. He wasn’t here. He would never be here. She was cold. She was numb. She was alone.
No, she was always alone. She was just too pathetic to accept it.
There were no more hallucinations to distract her, no more recollections of painful memories, and no more reason to endure. What point was there in gaining vengeance, when there was nothing left to revel in obtaining it? Why would she draw the enemy’s blood when it would only prolong her suffering? Bill would rather her pass painlessly. He would rather her not become a mangled corpse clinging to self-indulgent rage.
He didn’t wish for her to slay in his name; he wished her safe, begging for it with what little he had left to give. He wished her to be loved and accepted.
Thump.
A listless sigh slipped from her muzzle. After everything she had suffered through, she couldn’t even grant a single wish of the one who granted her own. Forget being a welcomed member of some idyllic den; she was unfit to be loved at all. She couldn’t save him, she had abandoned her ire at the ones who tortured her kin, and now she simply waited for the end of it all. She was a failure, with no way to rectify it. She should die a failure’s death. It was right.
But…it wasn’t. It was supposed to be right, and most everything agreed with her, but something silently protested in her core. Something insisted that there was more, clinging to its reason so that it might never escape. No matter how much she inquired or thought about it, the answer never came, only a feral urgency to listen being provided. She was tired of trying and never succeeding, yet the something demanded her to persist. Sunundra opened her eyes bitterly, unable to find so much as peace in the expanse that promised nothing but.
Light. Not much, and nothing more than a speck in the distance, but in the infinite black of the endless abyss, that speck of light was a beacon in the dark. Curious, she chose to inspect it, if only to stop what was disturbing the silence of her impending demise.
Thump.
It took a few moments to make sense of things, but she managed to coax her aimless drifting into a more directed form, confirming that this was all of what remained of her shattered soul instead of the promised Void. The realization answered as many questions as it raised, though those were all dismissed once she came close to whatever the illumination was.
It was still tiny, the single mote dimly casting an orange hue over the grey and yellow of her fur. She touched it with a claw.
Warm. Whole. Complete. It flooded her empty form with remnants of fullness.
It was a wish—a fragment of time captured for eternity, spitefully denying the end that awaited her. A single desire not of her own, pleaded for by one who could no longer achieve it, and who had begged with such intensity that it remained when nothing else could.
Bill’s wish. Just the one, but it was his. His influence remained, trapped in the miniscule shard of what survived when her soul had broken, protecting its core from the eroding blackness. She moved without thought, betraying what she thought to be a surrender to the end, burying her clawtips into her breast as she clutched it to her chest with everything she had. When she had no reason to be, that wish would be her reason, if only to give to the one who only gave. If only to repay that which was priceless.
Sunundra held it close. So, so close. His fear, his sorrow, his desperation… His resignation and helplessness… She took in all of it, not letting even the faintest bit escape. She burned each and every feeling into herself, determined to keep whatever she could of her bond. She kept the longing for one who would never return, letting the dregs of his misery rest within her own. She welcomed his worry for another who had become so important, and embraced his concern for those he had never met. She encapsulated everything, no matter how strong or faint, until it became apparent that only one thing remained.
The wish.
She loosened her grip on the mote, worried that she might extinguish it before learning what he kept closer than anything else. Closer than his late mate, closer than her, and closer than his own life. With a breath, she exposed all that she was, from caustic resentment to whimpering dejection, and from crippling loneliness to her highest joy, allowing what remained to nest wherever it belonged.
It chose so much that she had a difficult time tracking it all, but the largest segment was…love. It was love, marred and disfigured by guilt and inadequacy. It was hampered by fear and worry. It gained thorns of spite and regret, but it was love, and it was his.
And though she had been prepared for it to never happen again, she felt her heartbeat, dragging along the phantom sensation of another pulse that was but one more from stopping. She felt pain from countless wounds, dulled by a dying nervous system, and breaths that were constricted by paralyzed lungs. She felt it. She felt him.
And so, she wept, truly opening her eyes to reveal the same white and crimson-smeared room she had been ready to perish in. She held her departed bond closer and closer, until the world became nothing but her and the only thing she had left of him.
Thump.
The door to the clinic cracked, thick metal deforming and showing signs of stress fractures. The cabinet rattled from the impact. Sunundra propped herself up on one elbow, caressing Bill’s face and memorizing the feeling while she still could. As much as it hurt, she needed to leave, and she couldn’t take him with her. He wouldn’t want her to. Not if it would put her in harm's way.
The pale-furred female crawled off the table in the middle of the clinic, suppressing the pain in her torn stomach before turning her attention to the various storage lining the walls. Everything that was unlocked was quickly tossed open and its contents inspected. A surprising amount seemed to be variants of chemicals she was already familiar with, though modified for medical use rather than demolitions. That was fine, she could adjust them. They were added to her bag, her paws pushing aside Recon’s drone to accommodate the new additions. Painkillers, bandages, adhesives, and anything else she could even remotely guess the purpose of were packed away.
Thump.
She grimaced, both from the burning of her open wound, and from the growing fissures in the door. She was out of time. A charge was fetched from her supplies, then cracked open to allow a few tweaks. The amplified explosive was promptly set against the floor, the cracked screen of the navigational terminal confirming the placement, a soft beep announcing its arming. Her eyes drifted back to the only one that had truly accepted her. Not her blood-mother, nor her den, unit, ship-packs… No one but him.
Her paw brushed over his features for the last time, lingering on his neck as she gave her bond a final kiss, the lightest touch conveying everything she ever felt for him.
“I love you, and…I’m sorry.”
Thu—
The door gave way. The bomb detonated. The room was swallowed by inferno. By the time the smoke cleared, there was only a destroyed clinic and a gaping hole in the floor. Excluding the smallest space behind the examination table, nothing survived unscathed.
Not even the mangled remains of the human.
Sunundra landed violently, letting her legs buckle and transfer her momentum into a roll as the debris tumbled down after her. Her paw shakily pulled her to her feet, an unsteady, agonizing step being slowly followed by another. Soft sobs and flickering light filled the fifth level’s maintenance tunnels.
She was broken, but she had purpose. She would fulfill the final desire of her bond at any cost. She was determined.
Just as she should be.