#corbin maldera

It hurt.

Shiloh could do nothing but watch – watch as Corbin paced the house. Watch as Corbin wove his hands through his hair – that beautiful hair – until it got tangled and dull. Watch as Corbin wept. He wasn’t taking it well. Shiloh understood. All those months he’d had been away at Orr and come back anyway, to die alone in Kryta’s backyard? It was ridiculous, and Shiloh might have laughed at the irony if he wasn’t so busy watching it tear his husband apart.

He didn’t catch onto the pattern at first. Corbin wrote a lot of letters first, then began packing things away. Was he moving? Shiloh supposed he wouldn’t have been able to stay in the house either, in his position. Time was funny; Shiloh had no idea how long he’d been gone, and he was feeling fainter every day, like something was dragging him away. South. It was hard to pay attention, but at the same time, watching was all he could do.

It wasn’t until the agent showed up – A Lightbringer, of Shiloh’s acquaintance – that he began to get the picture, and it wasn’t until Corbin took the sword off the wall that it fully dawned on him.

He intended to fight. And knowing Corbin, who didn’t have a single military bone in his body, he intended to die.

Shiloh kicked the walls, he screamed, but by then, there was barely enough of him left to even cause a whisper in the trees. The cold, empty house was as unresponsive to him as Corbin was.