There had been one thing that Rathma had not been prepared for going into the Cycle of Sleep.
Such magic was rare and powerful, and could not be cast upon oneself. He knew, going in, that centuries would pass between awakenings. Lifetimes, generations even. Kalan, and every one of his students, would be dead by the time he awoke.
This, he had known. And while it had been a painful separation, it was one he'd anticipated. They had said their goodbyes, and Rathma knew where the graves were. Every awakening, he visited, and reinforced the protective wards upon their remains. He paid his respects, and remembered them all fondly.
The last of the Nephalem had developed something like a routine. Awaken, deal with whatever catastrophe had unearthed itself, visit the numerous graves he cared for, check how the Cult was doing, and instruct them on how to put him back into his slumber… Sleep. Sleep for years upon years.
Rathma may as well have been dead during this time, and each time he awoke, he half expected to find his soul finally separated from his body. It would happen some day, he just didn't know when. The fated day during which he should've moved on had long since passed.
Now it was only a matter of time.
The faces and names and voices had long since started to blur together, but one had always been constant. Always had Trag'Oul's familiar presence and stars welcomed him, essentially, back from the dead. No matter how many passed as he slept, the dragon lived on. No matter how much time he lost, Trag was there to catch him up. No matter what friends he made and lost, there would always be at least one.
Mortal life was finite, and this, he expected.
Celestials though? Well, he'd always believed that was eternal.
At no point had he ever considered that he might wake up one day without Trag'Oul there to greet him. The dragon had never hinted at this possibility.
No one even knew what had happened. The masters in his order had been just as clueless as he - hell, they'd hoped he would somehow have the answers (as if one could sleep and learn at the same time, honestly). There had been quite a shock when, just as the fated comet fell from the Heavens, Rathma himself had awoken one last time. There had been excitement, and relief, and hope.
There had been grief, and despair.
For all any of them knew, Trag'Oul, the Fulcrum of the Balance, was dead.
This idea had shaken the ancient Nephalem, badly. Trag'Oul had been his entire world. Trag'Oul had been with him for what felt like his entire life, through every major and minor event. They were close, closer than breathing.
Had Rathma worshipped him? Perhaps. He had certainly loved him, in some way. How could he not love the being that was practically a surrogate father, a best friend, and the center of all his ideals all rolled into one magnificent being? It was not a love he'd ever acknowledged, and perhaps one that he'd taken for granted. Trag had been his world.
Inarius had once wanted all mortals to worship him as a god. But his son had already found one of his own to kneel down before.
Tyrael wanted to know why he did not sleep once more. True, there was likely danger ahead, but this was an eternal truth on Sanctuary. It stood to reason that Imperius was furious, and that nothing good would come of Malthael being simply imprisoned, not outright killed. These were things anyone could see though. Rathma had not bothered to give Tyrael the full truth, and it likely wouldn't take long for the man-angel to realize that.
The truth was that Rathma was afraid, truly afraid, for once in his life. The Dragon was gone. Kalan and his students were long dead, the Necropolis torn apart (his Chosen would find nobody. This, he already knew, but could not persuade them of). There was simply nothing left for him now.
The Dragon was gone, and without him Rathma didn't know what to do with himself anymore.
Even if he could've taught someone else the necessary spellwork to put himself down once more, what was the point? When next he awoke, who's to say all of Sanctuary wouldn't have already crumbled around him? No, it was better to live out the remainder of his days, to leave the Cycle of Sleep behind.
Rathma didn't think he'd be getting sleep of any kind for some time. He'd been rocked to his core, and he was afraid.