It's over.
Cold drops of rain soak through his clothes and the silver-haired mage looks up to meet the crying sky. Or is it him, the one who's crying? He shivers as the wind blows, feeling it freeze the blood in his veins.
Ice mages aren't supposed to feel cold. Their magic is ice, their bodies are cold and their hearts are frozen. Is it possible to ever melt that ice? Is it possible for an ice mage to tremble from the cold? He had thought it wasn't. Then why does it feel like the cold is piercing through his skin, leaving permanent scars all over his body and soul?
Lyon smiles to himself. It doesn't matter when one is dying. He remembers the old lady's words, and the words of the man before her, and words of those he had visited before them. They all lead to one thing.
'There's no cure. You have less than a month and a half. It would be a miracle if you reach two months, but you won't live more than that. Also, don't let it deceive you. You may feel better at times, but it doesn't change the fact that you're dying.'
And there's nothing he can do to change that.
It's past midnight. Lyon is sitting in the dark corner of Lamia Scale, holding a cup of hot tea. He looks out the window, staring absently at the starless sky. Lamia Scale wasn't so lively at this time of the day, but it still held more life than he did. Even the dull night looked more cheerful than him now.
He eyes the guild and its members, the ones that were still there, taking in as much detail as possible. He believes this is the last time he sees them. With a sign and a heavy heart, Lyon exits through the back door.
He leaves the city, without looking back.
He walks alone in the night, with his arms crossed over his chest as a shield from the cold breeze. Usually, he'd strip out of his clothes and stand to feel the cold wind on his own skin. But that was before. He wasn't the same anymore.
He watches the pitch-black sky like a reflection of his soul. No moon, no stars, nothing to light up the darkness. Just a big, ugly black hole sucking his life out of him.
He has never felt more lonely than now. Or so empty. His skin was whiter than usual, his eyes dull, his body weak. The only thing that kept reminding him he was alive was the wind hitting his exposed skin and tousling his silver hair. He might as well die right now, what difference would it make?
Lyon had always been a man of action and it pains him that he can do nothing but wait for the final beat of his heart.
What does a dying person do? Make a wish list Things I want to do before I die and pretend to be happy that he'd done them? Is he supposed to do everything that he ever wished to do in his life in two months and then say goodbye to it? He had yet to discover, he had wanted to do so many things, but he wanted to take it slow.
However, he promised himself he won't waste the time he has to listen to the bird's chirp, to watch the river flow or to gaze at the stars and pretend he'd miss those little things. He wants to try something new, something that would complete his life.
The problem is that he doesn't feel like he's dying. Most of the time.
He had spent a month traveling around the country, looking for a cure or a different explanation of his health, before he accepted his fate. And now he has a month and a half to live, according to every healing mage he had managed to visit. What will he do?
A/N So, this is just the intro to the story. It will have a lot of angst, but also cute and fluffy moments. Enjoy them while they last haha. Hope you like it!