#wolshipweek

A hand lifted to rest between his ears is a silent apology. Apollo relaxes under the touch and soon enough is asleep. Sindri stays awake, staring up toward the ceiling. Apollo doesn’t want to entertain the thought, but Sindri knows the truth.

Apollo could survive losing him. If he lost Apollo, there would be no future. He would become a thing of feathers and claws and blood. He’d be a beast whose greatest mercy would be death.

When they start losing friends, Sindri knows it’s time.

Apollo won’t let the twins go alone. He’s about to move when Sindri grabs his shoulder tightly. They all look at him. Sindri says nothing. He lifts the chain around his neck and snaps it. He’s left with the ring and the stone. He holds them out to Apollo.

Shocked, Apollo takes them in his hand. “Wait,” Sindri chokes out. He takes back the ring and smiles slightly. “Mine.”

“This is yours,” Apollo says, voice cracking. “You’ll need it. Hydaelyn’s spel-.”

Sindri shakes his head and pulls Apollo a step further from the twins. “No.” He leans forward and presses their foreheads together. Their hands are too full, so he forces himself to speak the words aloud. “Not without you, not ever. I will not survive.”

Apollo’s shaking, but his fingers clench tight around the bright orange stone. “It won’t work for me,” he argues. “I’m not one of them.”

“You’re better.” Sindri kisses his forehead. He doesn’t say the other words. They’ve said them for years in a hundred different ways. Apollo knows. Sindri knows. They’ll carry them with them.

He steps back, hand slightly out to keep Apollo back. He’s crying which is the worst. But better this than the alternative. Sindri turns and finds a spot with the twins. He nods to them. Alisaie takes his hand, squeezing the ring between their fingers. Alphinaud takes the other, a slight shake to his hand.

Her choking, overwhelming loneliness takes them away.

Alone at the end of the universe, Apollo clenches his hand around the stone of Azem. Myth and legend, history and legacy, none of it his own. He presses it to his heart. He looks up and marches forward.

At the end of the end, a lost soul offers to free him of misery. Apollo hears her out. Her lamentations have lasted centuries and he has always been a good listener. But when she finishes, he shakes his head. “No.”

He looks down at the stone, marked for the sun in all its pull and power. Please let this work.

Apollo touches a finger to the stone and let's his aether grow. He pours it into the stone, desperate for it to respond. You're his, I know, but please answer this prayer of mine.

It takes his aether, bottomless in how much he can give it. It does nothing; it glows softly in his hand. It doesn't shine for him. It's not going to work.

Yes it is! Apollo grinds his teeth together and throws everything he has at the stone and its hidden magics. Aether ripples off of him in burning waves. He opens every gate, makes himself a conduit between himself and the stars all around them. 

His fingers clench around the stone hard enough to cut on its faceted edges. If blood wells under his gloves, he does not notice. The burn of raw aether consumes him. His hands glow white with heat; it seeks every exit from his skin. Smoke blows off him, mixing with the high mountain wind.

At the end of the wick when a candle flares with its last light, Azem's spell circle explodes outward. Figures are already there black robed and impossible. Listing to the side, imminently headed for the ground, Apollo manages to find his words. “Bring him back,” he orders. “Bring them all back.”

A snap echoes through the darkness.

Sindri is in a field of flowers. 

Half-hidden by their glow is a familiar shape, collapsed right at their heart.

“Apollo!” It tears out of his throat, the cry of the wounded begging for mercy. Sindri runs through the ethereal blooms, the scent of smoke thick in his nose.

He's on his knees without commanding his body to be so. He prays to no one. He's supposed to answer prayers and he cannot answer this one. Sindri extends a shaking hand, hoping despite it all.

A sliver of blue, Apollo's eyes just barely open. “Welcome back, my love…” He smiles. Aether burns spread from his eyes, from the corners of his mouth. So very gently, Sindri cups the side of his head. Apollo turns into it and sighs. “I told you,” he says, slowly. “I wouldn't let you.”

There are no words left in him. Sindri nods and carefully pulls Apollo into his arms. Hurried footsteps approach, healing arts sparkling at fingertips. Sindri holds him, Azem's stone cupped between their hands.

wolship week day 3: Alternate Universe