Refracted

Saved by a Deathwalker

TW: death, male sunshine,  uncertain afterlife, hopelessness, emotional distress
If these are not your thing, please skip!

There's a soul in the river.
One of many. He's nowhere near the first, nor shall he be the last. Just another deceased spirit, his essence lost to the river.
Lost to eternity.
The man clings to a rock in the middle of the  inky water. Black rivulets run down his face, mingling with his tears as he holds on for dear life.
Brachium knows it is futile. So many times, he has seen a soul hold on with every ounce of themself, only to inevitably lose their grip and get swept away to the other side of the Veil.
When the soul's eyes land on Brachium, the dark, robed shadow standing on the riverbank, his eyes spark with life anew. He grasps for a better hold on the crevices of the rock.
The man calls out to Brachium. He asks for help. Begs for it, his shouts effused with fear and desperation. He pleads with Brachium help him.
Help is something Brachium cannot give.
Doing so would upset the balance of life and  death. Doing so would dismantle his only reason for existing, as far as Brachium can remember.
But the man looks so sad.
So sad, yet so determined. His fingers dig into the crevices in the rock. His fingers are bleeding, and the current thrashes him around as he clings to the rock.
The current is slow, but strong. There is no whitewater, no raging rapids. Such things are secondary to the patient, relentless, inexorable force that is Death. The current gently pulls at the man, stripping bits of his essence away to be washed downriver.
The deathwalker does his best to comfort the man, as he does to many souls who pass through the veil. His words seem to soothe the man, but still his grip doesn't loosen. His sobs fade, but the wet tracks down his cheeks and his wide, helpless eyes tug at Brachium's heartstrings.
I'm sorry, my friend.
Then, the waters begin to part. It starts downstream, tearing the coal-black river in two as it races toward the pair of them. Brachium can see it as a glint on the horizon, slowly growing as it gets closer.
A gentle, faltering heartbeat can be heard, fluttering, faint, but there without a doubt. A rare smile spreads on Brachium's hidden face as the spirit's almost completely opaque form starts to go see-through. As the part in the water approaches, his body becomes more and more transparent. All he has to do is hold on a little bit longer and the efforts to resuscitate him will be rewarded, but fate has other plans for him.
The man's hold loosens, eyelids drooping. His exhausted, fear- and determination-filled face morphs to a wince.
No! You can't give up now, not when salvation is almost upon you. You're so close, my friend, don't let go!
But he does.
And Brachium acts.
He lunges forward and grabs the man's wrist. Shocked green eyes find his, red from crying and dazed.
Balance be damned. I will not let another soul be lost for a few seconds more of strength.
Brachium doesn't falter until the part in the water reaches them. His robe, spattered with dark spray and weighted by the soaked hem, tears away from his body and follows the river downstream.
The man is the first to see Brachium uncovered in centuries. In however long it has been since he took up this post.
Soft, golden hair that droops over his face. Soulful black eyes bleeding black smoke like eternal tears. Pale, unblemished skin.
Not at all what one would expect if they pictured a deathwalker- not that anyone knew that he existed.
He doesn't react to his half-comprehending stare. Brachium knows that the man is dazed and barely conscious. As his rapidly fading form becomes harder and harder to hold onto, Brachium offers the man a small smile.
Be well, my friend. When it truly is your time, I will be here waiting for you.
Oddly enough, the man doesn't seem comforted.