Saving a drowning heart often leaves you gasping for breath yourself.
Save Them
The shapeshifter sat down opposite me, his silence a heavy shroud between us. I studied him for a moment, the tension palpable in the air.
"I cannot save you," I said, my voice almost devoid of emotion.
The boy hissed, a sharp sound cutting through the stillness. "That's not why I'm here."
I raised my eyebrows, questioning.
"Dying alone is lonely."
A deep sigh escaped me, the weight of his words settling like a stone in my chest. I set down the glass I'd been wiping and focused on the cold, emotionless facade he wore.
Rolo didn't look at me; his gaze was fixed on his hand, which hung limply in his lap. There was no visible pain in his expression, just a profound weariness, an aching loneliness that seemed to seep from his very being. The only sounds breaking the silence were the soft clinks of a spoon and the rhythmic drumming of fat drops of blood splattering on the floor.
I placed a steaming drink on the counter and slid it toward him. His almost uncomfortably green eyes met mine, and I shrugged in response to the unspoken question. The shifter let go of his side and reached for the mug. His fingers trembled, but the grip was firm as he raised the drink to his lips and took a tentative sip.
A faint relaxation washed over him, his muscles loosening imperceptibly. "So sweet..." he murmured, savoring another sip.
I returned to my task of wiping glasses, the familiarity of the action grounding me.
"Thank you."
Gratitude flickered in his eyes, genuine and raw, and I knew that his thanks went beyond the cocoa. Rolo squeezed the mug and emptied it. When he placed the empty cup back on the counter, I noticed the dark red stains against the grey porcelain—a stark reminder of the turmoil hidden beneath his calm exterior.
The cold mask he always wore began to crack, revealing the raw anguish beneath. His features twisted into a pained grimace, and tears glistened in his eyes. "I don't want to..." he whispered, his voice trembling, "die."
"In your next life..." I began softly, a small, mournful smile edging my lips. "Come and find me."
Rolo's eyes widened in disbelief, and he snorted as if I had proposed the most ridiculous notion in the world. It was true; he had always been lonely, always facing the world alone. In that, we were so much alike.
Suddenly, a low thump shattered the heavy silence of the pub, and I realized I could no longer hear Rolo's quivering heartbeat.
"Shay?" asked Mose, his voice breaking the spell. "You alright?"
"Ah, yeah," I replied, forcing a casual tone.
Rolo held up a drawing, the image of a casket adorned with three rhombuses, side by side.
"What do these three rectangles mean?" Mose asked, peering at the paper.
"Not just rectangles, but rhombuses," Rolo corrected, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.
"Never mind that. Tell me what they mean," I urged, leaning closer.
"They are runes, from ancient times," Rolo explained, his tone shifting into a more serious register.
Mose frowned, the lines on his face deepening. "I've never seen this sign before."
"Of course, the runes you use are simplified versions of the ancient ones. Many have tried to reconstruct them, but most research hasn't yielded satisfactory results. Unfortunately, tracing these simplified signs back to their origins is difficult, mainly due to the lack of artifacts. Only a few are known to be part of the decoration of relics that have survived."
"In any case," he continued, "this should be some kind of warning. Although its exact meaning is unclear to me, I believe it indicates danger."
"I see," I said thoughtfully, a frown creasing my forehead. "I'd like you to examine the decoration on the chest. I'm sure you can glean something from it."
Rolo rolled his eyes but remained silent, and my eyes may have lingered on his face a moment longer than necessary, prompting him to raise an eyebrow in question.
"You look stupid," I said dryly. "I just noticed how much."
Rolo would have tried to scratch my eyes out if Mose hadn't held him back. I grinned mockingly and turned to leave, but as soon as I did, the smile fell from my lips.
I walked away, the sound of Rolo's curses fading behind me. Pulling a pack of cigarettes from my pocket, I stepped out into the cold night air and sighed deeply.
They are alive.
Another sigh escaped me.
They are alive.
I haven't lost yet... and this time, I won't. I lit the cigarette and took a deep drag, resolve hardening within me. I am going to save them this time.
I took a deep drag, letting the smoke swirl around me.
After chain-smoking three cigarettes in a row, I pulled the locket hanging on a silver chain from beneath my shirt.
"uǝzɐɯ."
As if in response, the closed eye reflected in the pendant opened, revealing Mazen's striking gray irises.
"We need to talk," I declared, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.
The eye blinked, then vanished, leaving behind only a simple metal disc. In the blink of an eye, the pendant in my hand broke in half. I heard a soft chuckle, and when I turned my gaze toward the sound, I should have been surprised to see Mazen's image mirrored in the window glass, but I wasn't.
"What do you want, Shaytan?" he asked, his tone unusually light, almost cheerful.
"You remember everything, don't you?" I asked even though I was sure of the answer. uǝzɐɯ's eyes flashed with mischief, a hint of the real Mazen flickering beneath the surface.
"Of course," he replied, and though he looked like him, I could sense the difference in his voice. He was Mazen, but at the same time, he wasn't.
"Why didn't you tell Mazen?" I asked, genuine curiosity creeping in.
"What is the one thing that means more to Mazen than power?" he countered, the sly smile on his face betraying his amusement at my hesitation.
I thought for a moment, grappling with the question. Was there such a thing?
"That's right," he grinned at my stupid expression. "There is no such thing at the moment. But I remember. I remember what the world is like without Lilinette."
My heart sank, a fresh wave of grief washing over me as I recalled Lil's bloodied form.
"For mages, temptation is the greatest curse," he continued, his voice heavy with understanding. "When I told him, Lilinette always paid with her life."
I pressed my lips into a thin line, the weight of his words settling like a stone in my chest.
"What is fate, Shaytan?" he asked quietly.
I paused, considering. Though I had only glimpsed the lives of past incarnations, I could see that I had taken a different path each of the five times.
Mazen's almost cruel grin widened, a flash of something akin to pity crossing his features.
"Fate is both set in stone and yet not," uǝzɐɯ explained softly. "Rather, I would say that each person faces inevitable events in their life, but they can unfold in various ways. It's like it's written what must happen, but not exactly how. Some elements are essential; others are optional, depending on our actions."
I nodded slowly, the truth resonating deep within me.
"Any advice?" I asked, searching his eyes for clarity.
uǝzɐɯ contemplated for a moment. "This is the last time the Time Mage could use her magic. This is our last chance."
I nodded, my heart racing with the gravity of his words. I understood the stakes all too well. As uǝzɐɯ's figure began to fade, I felt a mix of loss and determination swell within me.
"Thank you," I added, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't reply, but just before he vanished completely from the glass, he said quietly, "I am counting on you, Fifth King."
I pressed my lips into a tight line.
"You heard, right?" I asked, glancing at Simon, who stood there looking utterly heartbroken. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and I could see the weight of my words pressing down on him.
He nodded slowly, a heavy silence hanging between us. I forced a smile, one that was tinged with melancholy.
"It's okay," I said softly, hoping to ease the pain etched across his features. "We'll figure it out."
But I knew the truth: no amount of reassurance could mend the shattered pieces of my reality. The burden of what lay ahead settled heavily on me, a weight that I could not fully carry alone.
"Everything's going to be alright," I said, my voice trembling, but deep down, I felt like I was drowning. Four lifetimes' worth of grief pressed heavily on my chest, suffocating me.
As the words spilled out, they felt like a lie. My throat tightened, and I blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the swell of emotions that threatened to escape. I could almost hear the echoes of my past selves—each one mourning losses I hadn't even begun to understand.
"Shay..." Simon's voice was soft, full of concern, but I couldn't meet his gaze. Instead, I turned away, feeling the warmth of tears begin to trickle down my cheeks. No, not now. Not here.
But they came anyway, unbidden and raw. I gritted my teeth, trying to choke back the ugly sobs that fought to escape. I pressed my palms against my eyes, desperate to hide the mess I was becoming. But it was no use. The tears fell harder, each one a reminder of the pain I carried—a grief that twisted in my gut and threatened to consume me whole.
Then, I broke.
I didn't just cry—I ugly cried, the kind that felt like it might tear me apart. The world around me blurred into an amalgamation of shadows and whispers as I gasped for breath, the sobs wracking my body.
Simon froze. For a moment, he didn't know what to do, standing there with an expression that wavered between pain and helplessness. But then, he moved closer, hesitating only a heartbeat before wrapping his arms around me, the icy chill radiating from him wrapping around me like a shroud.
I felt the coldness seep through my skin as he enveloped me in his ethereal embrace. It was like touching the void itself, a reminder of everything I was trying to escape. I leaned into him, desperate for solace, yet his frigid touch was almost overwhelming. But at that moment, I craved something—anything—to ease the crushing weight on my heart.
"Shay," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of my despair.
I shook my head, a choked sob escaping. I couldn't stop the tears. They fell harder now, cascading down my face as I gasped for breath between sobs.
Simon patted my back gently, his cold touch a stark contrast to the fire of my pain. I cried for all the lost moments, the forgotten faces.
"Simon, I failed," I gasped between sobs, the admission tearing at my heart. "I failed everyone. I let them die." The weight of those words hung heavily in the air, a bitter truth I could no longer deny.
"I watched them die. I watched them suffer, and I couldn't do anything to stop it."
After that... the words poured out of me like a confession. Each painful syllable wounding me like a sharp knife.
Simon listened in silence, allowing me to spill my heart onto the floor, a raw and open wound exposed to the air. I ranted, raved, and cried, each sentence laced with guilt and grief. My voice trembled with each admission, a torrent of emotions crashing over me like waves against a rocky shore.
"Shay," he finally said when the weight of my words began to wane, "They are still alive now."
I glanced up at him. The coldness of Simon's presence felt like a blanket—uncomfortable yet oddly comforting. As I broke down, sobbing ugly again, Simon remained by my side.