Can you please please please write Asra coming back and finding that the Apprentice has died? Especially since I just read that one on the argument and ahdjskksmmamdbsbsvsbak like, him knowing that their last conversation was an argument and that the thing he feared most had come true? And the whole “I dug until my fingers bled” thing?
Ugh I had this all written out but damn mobile crashed, so sorry if there are a few mess ups I had to essentially write this twice. Warning. Long post. Death. Blood. Angst.
Asra didn’t know why he was coming back to Vesuvia. To apologize? To try and get you to leave with him again? To rekindle your friendship? To say a final goodbye and clear the air? That last one was a last option, he didn’t much fancy it, and if he knew you at all it wasn’t something that you much liked either.
Regardless, he made his way back into the city. The streets now felt almost foreign to him, desolated, dead, with a dark haze from the ash that permanently fell from the Lazerat as of late, and only the rare passing pedestrian. Off in the distance Asra could hear folks coughing. He covered his face to avoid directly inhaling anything in and made sure that the flap that held his satchel closed was shut right.
He didn’t want Faust getting hurt either.
Soon, the familiar shop came into view, and he should have felt relieved, but for some reason all that the magician felt was a residual dread. What if you were inside? What if you were angry? He’d do anything just to clear the air with you, Asra knew that already, and all he could do was pray that you were inside.
After taking a deep breath, he pushed the creaky door open, and felt only worse at seeing the cobwebs strung from the counter up onto the ceiling and across your old belongings.
It looked exactly the same as the last day that he had seen it, only dustier and…colder. Emptier. Asra figured you left soon after he had and probably didn’t return.
That wasn’t exactly reassuring. He closed the door, set the satchel down, and let Faust our. She returned to her usual pillow that was more or less untouched. “Home?” She questioned, and Asra shook his head. This wasn’t much of a home without you.
Slowly, he made his way up the stairs and to your old room.
Yet again, it was virtually untouched, and he opened up the window to air out some of the mustiness that had collected for nearly a year now. Out across the sea, he could see the Lazerat pushing black smoke out. All the magician could do was to pity the souls who had fallen victims to it.
“Where are you…?” He whispered to himself and pulled out his compass. He hadn’t used it in ages, but maybe it could help him find you.
For a minute, it spun around before he refined his question in his mind, and it jabbed straight ahead.
When Asra’s eyes followed the needle to where it led he felt his heart sink through the very floorboards.
Before he knew what he was doing he was sprinting down the streets and to the docks, he stumbled to a stop and held onto one of the posts for support as he caught his breath and stared at the island. There was no way that you could be there. There was no possible way. No way in hell. Right?
He saw a small abandoned boat that wasn’t even tied up to the docks, just resting there with grim repose.
Asra jumped into the boat without thinking and shoved his hand into the inky waters below and urged the boat ahead so that it ripped through the waves and sprayed sea water up at him. His eyes stung but he knew that it wasn’t because of the saltwater.
Please please please, he pleaded with anything that would listen to his prayers, let me be wrong.
The boat nearly crashed onto the shore, and he scrambled onto the shore to avoid falling over and getting too badly hurt. It had kicked up a lot of sand and stared up at horror at the plumes of smoke still rising off of the building a little further inland.
Screams tore across the island. Unholy screams reaking of sheer agony.
He pushed the thought out of his mind as he focused on the task at hand, he knew that if he didn’t-…well. He didn’t actually want to think about it, truthfully.
He lifted the compass up and stared at it in confusion. “But…” his voice failed him, there was nothing in front of him.
The magician followed the needle until it spun wildly, a telltale sign that he had reached his destination.
Asra frantically looked around for you, desperately hoping for this to be some sort of sick joke and that you would emerge and tell him this was just payback for him being an asshole.
Dig. A voice seemed to whisper in his ear, and, almost mechanically, he obeyed.
Tears stung his eyes as the grim realization hit him like a stab in the back. He was running headfirst into a fireball that would consume him and yet Asra knew that he couldn’t stop himself.
His digging became frantic as the mixing of and, ash, and debris tore his hands to bit. He began to feel desperate as he searched for something, anything, to be some sort of tie to you.
That was when his fingers hit something hard, and he could only stare for a moment as hot tears streamed down his cheek at the bones now resting in his hands. A scream tore his throat as he scrambled backwards, understanding that he was standing on not only the bones of the thousands of victims, but he was standing on you.
What little was left of you was nothing than charred remains mixed in with the dark sand.
He began to shake as the air around him hummed with grief, the water responded and crashed violently onto the storm around him, but they never touched your bones. His throat felt like it had been burned and he realized that he had been screaming and couldn’t even hear it.
He clamored his way back to your remains and sobbed, taking off his scarf to wrap it around them, and held them close to his chest. “I’m so-…I’m so sorry. You deserved so much more than this. You should have had a long life full of of-…” his voice cracked as he choked back a sob and cradled your remains in his hands as he rocked back and forth gently to keep from doing something he regretted.
“It shouldn’t have been you.” He said hoarsely and stood with shaky hands, somehow keeping from dropping the damned scarf. “I’m going to fix this, I promise you. I’m going to make this right. No matter the cost.”
2087
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