14 The Last Breath

Persephone Xenith

My hand trembled with some emotion. I couldn't tell exactly what emotion it was, but no matter what I did to calm myself, it didn't work. Gripping around the cold scythe, I began walking towards the woods, ready to chase down the bastard.

"Persephone!" Mordred came running over, his hair matted with sweat and his face red and ragged. After reaching me, he keeled over, struggling to breath.

I let go of the scythe, letting it dissipate into smoke and ash. "What is it?"

"Sol... Solskin…" he said between labored breaths.

"What about Solskin?" I asked with my eyebrows raised. I assumed the fight was over as it was now just silent. Deathly silent. Literally.

I felt the death around me, the souls departing.

"He's… he's… dying...."

I took off.

Mordred Leporum

I watched Persephone take off. Honestly, I was a bit surprised. She always seemed so unfocused and impersonal, yet at the news, she was gone. Did she like him or something?

"Wait… for… me…" I muttered to myself before sprinting after her.

When I came back, everyone had taken a sudden interest in the tiny details of their shoes. Xavier, along with Alistair, were trying to treat the wounds as best they could. With torn shirts and pieces of cloth, they were wrapping the wound as tightly as possible.

The makeshift bandages were soaked through with blood, turning it all into a deep dark black. Xavier's hands were the same color from pressing on the wound. The blood was slightly dried already, forming a red shell.

He looked up at me and shook his head. I watched Solskin's chest rise and fall slowly, barely noticeable already. It was getting slower and slower. The movement became smaller and smaller.

"His time is up," Persephone said with a small voice. Her pocket watch hung around her wide open, the hands approaching midnight.

She knelt down, placing her hands over Solskin's chest. She closed her eyes and spoke silently, mouthing words of prayer. Her hands went up and down with each dying breath of Solskin.

I took the same interest in my shoes. I stared at each stitch and lace that made up my travel boots. It was a lovely black, but it was coated with brown of the mud and the red of blood.

I didn't want to see the last one. The last breath.