Xelqua Rising || The Lost One AU

17.Ash

Grian let out a heavy sigh before wrapping Miesall's robe around his shoulders. The Watcher then asked him to sit on the chair, and he once again complied.

Miesall took ahold of the bowl in one hand and the small paint brush in the other as he began to speak, his hand muffled but his voice clear. "This is the final ritual. I shall decorate your body in ash because as a human, this is as you come — from the soil of the Overworld. Naturally, you should also return to the state you once came, like that Christian proverb once said. However, as a newborn Watcher, you shall not. When the transformation takes place, the ash will wash away, much like your humanity."

Grian stared at where he guessed Miesall's eyes were. Unlike Zoltalia, he had explained why he was doing what he was doing. His eyes softened. If he had to trudge through this, he was glad that it was at least with Miesall instead of with someone else.

Miesall dipped the brush in ash and started to lift it towards Grian's face. Grian closed his eyes, trying to stay still. His body had started to warm up, but he was still cold and shaking considerably. He waited for the gentle tickle of the brush, but it never came.

"Grian," the taller male spoke softly, prompting the other to open his eyes. He looked a bit different somehow. Smaller. His wings were wound up just a bit tighter than usual and he wasn't quite looking at Grian. "Do you really want to do this?" Grian had been looking at the creature's hands, wanting to read them. Instead of signing, his hands tightened on the objects he was holding— he had made the choice to disallow anyone else to hear him. But, wasn't that against the rules? Why would he do that? He looked to his face, shocked to find a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"Mie—" He began, but the Watcher cut him off.

"Grian... you know you mustn't speak." Miesall replied, signing once more. He knew that he had to have an open conversation— every word, inviting eavesdroppers, but he did not. He turned, wiping the tear away.

What was it that had prompted him to act this way all of a sudden? Grian wasn't sure, but he began to reach for Miesall, to pull him back. Before he could do so, Miesall turned back around.

"Just forget I said anything," he huffed, his expression back to solemn. Forget? How could he? Yet the raw emotion vanished as soon as had come. Grian wanted to protest, he wanted to see Miesall like that. He craved empathy or sympathy or whatever that was because the reality was, he didn't want to do this. It just did not feel right to abandon his humanity. He didn't care about sight or flying or anything else— he just wanted to be the same old Grian he always was. Although he had never voiced it, the Watcher seemed to know.

Grian opened his mouth, wanting to protest, but Miesall shook his head. "How many times do I have to tell you? You cannot speak." His tone was almost callus, retreating into the safety of his façade. More than ever, Grian walked to talk, but some mysterious reason unbeknownst to him, he was forbidden to. He didn't know why he had listened this long to the ridiculous order anymore— fear, probably. It always came down to fear.

Miesall once again dabbed the brush in ash, though it did not need to be replenished. He drew it closer to Grian's face once more, prompting the human to close his eyes. The brush began to lightly dance on his forehead, almost tickling him. The movements were slow and fluid. The brush was drawn back, and refilled before it once again was brushed along his face, although, this time it ran from the right side of his forehead, swirling down to his cheek in only a few strokes. Another pause and then the action was repeated on his left side. In one way, it felt strange — he had never experienced anything like this before. In another way, it felt serene, and he almost felt himself getting lost in the calm atmosphere.

"You don't have to close your eyes if you don't want to," Miesall spoke almost in a whisper. "I'm done with your face." He added, knowing how sensitive a human's body could be. Grian, yet again, complied. Were any of the decisions he made truly his own, or was he just a puppet following orders? The longer these rituals went on for, the more he had to wonder.

Miesall gently took Grian's hand in his own. It was much warmer than his, which was still too pale. Although he had felt Miesall's touch many times, he couldn't help but feel that this time, it was different. Maybe it was just because he hadn't been using his magic, thus the tingling sensation he had come to associate with the Watcher's touch felt oddly absent to him. The Watcher flipped their arms over so that Grian's palm faced towards the ceiling.

Miesall then attempted to slip his hand through Grian's and let go, but he was startled when he found his hand was locked in a tight, trembling squeeze. Grian stared at the Watcher's face, his pupils a vast, endless sea. He was letting out a silent plea. Though he did not speak, his message was clear: no, I don't want to do this. Not at all! Please save me! It was a response from Miesall's outburst from earlier.

He bit his lip and looked away from the pitiful human, though he still saw him with his detached eyes. He could not do anything for him; he had almost as little power as the man before him. He sucked in a breath. "It will be alright." He lied, breaking yet another rule. Oh, he was almost certainly going back to The Void after all of this! He could not worry about that now, however. "This was destined to happen. Trust in the Great Ones." His tone felt especially robotic and cold, even to himself.

In response, Grian gave even more of a pitiful expression, pleading for something, anything. Miesall was retreating into himself, doubling down on the impenetrable fortress he seemed to love so dearly. He wished that he could shatter it once and for all, to never see it ever again. He was sick of fake -- especially right now. He wanted... no, needed, real. He could almost feel Miesall squirm as he tried to keep himself buried and the blonde actively uncovered him.

"Grian," he breathed at last. "I wish that I could be of assistance, but the Great Ones... they have decided that this must happen. There is nothing I can do that could avoid this." He tried to make his tone emotionless, but Grian could sense the apologetic tone underneath. He looked away from Miesall now, letting go of his hand. He had been right -- in the end, even the strong Watcher was powerless in this scenario. There was no getting out this. He knew that the moment that he had volunteered to come here, but it only had seemed to register just how deep his sacrifices would be when these rituals began.

Miesall took ahold of the brush once more and began to brush Grian's arms. He held his head low, hiding his saddened expression. The silence was unbearable, locking Grian in his own thoughts. To become a Watcher made this situation that much more permanent. He would never be able to go back and his transformed body would be a physical reminder of that. He didn't want this! He didn't want to be here forever! But at least I have Miesall by my side, he thought to himself suddenly.

He looked back at Miesall, who was focused on his current task, drawing Galactic and symbols all over Grian's body. Why was it that whenever he felt down, his thoughts had always seemed to lead back to this person in front of him? He already knew the answer: because he was only kind soul in this dimension. Did that truly justify just how much he thought of him, though? Of course, it's human nature to try to connect to others. He reasoned to himself.

Human nature. He would soon no longer be human. That would imply that he would no longer have human nature. Would that therefore mean his own brain state would change along with his body? Would he become just as cold as everyone here? He wasn't sure. The more he thought about this all, the more his head seemed to spin.

"Grian!" Miesall almost yelled, yanking the blonde back into reality. The bowl and brush that he had been holding was gone now, nowhere to be seen. "Finally! I have been calling your name repeatedly many times now. Were you worrying about the transformation ceremony?" He asked as if anything else could possibly have been the human's mind. He paused, as if the other was allowed to respond, a gentle frown on his lips. Grian did not care to shake his head. What was the point? Certainly, he had already known the answer. The Watcher frowned deeper before putting on his solemn expression and continuing. "Anyway, I was telling you that I have completed the final ceremony."