cascade | kotlc

35. The Goodbye To Be Said

- Fitzroy Avery Vacker

The opera... is quiet.

There was a song, singing something, a tune of resistance and candor and bravery. But now... it has faded away.

What is this? Where is he? Is this the gates of death, the fields dotted with grey asphodels, never blossoming and never wilting?

No... he doesn't see anything... there is nothing here, except for the barren emptiness and the hollow feeling in his soul, where there should've been something before. He is... incomplete.

In this world, he does not have a form; he is a shapeless blob of mist, like shadows, like that ethereal mixture he saw but didn't see. He is wandering with the wind, taken to where it would take him.

Where is he...? He wants to know, there is an unquenchable desire within him, longing for the sacred water of knowledge. Instead, he is greeted with a searing hiss of sand, from the most blisterly of deserts, and his thirst is heightened tenfold.

No... he does not know where he is. There are no identifying features, no trenches or mountains he can name. All it is... is dark mist.

But there must be something. No land can be without marks, no mass can be without light... is this... where is it?

Where do you want it to be? a voice whispers; his own consciousness, his inner voice, perhaps, or someone else, intruding in the solemn solitude... anyway, he is grateful.

Where does he want it to be? Everglen comes to mind, with its towering golden gates shining with brilliant light, the sprawling lands and forests and lake, but it... it feels wrong. Something... something about it... seems off.

Perhaps it is the overlording magnificence, which seemed so bitterly endearing in this darkness... perhaps it is the sword of light, the glimmer of the stars, which does not belong in this place. This place is dark... only light could ruin its beauty.

In truth, there was only ever one correct answer.

Havenfield, he thinks.

-

In a split second, faster than lightning could strike, flash, and he is taken away from the darkness and left to rot on the rolling hills of Havenfield.

The house is as rurally beautiful as it always was, accompanied by the grass and the creatures, screeching and squawking and screaming. The cacophony feels more like a harmonized symphony as it drifts with the wind.

Slowly, he steps toward the house, feeling his newborn body. The flesh is unfamiliar in ways, as if his muscle memory has been wiped, but he can still scarcely stagger, making painfully burdened steps toward the crystal mansion, wider than it was tall.

This place... is quiet, though it is loud, a blend of both, as if everything else had faded away into the backdrop. Something about it is naturally only a scenery for the mainstage, and the wind is the most prominent of noises.

The golden-oak doors to the house creak open of their own accord, and only half-aware of his surroundings, he steps in.

By him are wondrous chandeliers, glowing with their soft yellow light, tens, hundreds, thousands of peaceful suns, none taking the spotlight. By him are translucent silk curtains, fluttering since the window is open, and the dance of white is a new look to him. By him are people...

Edaline, with her tired smile that was more of a grimace; Grady, with his semi-scowling expression, as if he was done with everything.

Clearly, they were still grieving, grieving for their daughter's death, for the 'accident', how unlucky the fire must have been, burning and exploding outwards like pressurized gas, ballooning in seconds and displaying itself as a sea of gold and yellow. It would've eaten up everything, took all it could have, scorched the wood and feasted on the plaster and boiled the precious jewels, the diamonds and the platinum, until it was merely a whisper of heat, still everburning.