Dust to Dust | ✓

-- || A Tool

Agony threatened to tear Felix's arm from its socket. His shoulder screamed in pain, and it was a wonder he could keep his voice locked inside him; if it weren't for how firmly he bit down on his tongue, his cries would have been ringing in his ears. Fire licked at his limbs, yet the world around him was pitch black. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or sealed shut. When he moved, he couldn't feel his body responding to the command—or if it did, it was like dragging his legs through a muddy swamp. Like wading through a thick pool of blood, drenched and heavy and stuck. Crimson stained his hands, so permanently splattered on his skin that it would never wash clean again. Red, like the sky at sunset, like the flags that wave over the gates to Crocea.

Aiko. The image of her matted, tearstained face came to mind. Her lips were pinched in a shaky frown, eyes watery though they still danced with the fiery blaze of her soul he had come to treasure. She was fragile and strong, tender and strong willed, living and breathing—alive. The Core was destroyed, gone forever, yet she rose from its ashes like the phoenix god she served. Like the sun after a long winter night.

And as gods do, as the sun does, as people had always done, she only wanted to take from him. His scars burned, torn open by icy fingers that slowly cut into his skin. He gasped, but no air came to his lungs. When he exhaled, nothing left him either. He was falling—or was he being pulled along by those cold hands around him?

She only wanted to use him.

Promise me that you'll try?

Honesty welled in her gaze, softening the constant blaze of her flame in her hazel eyes. I promise, she said, voice soft like a summer breeze, the barest breath of warmth that brushed his cheek.

She didn't want to use him. She wants to do better.

Right?

The ice pulled him apart, but the pain that laced through him was dulled beyond recognition this time. A thick fog settled over his mind, slurring his thoughts and silencing the thrum of fear in his veins. "All is well," a distant voice whispered—not Aiko's, not his, not his master's, not even Dinah's. It was foreign, but he relaxed into its hold on him, worries floating away like water poured from a cup. "You belong to the Primordial Three now—an atonement for the sins of the Bright Soul. No cursed can bear your soul to the Core now. From dust you were created; to dust you shall return."

That is freedom. The words buzzed in his mind, louder than the fog and louder than the pain of the old wound in his shoulder. It coiled around his neck, slithering over his scars with frigid scales. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

"Sleep," the voice commanded. A hand brushed his cheek, nails skimming over his jaw. "Sleep. Let your flame sleep."

Obedience came naturally to him, but the voice washed over him with a power that snuffed out any inkling of resistance that lay dormant inside him. Frost consumed him and the flame in his chest flickered out. The world turned cold and distant as he breathed a fragile sigh.

Like the moon during long summer days, he sank into darkness to await the sun's farewell.