Chapter 206
There Was Once a Man Who Could Not Die (VI)
There was a world once upon a time where now only desolate wilderness stood. It was dark and bleak and lifeless, with a thick layer of black soot covering everything in sight. All the trees were dead, and were still the solitary reminder that there once was life here. The ground was uneven and unnatural, with jagged obsidian rocks jutting up from the decaying earth, forming a sort of landscape infernal souls envisioned suffering within in the afterlife.
The sky above was dark and clouded, a perpetual blanket of misery that loomed overhead, never giving way to the warmth of the sun. The air was thick with an acrid smell of smoke and decay, taking the role of a constant reminder of death.
Within it, three figures stood, much to Sylas’ surprise. It was not just the King and him this go-around, but there was a newcomer–a woman dressed in a simple garb, sporting a look of calm and curiosity. Queen Lea was the last figure he expected to see here, and yet there she stood, surrounded by death and decay.
“Don’t mind me,” she chuckled at his expression. “I was told this would be the last time… so I came.”
“... you’re a devoted one, eh?” Sylas asked, smiling lightly.
“I am indeed. We’ve sworn each other, after all–till then and everafter.”
“...”
“It feels as though there is nothing left to say,” the King spoke after a moment of silence. “Strange, isn’t it?”
“See you on the other side,” Sylas said, drawing out his sword.
“Yes.”
An array of light erupted from the silver-coated blade, shattering the craft. It was a swing so quick that it broke the speed of light–it broke the laws of known, unknown, and designed. For an eye it looked like absolutely nothing happened–but for the world, it all began to end by the hallowed design.
The array of light was a culmination of all laws coalesced into one, a capitulation of death itself. From the pure, milky-white, it turned ashen grey, and then obsidian black. Energy began to seep from the cosmos, drawn by the call of the undying. It was a howl that had gone comatose for so long, and it was awakening. Hundreds of prying eyes woke from their slumber, peering out past the curtain of infinity and gleaming at the singularity borne within a single stroke of a sword.
Winds blew back and forth, invisible, intangible, eternal. The entire world began to unwind like the tailspin of an hourglass, crumbling from within and without. Sylas’ eyes began to glow, enshrouded in a gleam of something that could not be withstood or understood. Suddenly, a flutter of darkness sprouted from his back, and a mirage of a crow appeared. It was an ordinary-looking crow, yet it bore an air of something beyond primal.
The reality was shattered, its shards dismantled by the power that could undo all. The King and the Queen were the last and the first of mortals to bear witness to something that would never be witnessed again. Hand in hand, they held each other as the weight of primal death bore down upon them. However, rather than suffocating, unbearable, and painful, it was… freeing. Their souls felt liberated from the chains, usurped from the pained mortality, and they were manumitted from their human selves.
Darkness swallowed the world and all there was within it. Death enshrouded eternity, and from within its grasp a hand gasped out. It broke through the curtain of shadows and pulled forward, escaping. A fatigued face emerged, a pair of black eyes sounding songs of oblivion. They streaked through the gleam of mortality and stepped past it, pulling the rest with them.
From the fog of lament, that despised and yet beloved curtain all called death, a figure enshrouded in darkness further emerged, smoke like smog dancing around it. The crow behind it was vanishing, its figure faint and fading. From behind it, a blur of white light blew through and a beautiful, white doe emerged, its eyes tainted in sorrows beyond reproach. It cried out–a cry so lonesome, so woeful, so heartrending it could end all joys known to man.
The crow turned, its eyes bleeding shadow, its feathered wings dilapidating one by one.
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“Weep not, dearest Doe,” the crow sang in a voice of death. “Smile. For me. One last time.”
“I will never forget you,” the doe spoke. “Never. NEVER.”
“All once tarnished.… forgotten in aeons.”
“Not you,” the doe clapped forward, snuggling its snout against the fading beak. “Never you.”
“He has become Death,” the fading words fell upon the new beginning. “Become his Life.”
There was once a boy who wished he could die. Thousand aeons passed, and the boy lived on still. He watched it all unwind, men, women, creatures, entire worlds. From cradle to the last ashes. One by one. One by one. He sang them all a song, a farewell hymn, an ode to their struggles. He sang them in envy, in ugly, bitter, selfish jealousy. And he sang them loudly, so that the whole cosmos knew of his woes. But they could not hear. Living cannot hear Death. Not before the final moment, the last breath, the last gasp, the last glance of eternity. Only then… only then could they see him. Hear him. And they all feared him.
There was once a boy who could not die. He loved many, and loved until his heart cracked and until it bled and until his tears filled cosmic rivers. He loved until he was broken, and until he could love no more. So he sealed his sorrows, and sealed his woes, and sealed his envy. He lived, Death enrobed in the same desire it executed.
But then, one day, a boy saw a man. A man was broken, distraught, lacking in all things living should have. And the man faltered and failed and fell, and he broke and cracked further, his splinters and shards numerous enough to form sky-reaching statues. And every day, the boy recalled, he would wait for the man to seal himself, just as the boy had many, many, many aeons ago. And every day… the man would not. No matter the struggle, no matter the failure, no matter the pain.
There was once a boy who could not die… and that boy was now dying. He could finally feel it, the finality he delivered so many times. It was cold indeed. Indifferent. Palpable. And yet… and yet it was beyond beautiful. The whirlpool swung back and forth and the chains melted. He who could not die was now dying, and was embracing the finality with open arms. Just before he faded for all eternity, he caught a glimpse of something that broke the seals on his heart and made him feel anew again, full and refreshed. Right next to the weeping doe, one cradled in white light, a figure emerged from the cascading shadows.
It was a stag, thrice the doe’s size, muscular and tall, its antlers tall and numerous, wound like a path of eternity. The stag was wholly black save for his ethereally white eyes, and they watched him. The boy smiled at the sight, the last touch of want of life vanishing within him. You love her that much? Then…
Time stopped–for all things alive and dead. For a singular moment, the stag nodded faintly at the fading figure, and it all collapsed just after. Where once was everything, now there stood nothing. The two creatures held enshrouded in dualities, matched in eternity, doused in silence. The world around was barren and yet full, a strange duality of juxtaposed fabrics.
Shadows continued to dance off of the stag’s surface as they began to meld and mould, and not a moment later the tall, stalwart figure morphed into a person. Sylas looked down at his arms, bearing countless scars still. The sensation of everything was… indescribable. No, it was beyond that. It was akin to the churning sensation of finite love. Though words can be put to use to elaborate the feeling, those who never felt faint at the sight of something they loved would never understand the words sung to them. It was something that demanded to be felt, and even felt could never be fully understood.
He looked up and to the side. Asha stood there, wearing the same, white summer dress that he had seen her wear countless times before. Her silver hair fluttered even without wind, her gemmed eyes shining, lips curled up into a smile. And yet, tears streamed down her cheeks, fat and free.
“Hey,” she spoke softly, her fingers curled together in a fright.
“Hey,” he replied.
“Stag, huh?” she chuckled forcibly.
“Was gonna be a lion, but who’d believe there was a black lion?”
“Yes, because black stags are extremely commonplace.”
“... did he have to go?”
“... yes. It was his time.”
“I thought death cannot die.”
“... in many ways,” she said, lowering her head. “He died a long, long, long time ago. I’m sorry, Sylas. I–I should have said, no, I, I should have asked you… I should have explained…”
“Eh,” Sylas shrugged, his voice echoing. “I’m used to folk not explaining things to me.”
“You could have refused.”
“Yeah. I suppose there was that choice, too,” he said. “But there was a clever minx who seduced me and made it impossible to say no, ‘m afraid.”
“She sounds like a proper bitch.”
“Oh, she’s the worst.”
“You think you’ll ever forgive her?”
“Sounds like I’ll have a lot of time for it, too.”
“Yeah.”
“Look up,” he said as he gently lifted her chin with his finger, smiling down at her. “Shame doesn’t suit you. I don’t know how I know this… but it feels like our time here is running out.”
“You really are… remarkable,” she sniffled, pounding his chest lightly. “Does anything faze you anymore?”
“Well, there is this one tidy-bitty thing that does,” he smiled, pulling her in. “Hear ‘em?”
“What?”
“The pounding,” he said. “An orchestra of hearts singing a love song.”
“...”
“...”
“Wow.”
“Khm.”
“That was… just… wow.”
“Yeah,” he looked away. “I don’t suppose one of my new magic powers includes making you selectively forget things?”
“Nuh-uh. You’ll have to live with what you said. Forever.”
“A grand opening to a new life, eh? Ha ha.”
“Yes, awkward laughter really does dispel the uncomfortable feeling.”
“Really?”
“Nope.”
“Oh well. I have the eternity to recover from it, at least.”
“Yeah. That you do. That you do.”