M E L I T A
She tried to mute the voices in the background, focus her attention on the battle, on little dots bouncing around a formidable foe. She wished she was closer, where she could see who and what assaulted the massive beast, where no one was arguing, where no one was foaming at the mouth, trying to determine who was better, which was more beneficial, which class deserved to be throttled. Amidst assaults and sieges, it was all survival; no politics, no discourse, only fluid, frenetic movement, one maneuver after another, until there was a victor, a triumph, or a catastrophe.
Melita inhaled sharply, a vicious gasp, when she witnessed monster flicker apart; it was one of those crowning achievements she was honored to have seen, blood and guts and glory, beautiful and vehement. She would’ve cheered, whooped, or hollered amidst that teeming brawl of abhorrence behind her – had a robed god not suddenly spouted out the inevitable, sinking crush of death ricocheting around her ears, her mind, her memories.
She knew Ronin, but not well. He’d assisted in building the Spark Bird’s perch. He’d been a mastermind of a guild, of the plans to destroy the beast before them. He’d led her and Wessex along the bone bridge, no sense of fear, apprehension, or unease lined in his shoulders, in his figure, in the way he moved. She might’ve been enamored by him, by his prowess, by his abilities, if given more time or instruction; because she admired those who were strong, who were brave, who were bold. She’d seen death before too, in waves of chaos and flights of fury, in broken, depraved exhales of pain and then nothing. Here, it’s in disbelief and shock, gone before the notion even began to sink in, a flutter of air, the crackle of ruin, a monster taking a warrior with it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to herself, to the man who perished in the ashes of achievement, sitting on the ground, tucking and drawing her knees towards her chin so she could wrap her arms around her limbs and wonder the how and why. It didn’t matter, really, truly, but hammered home the notion, again and again and again, that no one was untouchable, that this world was just as dangerous as the last, and there was no true escape from the certainty of demise.
But she’d always fight against it.
