A/N: Nooo I just can't seem to stop torturing myself. Someone just shoot me and spare me the pain of reading my own work. Ok, back to business. Thank you my dear Rivi Laurant, pika318/Magi_Axi_Junn, layla and NEKO NO GIN for not puking at my crap last chapter. Yes. Thank you very much indeed.
Disclaimer: Revo owns Sound Horizon, and he can keep it. And he should get some sleep. And I probably owe Defade massive taxes for referring to her translations. I'm going into hiding.
IV. Towards Cruel Eternity
Seasons came and went, and none of them meant anything. While the flowers bloomed and withered, while the birds came and went, while people lived and died, time did not pass for her.
Since escaping the dungeon, Layla had not felt the effects of time ever. She had tried to mark the years at first, tried to cling on to what remained of her humanity, but after what she estimated was her eighteenth birthday, she gave up. She didn't feel any different from when she was sixteen. Ever since the pact, she didn't feel cold anymore, and she thought she felt stronger too. She thought she would get used to it, but she never quite did.
She had discarded the veil in the same dungeon, with some regret. It was torn and bloody, and she didn't want any more reminders of war, but leaving it behind had made her sad as well. After some hesitation, she had removed the cross hanging around her neck and placed it on top of the folded veil. She wasn't human any more, and she had no right to be proclaiming herself as one.
Even so, it took her a while to accept that she truly wasn't human and would never be again.
In the beginning, she tried to count the days. With every rising of the sun she added one more, but as the sun kept rising, it became harder and harder for her to keep track. Finally, on the night of what she thought of as her eighteenth birthday, she let go of her attempt to keep hold of her humanity.
Wandering about the plains as they had always had, Layla and her companion had chanced upon that still lake in the night. There was a full moon that night, and the perfect, unbroken surface of the water reflected its pale white beauty. Even though her demon self had an instinctive dislike for water, her human experiences overcame it so thoroughly that she found herself standing by the water's edge before she was even aware of her aversion.
The silvery surface of the water showed her reflection clearly. For the first time in two years, Layla was aware of how she appeared to the world. Her normally dark hair held red streaks in them, and even though the last time she caught a glimpse of herself was when she was at home with her mother, her face had not aged the slightest. The simple white shift she wore showed signs of wear; the wearer herself none. It was disturbing, in a sense.
More disturbing still were her eyes. Her father's dark irises had been replaced by blood red ones. Just like the demon's – Shaytan's.
She tore her eyes away from the lake to look over her shoulder. Shaytan kept a healthy distance away from the water's edge. What he felt about being so close to his natural enemy she couldn't tell, because his face was hidden in shadow.
Thinking about it made her curious. "Shaytan?"
He raised his eyes from his feet, allowing her to catch a glimpse of his glowing red irises. "Layla."
Now that she got his attention, she realised that she didn't know what she wanted to say. An long pause ensued while she tried to collect her thoughts. "I'm not a human any more, right?"
"No," he said quietly, watching her attention switch back and forth between the lake and him.
"Then why do I feel sad?" The question slipped out so naturally, she wondered if that was what she wanted to ask all along. Perhaps it was. "If I'm not human any more, why do I still feel sad?"
"Layla," Shaytan began in response, "everything that you loved slipped through your fingers. Before your tears formed a river, I gave you a kiss of oath. Even so, when all that you desire shake themselves free from your grasp, you will feel sad because it is in your nature to do so."
Unconsciously Layla took a step in his direction. Then another. "Will you slip through my hands too?"
Shaytan didn't need her distressed tone to tell him what he should say. "Never," he promised.
She was right in front of him now. Hesitantly she raises a small hand and closes it around his claw, before reaching out to cover it with her other hand. She exhaled slowly. Even though she could no longer feel cold, he still felt warm to her. It was a warmth that she missed ever since her mother died. "Thank you." She could hear a tremor in her voice. "Thank you, Shaytan."
-o-o-o-
Since then, Layla made the decision to stop clinging on to the remnants of the life she once lived. She still preferred to avoid civilization, if possible, but there were a few things that she needed to obtain.
The first was new clothing. She felt absolutely improper walking around in her torn white shift, but it hadn't been a pressing issue before, when she was too occupied with her identity to care about how she appeared to the world. Ever since accepting herself as one of Shaytan's kind – and realising the possibility that he had seen her as one of his own since the pact – she felt mortified that she had been careless about her appearance before.
For that, she had to approach another settlement, one that was far from her own. She knocked on that fabric-seller's home early into the night, and traded a rabbit for her wares. The old woman was frightened to see a girl in white at her door at first, but eventually became less guarded and even a little sympathetic when Layla told her that she had been caught in the crossfire. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the complete truth either. She had been careful to keep her eyes lowered all the while. The red colour probably wouldn't help her case.
Shaytan had helped her catch the rabbit. Or rather, Shaytan caught the rabbit with her help. Or without her help. She wasn't sure if getting in the way counted as help.
Either way, she successfully found herself some material to work with. She shunned her traditional style of clothing for something bolder, something that wouldn't look too out of place beside her perpetual companion from now on. It took her a while, working alone in the wild, but she managed something functional in the end. As a last-minute addition, she twisted her hair up into a braid and secured it with a piece of scrap cloth.
Shaytan watched her all throughout the process. She felt decidedly self-conscious when all he did was sit on a rock and watch her all day, but she reasoned that it was a good thing because it made her focus more on her hands. What she didn't notice, though, was that she watched him almost as much as he observed her. When he grew bored and hopped off his perch to take a walk around the small area they staked as their own, her attention naturally followed. Distracted from her work momentarily, she would observe the way he walked around as though he wasn't quite used to being out in the open… until he looked her way and sent her head ducking, back to her work.
There was once, however, that she didn't turn back in time, and he caught her staring. Or, as she preferred, spacing out in his general direction. That send her mind desperately scrambling for a possible reason for her to be generally inattentive. "Shaytan?" she said, in an attempt to buy some time.
He inclined his head, the black horns catching the sunlight. "Layla."
She paused for a moment to find the words she needed. "Why did you make the pact with me?" That question had been genuinely bugging her for a while. Why didn't he just leave? Nothing was stopping him.
He turned his face slightly to the open sky behind him. "Left behind by time, in darkness for too long," he mused quietly, seemingly to himself. "Forgetting my name, until I saw your light." He turned to the confused girl sitting behind him, with black cloth spread all over her lap. "Until you called out to me."
Layla didn't really understand all of it, but she nodded anyway and returned to her work. Some things that Shaytan said could use further thought, but she was beginning to wonder why he was sealed away in the first place when he was so… kind. It didn't seem fair that he had to be imprisoned for years and years.
Then with a sinking feeling, she realised that she did not know if he was following her out of obligation or of his own free will. It sickened her to think that she might be the one keeping him from freedom now.
-o-o-o-
The war was escalating.
Seven hundred and fifty years, and the war hadn't died down. In fact, it had only gotten worse, culminating in a final battle at Alhambra. The battle that Layla was currently watching.
She hadn't even wanted to go in the first place, when she saw the Iberian soldiers marching on their way to the hill. But Shaytan had suggested that they did, so there she was, watching the carnage unfold before her.
Shaytan had become very capable of reading her mood over the last seven hundred and fifty years. Perhaps that was why he suggested it at all.
She had thought about annihilating one side more than once, just so that she didn't have to come across corpse-strewn battlegrounds ever again. Whenever she saw refugees fleeing, she was struck by a desire to put her immortality to good use and put an end to this senseless war. But always, always, she came back to the fundamental question that she could never answer.
The ones who took my father were those who cross themselves, the people of the Book. The ones who took my mother were those engaged in killing, the akh of scriptures.
She could find equal fault on both sides. She thought she left it all behind with her humanity, but it was very much like Shaytan said: there were some things that couldn't or wouldn't change about her.
So why can't humans cut the negative chains of repeating conflict? What should a weakling like me hate?
Layla didn't want to hate. To hate any one side would be like casting away one of her parents, and human or not, she wouldn't want to reject the people she loved most. Did her father and mother really hate each other's religion? She didn't think so, or she wouldn't be here now. Even after being taken and killed, she didn't think they would hate any religion that wasn't their own. Not when they were willing to risk everything for each other.
So if they didn't hate each other, didn't hate the opposing sides… Then what exactly did they blame it all on?
Ah… I finally understand.
"What is your decision?" Shaytan's quiet but steady voice rumbled beside her.
Despite the severity of the situation Layla smiled. Shaytan was so dependable, so understanding. It was almost as if he knew her better than she knew herself. Even if he wasn't following her out of his own free will, she had to admit to herself that she would rather not give him up now. She was selfish enough to wish that, at least.
"I want to end this war," she said. "I hate this war. I hate how it takes away people who don't even want to be in it. I hate how it convinces people that they are different from 'the others'." Near the end her voice started to tremble and she had to tilt her head back to prevent the hot tears from spilling down.
How is it that she can even cry now?
Her emotional turmoil did not go unnoticed by Shaytan. He seemed about ready to comfort her, raising one clawed hand, only to drop it back down and lower his head. "If this is your wish, then I will grant it," he said firmly, with no wavering. It was a stark contrast to the startled girl beside him.
And startled she was, because she took a moment to find her voice. "Shaytan… you don't have to," she replied. Her heart was pounding. Why would he do it? Why would he want to do it?
"If it is your wish, then I will grant it," he repeated stubbornly, placing his hand over his chest, as though it would convey his sincerity.
It must have, because she swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. With her approval, Shaytan flapped his wings and took off, leaving her to watch him through her blurred vision.
-o-o-o-
The war was over.
Layla stumbled through the flames, weaving her way around charred corpses and broken swords. She held her breath as the stench of burnt flesh threatened to overcome her, and tried not to look too much at the broken bodies lying on the ground. Most of them were already dead before the fire raged through, but she couldn't help but wonder how many of those deaths were on her conscience.
Perhaps she was no better after all.
Despite that, Layla only had one goal as she made her way across the battlefield. She had to find Shaytan and make sure that he was unharmed. He did this for her, so more than anything, his well-being weighed more on her mind than anyone else's did.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a winged figure silhouetted against the backdrop of flames, and broke into a run. "Shaytan!" she called out, momentarily forgetting about the acrid stench of burning bodies.
He turned around and his crimson eyes flashed, causing her to stop in her tracks. "Shay… tan?" she asked uncertainly. The original story that her father told her so long ago crossed her mind, bringing with it unpleasant thoughts. She pushed them away. That wasn't the Shaytan she knew, and she shouldn't let an old story sway her faith in him.
Then his face settled back into its usual impassive demeanour, and a shaky smile broke out on her face. "Shaytan!" She called out again, in a voice that was torn between relief and happiness. Her pace picked up once more, faster this time, until she found herself running headlong into the him.
She felt his claws close around her arms gently as he tried to set her on her feet, but she threw her arms around him and refused to let go. Realising this he changed his grip to one that was more expansive, lightly stroking her hair with one hand. "Layla," he said comfortingly, "the war is over. I tried not to hurt the humans where I could. It is all over."
She knew that she should be happy that it was, knew she should be rejoicing that the Iberians and Moors were finally joining hands, but at that moment it didn't mean as much to her as it should. "You're not hurt, are you?" she asked anxiously. She couldn't see any wounds, but that didn't mean that they weren't there.
"No," he affirmed, making Layla's relieved smile grow wider still.
Now that her main worry was proven unfounded, there was one more thing that she had to know. "Why?" she asked, her voice sounding muffled.
Shaytan's hands continued to stroke her hair comfortingly. "Because I swore to drive away all that harms you with these hands, to end everything before the blood forms a river. I would destroy all that you hate with these hands, be it heretics, brethren or war itself. In return, I asked one thing of you."
Layla nodded into his shoulder. It all made sense now. It was never his choice to follow her; it was her choice to stay with him. That was how it was from the start, and how it had always been.
He shifted his hold on her so that he could look directly at her. "Do you regret choosing this path?"
She shook her head vehemently. "No, never," she replied truthfully. "I don't regret it. I think… I think I might even have been happy, all these years, even though I didn't know I was."
Shaytan's arms slipped around her once more, holding her in a tight embrace. Layla returned it, letting the feeling of peace and joy wash over her. Even surrounded by death and dying, even knowing that the flow of time could bring many more of these moments, Layla was content knowing that being with Shaytan would keep it from turning into cruel eternity.
A/N: AND SO I AM FINISHED! THE END! KAPUT! BRING OUT THE CONFETTI! And this is the last that you'll see of me until December ahaha. Thank you all for your support and help, especially the IRC folks who have to watch me writhe over the potentially sticky parts. Yeah. Thanks so much you guys!
P.S. Did you guys manage to guess which scene it was that I really wanted to write?
