Things we lost in the fire

Bastien

I will not say: do not weep;

for not all tears are an evil.

Bastien had carried Rexanna many times.

From their wedding to their bedroom, up their stairs laughing and joking, when she had come home injured; and now, when she was limp and cold in his arms, her body covered in a dark blanket that shrouded her face from all but Bastien, who was doing his best to look down and memorise her face between steps out into the wilderness.

A private, small cremation. They would have a funeral later with all the pomp and circumstance she deserved, but right now it was just family. Deimos had helped to protect her body, had been a brother and friend to her long before Bastien had ever met his wife; Hotaru was her sister and Kiada her daughter...Bastien had not been able to look her in the eyes when he'd seen her. Any chance to rekindle the relationship with her mother gone and he had failed to prevent it.

A pyre would be built from branches and sticks they carried in a small wagon and she would be turned to ash: her body protected from any ill will or desecration. She would be protected by those closest to her in death, just as she was loved: Bastien held her a little tighter, blinking back tears in his eyes as the early morning glow of sun just began to peek over the horizons, mostly blocked by fittingly heavy clouds.

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Finality spun, scratched and claws its way down his spine, rendered his breathing stilted. For all those days spent guarding her makeshift tomb, he’d known this one was coming too, and it didn’t make it any easier. Time after time after time he’d dug graves for brethren, for comrades, for allies, and then loved ones in between the afflictions of war and brutality. And today Rexanna would go up in flames, and he’d ensure the cinders, the embers, paralleled her strength, her convictions, her courage, honor her aspects of life, instead of the damned brutal, bitter end.

Movements were numb, seemingly nonchalant as his mind attempted to piece together what was necessary in the depths of the tragedy. Another poignant, haunting fixture eclipsing over the contentment in his mind – never for long it seemed – erasing those monumental occasions for the consuming, devouring edges of anguish and despondency. He maneuvered and ceased, stalking motions towards leftover brush, grabbing hold, and then continued the actions until his arms were full. Something to do, an action, a respite, however minimal, needing to commit to motion, the restless fringes and vestiges crushing lungs and that nefarious, blackened heart.

Deimos still couldn’t look over at Bastien, at the Penumbra clutched in his hold, couldn’t face it without crumbling himself. Over the last week, he’d barely glimpsed upon her, refusing, in those gnarled, decrepit, savage angles; yearning to remember her as she’d always been, instead of now. A steady breath was taken, a massive inhale to right himself, to bear down into his misery, to clench his jaw and continue in his machinations and ministrations, making the pyre, piling the dried remnants together.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

it's 2am and i took 17 shots of vodka trying to forget your name

but the only name i forgot was mine. and sober —

There were a great many feelings that rebounded within the Harpy. Most notably, at the moment, anger and frustration. She recalls the way she’d reacted to hearing that her mother was to have another child – another one with Bastien, one that she hadn’t been around to meet when they were born. One that she had resented for the sheer fact that her mother hadn’t even tried after she’d fallen here – only promises of things being different than they had been in Helovia, in the Rift even.

She’d be correct. Things were different.

Never once did Kiada imagine that she’d be there to see her mother’s downfall – nor did she ever imagine she’d be killed over LongNight when she was the Queen. And part of her is furious at that too, the fact that her mother had fallen into old habits of carelessness, of diving right into the danger without thinking of whomever else it’d affect.

So she follows along, at Deimos’ heels, iceberg gaze simmering with unshed tears, wanting nothing more than to rage and rage against being here. But she doesn’t. Because Deimos is here, Hotaru is here, her family, and including Bastien as well. How could she not involve him, seeing his upset at Rexanna’s death. She often wonders if her father would have even reacted the same way too.

So she sighs, trudging after and standing with nothing in her hands other than a small piece of Halyven she’d stolen from the Rift that had carried through with her, a piece of her mother even if this version was wrong. Something else to light aflame for the memory that was the Penumbra, the one that’d given her life.

— or drunk, you're the only thing on my mind

KIADA

my held breath fills the room with blood

hurting in ways I can't describe

The coming of the dawn had seemed like a mockery as LongNight was summarily broken by the arrival of the SparkBird. While others had stepped out from the Temple with gratitude and murmured prayers of thanks, Hotaru had lingered in the shadowed eaves. Staring blankly out at the sunlight, that which would have burned her sister's skin. How could she rejoice in it, knowing that Rexanna's body lay on that table inside?

It's little better to see her here, draped on pyre in the half-light. She has already cried all her tears. There is nothing but the yawning ache of loss now. A hungry, endless void that she knows she will carry forever. Hotaru has lost so much, at this point the process of grief is familiar. So she slowly walks over to Kiada, hand searching for the girl's as she stares unblinking at Rexanna's shrouded form. Silent as she witnesses this last shared moment, and sickeningly grateful for the opportunity. The destruction of Helovia had not allowed her any kind of goodbyes. No burials, no services. This, at least, is a gift that she can hold dear even while her heart continues to break.

my heart bends and breaks

so many, many times

HOTARU

Bastien

I will not say: do not weep;

for not all tears are an evil.

Eventually they reached their destination. To anyone else it might look like nothing: a tree by a stone wall in a field. To Bastien though, it was everything. Here he had gone with Rexanna on their first date, had proposed to her under it's branches, which were now dry and withered by the Deepfrost weather. Gently, he placed her down on the ground to begin wordlessly lifting the wood out of the wagon and building up a platform.

He had never made a pyre before, but he knew how they worked well enough to get a start; hopefully everyone else would follow suit to help him build up the mass, until they had something high enough to be a respectable final resting place for a Queen; when this was accomplished he lifted her body again and placed her down on the pyre, letting the blanket around her fall beneath her body as a cushion.

Bastien stood there for a length of time that could have been hours or minutes, holding her hand and staring at her face, stroking her hair; this would be the last time he would see her at least for a very long time, the last time he would be able to reach out and have her right there, even if her soul had long moved on. "I love you." He whispered countless times, wanting to be sure she had heard.

Then he took some steps back and nodded, indicating for everyone else to say their goodbyes: then they wold build up the rest of the pyre and Deimos would light the flames.

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

A small gathering of family, a weight of finality, and the crushing ache in his lungs simply started fresh and anew. Blow upon blow, sear upon sear, and every lifetime he’d suffered through continued to measure up to these moments. Were he a soul capable of rising from catacombs so easily, he might’ve recalled and remembered days beneath mountains, of tents painted and draped in vibrant hues, of worlds upon worlds conquered and divulged. Instead, the inward scars gnarled and loomed larger than before – a devastating laceration along the columns and vessels of his blackened heart, and he wondered why he’d ever bothered striving for anything beyond numbness. Wouldn’t he be better off, to drown, to live in the soulless darkness, to only thrive with a scythe in hand, than to ever experience this misery again and again and again?

Deimos gathered more sticks, more brush, more broken brambles that wouldn’t escape the pending fire’s clutches, and when Bastien was done, he stepped forward, placed them down along the rest of the pyre’s adornments.

And finally took a look at his fallen friend, beneath blankets, so the sun couldn’t scorch what remained.

He hadn’t, not once since her demise, truly stared at her still, prone form. The Sword wanted to preserve memories, of a laughing Rexanna, teasing and mocking him for something ridiculous, of a Thief donned in her all-knowing snicker and smirk, of a newly recruited, golden thing pretending to bow to a frozen King. Not this – pale and lifeless, unmoving, no gilded accoutrements, no barbed tongue, no wily convictions.

She would haunt him, as another beloved he couldn’t save.

The Sword went to his knees before her altar, head bowed, eyes closed; the scorching ghosts catching him alight and letting him burn in the thick of sorrow. No tears were shed, no voice given, save for the silent convictions, restless in the back of his throat. They pulsed and pushed outward, and he wished she might be able to hear, from somewhere in realms he couldn’t touch. I am sorry. It was not supposed to be this way. He couldn’t beg her forgiveness, couldn’t plead for her absolution, but still it pressed and seared along his mind. I am proud of you, for everything you have ever accomplished. For your wit. For your cunning. I just wish you were still here. His jaw clenched, and he finally rose, hands unfurling tiny pins – one a sun eclipsed, another a mountainside, tucking them into the blanket.

One last hushed reverberation loomed, and then he backed away. We will see one another again. I will make sure of it.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

it's 2am and i took 17 shots of vodka trying to forget your name

but the only name i forgot was mine. and sober —

It isn’t made easier by seeing her mother placed upon the pyre once it’s been erected. It keeps her silent, however, twitching slightly when Hotaru’s hand slips into hers and she looks over toward her aunt with eyes full of glassy tears, face red and eyes puffy. She intertwines her fingers with Hotaru’s, tearing her attention away from where her mother’s placed to give her a hug, to wrap her arms around the Valkyrie and let some of the connection grow.

Hotaru had been a second mother to her, not unlike Amalia is now.

But she hears Deimos’ silent attuned bond apologies. And it tears her open, burying her face into Hotaru’s chest, tears streaming down her cheeks and wetting Hotaru’s shirt – the soft whispers of her aunt and the soft stroking of dark hair making it somewhat better and yet still not the same. She never realized how much she’d miss her mother, half okay with the idea of never realizing she’d been here if only to not have to deal with this sudden heartbreak.

Part of her feels lost as she listens to Deimos’ silent goodbye, knowing how much shit they’d talked about her mother in the darkest of nights, out of amusement and jokes – but she’d meant so much to both of them. So incredibly much.

But then it’s her turn, and she shifts a bit in Hotaru’s embrace, pulling herself away to wipe at her eyes, to sniffle back the effect of her running nose with this, sorrow breaking open her heart as she takes a look at what was left of her mother, ready to be burned. She doesn’t care if anyone can hear her, not as she places the piece of rubble onto the pyre to burn with her. “I took this… From the Rift because it was your home. And I know you weren’t… The same as I remember you were. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.” Her voice shakes and wavers, cracking here and there as she fights back more tears, breaking apart in a million pieces. “I miss you. I always did. And I was mad for a long time about what happened, and you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, mom.” It trails off into a whisper at the end, her hand leaving the pyre as she goes to step back – attention drawn to Bastien then, stepping back to stand beside him and wipe at her eyes, head ducked as she moves to let Hotaru say her own goodbye as well.

— or drunk, you're the only thing on my mind

KIADA

my held breath fills the room with blood

hurting in ways I can't describe

Kiada is a familiar shape against her breast, and she holds her tightly there as if to keep her safe from all grief and turmoil. It's a fantastical idea; she knows that there is no evading this particular kind of pain, not when she has experienced it herself, kneeling in the snow before her parents shrine of intertwined trees and wondering why she hadn't mended bridges long before. Hotaru doesn't have any words of comfort for any of them. She has stood in their shoes, all of them; she has lost sister, lover, and mother. No words could have comforted her then, and she does not try and find new ones for her family now. This was something they would have to struggle through together, step by miserable step.

Gently releasing Kiada for her goodbyes, she lingers in wait, watching as everyone says their goodbyes. She isn't ready. There will never be a good time for this, for the finality of last words. Hotaru knows they won't be final, not really. Knows she will speak to Rexanna in some manner akin to prayer, will always keep her alive in her own heart. But there is still a sense of goodbye here that looms above her, oppressive and unforgiving. It makes every heartbeat sluggish, and though her steps do no falter as she moves towards the pyre she feels as if she's walking through tar. Swimming in an endless ocean, searching for the one person who had always kept her afloat, and realizing in this final moment that she never will now.

Leaning over the shroud, she presses her forehead to her sister's shoulder. "You were the light that consoled me in all of my storms. I don't know what I will do without you, beloved." A hand lifts to gently press over Rexanna's heart. "You were the first and truest friend I ever had, and nothing can ever replace that. I will carry you in my soul until I breathe my last. I will love you for as long as my spirit remembers your smile." She thought she had no more tears to cry, but they come now, unexpected and hot against her cheeks as they fall. "I loved you as I've loved no other. And I never shall again. My sister, my confidant, my soulmate." Her shoulders shake as the whispered words shudder and crack. "I am yours, eternally. And you will never truly die, for I will love and remember you always." Lifting away, she brushes away her tears and turns away before she gives into the notion of climbing up there beside her to be carried away where they might reunite. Moving this time to Deimos' side, to tuck herself at his shoulder and let their shared grief unite them for a moment more.

my heart bends and breaks

so many, many times

HOTARU

Bastien

I will not say: do not weep;

for not all tears are an evil.

Bastien felt numb as he watched everyone else go to speak to Rexanna. Deimos, ever stoic, appeared to be silent from the outside; sometimes he wished he could have that kind of quiet dignity, something that his tendency for the dramatics rarely allowed him. Kiada and Hotaru both spoke and he purposefully did not listen; as well as a respect for their privacy he knew hearing it would likely start the flood of tears again.

Finally Hotaru stepped back, and so it was time. Bastien took some steps away: as much as he wanted to stand right by the pyre until the heat became too much, he knew as an Ascended it would be foolish to do so. Looking over to Deimos to catch his eye, he nodded just once: go ahead.

As soon as the pyre was up in flames, he focused only on the rising smoke; to look at what was burning would be too much. His lips moved silently as he thought of old prayers and rites from Italy, none of which could balm the wounds of this moment but they could at least provide some kind of ceremony to it all; as if it were important, as if it mattered.

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Silence, the taciturn, reserved doldrums, held him together while the rest added their devotion, their regrets, their apologies. Numb, cold, taut, rigid, he stood stock still, as he’d done with all other catacomb reaches, battered against the rocks, the waves, waiting to spiral and sink. The bile choked, the remnants collided, and he was merely stone, rubble, and ruin, remaining upright because it was the only thing he could do in these scattered moments, in the finality of everything. In another life and time, he’d been the sunken one, the beast perished beneath rainfalls and nothingness, and to have it turned, twisted back on him, was a paralyzing weight. The beast felt Hotaru at his side rather than saw; his eyes sliding away from the rendered brush, the immobile form of his best friend, and to Bastien. One nod followed, and he steeled himself once more.

But within his blood stoked denizens of fire – and he ignited it now.

Every frustration, every vexation, every coil, contortion, and soulless irreverence gave into the flames. Every assemblage of rage, of not being able to do anything at all, harpooned and lanced, brought them from smoking fumes to bristling accord. The flames snapped at brush, popped at sticks, devoured, consumed, and swallowed the motions below, until they were bright, illustrious, seething things, potent, powerful, and reaching, reaching, reaching towards the sky. There they settled upon her, across her, coaxing a form into ash, but never dust.

And beyond his wrath, his heartache, his anguish, the beast orchestrated visions within the inferno: a sun, streaks of power undulating in their bestial, vibrant shades, followed by an eclipse, covering, until they maneuvered into cloaks, into daggers, into symbols of worlds she’d long since left behind. There were shades of mountains, of summits, rising from the abyss, crimson and effervescent, dreams of yesteryears colliding into the present, crowns adorned in ichor, blistering, maneuvering pieces of what she once was. There wasn’t any way to perfectly embody Rexanna; but he fed the embers, the cinders, the conflagration with what he’d always known, presiding in absolution, in sanctuaries, in sanctums, in memories, for eternities.

Then maybe others too would contribute to her story, and she wouldn’t be forgotten, a legacy untarnished.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

it's 2am and i took 17 shots of vodka trying to forget your name

but the only name i forgot was mine. and sober —

Try as she might to not listen to Hotaru’s own quiet goodbyes, she still hears them. She still breaks with them, letting them wash over her and drown her own sorrow with it. Hotaru had known her mother longer than Kiada had, and while she’d had that blood attachment to the Penumbra, it was Hotaru’s companionship that had made her an aunt, a second mother when Rexanna wasn’t around. And now? Now the Penumbra was gone.

She waits for when the Valkyrie steps back, shuddering breaths reaching her as she shivers and clings to her aunt while Deimos moves to light the pyre, letting the fire reflect in her red rimmed eyes. She pulses her love to Deimos, her appreciation for him being the one to light the flame, but for the rest of it, she simply steps back and watches as her mother burns.

She watches as her mother takes the last piece of Halyven with her too.

And finally, when she can’t stand to look anymore, her gaze drops to the ground, eyes squeezing shut as she lets herself embrace her emotions and sorrow.

— or drunk, you're the only thing on my mind

KIADA