These Paper Pages

Kalopsia

The stench of death hangs heavy in the air, the sun dipping behind the mountain range. It was over, the battle won. In the fleeting light of the sinking sun, under soft lilac skies clouded by smoke and lost embers, they stood on opposing sides.

John's hand reaches down to touch the gaping wound on his stomach, fingers tracing the dull edge of the sword jutting out of his stomach. His vision blurs, the skies—hues of lavender and red and orange are a blur to his swimming vision. Vaguely, he recognises the smudge of white tearing through the colours of sunset. Arlo, his mind supplies, and he reaches out. Not even two steps down, he wobbles and falls, the dull thud of his knees hitting the ground reaching his ears. A pair of hands finds purchase on his shoulder before he could double over and embed the blade deeper into himself.

Blue. The shade of frozen sea water. Arlo. He had go admit, he looked glorious in white and painted in the blood of his enemies. His blond hair, soft and curly, catches the waning light of day, a crown of golden sunset.

"Arlo." He rasps, his hand finds purchase on his shoulder and he pulls the blond closer. He uses his free hand to weakly tug at the hand rest on his own shoulder and guide it to the hilt of the sword. "Go on."

Arlo stares at him, surprised and conflicted over his request. John's eyes are unfocused, skin pale and the only shock of colour left is the blood caking his garb and limbs along with the frest, fresh blood dripping from the corner of his lips as he smiles, teeth red.

"Finish it."

Arlo grips the hilt of the sword, swallowing the lump in his throat. Years spent in bitterness, simmering in his anger and hate, had left him cold and callous, and yet here he is, faltering to take a life. The life responsible for taking away the one he had loved. His head was spinning, the adrenaline coursing nauseously through his body was beginning to dissipate, leaving him tired and aching. John's waning warmth and the dulling golden eyes (rei. rei. His mind repeats his name like a mantra and it screams to move. Do something!) keeps him tethered to this reality, and he is acutely aware of how his one-time friend encourages him to bury the blade deeper.

"Finish it." His expression softens, and Arlo tries not to choke on the emotion bubbling in his throat. "You can become the hero. You can avenge them. You've come so far now, you can't do this through half-measures, that's never been you." John takes a stuttering breath, every bit of movement hurt.

"You want to die..." Arlo whispers, his hold faltering.

John didn't, but from the splotches of white and red in the horizon beyond what he could see, he was never going to come out of this alive. Arlo's allied forces are marching down to them as they speak.

"Don't ask me that." Blood pours from his lips amd he winces at the sharp pain jolting through his veins. "I'd rather it be by your hands than theirs."

Grimly, Arlo nods. John rests his forehead against his and closes his eyes.

Once upon a time, when they were young, out hidden under the weeping braches of the willow trees, there were three childhood friends. A prince, a noble's daughter, and the archivist's son, an unlikely group but they would have given the world for each other.

Arlo holds his breath as he draws the blade out of John's stomach, pretending not to hear the pained gasp escaping his lips. He does not breathe when he slips the blade between the spaces of his ribcage and thrusts forward. John let's one last breath before he stills and slumps against him.

"You can rest now." Arlo whispers, letting go of the hilt as he takes another mouthful of air, keeping his tears at bay. He shifts and lets John's head rest on his shoulder, his fingers threading through locks of raven hair.

Dusk, Arlo idly wonders as cradles John in his arms head reclined to watch the lilac skies turn a deeper shade of purple, was a reminiscent of Seraphina. He wonders where she is now, the last time he had seen her was a year into his reign, it has been so long since then.

When his allies had arrived and saw their king alive, their enemy dead in his hands, celebrations were in immediately in order. Joyous exclamations, relieves breaths, and yet this victory tasted like ashes on his tongue. It felt hollow and worthless, Arlo wondered if it had been worth fighting for. He felt nothing but exhaustion.

"One day, we'll change the world. We won't ever have to deal with war or even this stupid, stiffling system." The prince beams at his companions, his pinky finger extended to them. "When I'm king, that will all change." They wore matching smiles as they hooked their pinky fingers together and made a promise of a lifetime. Summer days, and childhood dreams, the promise of a better day and a new dawn.

As Arlo stood, John's corpse now neatly laid beside his feet, he surveys his surrounding, lips pressed to a thin line. He changed nothing.

They won, and yet in turn Arlo lost those he had held precious. Sacrifices are a must for the greater good of the kingdom, but sometimes, when victory taste bitter upon his tongue, and grief rests heavy on his heart, Arlo wonders if it had been worth it.

×

Arlo buried John underneath the soil by the willow trees, his grave unmarked except for the molten gold coloured gem set into the middle of his cross shaped tombstone.

"I'm sorry." He never had the chance to apologize then. And while he knew his apologies were futile (John's gone. Just like Rei and Remi.), Arlo hoped he'd hear them.

×

Isen and Blyke flanked her as they stood in front of the unmarked grave underneath the willow tree. Their hands held on to hers, both of them giving her hand a firm squeeze.

They stood in silence for a long moment before Isen finally breaks the solemnity with a quiet question.

"Did you know them?" Isen asks, his voice soft.

Seraphina stood in silence for a moment longer before finally speaking, her hands slipping away from their grasps as she crouches in front of the cross tombstone, thumb brushing against the gem embedded in the middle.

"I did. At least, I thought I did." A sad imitation of a smile tugs at her lips, her eyes glazed with unshed tears. "A long time ago."

"What were they like?" Blyke pitches in, sharing a look with Isen as they regard their guardian. Neither of them had seen her in such a vulnerable state. It was jarring. Someone as powerful and strong as her breaking into pieces, it reminded them that despite her raw talent and strength, Seraphina is human. They often forget, but under the first light of morning, the gentle breeze swaying her messy, magenta hair, with tears stinging her eyes, the world reminds them that she is and always will be human. And that even the mightiest can fall.

"He was going to help change the world."

Seraphina does not tell them how he lost himself along the way. She was just like him too.

_________

Sera x Arlo x John is my literal ot3 ship??? AHAHA. This is why I enjoy killing them off so much. My brain's dead from too much thinking, but I just literally gotta get this one out of my head.