It has been days since the attack on Taiga.
Draco spends most of his time alone, wandering the empty, cracked canyons of Pangea. He keens into the shadows, leans into the red dust, sleeps beneath Ghaul's flame.
He's mourning. It hasn't gotten easier. Even ocassionally checking in on Yadigar feels like too much, too heavy, too far beyond his control. He murmurs with Virgil and Beyza, watches Asphyxea as she stands guard in front of Gar's resting body. Nothing feels particularly real, from the clouds above to the dirt below--nothing feels quite real.
The demon's niece is stirring from a nap, blinking open perpetually irritated eyes as Draco slowly steps closer.
"He's waking," Phyx grumbles, attempting to hide the hesitation in her voice as she imagines the moment Gar finds out their father is dead. Draco hears it, though--the fear and doubt. He peers at her with a hard gaze, saying nothing but nodding his head in acknowledgement.
"You did well watching over him," he murmurs before passing her to close the distance between them and the two magicians with Yadigar.
"Thank you for the call, Beyza," Draco states quietly as he comes to a halt at her side. Asphyxea lingers at his shoulder, eyes never straying from Yadigar's tired frame.
Draco draws in a large breath, thinking he would like to be anywhere but here--here, breaking the news to his nephew that his beloved brother is dead. He looks to the sky, releasing the breath he held while wondering how in the hell he is supposed to say out loud, Ghaul is dead.
"Yadigar," Draco murmurs, stepping closer to look imploringly into the boy's eyes. "I'm so happy to see you awake. You did well." The demon sighs now, feeling the burden of grief and responsibility splitting his spine in half. "Ghaul died in Loess, Gar," he whispers, "but he would be so proud of you."
Draco feels Phyx shuffle next to him, stepping forward to level her shoulder with his and whisper on a strained breath, "Brother . . ."
@[yadigar]
