“You.” He utters bitterly and with enough strength to make me flinch. Both his words and body begin to quake ever harder at my side. My own pitiful trembling ceases as the final realization hits home, my body instantly grows numb; its final defense against the rampage to follow. With a mixture of shock, unwillingness to believe and pain—my cranium twists to see the unyielding rage that has built up into a hurricane of misery, self-loathing, and the worst, hate. The green furnace that he is writhing in, turns its claws to sear my heart into a shrunken state of my own personal realm of regrets. Spots around my vision darken, there is a clinching in my chest so tight I felt that there would be no point in drawing breath again due to the lack of space for it to travel. “You didn’t believe me,” he accused, blaming a previous fault; a lack of knowledge.
My mind raced back to that day in the Throat; I had deemed his experience a dark spirit playing toward some cruel jest. Yet, this apparently wasn’t a joke. The crazed laugh that has broken his face apart is far from the sweet notes of the child I had known—his shrill voice pitches higher into a nearly frantic state. Fina screams urgently somewhere in the distance, pressing against my lobe in an attempt to pry out what was happening even as a measurable distance separates us.
I had known the reason for Cera’s absence, feared the worst and been comforted by my Lord in the fact that he was still a member of this world, and alive. It was enough to know that he was breathing, even if it meant I couldn’t be near him. Now on this fated reunion. I didn’t feel that he would let me hold him, comfort unexplainable wounds that plagued the mind now more than his body.
Between his ragging storms I whisper two words quietly; spoken so softly it was likely nobody lest of all he would hear, “Forgive me.” But it wasn’t over, every day for the rest of my life I would be forced to hear, smell and witness the sins of some dark entity that held a face that was in all likeness. Me.
“Live on my own”
Each syllable had been a dagger toward my own self-loathing. From fear of failure, to wondering if I'd raised him without a Ma in vain. A Ma might have been there. I had tried, and obviously failed miserably. A shiver ran down my spine as if I were impossibly cold, though the air was warm and heart raced ahead. Outwardly my composure is unmistakably rigid.
There were no words of comfort to follow, Guacho stood by quietly—likely set on edge. I didn’t have time to worry about his feelings right now, or even give an inkling if he understood. Onni arrived quickly, led by a very distressed Phoniex that instantly landed across my shoulders—rubbing her beak protectively against my nape while eyeing Cera with small hum’s of confusion. The unbreakable Shaman offered her support and words of wisdom.
Before anything more could be said from any in company, the active part of my mind that still held some reasonable sense forced this body to draw enough breath for words. Words that would come so tender and soft, it would be as if I was speaking to myself or no one in particular, “I remember when eyes first laid upon ye; a humble child—a bright eyed cherub set to wander the dunes.”
Drawing back to that night I spun a fraction of our history, “The moon was hidden mostly, her gaze opened just enough to light our way. I was a soldier, walking patrols when ye found me.” Grim façade cracked just an inch, “Remember? We walked together that night and most eves after under the yawning stretch of our Magnolia.”
“Before the dawn of battle ye called me, daddy.”
The hairs on muzzle twitch back, and both ears slip ahead, “Ye has unknowingly become a savior many a time, and I have failed.” Slowly I reached out, purposefully drawing my muzzle toward him in an attempt to bridge us, “The beast which was killed saved me from damnation. He came into the dark world that had torn me from home and Helovia when your actions sought death—for death surely would have come to a soul that didn’t belong.”
I then described the parallel world that stood a mere veil away—I told them of the billions of pools and firelite skies. Of ocean water and starvation. I told Cera of how the portal had suddenly opened; stealing me from the cloaked world on the eve of its resurrection. Words filled the gaps of knowledge that I’d been hesitant to share after washing ashore. Most of all, I told them of this other Midas. How he had appeared, what was spoken.
Finally, when there was nothing left to tell I said, “He led me home.”
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