AN: As far as ratings go, this will stay as T-rated until more 'adult' themes are introduced. However, I do intend to include such themes, and there's also a (very) strong chance of R-rated scenes later.
Warnings for the entire fic: language, violence, and probable slashy moments.
Spirits Attain: Prologue
The old man chuckled softly, the rising tightness in his chest reminding him of his age. Though it was true that the former Assassin's health was deteriorating, he did not fear the inevitable. Instead, he welcomed death's embrace without hesitation, having lived a life with few regrets and enough enemies to make his long-since-deceased superiors proud.
Glancing to his right, his fingers brushed against the cool metal of the glowing orb, feeling its familiar pulses which seemed to mimic the beating of his heart. Had it really been so long since his father had chosen to pass on the mysterious artefact to him? His father's passing could not have been longer than fifteen years previous, though it felt like an entire lifetime had passed since then.
'It is curious…' he wondered aloud absentmindedly, attention still focused on the orb.
'Is it truly so?' a younger voice questioned in reply.
The old man raised his head to face the visitor, a light frown appearing on his brow.
'Kadar,' he began slowly, 'in one of the coming days, your unexpected appearances will cause my heart to give out.'
A small smile was the younger's response; a smile which held neither malice nor any trace of genuine happiness. Stepping forward, Kadar reached out a hand to brush against the other's, entirely unsurprised when his fingers passed straight through, rather than feeling any connection of skin.
'It seems that my efforts to do so have proven to be in vain, brother,' Kadar remarked, his tone lightly playful.
Sighing in weak exasperation, the old man shook his head Kadar's never-dampening spirit. How easy it was for him! In the last stages of his life, aged and weakened, he could scarcely remember his life as the young man so similar to Kadar. As the young man that Kadar had always been.
Eyes never leaving Kadar, he observed the way the man sat on the bed, shifting position as though he could feel the delicate softness of the blankets underneath him, as though there were any way he could encase himself in their soothing heat.
He had frequently known the man to eat, drink and sleep, though he had no use for any of these things. He had seen him bathe, watched him find shelter from the sunlight, witnessed him shiver from the cold of the desert night, and though these actions were in no way beneficial to him, nor did they hinder him. The old man smiled warmly to himself. He had grown to suspect that Kadar did not carry out these pointless tasks as they were what he had been used to in his life, as he had claimed. Instead, he felt it far more likely that Kadar did so in order to provide his old friend with some comfort, to convince him that he was not alone, nor did he belong in an insane asylum. Reminding him of simple - but meaningful - earthly tasks to prevent the old man from seeking his afterlife prematurely.
The gestures, though much-appreciated, were unnecessary. The old man was fully conscious to the fact that the fire in his life, which had previously burnt with ferocity and ease, had trickled into a mere ember. He supposed that Kadar had long been aware of this also, which certainly seemed to explain why he virtually never left the old man's side as of late.
He closed his eyes and hummed to himself quietly. Perhaps they would both find comfort and solace in his death.