Chapter 138. Weeping Willow (Patreon)

Ian had spent the last week preparing for when he needed to kill himself. He closed his eyes and focused on the riftbeast soul gem on his chest, its surface scintillating in the light of the sunset and the ambient pink-purple glow of the wyrm bones.

“When I die, the soul gem is going to keep everything going for–”

“Twenty seconds, I know,” Euryphel muttered, his voice filled with urgency. “If something happens and you take longer than that, all of your constructs are going to fall apart.”

Ian sniffed. Euryphel had no idea how difficult it was to maintain control of constructs after death: Considering the number of constructs, achieving full autonomy for twenty seconds was a feat of strength. The fact that he also programmed two auxiliary soul gems to keep his body in stasis added to the complexity.

But twenty seconds was cutting things close. Ian had practiced dying a handful of times in and out of Euryphel’s scenarios, but the time to come back varied: Sometimes it would be ten seconds, other times fifty or even one-hundred. Even when Euryphel ran scenarios in immediate succession, the times could still vary.

“I’ll be able to keep the wyrm in the sky for at least another twenty seconds,” Euryphel said. “But I don't think that’ll be necessary.”

Ian sighed. “Alright, I’m going. See you in a few.”

Ian made the necessary preparations, then severed the mortal coil. He found himself in a dark void spanned by glowing golden wings splaying out from his back. A sanguine crown rotated in front of his face, arrow-point embellishments jutting like bloody pikes.

We’ve been playing with life and death, a voice sounded out. Have you ever considered the veil between might grow weathered?

Ian frowned and raised a rainbow hand up to the crown, flicking it. It began to spin faster, appearing almost like a solid cylinder.

I don’t take pleasure in killing myself, Ian retorted. After today, hopefully I’ll never have to do so again.

What we want isn’t what is.

Ian smiled bitterly. Perhaps.

The crown stopped spinning. Ian held it gingerly between his two hands and began to dismantle it, pulling the arrows apart until he was left with fifteen crooked shafts connected to fifteen sharp points. Golden arrows from his wings instinctively shifted to hold thirteen red arrows aloft. Ian held the final two in his hands. He held them out horizontally; soon all arrows were arranged tip to tail. In a flash of red, they fused together and melted down into a red thread.

Time to return. Ian pointed the arrow constituting his index finger out, its talon-like tip resting on the red thread. He applied pressure and the arrowtip sliced downward. In an instant, the space of Ian’s soul folded inward and collapsed.

Ian came back to his body, his face gaunt and eyes wide. He took a deep breath and began to cough, wincing as he felt his head.

“You knocked your head against the ribcage three seconds before you woke,” Euryphel grunted, his form slumped to the side of the wyrm. “You went slightly over.”

Ian nodded. Several of his constructs outside had begun to fall apart, but Ian could undo the damage of a few seconds without much effort. His hand felt for the riftbeast soul gem on his chest.

Euryphel walked closer and sat down on the ground next to Ian, sagging with exhaustion. “This next part is going to be the most dangerous because we’ll both be incapacitated and I won’t be able to see into the future. I don’t need to tell you to move quickly, but...move quickly.”

Ian knocked the prince unconscious, lowered him to the floor, and set to work. Ian placed one hand on Euryphel’s chest and the other on his back, preparing in advance the soul tethers needed to keep the prince’s soul rooted in place.

With a stuttered breath, Ian killed his friend...and a few seconds later entered into a new world.

Ian froze, finding himself on the precipice of a massive cliff. Ian turned around and realized that he was standing at the start of a path extending into the darkness, a thin sliver of rock illuminated by bright light. Only emptiness existed on either side of the path, the depths absorbing light such that none returned.

Ian began to walk along the path, noting that up close, the ground was composed of arrows arrayed over one another and pounded flat like autumn leaves on a well-trod path.

Euryphel? Ian called out, confused. He knew that time passed in souls passed unpredictably, but he didn’t think that traversing a seemingly-endless path into the darkness was the best use of time. There should be a reason he landed here within Euryphel’s soul.

Eury...why do I get the sense I’ll never find you on this high road?

Ian stood in place, contemplating his next steps. With a sigh, he ran forward and jumped off the edge of the path, plummeting into the abyss. The high road fell further away, soon becoming a single sliver of light, like the moon’s edge before an eclipse.

Euryphel! Ian called out again.

Suddenly Ian stopped, crashing onto a hard object that would’ve brained him in the real world. Ian grasped onto the surface like a sloth, arms and legs wrapped around it.

He blinked. Is this...a tree? He pulled himself up and inched forward, following the branch. Ian slipped and fell, his hands reaching out for purchase and finding thin, leafy vines. He grabbed enough of them that they supported his weight. Rather than returning to the branch, Ian slid down the vines, following them until they stopped just above the ground.

The terrain felt like dry, craggy dirt, hard and brittle. He ran his hands over the vines as he walked forward until his foot tapped the base of a wide, withered trunk. Ian traced its bark with his fingers, brows creasing in contemplation.

Eury...why is your soul so odd?

Ian wasn’t sure what to do next, but if he knew one thing from spending time in his own soul, it was to act on instinct, going with the flow. Without much forethought, Ian made a fist and knocked on the trunk with his hand.

The tree began to glow a blackened red, like hardening magma. Cracks appeared over it that shined light alternating gold and blue.

Ian now beheld a towering willow tree, its glowing roots extending out into the featureless distance as far as he could see. He noticed that the tree was severely shriveled and twisted; if he didn’t feel or see the leaves on the vines, he would’ve guessed that the tree were dead.

Suddenly the trunk began to shift, bark peeling away to reveal a form cloistered within. Euryphel’s upper torso was now visible, his body composed of gold and blue arrows, eyes closed as though asleep.

Eury?

A single blue eye opened...and the entire world changed. Sunlight streamed down in copious amounts. At the same time a torrential rain of light-blue, dull-tipped arrows fell over them, melting into and drenching the parched ground.

The prince stirred, groaning. Ian watched on with wide eyes as the prince tore himself free from the bark, clawing his way out with arrow-tip talons. The process was long and laborious, Euryphel flaying the bark from his skin. There was no blood–Euryphel was made of arrows–but Ian’s stomach dropped in horror as the prince wantonly disfigured himself.

The prince fell into the mud on his hands and knees. When he stood up, it looked like a bear had mauled him from his naval down to his thighs.

Mm...Ian.

Eury, you recognize me?

The prince smirked and stepped forward, heedless of his disfiguration. Of course. He reached for Ian’s hand and held it up, then placed his own hand against the necromancer’s. We’re bound by fate.

I remember hearing something like that when I first joined you, Ian murmured. When you were justifying keeping me at your side to the other princes. It’s proven truer than I ever imagined.

The prince cocked his head. His hair began to expand and twist around his body, draping him in a cloak of gold.

You came for me in darkness, Euryphel continued. Where no one else would go.

Images of the past began to streak before Ian’s face. He saw Euryphel’s parents, experienced the love that the prince felt for them, a bone-crushing faith in their competence and affection. He realized that unlike Zilverna, who had many young people in his life, Euryphel was alone, surrounded almost exclusively by adults.

Ian staggered as he experienced second-hand the pain of the prince’s loss when his father died. But he was reduced to his knees by Euryphel’s guilt when his mother followed soon after.

As the memories surfaced, the space began to grow jumbled and twisted, the high road collapsing and falling toward them, blocking out the light above. Ian experienced what felt like insanity as the edge between reality and scenario broke down, the prince’s life a confused mess of unhappened events, his waking moments dominated by scenarios rather than the real world, each day dragged out at least two-fold...for years. It wasn’t just while Euryphel was preparing to kill O’osta, but in the years after as well.

Euryphel perhaps didn’t even realize it himself, but as an outsider looking in...Ian uncomprehendingly experienced the prince’s paranoia, was assaulted by the sensation that everything was falling apart, that he was hopeless, that he couldn’t love anyone, couldn’t be loved, couldn’t have happiness, didn’t deserve anything more than...

Pain. The prince held onto Ian’s wrist with one hand, kneeling beside him. Then he raked himself against the chest with his fingers, shredding his own ribbons.

Pain is something we both know well, Ian murmured, gazing up into the prince’s manic, glowing eyes.

I know you understand: We’re both broken people. Pain is power.

Ian shook his head slowly, his eyes narrowing. How do I help someone so broken? You give pain too much credit. Eury...pain isn’t power, it’s just sad. It’s the process of turning back into empty things.

The prince’s expression twisted into a desperate grimace. I don’t want to be empty. I want to be alive, to choose my path, even if it’s the wrong way...I need it to be my own.

We all want to forge our own way, Ian whispered.

I’d rather die free than beholden to another, the prince snarled, hair raising all around him like golden spears. The willow tree writhed and churned the ground, its roots forming a protective cage around Ian and Euryphel. Above, the cliff careened ever downward, eclipsing the sunlight.

But a new memory came through. It was as though Euryphel knew what he’d said was a lie and needed to explain itself, feelings and images gushing forward like blood from a severed artery.

There was, in fact, someone that Euryphel wouldn’t mind being beholden to, someone bound to him by fate, someone in which he’d place his own life without hesitation, offer up every part of himself.

In Euryphel’s memories was a man with dark, curling hair cut short that framed dark, luminous brown eyes. Skin Ian considered pale was instead radiant; a mouth he thought thin and unremarkable was expressive and enticing. A body Ian still considered thin and weak was instead a symbol of strength, garbed in thick vestments of cloth and elaborate studded bone. Instead of someone who was uncertain and waffling, unsure of his destiny...the man in Euryphel’s eyes was steadfast and indomitable, capable of defeating Ari and the Eldemari in one breath.

Ian froze, overwhelmed.

Euryphel...I’m leaving. After today I’ll be dead or gone.

I know. Thinking about it is one of the worst pains of all.

Ian felt his face grow hot, his eyes watering. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to ask a single question, but also didn’t want to know the answer...didn’t think a waking Euryphel would want him to know the answer.

I’m sorry, Ian whispered.

I’ll miss you.

Ian nodded, choking up. Why does this feel like a final goodbye? I’m not leaving yet. A tear streaked down his cheek.

I’ll miss you too. The words felt somewhat hollow; he wouldn’t miss Euryphel like the prince would miss him.

At that moment, the fallen cliff crashed down on the willow, shattering on its branches. Rubble rained down and crushed everything...

Euryphel squeezed Ian’s hand, a sad smile coming over his face, two blue arrows extending from his eyes and tracing the contours of his cheeks before disappearing into the fallen rubble. The world shuddered, then exploded outward in a shower of gold and blue light.

Ian and Euryphel awoke at the same time. Euryphel stared up at the wyrm’s spine, his gaze unfocused. Ian wiped at wetness in his eyes, his chest tight.

“Eury...?”

The prince’s voice was hollow. “What did you see?”

Ian opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of how to proceed. “We said our goodbyes.”

The prince closed his eyes, his body curling up on itself slightly, his chin tucking against his neck. He began to laugh softly. “Ian, you can’t hide anything from me. Like I told you, I’m a broken person. Just...try and forget anything and everything you saw. Please.”

Ian blinked rapidly, wetness returning to his eyes. Damn it, Eury: You never stop abusing your power to torture yourself. For once, why couldn’t you leave questions unasked, suspicions unanswered?

Ian turned away and grabbed onto the ribcage of the wyrm, taking stock of his fleet of constructs. “Let’s finish what needs to be done.”