A/N: Taking a brief trip backward for this one. This short was originally going to be included in Oblivion itself, somewhere between Alliance (Chapter 34) and Debt (Chapter 35). I cut it for sake of moving the story along and fear of boring readers, but I always enjoyed what was presented here. So consider this a "deleted scene" from Oblivion.
Trivia: Dais is reading a 16th century play called The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus, from Iris's library.
April 1988
The inky black ocean of the night sky enveloped the horizon, its shadow illuminated only barely by the slightest sliver of a cold, silver moon and the soft haze of city lights lingering along the skyline. The air was stagnant, lacking breeze or flow as if nature itself waited with bated breath.
Darkness was usually a welcome presence. Serene, silent. But it came now with an uneasiness, an eerie feeling, and somehow not even the silence was inviting.
Dais found himself gazing into the nothingness of a blank book page. He was unsure how long he had been staring into the void in this manner, though he knew immediately that anything he had attempted to read before that moment had been lost in the cacophony of his mind. He shifted his eye again to the text on the page. It seemed almost a foreign language, and he struggled clumsily through a single sentence before cursing internally and slamming the book shut.
The sound echoed in the stillness. Listening carefully to his surroundings, Dais found only that unsettling silence, suffocating and strange in a house that had been so boisterous days earlier. He pushed up from the desk and meandered to the doorway, leaning out to peer into the blackness of the hall.
The front door should have been open into the night, into the graveyard where its keeper stood vigilant guard. But the ward of this place was no longer keeping watch over it; instead, watch was being kept over her. A sinking feeling struck the Warlord in his chest and curled itself firmly around each rib, momentarily arresting him.
His master had ordered his death. He survived only because the bearer of the Oblivion armor had taken the fatal strike for him. And now, as Iris lay silent in her bedroom, she seemed to be succumbing to the blow. Dais had caught glimpses of the woman through the doorway over the days prior, recognizing in her skin the ashen undertones of a dying body. The terrifying rattle when she breathed. Death was an old familiar; he had seen enough of it to know when it loomed.
After a moment of thought, the Warlord turned back into his makeshift bedroom and took his book from the desk, tucking it under his arm as he stepped into the darkened hall. He quietly slinked toward the caretaker's room, noting the lack of lantern light in the quarters reserved for the Ronins. Spidery fingers were careful as they slid open the fusuma to the master bedchamber.
A tinge of shock quivered through Dais as his eye scanned the room; Anubis, who had not left Iris's side since the attack, was absent. Perhaps he had finally been coerced into showering, or had taken up the guard of the cemetery. Whatever the reason, only the woman remained, unmoved and unresponsive.
The Warlord of Illusion glanced down to see one of the many lanterns of the abode, waiting by the doorway. Plucking it from the floor, he cautiously turned the key, ensuring the flame was kept low and casting only a gentle golden arc in his immediate surroundings. He closed the distance between Iris and himself, quietly approaching her side.
Kneeling to one knee, he examined the woman with a keen eye. Her face seemed hollow, a shadow of its former self, and rosy lips were now a pale shade of bluish grey.
In the panicked frenzy to save the caretaker's life, her immaculately pinned hair had been thrown into a haphazard knot. Days of cold, clammy sweat resulted in matted tendrils, and the twisted loop frayed into unruly curls. Dais frowned. It was no condition for someone of her caliber to be left in. He placed the lantern on the floor and settled down into a seated position beside her.
The soft scraping of the front door as it slid open was startling in the stillness. Kento cringed at the sound, at first intending to draw it open entirely but stopping short at only a few feet ajar.
"Wake the dead, why don't you," Cye murmured, his voice low.
"Don't joke about that, man," Kento hissed.
"What, are you afraid you actually might?"
"Just no dead jokes, okay?" Hardrock straightened up and took in a deep breath to pull his chest and stomach in, shimmying through the cracked doorway. Torrent followed suit, his slender figure slipping through with far less effort, and he quietly drew the door shut behind him. He nearly tumbled over his friend as he stepped forward, finding the man halted in his steps.
"What gives?" Cye looked down to see Kento's furrowed brows. He followed his concerned gaze ahead and down the hall to a faint glow lingering in the master bedroom. "I'm sure it's just Anubis, he hasn't slept in days."
"No," Kento murmured, "he's out in the cemetery. I saw him on the trail." His footsteps were soft, and he ignored Cye's quiet protests behind him, swiftly moving through the house and approaching the bedroom door.
Peering in, his mind screeched to a halt. Dais sat on his knees at the caretaker's side, a fistful of her long hair grasped in one hand. Hardrock made move to burst into the room, an action predicted by his comrade as he grabbed the man's shoulder and tugged him back.
"What're you—" Kento's words were stifled as Cye clasped a hand over his mouth.
"I think you should leave him alone, Kento," Torrent murmured.
"Aryufkinkddng," came his garbled, furious reply.
"No, I'm not." The gentle Ronin nudged him and nodded ahead.
Kento swatted Cye's hand away from his mouth and turned his attention back into the room. The Warlord of Illusion remained quietly seated with the caretaker, and a closer look revealed a small wooden comb in his hand. He had removed the woman's hair from its ribbons and laid it out in sections, and his hands were surprisingly gentle as they worked their way through each lengthy lock, patiently combing out the knots entangling the dark strands before moving on to the next.
Kento glanced up to the knowing look on Cye's face and rolled his eyes before looking back.
Completing his task of detangling Iris's mane, Dais curled his fingers around it to gather it into his hands. He made swift work of separating the locks into three bolts before taking on the daunting task of braiding down their length.
Cye tugged Kento back away from the doorframe. "Satisfied? Let's go to bed."
Hardrock lingered a moment longer, watching the Warlord as he tied Iris's braid off with one of her hair ribbons and tenderly coiled it up around the crown of her head. His expression softened ever slightly. "Yeah," he murmured, "alright." Quietly, he shuffled away from the door and followed Torrent into their shared quarters.
Dais looked over the caretaker, still unmoving. Her inhalation had been erratic, and now as she drew a long breath, he heard that horrifying rattle. He took a deep breath and reached down to pick up his book, quietly turning back to his earmarked page.
"Accursed Faustus, where is mercy now?" The Warlord's voice was quiet as he read aloud. "I do repent; and yet I do despair: Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast." His words slowed and softened. "What shall I do to shun the snares of death?"
The sentence lingered on the silent night air as Dais's eye shifted again to Iris. If only.