It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Blake is racing towards the edge of the road before a scream has even torn its way out of her throat and through her teeth. Yang hits the ground, hard, and her aura dissolves, and Blake feels it ricochet through her like a bullet pinging its way down a cannon.
Blake can still feel Yang’s palm, warm, cradling her cheek when she’d walked back into the room and sucked all the air from it. Blake can still feel Yang’s strength, her steady presence, the way she always catches the other end of the line and pulls it taut. The way she always catches it. She always catches it. Blake throws, and her aim is true.
I’m not going to break my promise.
Blake throws, and her aim is true. Yang never misses, but her eyes are drifting shut, and just this once, just this once, she does. Blake feels like she’s swimming in jello but her pulse is racing. Her muscles set on furious fire while her heart collapses like a ruined soufflé.
Yang keeps falling until she looks small, smaller than she has any right to be, blinks into a pinprick, blinks out of sight. Grief pumps through Blake, agony and rage. She feels herself tipping after Yang, but Weiss holds her back. She feels the battle rage around her, feels like now that’s all she has.
It’s not enough. The spirit of the staff had warned them not to fall. But Blake has been falling for Yang since the moment they met – what’s one more leap of faith? She’ll dive into the abyss and become her own pinprick of light, and she won’t come back until she’s gripping Yang Xiao Long’s hand.