Heavy is the Head that Wears the Solemn Crown

Forty-Two - Cycles of Companionship and Death

Wilbur

Dawn is beginning to break. The bright and golden sun is peeking above the horizon. The sky is bathed in shades of blood red clashing against trench blue, separated by a thin layer of stormy purple. A few clouds lie close to the ground, absorbing the colors to form bandage-like patches as if the sky were injured.

Philza stands at the top of the ceremonial altar. His wings are spread out to create an imposing figure. He is wearing his normal robes, but he had decided to don a mask resembling a crow's skull. His sharp green eyes glow from the shadowy eyeholes, removing any doubts that Philza was not human. He is holding a katana in his hands, and the blade seems to glow a violent red color as if it were dripping with the blood of the injured sky.

Puffy stands right beside him. She wears a white chiton tied with a black leather belt. A red cape with golden thread forming patterns along the edges is thrown over her shoulders. It shakes in the cold wind, but Puffy remains unflinchingly firm. Her long hair spills over her back with a few strands framing her brilliantly colored eyes. Like the man right beside her, she doesn't look quite human. What human would have the sheer confidence that Puffy was wearing like a captain wears their hat?

Shubble is seated at the edge of the altar, on the stairs. She is on her knees beside a faceless golem. One hand is placed on the hand of the golem while the other touches the slab stage. Golden flowers made from translucent light cling to her arms, wrapping around her like vines choking the life from an ancient tree. Her white hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, but a few strands run loose around her face. Her yellow eyes seem predatory as she stares.

Wilbur approaches them slowly. The altar is made from dark gray stone cloaked by dark blue wool. Like Puffy's cape, the upper corners are threaded with golden patterns. The edges of the altar include glowing gold rods that float in the air, radiating heat onto what appears to be gunpowder. There are two torches placed on the wool, and there are another two set at the edge of the wool at the bottom. Wilbur climbs up the steps to the altar. He takes a shuddering breath as he kneels down in front of it.

He's wearing yellow robes. He should be wearing blue- the symbol of his country- but the yellow ones called out to him. They reminded him of something he's lost, though he's unsure what that is. He wore the yellow robes. The color was as soft as the robes were. Wilbur ignored the voice in his head that told him Samantha would disapprove of the robes. He no longer cared for her opinion. He wore the yellow robes, and he felt something in his twisted heart come undone. He felt oddly peaceful as the stone pressed into his knees.

He watched Philza hand the Kikoku blade to Puffy. They both wore solemn expressions as Puffy accepted the weight of the sword into her hands. She walked around Wilbur's body, and he resisted the urge to follow her with his eyes. He just closed them and listened carefully. A cold wind sliced across his neck, and he could see in his mind's eye that Puffy had raised the sword. Shubble looked away, toward her golem. Philza continued staring with a blank expression, but Wilbur could see the lone tear in his father's eyes. Wilbur gave his father a remorseful smile. Guilt filled his chest, and a rather odd thought echoed in his mind that he was making his father watch him die again.

Wilbur feels something warm drip down his chest, all across his yellow robes. Something drips onto his hand, and he looks down to see the blade plunged through his chest. His smile drops away as he reaches a hand towards his chest. The warmth turns into pain, blinding and overwhelming. Wilbur coughs, blood splattering out of his lips. He hears someone call his name, but darkness overcomes his vision before he can respond. He feels his body tilt forward, and he's dead before he hits the ground.

—

He hears crying. Although it is a struggle, he manages to open his eyes. Through the blurry murk that is his current eyesight, he is able to see the golden gleam of his brother's hair. He reaches a hand towards his brother, ignoring the ash gray tendrils wrapping around his skin. He puts a hand in his brother's hair, and his brother launches into an upright position. His brother is sobbing, tears racing down his cheeks as quickly as the snot pours out of his nose. It's disgusting, but he places both of his hands on his brother's face. He uses his thumbs to clear away most of the murk, desperately wishing that his brother would just smile. He wants to see his brother smile.