"~I'm so tired...sheep are counting me~"

I stood, staring at them wide-eyed.

"You've got to be joking", I muttered.

But of course, they didn't look like they were. I had to wonder why I was the one who had to do it. This wasn't making any sense.

"This isn't the matter of whether someone else will or not. They simply can't. Besides, this is Prophet's choice. He is the one that picked you, wouldn't let him down now, would you?"

That wasn't even an adequate excuse. Chopper looked right at me.

"You need a hand, kid?", his look made me go cold.

I looked down, all the strength in me left me. The sun was racing down, I felt my spirit leaving along with it. My feet were heavy when I turned back and took a step towards Prophet.

The sound every muscle in my body made as I walked over to him, the ground pressing beneath my feet, the air passing through my hair, drops of sweat on my forehead, the coldness of shivers running down my spine, my tongue running over my dry lips, my eyes struggling to regain focus after blinking every time, swallowing my saliva as my heartbeat became too loud for me, the strain in my fingers, every single thing. I was painfully aware of every single little thing, more so than I've ever been.

I had to slow down and remember to breathe. But then, I realized I was already standing right in front of him.

"~No more struggle, no more energy...no more patient and you can write that down...~"

That distant melody didn't seem as distant anymore. Prophet was looking up at me with a shivering smile. He was growing paler by the minute. The human was dying.

That evening was so red, I kept thinking. I could barely see any other shade. Why was it so dreadfully riddled in a scarlet tone? Prophet and I were the only ones who were running out of color. It seemed to me we'd been cursed for an eternity, from that little hell. Still, I thought, I wouldn't mind going there again. It was just a passing thought, I wonder how much of that I would still hold on to.

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And so I stood there, with this thought written all over my face. Prophet's shackles had a deep fiery glimmer to them, among the black of the iron, I think Sight was strengthening the magic as he grew weaker.

In the end, it was Prophet that broke the silence. I wish I had something better to tell him then.

"Please kill me."

It was a millennia old request that I had taken for granted. It made me realize that Prophet always knew this is what things would come down to. People that don't get to decide how they live, should at least get to decide how they die. Prophet had realized this was a befitting way to go. Should I be honored he chose me?

"I'm sorry, Prophet", without my realizing, my vision had blurred and my voice found it hard to leave, "I'm breaking my promise."

"~It's all too crazy and I'm not sticking round...~"

I remember seeing him genuinely smile. I ripped his head off. All too instinctively, I assure you. I didn't use any weapon. My hand moved on it's own, it cut clear through his neck and his head went flying cleanly. I stood there, without a shred of feeling in me.

I had just killed my best friend Prophet.

The sun had set. The crimson sky was gone, it was just dark now. I can't remember much beyond the fact that my head was throbbing immensely and my throat hurt like it was being impaled with something. I later realized, I had been bawling, screaming at the top of my lungs as I looked at the sky as if complaining why it had taken the red away all of a sudden and brought on so much darkness. I don't think I was able to hear anything that may have been said to me.

The realization of what had happened and what I had done, only settled days or perhaps weeks later. I finally began to come back to knowing. I had been wandering an endless void all those days. I began to remember bits and pieces of things later.

Lubbock was crying, that was the first thing I remembered. The way I killed him made no sense to anyone, myself included. Chopper told Lady she had gone too far in pushing me. I wonder what she thought about the matter but she made no justifications. Prophet was buried on the mound, that very night. By the time, the morning sun shone, he was six feet under, prayers of whatever it is they believed in, had been said and he was left alone, only accompanied by Lady. She stood at his grave, with a cigarette between her lips. It wasn't lit, like always.

I had seen her like that before, in some distant land of thought, with an unlit cigarette between her lips. She only had one, but never lit it. I figured she was looking for the right reason and time to light it. Which hadn't come, apparently.

I wonder how long she stayed there, when everyone woke up the next morning, she was still there.

That was all I could remember from the days that followed Prophet's death. And then I remembered my decision to leave. And now, I realized that it was never happening, I was never escaping Valhalla.