@nomither, ❛ waiting for something you’re not sure even still exists? ❜
YOU FEEL LIKE A GHOST IN A SHELL, SOUL && BODY STILL NUMB AS THE GROWING PAINS OF REBIRTH TAKE THEIR TOLL ON YOU FOR THE THOUSANDTH TIME.
a miscalculation on his part, or perhaps something as rudimentary && unpredictable as bad luck, had caused leader’s early demise. the dank && cold atmosphere of foreboding basement crept into aching bones while pale fingers pushed against entity’s talon with a well - practiced determination. strength waning just as frantic footfalls echoed ‘pon wooden stairs && mouth was agape in a silent apology before bloodied palms finally lost grasp. there was a scream —— there was pain —— there was darkness.
YOU ARE NEITHER ALIVE NOR DEAD BUT SIMPLY ANOTHER DERIVATIVE AS SELF IS LESSENED ONCE MORE, HUNGRY TEETH SCRAPING AGAINST YOUR ESSENCE —— YEARNING FOR THE DAY WHEN THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO DO BUT SWALLOW WHOLE WHAT REMAINS.
there is nothing. dissociation between mind && body still fresh as invisible tendrils slowly release their grasp, delivering him back to his people in a silent statement —— this one has failed in his conquest for survival. eyes finally crack open as final, formless anchor recedes back into faux earth, blurred vision taking in four shapes that loom above, creating only a subtle contrast against inky, starless sky. one, two, three blinks before sight returns, familiar faces etched with worry staring down at resurrected survivor as they wait for his next action.
EVEN AS YOU LIE AT THEIR FEET THEY ARE STILL LOOKING UP TO YOU, SEEKING GUIDANCE && AFFIRMATION.
digits tingle slightly as they press against rotted leaves, each point of pressure sending small shock waves through him, the physical form demanding to reawaken as individual joints && muscles tensed under ice cold flesh carefully stretch, relearning their purposes. a desperate gasp fills empty lungs, small form shuddering from the action. it hurts.
BUT THE HURT MEANS YOU ARE LIVE.
pallid lips part as felled hero searches for reassurances, his mind already focused on those around him when it can barely focus on itself. even at your weakest you must show strength. but the words never come, && instead he feels himself being lifted into a sitting position, warm hands pressed against dwight’s back && grounding him as whole limbs slowly fight to remember how they work. motor controls were always a difficult step in the process —— children must first learn to crawl before they can walk, after all.
but you are not a child, you are a guardian. hands grasp onto fellow survivors && knees shake violently with the sudden strain as atlas rises to his feet once more, intense gaze directed towards clearing’s entrance.
YOU ARE BUT A SHEPHERD, WAITING FOR YOUR LOST SHEEP TO RETURN TO THEIR FLOCK.
distance between points of return measure a mere thirty feet, his plot is the closest to sudden break in the trees —— the first to be seen when others come home triumphant. but of course, that is not close enough to meet his own standards && expectations. he can hear something gruff from behind but the ringing in his ears is still too loud, his voice is still missing, && vision darkens around the edges as small man finally leans against a shady oak rooted next to entrance. he sighs.
he tenses at the question, now heard much more clearly, && a harsh glare is thrown king’s direction in quiet defense of his actions before emeralds slowly soften in an apology. you are doing your best. head turns back, && raven crown rests against bark until the more physical effects of resurrection have worn off, tired eyes staring down darkened pathway. && now he waits, ready to welcome back all who may enter, guarding against what hides in the shadows.
