Phakomathen
It was a warm evening in Tharios. The city's great tower, Phakomathen, looked particularly beautiful, its flashing crystals striking against the backdrop of a deep pink and gold sky. The setting sun illuminated a lone figure on the viewing platform directly beneath the statue of Asaia Birdwinged.
Kethlun Warder stood on the outer edge of the platform, one hand clutching the iron guardrail behind him. There was just enough space for him to keep his balance unsupported. Reaching down carefully, he tugged off one boot and then the other. The wind pulled persistently at his clothes and hair, though he took no notice. He held his boots over the edge by their laces… and let go. He did not listen to find out if they had successfully made their earthbound journey, for he did not care. He was past caring about anything in this life.
He gazed out beyond the city walls to the golden grasslands, dense forests and grey-green waters. The view was spectacular, but Kethlun saw none of it. Beauty was not something he could appreciate anymore. Whenever he tried, something powerful would well up in his chest and leave him doubled over gasping for air. Lately, any glass that he tried to work became dull and lifeless; everything he made finished up in the cullet barrel. There was no purpose to his existence without his glassmaking and without her.
A wave of grief suddenly crashed over him and he had to grip the guardrail again to prevent himself from falling. He was not yet ready. With one finger, he shakily sketched the signs for peace and remembrance, leaving a trail of silver lightning in the air. Then he offered up a silent prayer to Vrohain.
Kethlun closed his eyes, conjuring up the image of a yellow-veiled brown-eyed woman beneath his closed lids. His pain crystallized into a single tear that seeped out and left a glistening track down his cheek.
"Yali," he whispered, and stepped over the edge.
Kethlun felt as though he was soaring. The world whistled past him in a blur. He held out his arms to embrace the ground…
A renowned Tharian philosopher had once said that death either destroys us or frees us. Yali's death had destroyed him; now he was freeing himself from his ties in the mortal world. His troubles were spirited away by the winds and instantly forgotten. For the first time in weeks he felt truly alive. The hollowness was gone. He was whole again, the rift in his soul repaired by the breezes that bore him swiftly towards the Black God's realm. He could almost feel the phantom hands pulling him down towards the darkness.
Kethlun suddenly knew that he did not want to die, that there was something to live for, but it was far too late. All he could do now was lament what he had not done during his lifetime. He regretted that he would never realise his dream of becoming a great glassmaker. He regretted that he would never master his newfound lightning magic. He regretted that he had not said a proper farewell to his loved ones, but most of all he regretted never telling them just how much he loved them.
Any moment now, he expected the excruciating pain to set in. But it never did. His body never hit the ground.
Keth opened his eyes slowly. Was he already in the afterlife? He looked upwards; the sky was still the same shade of pink and gold. Definitely Tharios. He looked down at his arms and legs - they were bound by ropes of lightning. His body was supported by a solid cushion of winds. Someone was anchoring him to the living.
Far below, he spotted a tiny beacon of red with silver threads streaming out towards him. Kethlun Warder sobbed with relief. He was not dead. She had saved him.
A/N: "Death either destroys us or frees us" is a quotation from Seneca, a Stoic philosopher.