the bastion
And if the sky grows heavy
wrap your arms around me tight; we'll be alright
wrap your arms around me tight; we'll be alright
For a moment, Remi forgets how to breathe. His instincts scream at him to go—to remain with Ronin and stay at his side like he always has. But then his eyes flick toward the crowd, toward the figures that linger at the edges, hushed whispers threading between them like smoke. He sees the weight of their gazes, their grief, their fear. And through them, through the press of it all, he hears Mateo’s voice like a knife to his ribs; I didn’t even know Flora had died until I heard it from someone else.
The memory cuts through his desperation like a blade, and his hands curl into fists, useless and empty. Seren is dead, and Ronin is breaking apart in front of him, and still—still—there are things that need to be done.
Remi swallows, hard, and forces himself to nod. "I will," he says, and the words don’t sound like his own. They’re raw and scraped thin, but they hold steady. His sea-glass gaze lingers on Ronin, tracing the shadows beneath his husband’s eyes, the grief that weighs down every breath he takes. How much more can he take before there’s nothing left of him?
"I’ll handle things here," he murmurs. "Send word to Flora and Mateo, then I’ll come to you."
His fingers twitch, aching to reach for Ronin, to pull him back, to do anything but watch as he prepares to leave. But instead of grasping at the Knight, the Bastion leans forward to interrupt the stream of tears against his cheek with a kiss that feels far too insignificant given all that has happened.
Remi watches as Ronin lifts into the air, cradling Seren's body as though she is something fragile, something that might still wake, even though they both know better. And as his husband disappears toward the lighthouse, Remi finally—finally—allows himself to look down at his hands, at the shaking bloodless press of his knuckles.
Lifting his head, Remi turns toward the crowd, his voice hoarse but unyielding. He tells them to go, that if there's danger still present he'll deal with it. He tells them to hug their loved ones tight. They don’t move at first, eyes flicking between each other, between him, between the darkened sky where Ronin has disappeared. But then, slowly, the tide of them begins to shift and disperse.
Only when the last of them have gone does Remi exhale, pressing his palm against his eyes as though he can hold back the ache in his chest, the memory of Ronin whispering that he couldn't do this again.
~FIN
The memory cuts through his desperation like a blade, and his hands curl into fists, useless and empty. Seren is dead, and Ronin is breaking apart in front of him, and still—still—there are things that need to be done.
Remi swallows, hard, and forces himself to nod. "I will," he says, and the words don’t sound like his own. They’re raw and scraped thin, but they hold steady. His sea-glass gaze lingers on Ronin, tracing the shadows beneath his husband’s eyes, the grief that weighs down every breath he takes. How much more can he take before there’s nothing left of him?
"I’ll handle things here," he murmurs. "Send word to Flora and Mateo, then I’ll come to you."
His fingers twitch, aching to reach for Ronin, to pull him back, to do anything but watch as he prepares to leave. But instead of grasping at the Knight, the Bastion leans forward to interrupt the stream of tears against his cheek with a kiss that feels far too insignificant given all that has happened.
Remi watches as Ronin lifts into the air, cradling Seren's body as though she is something fragile, something that might still wake, even though they both know better. And as his husband disappears toward the lighthouse, Remi finally—finally—allows himself to look down at his hands, at the shaking bloodless press of his knuckles.
Lifting his head, Remi turns toward the crowd, his voice hoarse but unyielding. He tells them to go, that if there's danger still present he'll deal with it. He tells them to hug their loved ones tight. They don’t move at first, eyes flicking between each other, between him, between the darkened sky where Ronin has disappeared. But then, slowly, the tide of them begins to shift and disperse.
Only when the last of them have gone does Remi exhale, pressing his palm against his eyes as though he can hold back the ache in his chest, the memory of Ronin whispering that he couldn't do this again.
~FIN
If the ground gives way beneath us,
If we should fall to pieces
Find me where I first found you
If we should fall to pieces
Find me where I first found you
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
