Night had fallen just minutes ago, and one sole figure found itself wandering at a distance from the rest of the group. Letting a concentrated frown graze along the horizon, shimmering with the glow of the sun that had kissed the skyline, Mikleo strode along the pavement. He could feel the gravelly dirt underneath his feet, liked the way his shoes scraped along the stones without so much as a sound. Having grown up the way he had, he was long used to the fact that whatever he did barely affected his surroundings, that his breathing didn’t stir the air, his gestures didn’t move the leaves he touched, his step went by unnoticed.
The wind had picked up over the course of the evening and he was grateful for the cool breeze that picked up his hair and messed with the locks on his forehead. His mind was spinning, it kept dragging forth the uncomfortable thoughts and refusing to let the peaceful night calm his existence, merciless and entirely unhelpful.
Sighing, Mikleo crossed his arms over his chest. He kicked one of the thick roots protruding from the ground in a hopeless attempt at blowing off some pent up frustration, realizing belatedly that he was hurting nobody but himself. An irritable snort escaped him as he wiggled his foot, trying to chase the pain out of his toes.
Jeez.
The quiet whistle of breath ghosting through the fresh air made him turn his head just enough to see Sorey’s messy head approach to his left, his words almost inaudible in the night.
He didn’t reply right away, letting Sorey’s question and the hidden implications that came with it sink into his conscience. The grip of his own fingers on his upper arms tightened noticeably. The almost painful pressure helped him focus.
From the corner of his eyes, he could see Sorey’s breath as a small cloud hanging in mid-air. How he envied humans for all these little things. It seemed so unfair, so odd, that it was them, the Seraphs, who were praised as something otherworldly, mythical, almost god-like, by the creatures who could do so many things they couldn’t. With cold air, Mikleo’s own breath would come out in small puffs – if he were to breathe. And even then, nobody but the other Seraphs could see it.
Frustration bubbling up in his chest – for an entirely different reason than before – he directed a glare at the horizon where the last light had disappeared by now.
“Don’t you want to sleep?” He tilted his head to the general direction of the inn. “You’ll need all the energy you can get.” With no small amount of pride, Mikleo heard his own voice coming out low and steady, true to its usual appearance, despite the irritation he felt. A part of him wanted to punch Sorey, wanted to make him reconsider. The greater part, however, knew that he had to do what he was about to do. It was for the greater good, for the world’s peace and well-being. The smaller part argued that his own well-being was just as important, but he shut it down.
Countless times had he reconsidered; and as selfish and cruel as this decision seemed, it was the right one. Sorey knew that, and he dearly hoped for all his friends to understand-- that this was his duty, his heritage as the shepherd. And no matter the outcome, he would stay true to this decision and his own will, his only intention to stop the lord of calamity; to purify him and Maotelus with everything he’d got.
To save this world and all the people from further destruction-- and if it meant for him to become the vessel, for who knew how long, then so be it. He accepted it--
--but Sorey was not a fool. He knew that amongst them, there were people who didn’t want him to take this final step-- for he himself didn’t know if he would even survive it. He just knew how hard it was for them to accept this-- and especially...--
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”, Sorey replied calmly, stepping next to his old friend and resting his palms on the handrails. “--Or have you forgotten the times when we stayed up all night just to read books?”
As things were now-- it seems that he would get plenty of that soon.
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