The corners of Reid’s mouth didn't just lift; they tugged upward with a slow, rusty effort, as if his face had forgotten the mechanics of a genuine smile during the long decades of being a monument. He hadn't expected company, not the kind that walked through the veil of destiny and the dust of years just to watch a man finish his dinner. It was a ridiculous thing, really. He was the man who had sliced the horizon in half, the warrior who had made the gods blink, yet here he was, looking at a stubborn priestess and feeling a strange, fluttering lightness in his chest that had nothing to do with dragon blood.
“Company is always wonderful, especially when it is a busty babe like yourself. I’m glad you came.”
The sun didn’t just set; it began to bleed out, draining the gold from the canopy and replacing it with a bruised, heavy purple that felt like a weight on the lungs. Reid could feel it happening, the precise moment the clock stopped ticking and started counting down. It wasn't a sudden pain, but a slow, rhythmic fading, as if a lamp in the center of his chest was running out of oil.
“The world will still have problems, the worst is to come, centuries down the line, something awful is going to happen, listen. History repats, right. This shit here, it’s going to happen again, but worse, so watch out, whomever carries my sword, is gonna need help, but the world, will be in good hands, I believe that.”
The light was flickering, casting long, shivering shadows across the grass, and he knew that when the last sliver of the sun dipped below the jagged line of the horizon, the curtain would finally drop. He had spent a lifetime defying the inevitable, cutting through destiny with a blade of gold and blood, but death wasn't an opponent he could parry. It was simply the tide coming in, and he was too tired to swim against it anymore.
“Don’t get too comfortable with the silence, babe, I got some more thinfs to say.” Reid rasped, his voice sounding like gravel being crushed in a mortar. He didn't look at her, instead focusing on the way the purple light was eating the edges of the forest. “Those Witch cultists... the ones who’ve been playing house and praying for a witch to return? They’re good right now. Docile. Like kittens in a basket. But the thing about kittens is that they eventually grow claws, and the thing about cults is that they always find a new reason to bleed something.”
Reid huffed, a sound that was half-sigh and half-scoff, sending a small cloud of dust dancing in the dimming light. He shifted his weight, the ancient oak groaning behind him as if it were agreeing with his assessment. He looked at Kikyo, his one visible eye narrowing with a flicker of that old, insufferable pride.
"Listen," he began, his voice gaining a sudden, sharp clarity despite the rattle in his chest. "The world's gonna cough up another Sword Saint soon. Some wide-eyed brat with a fancy pedigree and a sword that costs more than a village. Do me a favor and keep an eye on 'em. Make sure they don't get too cocky. If they start thinking they've reached the peak just because they can slice a waterfall or scare a few peasants, give 'em a kick in the teeth for me." He paused, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Though, if I’m being honest... it’ll probably be a few hundred years before any of 'em actually touch my level. Maybe a thousand. I set the bar so high the gods had to stand on their tiptoes just to see it."
Reid let out a laugh, not the booming, arrogant roar that had intimidated kings or the sharp, mocking bark he used on fools, but something softer, a genuine rattle of amusement that shook his thin frame. He leaned back against the rough bark of the oak, his spine settling into the wood as if he were simply choosing a spot for a long-overdue nap. For a man who had spent sixty years treating the world as a sparring partner, the sudden, absolute stillness of the air felt like the ultimate victory. He didn't fight the coldness creeping up his fingertips; instead, he welcomed it like an old friend arriving late to a feast. Death wasn't a monster to be slain or a riddle to be solved, it was a quiet room, a closed book, and for the first time since he was a boy in a burning village, Reid felt the crushing weight of being a "hero" simply slide off his shoulders.
“One more thing,” Reid muttered, the words barely more than a vibration in the air. His breathing had slowed, the rhythm now syncing with the slow, heavy pulse of the earth beneath him. He reached out and gripped Kikyo’s wrist, not with the strength of the man who had choked her years ago, but with the fragile, trembling hold of a man who had nothing left to hoard. “When the lights finally go out… don’t let them turn me into a landmark.”
"No marble. No gold leaf. No weeping widows in silk dresses singing songs about my 'noble sacrifice,'" Reid murmured, his grip on her wrist loosening as his strength finally ebbed. "Just put me in the dirt, Kikyo. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere the map-makers forgot to mark." He paused, a flicker of the old, cynical fire sparking in his eye.
"If you leave me out in the open, some opportunistic brat will dig me up in a century just to try and harvest my marrow or use my skull as a focal point for some half-baked necromancy. The world’s a greedy place, and my corpse is far too valuable a weapon to be left as a public attraction."
