「 RETURN 」 : receiver believes that the sender has died, that is until the sender shows up at their door / runs into them unexpectedly. ( for flins from illuga; dare you to reblog the meme~ )
Captain Illuga is dead. Valdis, a member of the Nightmare Orioles, had come to deliver the news. Flins and Illuga had been assigned to different areas at the Kipumaki Cliff. Flins was accompanied by a squad whose leader had died in the most recent Wild Hunt raid, only two days ago—his role, to guide and consult, not to give orders, for their Starshyna had known his tendency for operating alone ( in a battlefield that was his own, and where he could unleash his power without holding back ).
Flins, seemingly unshaken by the news, approached Valdis, waiting for a moment so the messenger could catch his breath, before asking, ❝ Is this information certain? ❞ Flins knew no Ratnik would ever mindlessly spread false information in the middle of a crisis ( let alone someone from Illuga’s own squad ), but he could think plenty of reasons this couldn’t be true— unless he could cradle his lifeless body in his arms, the fae wouldn’t be fully convinced the younger one had lost his life. His behavior must have raised his squadmates' concern— giving the impression he was in denial, given the amount of questions he asked, an interrogation deemed inappropriate in such an emergency, and when Valdis clearly lacked the ability to respond properly, in the panicked and heartbroken state that he was.
' Mr. Flins, we know that you and Captain Illuga are close. . . But we’re running out of time. ' Flins is interrupted by the oldest member of the squad he was supposed to assist, and the one most likely to be appointed their new squad leader once this crisis was averted. Flins didn’t think he had been wasting time— it was necessary to know whether the Captain of the Nightmare Orioles was truly dead or not, so they could advance by building a different strategy. For his loss, would be a grand blow for the Lightkeepers. Time and time again, Illuga had escaped certain death, surviving against all odds. But none of this meant that he couldn’t have been defeated, succumbing to the vulnerability of his human nature. Why was it that Flins, painfully familiar as he was with how frail and short a human’s life was, couldn’t consider the possibility that Illuga was truly gone?
❝ Regroup with the Nightmare Orioles. I will handle things here. ❞ 'You can’t be serious.' Where did this come from? When had Flins given the impression he’d joke in the middle of such a critical battle? ❝ We must ensure our fallen comrades did not die in vain. ❞ A greater purpose to serve. That was what Flins had found in the Lightkeepers. In a world that wouldn’t make sense, in his pointless drift through time, he had found a reason to dedicate that exhaustingly long life of his. That resolve of his, of them all, could not be shaken by any tragedy. Or so he thought.
❝ I have faced far greater numbers and stronger foes than this on my own. ❞ They’d hesitate. They’d doubt his ability to think clearly. Flins would turn his back on them, his polearm in hand— the way he looked back at them convinced them to leave. Don’t get in my way. Seeing their numbers decrease, leaving a sole opponent standing alone, beasts tainted by the Abyss approach. His swift movements convince even the most hesitant to leave. Don’t look back. For the sight to unfold before them could prove to be more terrifying than the Abyss.
Once again, Flins had found himself swimming in the middle of a dark, vast, endless ocean. The Lightkeepers had been the light to guide him. To follow that light, he wouldn’t have minded swimming until his life reached its end, for that light had seemed to last longer than he would. A purpose greater than himself, a dream that wasn’t his own but one he could believe in, instead of succumbing to the nothingness that had remained of his existence— his life had long arrived at a dead end, void as he was of any hopes and desires. He had falsely believed that truly there was nothing left for him but to live only to serve. And yet, that purpose had suddenly lost its resonance. That guiding light had vanished, and there was only darkness to surround him. When had Flins replaced that light with that of Illuga’s lantern?
That familiar sense of absolute hopelessness that had driven Flins to his own grave had returned. Did it matter? How hard he tried to conceal his real identity. Did it matter? All their efforts. If what once was precious was lost, wouldn’t all their efforts be rendered futile? Pointless. Meaningless. To fight this battle, to protect these lands. And yet, Illuga had given his life for that purpose. While Flins had already lost any will to fight. Perhaps he wasn’t capable of imitating the human heart as well as he had once believed. Maybe only humans could find a cause worth both living and dying for.
And yet, he wouldn’t lower his guard or forsake his duty. To give them time to regroup with Illuga’s squad. To make sure none of the people the younger one believed himself to be responsible for lost their lives in his absence. The entire area got covered in blue flames. Screams would be heard by those who dared to look back, believing a new kind of monster had come to claim this area. To them, his flames seemed to burn not to purify and protect, but to harm. To them, it was as if hell had ascended onto earth.
Illuga would cry for him. Had cried, when he thought the fae had ceased to exist. Flins wouldn’t cry for him. Many in the Lightkeepers would, for the younger one had given a piece of his heart to so many, a part of him wasted on Flins. He didn’t think he was physically incapable of crying. He had seen others of his kind shed tears of both pain and joy. But never in his life had Flins managed to cry. He had experienced sorrow before, the kind where one’s soul is shattered, where he wanted to rip out his insides. The kind of suffocating sorrow that had once driven him to distance himself from the entire world, seeking the comfort of oblivion rather than the wonders of life. And yet, Flins hadn’t been able to cry, and couldn’t, not even at this moment. And yet, the news of his loss had changed something deep inside him, just as much as his presence in his life had, leaving a space in a body he had already deemed to be empty.
He shouldn't have let him get close. Flins, once more, had made the same fatal mistake— gotten too close to humanity, attracted to their light as he was, unable to resist. He should have remained a mere observer, but arrogant as he was, he had too much trust in his ability to avoid connection. A fool, to deny he had desires of his own, and that a lifetime of solitude wouldn’t suit him. A fool, outwitted by his gentle eyes and the kindness of his words.
Nikita. Flins wouldn’t think he’d find a friend in the Lightkeepers. A man who didn’t care about his nature or origin, a man whose wisdom had made Flins truly think of him as his senior, despite being far older than the Starshyna—the way he cared and worried for him, as if he were the same as everyone else. Had the news reached Nikita? Flins recalled the conversations they had about the younger one, the old man's concern for his future. What grave responsibility, to name oneself a parent, to give away one's heart to a child, knowing it could be lost at any moment. But you do require his aid, do you not? What a fool.
The fae had hoped it would be time, cruel as it was to all mortal creatures, that would come to reap his soul after he had used up all his days. Flins had hoped to watch him grow old, his body wither slowly as he reached the end of his life, until he faded out of existence. He had hoped to sit by his side when he closed his eyes and fell into eternal slumber. He had hoped to escort him in his last moments, in his departure to another world. A world he couldn't be a part of. For they wouldn't meet after death.
What were his last moments like? His last words? Did he die before he realized his life had reached its ending, or did he experience some last moments of agony? Did anyone hold him, comfort him in his last moments? He should have been there for him. How many times had he been by his side when the loss of others weighed heavy on his gentle heart, and yet, when his own soul had departed, he hadn’t been there for him. Would his soul find rest, or wander these lands, memories of anguish repeated endlessly? He needed to know what had happened to his body.
Flins, while fighting, had released himself from his physical body, his figure made of flames. His flames burnt fierce and powerful, as if putting on a show of power with no spectators. The sight of him fighting with no restraint was similar to the night he was reawakened. The same melancholy hung in the atmosphere while his flames burnt his opponents, their cries muffled by the loud sizzling of his flames. A yellow glow distracted him from the heat of the fight, his attention diverted to the source of the light. The light kept getting closer, and his suspicions were confirmed. Aedon. Could it be?
Only his figure remained, all flames in the area immediately extinguished. He watched a limping Illuga get close, calling out his name. He was still breathing. A new set of scars would decorate his body, he couldn’t properly walk, and yet, he had crossed all this way to find him. ❝ Illuga, ❞ he called out his name, no titles or formalities, only the silent relief that he’d call his name once more. Flins returned to his physical body, closing the gap between them. He offered him a smile—not the smile he’d wear regardless of who he spoke to. A warm, genuine smile, relief mixed with sorrow— the acceptance that he was doomed. That he had lost in this game of chase, where he pretended to waltz away from the younger one. The acceptance that he had let him break down all his defenses. That he also, selfishly, yearned to reach for that warm light of his.
❝ Please, do not do this again, Young Master. ❞
