Clay woke up, and suddenly alarm bells were ringing in his head. Everything immediately felt wrong. He couldn’t place his finger on it–maybe it was the sudden weight tugging at his head, or the coldness of his hands, or the absolute absence of pain he had just a moment prior–but it unnerved him, shaking him to his core. The chill of the room brought him back just enough to focus his mind on one thing, though: Figure out where I am.
This wasn’t the space center. This wasn’t even anywhere near the space center. Looking at the walls around him, decorated in bright, swirling colors with a pleasant flower motif, he seemed to be somewhere more distinctively foreign than he was used to. Where that was, he had no fucking clue.
His hands were free, unbounded by any rope or ziptie of the sort, indicating that he likely wasn’t kidnapped. He was free to roam as he pleased.
But this was strange. He was just in GYAXA, feeling so, so tired, with an unbearable pain on his chest, but now he was healthy and sound, in a dark, cold room and the faint sound of water rushing in the far background. As whereabouts weren’t an issue likely to be solved, his mind moved to the next question: Why am I here.
Clay’s only indication to the matter was the sudden pressure against his back as he stood up, feeling as if something fanned across his spine in a swift motion. It startled a shriek out of him as he jumped forward, away from the source, and whipped his head around, the issue became known: that was his hair.
Long, light blue hair fell around his shoulders, thin and delicate. What the fuck. Clay’s hair was neither long nor such a lovely shade of lavender, so what gives? It wasn’t a wig, as evident by tugging at the base strands, and he definitely didn’t age forty years in a second, as evident by his unwrinkled –
–tan hands? When did he get so tanned? And why did they look so…dainty? The facts started clicking in one by one, raising his heartbeat, releasing adrenaline.
He was in someone else’s body.
He groped around in the dark for some sort of clue, some sort reason as to why this was happening, what was happening, and how the fuck it could stop happening. And much to his luck, his fingers wrapped around a small piece of paper on a nearby desk. He unfolded it and read quickly:
I apologize for the confusion you undoubtedly feel. I would have organized an individual to explain to you the circumstances, but I could not find one in time. As compensation, I’ve decided to write to you personally. You, Clay Terran, are dead.
Clay’s heart (was it even his heart?) sunk like a rock in his chest, his fingers shaking now. He was… dead? Then how was he here?
I, however, am a spirit medium of sorts. I’ve channeled you into the living once more in order to see someone who misses you very dearly. I supposed you would have missed him as well.
Fuck, that’s right. Apollo. How was Apollo doing? Was he okay?
Below is the address of his place of work, as well as directions as how to get there. I imagine you’re distressed by your sudden likeness to a regal woman, so if you must, there are options for you to appear more… yourself, if you would like. If something happens, there is a red stone, a magatama, in a package to the left of this note. Tell Apollo to bring me back using it. He’ll understand what to do.
- Amara Sigatar Khura’in, former Queen of Khura’in.
Well, Clay supposed there was only one thing left to do. He pocketed the note and pinned his hair back, put on a coat that was strangely similar to his own, and made his way out of the room and into the light, searching for a long lost best friend.
The usually homey atmosphere of his agency only felt lonely today.
Apollo had wished this day would never come; that he’d be first to go. Having someone dear pass away never got easier, but with this person being the one dearest to him... It was safe to say he was having some difficulties coping. Would he have been able to accept it more easily if it happened in any other way? He wasn’t sure. But what he was sure of, was that Clay Terran, the light of his life, didn’t deserve the way of death he received.
Everything felt more dreary today. There wasn’t a ray of sunshine peeking through his curtains, even though it was close to noon. The sky was grey; upset. As if his emotions dictated the weather on this very date.
Weary eyes glanced at the calendar on the wall. Today was the fifteenth of December, the very day his best friend lost his life one year ago.
With a heavy sigh, Apollo managed to sit upright in his bed. Covers still huddled closely around him to protect from the icy wind leaking through the old building, he allowed his eyes to get used to the brightness. It wasn’t a very hard task though. Like he had noticed before, the sun was also taking a day off.
Messy hair spilt over his eyes, but today he lacked the strength to be vain and tame them. He’d just keep wiping them behind his ears when needed. He slid on his cosy. warm slippers to prevent his feet from turning into icicles on his way to the kitchen, though he made a short stop at the bathroom first before getting some food.
Honestly, he wasn’t hungry at all, but he had promised his brother he’d at least try to eat something, so he simply picked up an apple from the fruit bowl. That’d have to do for now.
The defence attorney let himself fall on top of one of the couches, tugged his blanket closer around him once more, and took a bite of the apple. Tasted like nothing. Not that he was paying attention to it in the first place. His mind was wandering to the little altar he had said up to honour Clay and his other dead loved ones; he should light some incense soon...
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