Womb

By Karen Hart

Disclaimer: The Xenosaga series is the property of Monolith Software, Inc. and Namco Bandai. I write these fanfictions for love of the game(s) and make no profit off of them.


Albedo's face reflected the glow of the molten rock and he was lit aflame where the light touched him. He reveled in the heat on his bare skin, clothes piled beside him. Rivulets of sweat ran down his limbs and torso like lava, and he, too, was a volcano.

Red light, red flame. It was the wrong red, too golden. Gold was destruction, gold was the death of dragons, forget the gold.

Gold dust woman, unwelcome sister, who turned the things she touched to ash. Who knew where she kept her cinders now.

Things were better before she showed up.

Black shadows played where the light couldn't reach. Gold corrupted ignorant black. Gold conspired to slay dragons.

Red light. Let it wash over him.

He'd been born from the back of a dragon, swimming in truest red. He remembered the heat of that serpent, his first and only contentment before the knives had claimed him and he was isolated from his lifegiver.

His first home, there'd be no going home. These days he resided in halls of steel like ice, so cold. Not now. Now he ran away from home—or was it to?

His dragon remained whole, scalding at the edge of perception. O beloved betrayer, dearest Rubedo. Slumber waking in your crystalline den.

There was no white here, just red light and gold fire and black shadows. White was never meant to intrude. White was consumed.

The lake below him bubbled, not red enough. Tainted light. His dragon had ripped him open and filled him with red roses, their petals edged in razors. They were the wound he could not heal, forever glowing within. Their edges sang like the rims of wine glasses.

Sing for me, intoxicant pain.

Rubedo had plucked his own wings, and filed his teeth to bluntness. His furnace dimmed. Poor drake. Albedo would fan those flames again.

Albedo leapt.

He no longer screamed when he did this. There'd been shrieks in the beginning, when he felt his skin bubble and blacken on his own bones, blood turned into briefest clouds. There was no danger. Just pain, twin sibling of joy.

His flesh vanished for a glorious moment before the hated mending began. Smooth bone, red muscle, red blood, white skin hiding the red.

Fire birthed him repeatedly.