Drifter

0. A Second Chance

❝But in the end they all drift away, even the ones who promised to stay.❞ - Sayoko

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PROLOGUE:

A SECOND CHANCE

A bloody horizon neared the destroyed battlefield.

Ashes rained from leaden skies as night dived into a long-forgotten sunrise, filling the air with an oppressive scent that sent many into a coughing fit. The waking sun remained concealed by thick clouds; its fading rays fought against their suffocating grip, yearning to feel the ground and spread their warmth. But it was to no use.

Blood was splattered on rocks and trunks, on clothes and skin. In an instant, the world was red and quiet, mourning and crumbling. No trace of a smile could be seen on the faces of those who roamed the battlefield, stumbling over and leaning against one another, if only to save strength and find comfort where there was nothing but desperation and broken hearts.

They came victorious from a devastating battle, yet no one had truly won. War was the only winner.

A strong smell of iron and burnt wood coated the gelid air; death and fire had taken many away from a world that was cruel yet worth fighting for. Expressions of terror, pain and even determination were frozen on the dirty faces of fallen comrades and unfortunate enemies. The initial quietness was fading into a tragic song of whimpers and broken words of consolation, a murmur that slipped inside and threatened to rip him apart.

His life would, as well, meet an unexpected end.

A blood-curling scream, laced with despair, froze the skies as it sealed away in a sea of dark smoke.

They called his name.

Then, it was silent again.

In the darkness of the forest, time seemed to stop as the sword cut through cloth and flesh until reaching his pounding heart. A single gasp escaped his lips, before a trail of blood worked its way towards his trembling chin.

Seconds ticked by.

A gust of ominous wind arrived from a distant horizon and ruffled the swaying tree hats, ripping some of their green leaves from their loose embrace. The eerie hoot of an owl rumbled through the crying woods, but no animal responded to its call; they had long since found shelter away from the battlefield.

Blood dripped from the blade as it was pulled from the frozen man, whose shock reflected in his wide eyes. Realization came with a shower of terrifying sounds as the expectant silence faded into a buzzing wave of sobs and unanswered calls; yet all of them were muffled by the water suddenly surrounding his sinking body.

As he fell backwards, eliciting a loud complaint from the wide river, his senses became blocked by its suffocating embrace. His eyes caught glimpses of blurry shadows as the battle resumed; they followed them weakly as he was taken away by the reddish waters.

He felt no pain coursing through his heavy body; no burning agony, nothing. The wound in his heart was deathly; he could feel himself growing weaker and hear his soul sending him a clear message.

He was going to die - soon.

And it was only that thought what made him react, what sparked one last beat. Even if it was to no use, he forced his eyes open and ordered his arms and legs to carry him out of the oppressive waters. Nothing happened, as it was expected. There was no strength left inside, no drop of will he could hold on to.

A rare sense of fear filled his bleeding heart, clenching around it in a merciless grip. He coughed, only for water to slip inside and fill his lungs. His mind was slowly losing itself in that blurry void he was sinking into, like tears in the rain.

I don't want to die.

His dreams would never be fulfilled, his goals never reached. The world would keep on without him, changing and meeting new sunsets. He would not be there to witness the accomplishments of his loved ones; his memory would disappear in a white abyss of lost thoughts and aspirations.

I don't want to die.

He had promises to keep, secrets to discover and confessions to make. There were people waiting in his path; souls to meet, to befriend, to love.

I don't...

His heart halted its agonizing screams, and so did the rest of the world.

He couldn't hear the distant splash as someone dived in, couldn't feel their arms as his body was wrapped in a comforting embrace and carried outside.

He couldn't hear the desperate words of his saviour as they moved his damp hair away from his face and realized they had been too late. And he couldn't feel their skilled hands rapidly working on his still body, trying to find a pulse that wasn't there.

He couldn't feel their lips pressing against his cold ones.

He was dead; gone.

But suddenly... he wasn't.

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