The Fallout (3)

Thank you, DereckESCL, for the 6 Power Stones!

Thank you CulturalMan, for the 3 Power Stones!

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Ciaran closed the door behind him, his gaze fixed on the figure that lay utterly still in the bed.

She lay there, a vision of peace, wrapped in the soft folds of the covers. Her hair, a silvery veil that glimmered like moonlight, partially obscured her face, but through the strands, he caught a glimpse of the face that had saved him from the abyss. Her features, delicate and ethereal, were a testament to her otherworldly beauty. His eyes, filled with yearning, sought the rise and fall of her chest, the gentle rhythm of her breath.

Alas, his heart lay still.

Ciaran approached her slowly and delicately, taking care not to startle her. He gently lifted the strands of hair that were obscuring her face, revealing the pallor that had overtaken her features. As his hand brushed against her cheek, he felt the chilling coldness that seemed to emanate from her entire body. The lack of color in her complexion made her once rosy lips appear almost blue, adding to the sense of unease that washed over him. 

"We were supposed to defy fate together," Ciaran whispered, his hand moving from her cheek to her chest.

He delicately infused a tendril of his magical energy into her, gently exploring her being in search of any flicker of life hidden deep within her. However, all he encountered was an overwhelming emptiness, as if her essence had completely vanished, leaving only her lifeless form behind. His hand returned to her face, and he stood there for what felt like hours, his eyes never leaving her form. 

"Why?" He felt an overwhelming urge to shake her awake and demand answers. "What happened to cause you to lose faith in me? Why couldn't you just wait to speak with me? Why did you betray me, just like her?" The questions swirled in his mind, but deep down, he knew that he would never receive the answers he so desperately sought.

His emotions teetered on the edge of control—the overwhelming desire to unleash his fury and obliterate everything in sight consumed him. The urge to reduce the world to smoldering ruins surged within him. As his anger threatened to rupture through his defenses, the very environment quivered in response to his tumultuous inner turmoil.

Suddenly, a memory from his foster parent appeared in his mind.

"Because emotion and logic will both reach their limitations." Ms. Boyle paused as she finished writing the quote on the board, "And when one fails, you need to rely on the other."

Ciaran stood still as time seemed to come to a standstill around him. He drew in a long, slow breath and made a concerted effort to suppress his swirling emotions, locking them away in the depths of his being.

Suppressing his emotions, he stole a glance at Cas. "Olivia claimed she passed away three weeks ago, so why isn't decomposition underway?" His hand lingered on her cheek, and a realization dawned as he exerted slight pressure, discovering that rigor mortis had not taken hold.

With a gentle touch, his hand moved from her cheek to the soft, warm blanket enveloping her. With a quick and deliberate movement, he lifted the blanket, revealing her form beneath. Taking great care, he examined her wrist, searching for any signs of harm, and found none. His gaze then traveled to her neck, where he similarly saw no evidence of injury.

A sense of hope started to blossom inside him, and he realized the potential peril it carried, but he yearned for unshakeable hope.

His hand moved with deliberate and unhurried intent towards her lips, cautiously parting them as he knelt down and closed his eyes. At that moment, he became acutely aware of every sensation, his focus zeroing in on the sense of smell in an attempt to amplify it. Initially, there was an absence of any discernible scent, causing his optimism to wane. However, he experienced a fleeting whiff, barely brushing past his nostrils, igniting a spark of anticipation within him.

It was faint, but he could tell the earthly smell that rose from her mouth. Hope flared within him, along with his emotions, which he tried to bury.

His mind raced as he sought to come up with an answer, as to how and why she did what she did.

In a world where humans had the potential to live for more than a hundred and fifty years due to the sustaining power of mana, elves were an entirely different story. With the ability to live for over a thousand years, their longevity was unparalleled, provided they weren't met with untimely demise. But what unfolds when an elf becomes enamored with a race blessed with a much shorter lifespan?

The depth of an elf's love for another could be measured by their willingness to join them in death. They had the option to drink a potion crafted from a sliver of the fabled Tree of Life, which stood at the heart of their realm.

"It's known as the Eternal Slumber." Olivia said as she stepped into the room, "Their soul returns to the Tree of Life, so their bodies can be buried next to the one they love."

Ciaran opened his eyes and gazed softly at Cas but responded to Olivia, "For your sake, I hope you had nothing to do with this." He leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to Cas's forehead. 

In the blink of an eye, he sensed it through their deep connection: the barely perceptible tremor as one struggled to rein in one's emotions, the fleeting pause as one readied themselves.

Olivia braced herself for an explosive outburst from Ciaran, but to her surprise, there was nothing. Not a word, not a sound. It was as if Ciaran had vanished, leaving behind an eerie silence that unsettled Olivia to her core. Even their strong bond felt empty, devoid of any trace of Ciaran's presence. It was as though he had ceased to exist.

She stepped into the room with one purpose in mind—to confirm his presence. However, she encountered a sight of him crouched over Callista for a brief moment before vanishing into thin air. In an instant, she felt a sudden tightness in her throat, making it difficult to catch her breath, and an inexplicable sensation of her feet being lifted off the ground.