roseleaf320
Creative!
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The battlefield is oddly quiet now that the other soldiers have gone. As my feet carry me towards Tyrril, I draw my focus inward, to the lake within my mind that has become my River’s raging source. My heart pulses like a drumbeat, each note bringing a new wave, a burst of warmth and life. As Tyrril thrusts her twin blades towards me, I leap to the side and swing my hand in a heavy arc below me. I relish in the warmth of my waters, in the relief it has given me, as my River follows the path I have set for it. My foe’s blades slash through air, but my River meets its target, crackling as it rips through the leather of Tyrril’s leg and bursts her blood onto the tiles. I tilt a leg sideways, to stop my momentum--
Agony rips through my focus as something carves down my shoulder blade. But she-- I swing my sight over my shoulder in time to see the flash of metal as a sword flies from the air to hover at Tyrril’s side. A growl creeps past my fangs, and I clench my hands to soften the screeching pain. An explosive I do not know, and swords that fly with no indication of magic. A strange unsettledness hits me, then, although flying swords are more familiar than warlocks or full metal suits that shoot lightning. Perhaps it is because I am alone. But as I send my River to my shoulder to soften the pain, its clouded surface reflects something foreign, uncomfortable. I taste iron as my blood fills the River with gold. Its current against my skin helps to steady my breath. I am the only one left to carve Chaos’ path; I cannot afford to fall for another trick.
My eyes meet Tyrril’s form again, and she mutters a phrase I cannot hear through my heartbeat. At her words, a thick darkness bursts into the air around her, hiding her from my view. I feel an echo of Typhe’s fury burst through my ribs, mixed with something curtling in the depths of my stomach. I thrust my hand forward, and my River follows, streaking around the darkness in front of me, searching. It cannot go far; it is an extension of me, an extra limb, not a creature to control. So I grit my teeth, pushing aside the anxious flicker in my chest that tells me darkness is for death,, and step into it myself.
It is frigid. The chill shakes my spine and bites at my fingers as soon as I enter, daring me to stay, to let it creep into my chest. It takes all my strength to keep my steps even, to keep my arm swirling in the air as it sends my River back and forth before me. It is like treading water in a lake freezing over, the unseen Tyrril a patch of ice I am desperately clawing at to keep from going under. I see whispers of frost start to etch across my River’s surface; I remember the empty pit that held me for so long, the cold efficiency with which I could work when I felt nothing. I push the River faster, harder, my stomach churning. I cannot go back; I will not die empty and alone here.
My eyes grow wide and my body stills as I hear a click. Her explosive.
Within my stomach, the churning River explodes, a jagged fear that echoes of familiarity. I throw my weight towards the sound, the echo of the wound in my side throbbing in time with my heart. I feel my weight crash into hers and drive us forwards, carrying her with me out of the frigid darkness. We slam into the ground, my weight pinning her against the stone. I wrap my claws around her arms and slam them into the tile, the explosive flying from her grasp. It clatters at our feet, and I thrust a kick out to send it skidding away. With a claw traced across my foe’s leather, I shape my River into a trailing blade. The memory of the explosion echoes in my ears, and as the River moves with my claw, its current churning with adrenaline, I feel a surge of recognition.
The Nessian approaches me, grain-gold skin and silver sword shining under the relentless sun. I am stumbling backwards, my weapon long-dropped, already bleeding from arm and side. Their green tassel flickers atop their head as they thrust the weapon in front of them, and I take another staggered step back. A splash echoes where my foot lands, water spraying up onto my leg. Was there a river in this section of the Fields? I am too new, too unfamiliar with the front to know. They slash again, and blood spurts from my chest, my simple leather rendered useless against their blade. I fall to the ground, water bursting into the air as my hands hit the river. The Nessian stares at me through the slits in their helmet as I grasp at the river stones beneath my palms. I am going to die here, I think; but instead of feeling empty, the thought is explosive. Adrenaline sparks through my body, my fear stronger than any spark as self-loathing churns like a pool of acid in my stomach. I have done nothing in life, I am useless, just as my mother thought, and I will die in obscurity, and I am scared of that knowledge as it erupts like lightning through every nerve in my body. The sword aims for my neck.
Water erupts from below me, a tsunami that crashes into the sword and knocks it away like a twig. I reach forward towards it, my heart still pounding. The water follows my motion, forming a thin arc and driving itself into the enemy’s throat.
It calls itself Eythyr. And when I leave the riverbank, it follows me.
The ripple of Eythyr fills my ears, ready to thrust its current through Order’s last soldier. I realize, with the same certainty as my claim to life, that I am not alone. Chaos is beside me, above me, always. It cannot fully heal my death wounds, but it can reverse their result, can fill my current with life again and again. The River with me now is its gift; my presence on this battlefield its last attempt at Order’s flesh. I am its last hope; and it has been mine, time and time again, ever since that day. We will carve this valley together, and with both our strengths, it will be large enough for all to walk.
I fill my River with all the pulsing fear, the whimpering despair that echoes through my chest at the prospect of death, of nothingness. They sting like torture, but they fill my waters with strength, chasing away the last of darkness's frost. Alongside them, I thread the heavy blanket that covers me in warmth, the stars in every color watching above, keeping me safe, filled with hope. I am its last Knight-- its Knight of Loss.
First, I send the waters into the empty pit of my mind, and I jump.
The water surges around me, caressing my scales as I fall into the darkness. That which I feared when I met Eythyr— uselessness, loneliness, forgettability— it is leagues away from me now. I have memories upon memories, and I am remembered enough on the Fields for someone I was not close to to cave my full name into a headstone. Erosion Which Wears Down Unshakeable Walls.. The engraving surges into the pit with me, its surface pinging against the dark, cold walls. I pull the most recent memories into the waterfall first: Siul’s arms tight around me, the weight of sister as it left my lips, the piece of Eythyr that left alongside her across her shield. I pull Lucien’s regretful smile as they leave, the strain in their fingers as they clutched my myosotis like I would disappear if they let go. Then I pull the flickers I remember from soldiers— my first captain in agony in the infirmary, his leg green and rotted, Fen’s slow head shake when she came to our tent that night. The pyres I sat at alongside Fen, some soldiers whose names I knew, most whom I didn’t, but they brought a pang to my heart all the same. The scream Typhe let out when the letter arrived saying his father had died.
And last I pull them. They bring so much water into the pit that it threatens to drown me, so many moments I will mourn for as long as I live. The way my heart dropped whenever they were injured, or when their own hearts ached in ways I could not fix. The way it soared, despite the battlefield, in a million different little ways. It carries Fen’s sweat and blood-soaked sheets, the bandages she tried to hide, the smell of her flesh in the fire. It carries the sight of Typhe’s blood across the barren ground, the feel of his limp weight in my arms as I carried him back, the pale gray of his lifeless eyes as I closed them with shaking scales. The water could flow forever and ever, and the pit will never be sated; I know a part of it will always be empty, will always echo the frostbite I felt for all those years. I have lost thousands, but my losses are what fill me with Life. And with Chaos, I will forge a path so that others need not lose the same.
I bring a hand to Tyrril’s neck, my fingers wrapping around the scar that Order could not heal. My River surges alongside it, tracing the hands of all those I have lost, its surface jagged with a thousand little streams. My claws dig into her skin, scarlet life draining from her neck as she once stole from mine. I am sorry, Tyrril, I whisper in my thoughts, and I mean it, for her loss is another current of life Chaos will mourn, and I will mourn alongside it. I send the wave crashing down upon her, Chaos’ hand alongside mine against Order’s final wall. A sharp agony pierces my back as we surge forward together. And this time— this time death feels like everything. For Loss need not be empty; Loss is more full than anything else in the world.
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