Of Love and Death.

The Present Chapter 18: And the Winner is...Pt. 2

They had won. Mind and Fire had won. To the cheers and screams of the crowd. To the absolute joy radiating off of their family, the Forces, The Five, everyone. They'd beaten Cold, and she'd actually walked away. Just walked away. No fighting, no ice. No comeback, no screaming of threats. Just walked away. Nightfell had looked on in awe, tense and on his feet, ready to leap in. Ready to force back whatever trick was coming. But nothing had happened.

Nothing had happened. Cold had walked away. No bloodlust. No revenge. No one had died. And Shu and Valt were free, at least for now. They were free, they were happy, they were safe, they were together. Even now, Nightfell could see the tiny red and blue specks on the stadium floor. Turning towards each other. The jumbotron showed them smiling, a closer up view. Of the absolute shock and joy on both of their faces. Smiling, but with eyes that hadn't registered it yet.

Together again. Shu and Valt, Mind and Fire.

Nightfell found himself clenching the railing in front of him. Leaning on it for support. He wanted to say something. Call out to them, the shadow and the sun. Who'd loved each other through what might as well have been hell and back. Time and time again, life and life again. They were teammates, best friends. Enemies at times, but never for longer than it took to know each other.

How many stories, memories, moments shared had Mind and Fire had since they ran away to the Sun's Orb? Nightfell didn't know. He'd never know. The thief loved them. He loved that they had each other. That they could lean on each other again and again and again. It was getting harder to see them, as they just stood there, breathing. Calming down. It was amazing and a miracle that they were in love, and had the strength to keep it. That they'd fought for it and won.

Smiling. Nightfell found that he was having a little bit of trouble smiling. "Hey guys," he said, much quieter than he'd intended. How do you speak louder? How do you keep your voice up and strong? No one heard what he said. He didn't repeat it. Just kept whispering to himself. Even as his voice cracked and wavered. "I-I'm gonna go down and see them," he lied.

Pushing off from the rail, the lone shadow hurried past his brother. Past Venice and a few others until he reached a stairwell. He didn't look back or try to listen in on what they were saying. Nightfell just ran up the stairwell, eyes fixed forward. The cheers of the crowd pressed in on him. They were loud. They were celebrating. Of course they were celebrating. They should be celebrating. He was, but he couldn't.

The hallway. Nightfell crested the top of the stairs. Walking. Calmly. He'd been calmly walking. No one worried about him, no one was wondering about him. All focused on the stadium. Because he was walking calmly. Nightfell didn't attract attention unless he wanted it. He was a thief. All those skills he'd perfected from stealing sandwiches over the years. They came in handy.

Sandwiches. Just the wrong thing to think about. A memory echoed through Nightfell for a moment. Of one of his first heists. From a long, long time ago. Snatching the meal out of his hands. Exhilarating and fun. He loved it. Nightfell walked into the hallway. And then he started running. Away, away, away. The thief looked back, just once. He saw stunned disappointment make a beautiful face fall. He didn't run away. Something in that face had stopped him. Away, away, away. Nightfell wanted to get away.

Still so loud, the crowd echoed through Nightfell's ears. He couldn't get away from it. Their Cheers drilled into him. Almost enough to make his ears bleed. Form turned back, paused for a moment. Just long enough for the victim to turn around. Just long enough for them to see each other. Red, red blood. How many billions of years had he spent avoiding the sight of blood? Fights. He'd gotten so good at avoiding fights. For them to think about each other.