A ghost haunts Keith, at the Blade of Marmora.
As he tries to sleep on a bed barely better than a slab, it runs its cold hands over his arms and his knees, drawing shivers. When he turns to speak to an empty space, it laughs, a barely-there sound that dances off on the wind. At meetings, its lips ghost the shell of his ear, chilling him from the outside in.
While Keith has never been stronger, the ghost knows how to find his moments of weakness. Those times he is alone and sorrowful, memories clawing at his chest, are when it emerges.
He’s never seen its face, but he knows who that voice belongs to.
A mirthful smile, reflecting off a piece of broken fiberglass from a villager’s window in a strange planet.
“Shut up,” Keith snaps at it.
“I wasn’t talking,” his mission partner informs him over their comms.
He must seem insane. Keith feels insane. He feels like an undead creature, with dark-ringed eyes and frozen skin. An enemy sword slices through the vulnerable skin of his inner arm and he barely feels a thing.
Aw, does poor Keith have an ouchie? That’s what happens when you charge without thinking, team leader.
The Blade keeps him out of missions for a few days. Keith doesn’t miss the disappointment written on Kolivan’s face as he delivers the news of his healing time.
Snickering echoes in his room as he stares up at the ceiling, cradling his arm.
You suck at asking for help.
There’s no one left to ask. He’s made sure of that.
And if that isn’t the truest thing he’s heard in months. Some things— some voices— just aren’t escapable.
He resigns himself to fleeting shadows as he lays there, as he continues fighting, as he travels the universe from behind a dark metal mask.
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