There has been no peace for him.
From the moment he appeared on the grey shores, Ramiel fought it. Fought death, or whatever this flat existence was. He went to his grandparents again. He begged Adolpha and Erros to free him, to burn through to the Other Side like they had before. But they couldn’t. Whatever magic had sent the acolytes home the last time had fizzled up and dried out in the static light. He had tried to spirit himself back too many times to count. He concentrated and squeezed and pressed his mind until he had nearly passed out. But nothing ever happened. When he opened his eyes, it was always to find his feet still buried in the grainy sand. He was stuck fast. Simmering rage festered and spread like a cancer inside of him because he could not leave - and he certainly could not stay.
He imagined a million and one different ways to kill their dark god.
Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered anymore at all.
He eventually exhausted every effort, save for his calling out on the shoreline. There had still been that old spark of goodness buried in his scarred and weary heart. That deep desire to do what was right and just. He was sure that they heard him, somehow. Ea, Sela, Kha, Sabrael. Salt and Vael. His parents and siblings and friends and comrades. There was a list made blessedly long by a beautiful and fruitful life. Never did he ache for it more. Memories crashed upon him over and over again like the endless waves with each name he shouted. It was pain and pleasure both, hard and wonderful and terrible. It was all he had. It was all he had until she came to him, until she died.
Ram. His name in this place is like an insect landing on a spider’s web, witlessly stirring the stillness to its doom. Similarly, he feels suddenly trapped by her presence. He is caught between wanting and desperate avoidance. If she’s not here, she’s there. Alive. The stallion tenses. But then she says I’m sorry. And he is no longer held.
He spins to face her, to rush to her. “No,” he says, and it is a command that rumbles deep in his chest as he embraces her. “No.” Her mane is a kaleidoscope of colors that he could lose himself in, so he does. For long moments after, he is silent. He memorizes her all over again, because so much has changed. Death drains her of her vibrancy, just as it had him. She has scars, too. Marks that tell an ugly story but do not make her any less beautiful. He remembers, then, that he could hurt her further by all the secrets she does not know. Secrets that were made on the Other Side and followed him here. Secrets that Carnage had tried and failed to kill him for.
A choking pressure builds in his lifeless lungs. He has to spill one truth, because it has consumed him all this time. He has waited years, decades to tell her. “I love you,” Ramiel says, pulling back to look into her shifting eyes. There is time for more, later. He imagines they have an eternity (and oh, how wrong he is). For now, he has his Ea back. His silver muzzle traces a puckered scar and he eyes her with dark curiosity. That same rage is building low in his guts, stirring and brewing like an oncoming storm. He won’t ask her how she died, but it is obvious there was no peace for her, either. Not at the end. But maybe now they will share it. “Tell me, please.” Tell me everything you want me to know. Something. Anything. Everything.
From the moment he appeared on the grey shores, Ramiel fought it. Fought death, or whatever this flat existence was. He went to his grandparents again. He begged Adolpha and Erros to free him, to burn through to the Other Side like they had before. But they couldn’t. Whatever magic had sent the acolytes home the last time had fizzled up and dried out in the static light. He had tried to spirit himself back too many times to count. He concentrated and squeezed and pressed his mind until he had nearly passed out. But nothing ever happened. When he opened his eyes, it was always to find his feet still buried in the grainy sand. He was stuck fast. Simmering rage festered and spread like a cancer inside of him because he could not leave - and he certainly could not stay.
He imagined a million and one different ways to kill their dark god.
Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered anymore at all.
He eventually exhausted every effort, save for his calling out on the shoreline. There had still been that old spark of goodness buried in his scarred and weary heart. That deep desire to do what was right and just. He was sure that they heard him, somehow. Ea, Sela, Kha, Sabrael. Salt and Vael. His parents and siblings and friends and comrades. There was a list made blessedly long by a beautiful and fruitful life. Never did he ache for it more. Memories crashed upon him over and over again like the endless waves with each name he shouted. It was pain and pleasure both, hard and wonderful and terrible. It was all he had. It was all he had until she came to him, until she died.
Ram. His name in this place is like an insect landing on a spider’s web, witlessly stirring the stillness to its doom. Similarly, he feels suddenly trapped by her presence. He is caught between wanting and desperate avoidance. If she’s not here, she’s there. Alive. The stallion tenses. But then she says I’m sorry. And he is no longer held.
He spins to face her, to rush to her. “No,” he says, and it is a command that rumbles deep in his chest as he embraces her. “No.” Her mane is a kaleidoscope of colors that he could lose himself in, so he does. For long moments after, he is silent. He memorizes her all over again, because so much has changed. Death drains her of her vibrancy, just as it had him. She has scars, too. Marks that tell an ugly story but do not make her any less beautiful. He remembers, then, that he could hurt her further by all the secrets she does not know. Secrets that were made on the Other Side and followed him here. Secrets that Carnage had tried and failed to kill him for.
A choking pressure builds in his lifeless lungs. He has to spill one truth, because it has consumed him all this time. He has waited years, decades to tell her. “I love you,” Ramiel says, pulling back to look into her shifting eyes. There is time for more, later. He imagines they have an eternity (and oh, how wrong he is). For now, he has his Ea back. His silver muzzle traces a puckered scar and he eyes her with dark curiosity. That same rage is building low in his guts, stirring and brewing like an oncoming storm. He won’t ask her how she died, but it is obvious there was no peace for her, either. Not at the end. But maybe now they will share it. “Tell me, please.” Tell me everything you want me to know. Something. Anything. Everything.
R A M I E L
this is the light that shines
@[Ea]