A twinge in his heart was enough to jolt him upright. Feeling his heart tighten with every passing second as he instinctively gasped for air. What happened?
Glancing around him, everything felt extremely fuzzy still and god, his heart ached, even nowL'manberg? No, no, it couldn't be. There was no way. Who would do something like tha-
"My son" Instinctually he turned to see the figure, crouched down beside him, a sword seemingly thrown down to the ground and cast aside. Phil...He found himself staring as Phil began to move closer, trying to understand his movements in his state of confusion.
It wasn't until Phil leaning past him that he understood.
"Oh..." The only sound that managed to escape as a wave of sadness hit in time with yet another sharp twinge in his heart.
Right he died. Phil had actually done it. He actually killed him Killed his own son. Though, the reasoning really wasn't clear to him. There had to have been some sort of explanation, I mean you don't simply just kill someone, right? And this was Phil...Dadza. He wouldn't just-
His heart was heavy, but this time not from a twinge of pain that would course through his being. Good to know that he could still feel, he supposed.
"Dad?" An involuntary voice crack as the word slipped out made him recoil back briefly. It was enough to make the man, watching over his former self, also lean backwards and glance around the room. His eyes had softened after he spoke, no longer full of tears readying themselves to escape, a much more gentle look, with eyes wide, as if all of this had been some sick joke and Wilbur would just be elsewhere ready to make it a 'haha funny' moment.
He wanted to speak again. Words seemingly failed at every sentence he tried to form. 'This isn't your fault.' 'I'm ok, I promise.' 'I forgive you.' None of them seemed to happen so he was forced to just watch, as Phil gathered his sword, and left. Unable to avert his gaze from the space Phil had been, cradling him - well not him, but alive Wilbur.
That twinge in his heart grew tighter as seconds felt like minutes of just staring, with a longing to simply find the words he needed to say.
When word got around about Wilburs death there were a lot of mixed reactions. Apparently, he was a bad man? He couldn't recall that, he couldn't recall a lot of things. Had his mind just entirely blocked out everything negative to save him from the guilt? And how come he was a ghost?
Though nothing made sense to him, it was also oddly quiet now, everything felt, slow...No need to rush around being the president, not even needing to worry about surprise attacks or wars with his new fate. There was something oddly nice about it but he supposed there had to of been a reason for all of this. What do they usually say about ghosts? Unfinished business! unfinished business...L'manberg? His unfinished sympathy, maybe he could help rectify the mess he had apparently created. Though that didn't seem like some groundbreaking epiphany to allow himself to pass on, it seemed as good a start as ever.
From the ruins, he would help and assist to allow Lmanberg an easier recovery. He promised himself he'd be patient and just try to support from afar, I mean if they could in fact hear him, maybe there were other things he could do to busy himself in the aid of recovering the crater.
Maybe, he could use it as a new beginning.