Python had never given much thought to how it might feel to be dead. He’d figured it wouldn’t feel like much of anything, because you're dead. His end had been thankfully quick- the last thing he remembers seeing as a living man is Duma’s massive repulsive eye glowing and then- nothing. He’d thought that was it.
He certainly hadn’t believed in ghosts, and yet, here he is- perched on an orange tree branch, swinging his legs like he did as a child- a spectator at his own funeral.
They knight him post-mortem at Forsyth’s insistence, which is ridiculous, and mostly serves to drive home that Forsyth never really understood what he wanted at all. But it seems to bring Forsyth comfort- what little there is to be had- so Sir Python doesn’t begrudge it too much.
He spends that night in Lukas’ quarters, and many after it, because he can’t bear to sit and watch Forsyth cry for hours on end and not be able to do anything. Lukas doesn’t cry. That used to drive Python crazy- the impossible degree of calm he could have in even the worst situations- but now he’s glad of it. There’s an odd sense of relief to see that Lukas is still Lukas, especially as he begins to suspect that Forsyth will never be the same again.
Python tries several times to speak to Lukas, but it’s quickly apparent that Lukas can’t see or hear him. (He tests this once by telling the filthiest story he can think of- Lukas’ ears seem to go slightly red, but he still doesn’t respond, so that might have just been his imagination.) Once, he reaches out to lay his hand over Lukas’ on his desk, just to see what will happen- he expects nothing, but Lukas goes white as a sheet and recoils, shoving his chair back and all but fleeing from the room. Python doesn’t know what exactly he felt, but he doesn’t return again until the following evening, and the room is unbearably quiet without him.
Maybe it’s a sign that he could be reached, but he decides that he’d rather have the company than bother to try again.
Forsyth leaves for a remote post near the borderlands a month after Python is buried.
“I tried to go with him, y'know,” he says conversationally to Lukas’ curtains one night. There’s little point in talking directly to Lukas- he remains as deaf to Python’s spectral voice as ever- but he’s so quiet while he’s working that it almost feels like he’s listening. “Forsyth, I mean. When he left. Got as far as the castle gates, but that was it.” His best guess is that he’s unable to stray far from where he’s buried- why the hell that would be he doesn’t know, but it’s not as though being a ghost makes him an expert.
He glances towards Lukas, hunched over a pile of inventories at his desk, and flashes him a wry smile that he’ll never be able to see.
"Ironic, ain’t it? This was the one place I never wanted to be, and now I’m stuck.”
There’s no answer beyond the scratching of Lukas’ quill, but for a brief, impossible moment, Python could swear that he smiles.
Lukas is tired and unhappy, moreso with every day that passes. Python doesn’t need to be able to speak with him to see that. He leans more heavily on his cane every time he returns from a skirmish or patrol, and the dark circles beneath his eyes are plainly visible in the lamplight at night when he reads.
Sometimes, Python snoops over his shoulder- his reading was never good, but with years of little to do but snoop, it’s improved to the point that he can make out most words. A few weeks earlier, he’d caught a glimpse of Forsyth’s wedding invitation. There’s still a painful lump in his throat when he thinks of it, but mostly he hopes that Forsyth was able to find some happiness without him. Tonight, it’s a dry, academic text about the history of Zofia- Python finds himself yawning, but Lukas is enraptured, and it takes him much longer to finally blow out the lamp than usual.
In the wee hours of the morning, while Lukas sleeps, Python sits at the foot of his bed, sprawled and casual as ever. It’s been a long time since he spoke to Lukas and had any hope that he’d be heard, but tonight he does, and he sighs softly.
“It’s okay if you wanna go, Luke,” he murmurs. “You’ve got a lot more to offer than fighting, even I know that. You’ve given ‘em enough.”
Lukas submits his retirement the next day.
Once Lukas is gone, the passage of years feels somehow simultaneously endless and like the blink of an eye. Python just…exists, with no one left that he cares for and having long since given up attempting to leave the castle grounds. It feels as though he’s waiting for something, but it’s impossible to know what, so he remains, endlessly tethered to a place that means less to him than ever.
Lukas does visit the castle from time to time, and it warms Python’s heart to see him, even though he looks grayer and frailer with each passing season. His school is well-known now, and the younger knights- many of whom were his students- greet him with fond respect.
Forsyth never sets foot in the capital again.
Eventually, Lukas also stops coming, and one warm day in Flostym, Python finds himself hovering over another funeral.
Lukas is buried in state on account of his years of service to the King and Queen, even though most will remember him as a quiet, patient teacher who squinted through his reading glasses and gave advice free of judgement. When the last shovelful of earth is laid, Python feels a presence beside him, and he looks over to see a red mop of hair and a young, soft face that he hasn’t seen in decades. He grins.
"Lukas. You ginger stud.” It’s a joke from a lifetime ago, but for the first time, Lukas hears him, and his incredulous laugh is the sweetest sound Python has heard in a long time. He feels lighter, and finally, he thinks he understands what has kept him here.
“Don’t worry,” he assures his new companion, still smiling, but glancing out in the direction of a little border village. “I think we’re just waitin’ on one more. Shouldn’t be long.”
