Amaro clutched the throbbing appendage in his gut. He couldn’t feel any pain. The sound of his own labored breathing was louder than anything else. He’d lost himself in the midst of battle. Those monsters knew exactly how to beat him. They had exploited his reckless fighting style by allowing him to believe he was uninjured. Pain started to flare up from his gut. He could feel it gathering in his chest and thumping around in his skull. The molten iron feeling of poison now inflaming his veins. The monsters stalked forward as he kicked himself away. He felt someone grab his collar and toss him backward. The light of a blue flame erupting in front of him. Anitus?

Amaro gripped the appendage and tried to pull it out. There were barbs pointed in the other direction. It was stuck. The cold winter was stiffening his fingers. When had he been poisoned? When had he been stabbed?

The black blood steamed off of Amaro’s skin, taking his body heat with it. He could feel it seeping into his pores. So that’s what it was. Their blood had been poisoning him. He focused his strength on fighting the poison. His awakened Ux felt boundless, and yet he felt so unbelievably weak.

Clarity returned to his vision. He could see Tulos and Anitus fighting with everything they had. It wouldn’t be enough. They were beginning to tire out. He had to get back in there. He sat himself up, but Sancta pushed him back down, “Quit being such an idiot!” she shouted over the ringing in his ears.

“I’m… sorry.” He pushed out, “I need to…protect… you all…”

“Don’t give me that bullshit! When the line changes, you change out and get healing. All you’re doing is taking up all of my attention by getting hurt so much!”

Amaro felt her hands push into his body, that searing pain jolting up and down his spine. He clenched his hands along her wrists and screamed in pain.

“I know, I know, just bear with me! I have to press the barbs…”

Her words became muddled. He focused everything he had on staying conscious. And yet every second dragged him closer and closer to the cold dark abyss. His breathing was shallow and choppy. He bit back his pain filled screams. He did not want to worry Sancta.

He could feel that barbed appendage slowly dragging out of his wound. He could feel it wriggling. Like it was trying to crawl its way back inside.

He looked at the ongoing fight in an attempt to distract himself. The Oskuutor had stopped holding back. Again and again the bell chimed. Its toll was more frequent. It paused their onslaught, but it did not stop them. He could see the hooked blade of the reaper over their heads. Curled over each of their necks ready to swing.

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His vision lost its focus, but he stubbornly brought it back. He could see something else. Golden apparitions briefly flashed. More Malaki? No, something else. Something beyond the material world.

He felt the Oskuutor’s appendage exit his body. He was weak. He’d lost feeling in his legs. He couldn’t run. He’d lost feeling in his arms. He could no longer grip a sword.

He could feel a hand gripping at his spine, yanking it like a handle. And yet the warm touch of his sister as she healed him guided his soul back into place.

Amaro did not realize the moment he passed out. The same moment he fell into the deep dark abyss. Red eyes gazed at him. They hated him.

He was so unbelievably flawed. So unbelievably vain. Self centered. Idiotic. Self loathing.

What had he struggled for? What had he ever accomplished on his own? What had he ever truly fought for? He fought to protect his family, but that was only an excuse to indulge his addiction to battle. He fought to rebel against his father, but it was a thinly veiled display of self-loathing.

He dreamed of a world that was different. A world where he hadn’t wasted so much time. A world where he was truly strong.

But he was young. He had been kept from the world, and thrown into the deep end all at once. He had always longed to see the world beyond the walls of his home, but once he accomplished that, he had only ever looked backward. He longed to be back in the silk sheets and feather pillows of his bed. He longed for the only cold to be the marbled floors of his room. He wished he had spent more time with Raktus. If he had known Raktus would die out here, he would have held on as long as he could. He would have kept his good brother as close as he could.

Raktus was quick to anger, but that was because he was passionate. He only ever showed that anger to him and his other siblings. Among strangers, Raktus had been silent. Always listening.

In a way, Raktus had always listened to them too. He was never the brightest among them, but that is what made him so charming. Amaro remembered a time when Raktus had found an injured bird in their garden. He recalled how tenderly the large xio had held it. How he had brought it to Sancta to be healed.

Amaro had not fully realized how kind Raktus truly had been. Always following them around when they had their antics. Helping Amaro with every plan he made to escape. Even when he was punished, even when they failed, Raktus had never blamed Amaro.

He dreamed of a world where he’d given Raktus more of his time. He felt himself back around the table, everyone chattering away while Raktus remained silent. He imagined what it would have been like to include Raktus. What had he been thinking? What had he wanted to say?

As he sat across from his younger brother, he spoke those words. And yet there was something in the back of his head which always reminded him that this place was not real. This dream was not real. He had missed his chance to say these things. This dream offered no closure, but it did remind him to never waste time like this again.

Gods in their eternal life always lost track of true meaning. They inevitably wasted away into their own pride and invulnerability. Infinite time was worthless. It was meaningless.

Amaro knew he had wasted his, and he refused to waste it any longer. He opened his eyes, gritting his teeth as he wrenched himself back to consciousness. The scar across his nose was burning. His sister had closed his wound, but the horror of the night was not yet over.