Hope is a peculiar thing. It can breathe life into what was once dead, it gives wings to flightless birds; it wields so much power and promise, but yet, it is also soft, fragile and easily shattered. Lunafreya holds hope in her heart. Hope for the future—hope that he may still be alive, hope that she is not too late.
Unwavering will propels her feet through the rubble of Insomnia. The once immaculately paved roads are fissured and battered, splintering black asphalt with creeping tendrils extending in every direction. The elegance and splendor of the jewel of Lucis that she gazed upon the eve of the signing is gone—reduced to a graveyard of upturned vehicles and battered lamp posts against a backdrop of crumbling buildings. Over the course of a single day, the city is barely recognizable. like broken bones that will never set correctly, Insomnia a fractured amalgam of a crown city, haphazardly strewn together.
Lunafreya’s eyes lift as the early signs of dawn begin to bleed across he sky. The night is finally over, and with the dawning light her purpose is renewed. She will fulfill her calling and protect the future. She is weary, but hope is not lost, so long as she forges ahead. There is a sharp pang in her chest when she sees the glaive, ashen flecks drifting upwards from his body. No, I can’t be too late, she affirms to herself. Lips pressing into a thin line as makes her way toward him, scattering debris, disregarding how it snags and dirties her gown as she makes her ascent up the rubble.
She sees the struggle in his labored breaths, the flutter of his eyelids as he attempts to keep them open. I’m not too late, she thinks again and it’s like a silent mantra. Knees press into the sharp debris when she kneels beside him, but she ignores the sting of edged rubble piercing her skin. “Shhh… don’t speak,” her words a soft whisper that falls from her pale lips.
She meets his eyes, nods softly and returns his smile. Trust me, says the determination in her gaze. He is coated in dirt, but that’s the least of her concerns. His skin ashen, cracking like logs in a pyre, glowing with burning embers from within. “I do, Nyx Ulric. I’m saving you.”
Her palms find the rough of his cheeks, she leans forward, presses her forehead tight to his. “You also have a duty to King Regis to uphold,” she says, gazing into his deep cyan pools, the words of the late monarch still ringing in her ears.
[ See Luna to Altissa. Nyx Ulric, please keep her safe. ]
Lunafreya’s eyes slip close. Her steady breaths does not betray the rising anxiety swirling in her chest. “Blessed stars of light and life…” Delicate hands, radiate with a golden glow—strength leeching from her body into his as she absorbs his ailments.
Astrals save him—let him live. She pleads with eyes shut tightly, she implores for mercy from the Six that watch over from a place that cannot be seen, that cannot be breached by mortals, save for a tiny window; left ajar for the hands of a healer, the Oracle.
Searing pain trickles at first like molten lava being poured into her veins. Then suddenly it flares, wildfire unremorsefully charring her from within. Her breath quickens, becomes unsteady. Flecks of ash begin to drift upwards from her hands and arms. “I’m not… too late… I will sa– … save you… Nyx,” Lunafreya struggles to remain upright, pressing her weight onto him as her body tips forward, her forehead flushed tightly against his.
Shaky hands, losing their hold onto his face, save for her thumbs that frame his lips like two parentheses. It’s a struggle to open her eyes, sunlight pressing the weight of anvils on her eyelids. With determination her eyes flutter open to meet his. “I won’t let… you die here… N–Nyx… Ul…ric,” she whispers in shaky breaths, her body falling limp onto his.
Save me? No that’s not right. I’m supposed to protect you, Nyx thinks, but he’s too weak to actually give life to the words.
Her skin feels oddly cool against his searing flesh. A small oasis in a sea of fire. Part of him wants to lean into that comfort, to feel one moment of relief as his skin kicks away, like a boot sunk into a waning campfire. But it isn’t right. She should not waste her powers on him. She needs to leave, she needs to help the people. Lingering for a moment such as this bears no fruit. All Luna is doing is putting her own life at risk.
Nyx wants to tell her this. Wants to swat her hands away. But he can no longer move. His body is failing. His vision is little more than a streak of colour.
Yet, he still breathes. The sharpness in his lungs eases ever so slightly, air tumbling in and out of lungs with an increasing depth each breath. His vision fogs over then begins to clear, like mist evaporating beneath the sunlight of a gentle morning.
And then all at once that gentleness is gone. The sun is too harsh, setting something aflame, worse than had it been his own skin. Lunafreya’s arms. He can see her shaking, can see the skin starting to crackle and peel like broken concrete. He can feel her skin grow hotter as the inferno in his own begins to narrow to a whisper.
Her hands slip, fingers tugging loosely at the edges of his lips.The guiding blue of her eyes vanishes as her lids descend. Panic flares within. “Princess!” Nyx gasps out. He tries to grab her, to push her away, to end this reckless madness. She had said she was not afraid to die, but it should not be for this. Not for one man who means nothing in the larger scheme of things. He was ready to die, he took the power knowing the cost. It would not be her.
Luna wilts against him, a flower cut down by frost. He clutches her shoulders, leaning her back to try and see her face. Her head hangs low, increasing the alarm coursing within. “Princess!” He shakes her gently. She does not stir.
He pulls her back in close. For an instant, he’s back in Galahd, surrounded be people he wants to save but can’t. Trying to wake them. Trying to -
Her breath brushes faintly against his throat. A relieved sigh heaves from his chest. His eyes lift to the skyline, the ember of sunrise. How was this new dawn flooding his eyes? How was it the price had been unpaid? What would the kings demand in its place? Were they truly both alive?
Without realizing it, Nyx wrapped one arm around Luna, holding her gently against his chest. He could feel her heart, slow, but beating. His gaze shifted to his arm, to the skin: scarred, grey in places, but whole.
“You’re one crazy woman,” Nyx says with a faint smile, followed by a shaky breath. “You better heal up fast. The prince needs you.”
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