From an IG prompt:
It was freezing.
The Primordial's heavy presence was a constant reminder that she had eternity to wait for the reaper in his arms. He had raged, stubbornly resisted her calm requests to let Chase go.
He's not dead!
Silas refused to accept it. He was just tired, taking on all of those creatures by himself. As long as Silas can give him his life force or whatever Chase called it, Chase will open his eyes. He had to. There were so many things they had to do when they got back to base.
You promised, Moonbeam…
But the emptiness that pressed against his skin where Chase's still hand rested was slowly penetrating the wall of denial Silas was desperately trying to rebuild every time a crack appeared. It broke him.
He'd take anything. A slap. A punch or kick. Stab. Body slam. The deathly pull on his energy. Anything but this silence…
Silas' dark eyes dragged over Chase's features, refusing to let go even as the weight in his arms and the emptiness in his touch told him what his mind would not accept.
The golden hair that once caught light now lay dull against the grimy forehead, strands brushing lids that would never lift again to unleash that emerald fire that burned and froze Silas so many times. High cheekbones, drained of color, would no longer flush crimson with anger or embarrassment when Silas pushed every button Chase specifically asked not to push.
Lips that had been quick to cut were now slack. No biting remark. No honeyed threats. No whispered pleas to hold the reaper closer.
Silas' grip tightened, as if the pressure alone could force breath back into the still chest, could summon one more insult, one scathing dig at his beard. He'd give anything to hear Chase say that he was ready. Ready to love again if it was Silas.
The warmth was gone. The body in his arms was only that—a body. An empty shell.
Chase was gone—and no memory of flashing green eyes or whispered vows could change the inevitable truth pressing down on him now.
Silas' large frame trembled as he pressed his forehead against Chase's, shutting his eyes against the flood of tears clawing their way free. Breath hitching, voice raw and uneven.
“You know…we still got time before that sunset you wouldn't shut up about…
The words scraped out of him, strangled by the lump lodged in his throat. “…but I guess you'll miss the sunrise, too.”
The tears came anyway, carving tracks through the dirt smeared across his face. Silas bent, desperate, and pressed his mouth to Chase's lips—one last kiss, one last plea that something might stir. But the reaper stayed still in his arms.
When Silas pulled back, his chest hollowed by the weight of what he held, he pressed another kiss to he reaper's cold forehead. His whisper broke the oppressive silence of that battlefield, softer than prayer, heavier than promise.
“You owe me a date, Moonbeam…”
“It's time, Councilor.”
The air thickened as the Primordial Xylia stepped closer, making Silas' grip on Chase falter. He wanted to fight her, to keep Chase, to deny the truth. His hands shook as he tried to hold on but the shadows have already crept across the reaper's body and started to pull him in.
“No!” Silas rasped, every muscle screaming against surrender. But the shadow's pull was inexorable. His arms slackened tears blurring his vision as they fell harder, watching as Chase was claimed by the Abyss—beyond Silas’ mortal reach.
Silas' head bowed, his ragged cries echoing in the canyons as acceptance carved itself deep in his bones. Chase was gone.
And all Silas could do was let him go.
