Mod Superhero

Chapter 7.59 - Ichabod 5

The renegade artificer, Mod, stood over the curled form of Elder Thornmire. The young man's face was unreadable behind the mask of his suit, but he gave the slightest nod in acknowledgement of Ichabod—as if he was completely unmoved by one elder's suffering and another elder's intrusion.

The ball of light in Mod's hand rippled. Light rolled across the cavern like sunlight across the ocean. It had been lifetimes since Ichabod had seen such a view, and it left him momentarily spellbound. He could almost remember the warmth of the sun on his bare skin.

"It's safe for you to approach," Mod said.

Ichabod hadn't realized until then just how apprehensive he was. He'd felt the same in the presence of Elder Amun-Kar, though this wasn't from an aura. Perhaps the scene itself was enough to set Ichabod on edge. No doubt it was made worse because the artificer's voice didn't echo as it should have.

Ichabod approached. Slowly. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Can't say the same. I've been watching you since you left for Egypt."

"Ah. It seems my plan was not nearly as secret as I hoped."

Elder Thornmire strained as if she was trying to turn. Her voice came out a hoarse whisper. "I know that voice."

"It is I, Brother Ichabod."

Until a few moments ago, Ichabod had been on a mission to kill Thornmire. Now, he had the familial urge to comfort her. Ichabod knelt at her side.

Thornmire looked up at him. Her eyes were glassy, but she focused on his face and smiled. "Funny. Should've known... you'd be behind this."

A lump caught in his throat. He turned to Mod. "Is she...?"

"I kept her stable as long as I could. Say your goodbyes."

The young artificer turned and walked a respectful difference away. No doubt, he could still hear and see everything, but Ichabod appreciated the gesture. The ball of light did not move, however. It stayed hovering in the air, causing light to dance across the cavern.

Ichabod turned to Thornmire and took her hand in his. Her skin was warm to the touch, like fire were flowing through her veins. He squeezed her hand.

Thornmire's face wrinkled at the sensation. "So cold... Were we always so cold?"

"It's a small price to pay for immortality."

"Maybe... if it were the only one. We pay so much. You paid so much... You were never happy."

"No, I suppose I wasn't. I thought I pretended better than that, though."

"We knew... But it wasn't just you. None of us were happy. We pretend." Thornmire smiled faintly. "Better than you though."

Ichabod glanced at the desolate cavern; the bottomless darkness held at bay for a moment by the dappled light. He and Thornmire had been as close as any two elders—which was to say, not close at all. They were two immortal beings living in perpetual darkness, kindling a small light between them, and still holding each other at arm's length.

He and Enola had talked about mourning. That it wasn't the loss of life that we mourned, but the loss of potential. There were questions he could've asked Thornmire, but they all seemed stuck in his chest. They had traded everything for power and immortality, and it had left them hollow. He wished he could've known Thornmire better... But now there was no time for that. There never would be.

Thornmire turned back to the floating light, trembling. "The sun... Do you feel it, Ichabod? It's... just like I remember."

Thornmire closed her eyes and relaxed. Ichabod held her hand a moment longer until she crumbled into dust. Ichabod bowed his head as her hand slipped through his fingers.