Chapter 198
Infinite Infancy
How long has it been? Sylas couldn't say. Hundreds upon hundreds of years, now, had passed at least. But to him, it all became a blend of a singularity, a trip that he re-lived so many times that he could recite it, word for word, event for event, from heart, just aroused from his sleep and probably drunk out of his mind.
Their progress was slow, but it was there–every few years of reliving the same story over and over, they'd push a bit further inland. A mile or two may not be a lot, but every extra mile or two nixed the length of their journey further. The armies that came out to meet them grew less and less terrifying as Sylas silently navigated and guided them into betterment.
As far as he knew, they were still at least two hundred miles away from the Capital, but that wasn't an issue–not yet, anyway. Currently, they were facing a massive, Count Yolt's personal army composed of over three hundred thousand soldiers, a tenth of whom had collectively more experience battling than Sylas' entire force. It was a beyond tall wall that seemed impossible to climb, but he didn't fret. His life here, in this world, was entirely composed of tall walls and mountains that kept him at bay from the things he needed. And just like those before, this wall would fall too, in time.
"What are you thinking about?" Asha shuffled over and rested her head on his chest, her snow-white hair spilling over. She sported a rosy complexion and a shade of red in her eyes. "And if you spit out a joke at my expense, I will pull it hard enough to rip it out."
"... man, have you always been this violent or is it just my influence?"
"A little bit of both," she replied with a chuckle. "You thinking of ways to move forward?"
"Not really," he responded with a shrug. "I'm just… trying to empty my head of my own will. To see if I can do it."
"Can you?"
"Not with your tits blasting in my eyes," he said as she sighed.
"Really?"
"We're almost at the gates," he said. "Even if that almost is hundreds of miles away. Soon enough, we'll be there. And we will win. It all feels so… pointless? Like it was predestined."
"You still have to win, though."
"That's the thing, though," Sylas said. "When the chance of loss is entirely removed from the equation, can it even be called winning? It's like I'm numbly living out a story that has to end one way, and I already know the ending. Like turning the final page of the mystery book and figuring out who the killer is–who'd be interested in living out the journey, then?"
"Hmm," she mumbled, drifting her finger across his stomach. "And here I am, simply enjoying my journey, also knowing the end."
"Yes, but you're dumb."
"Hey!"
"Ouch," he flinched at her sudden pinch. "Damn, that… hurt? Have you been hiding your strength from me?"
"Of course I did! I have to have means of punishing you when you're being an ass."
"Well, kudos. But I'm enjoying it too, for better or worse–but it has nothing to do with the story itself. It has nothing to do with going to the capital, or even the damn kids that I'm taking there. Part of it is you, but part is knowing that it's all gonna be over soon, and the curtain will fold once more to toss me into darkness of not knowing the next dawn."
"I don't get that," she said. "I always feared the unknown. Fire provides a beautiful, divine comfort–why would you put it out to see what manner of monsters creep out in the darkness?"
"I don't know either. I… I wasn't always like that. I don't think I was, anyway."
"You don't remember?"
"Not for a long, long time…"
Silence fell between the two and, as Sylas learned to be the case whenever he was with Asha, he found his eyes growing heavy and tired, sleep calling to him. He adored it, the feeling. With each passing loop, and each new heart–eleven, now–it was growing harder and harder to do the most mundane things–like fall asleep or even take a piss. His body functioned at such an optimal level that there was virtually no need for external maintenance performed by him.
Unlike most other times, he realised he was dreaming again. It happened infrequently, to the point where he'd forget to even wonder whether he'd dream or not. But whenever it did happen… it was quite a journey.
From the onset, though, this dream appeared quite different from others–he was in a strange place, a tiny, almost claustrophobic room. Walls seemed like they were chewing him, and his surroundings looked dead and nondescript. There was a simple nightstand, and upon it a black box whose name he forgot, and a source of light illuminating the area–though not fueled by magic. It was a lamp, he realised. Not the oil-kindled one as the ones he was very, very familiar with, but one that he had long since forgotten even existed. He even forgot the name of the tear-shaped object that shone golden.
Looking around further, he began spotting more and more things that misaligned with his perception of the world. There was a heater, he recalled the name from the depths of his mind, and there was even a tiny TV tucked in the corner. Bit by bit, as though someone unloaded a bundle of grenades inside his mind, memories that lay dormant for thousands of years began surfacing, one by one, in a seeming race to see who would kindle his-self first.
It was his room, he recalled, from when he was a boy still living with his parents. He'd forgotten the room, he was certain… and yet, it remained inside his mind, all this time, seemingly waiting to be called upon. It was an ordinary room, one that he was forbidden from decorating to suit his tastes. Posters of any kind weren't allowed, everything besides school books and clothes was laid out in the living room, and there wasn't even a lock on the door so that his parents could come 'in case of an emergency'.
Snapping awake, he saw that Asha was sleeping soundly as well, her eyelashes fluttering gently. Sighing, he reeled his head back and looked beyond the stars, beyond the ashen, night sky. He slowly slithered out and stood up, feeling the chilly breeze gently caress him. He'd begun suspecting it a long while back, when he had the dream of the Voyagers appearing in his mind–for at that singular glimpse that he was afforded in the reality, between the shapes that horrified and churned his heart and soul, he caught a sight of an intermittent eye, broken by the dimensions and laws he couldn't understand. It was the eye he knew, and the gaze he loved. And since, he'd begun seeing more and more trails, tiny, hazy realisations that spoke to him.
Glancing back, he saw that she was waking up, yawning. She smiled as their eyes met and he smiled back, almost by instinct. There was still two hundred miles to go, but there was duality to him, now. For as long as he never crossed them, she would stay with him, and he would be eternal. And though such a life would be a bore and same and infinitely depressing, it was consistent. True. Something he could live with. But it would change, he knew, after crossing the last miles, after fighting the King, after setting the Crown upon the young boy's head.
Perchance, she would depart, her mission complete. Or, perhaps, he would return to Earth in some capacity. Or die. Or continue living out a mortal life by Valen's side. But… he was hopeful. Hopeful that he knew the single possibility.
"What are you looking at?" Asha asked as she put on the silver dress. "And if you say the most beautiful creature alive, I will snap your tongue."
"... you've figured me, through and through, huh?" he said with a chuckle.
"No," she said. "I just figured your playful side. You never pass up on the opportunity to make a lame joke, no matter the circumstances. I am certain that, on your deathbed, you will turn to whoever will stay by your side and say something impressively lame, like 'write buried alive on my tombstone so that people get shocked dead visiting my grave'."
"And you'd go ahead and write it," he said.
"Oh, how mighty confident of you that I will stick with your ass for so long. What do you want for breakfast?"
"You saying you won't? I'll eat with the kids."
"Never say never," she walked over and kissed him lightly. "But, yeah, never."
"Ouch. What a way to kick the guy awake."
"Enough with your nonsense," she grabbed the pants nearby and threw them at him. "Get dressed and let's go. I don't want to rush back. I actually enjoy walking down the mountain this early."
"That's only because of who's your company," Sylas said.
"Yes, the winds and the birds are very nice."
"Man, you've gotten really good at being mean," he stepped out from their roofless 'cabin' that they fashioned out of stray rocks and branches and into the open plateau overlooking a steep descent from a mountain.
"Learned from the best."
"At least I'm the best," there was serenity within him as the two began descending the mountain. A clear path was laid out in front of him, and though he did not have much, if any, agency in writing out a story that will come to pass, another story will come after, he knew, and he would write its beginning. And the rest. He was no longer human–he hasn't been for a long, long while. He was something more. Not better, not worse, simply ethereally different. Life was not a string of events and regrets weren't mountains pressing down. To him, life was not a straight line going from the beginning to an end. He didn't quite know what life was to him just yet. Even after thousands of years, he felt an infant in this new world, in this new reality. What to humanity would be an infinity, the scale of time spoken of in societal aeons, to him was just a temporary beginning, the first steps he'd taken into living beyond life. And so much, he knew, lay still in the dark ahead of him, waiting for him to grow up and open his eyes for the first time.