Chapter IX
Talon had taken care to hide the dagger underneath the large pillow of the bed, slipping it just far enough underneath to hide it from plain sight. Malzahar hadn't seemed to have even noticed the precious item was missing from his belt, not even bothering to bring it up as he delivered the basket of assorted fruits and freshly baked bread to the hungry assassin. Talon didn't hesitate to greedily scarf the food down, engaging in idle conversation with the Prophet before he lay back down for a nap, resting on his stomach with one arm atop the pillow as if to guard the dagger with extra care.
When Talon's weary eyes opened once more, it was the dead of night. The room was eerily silent, not even the screech of a night bird able to be heard outside his window; it was unusual, but his thoughts were currently too groggy to even bother thinking too far on the subject. Blinking several times to help himself wake up, he also slid a single finger along the hilt of the dagger just to make sure it was still there, a tired smile curling on his lips from simply feeling its presence.
Talon huffed as he placed his hands beside his torso, pushing himself up as he looked to his right, and then to his left. He was alone, as usual, and the chains were still attached tightly to his wrists to prevent his escape. At least this time, the room was warmer than the previous night.
Though it didn't provide much comfort.
Smoothing his shirt and pulling his hood up to cover his head, Talon stumbled his way over to the far window. Sticking his head out as far as he was allowed, his eyes trailed up towards the dark night sky after examining the tall dunes in the distance. Upon looking to the far left, Talon's eyes narrowed in confusion.
The sky... had changed?
Talon's eyes stared blankly at the ominous purple clouds that rose in the distance, shrouding the starry night with a dreadful haze. He wasn't sure what to make of it, nor was he sure what he felt. Perhaps it was fear that was creeping into his mind as he pulled his head from the window and took a step back, eyes fixated blankly on what little he could see of the outside world.
Fear was an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time, not since the days when he was small - he was certain it was the emotion that was crowding his thoughts at the current moment.
"You've noticed."
The voice that made itself known made Talon's lips immediately curl into a snarl, head swiftly turning to match gazes with the Prophet.
"What is all of that?!" Talon asked, sounding a bit angrier than he had intended; but it was completely called for, he imagined.
"Calm yourself." Malzahar ordered, placing a hand on Talon's shoulder and gripping lightly, "Your calling. That... is what is out there."
Talon blinked in complete confusion, head slowly turning to look back at the circular window.
"...The Void?"
"Yes. Does it frighten you? Your expression seems troubled." Malzahar's hand moved to rest on Talon's chin, pulling his head back around so their eyes could once again meet, even if the assassin was content with staring at the far wall.
The Prophet didn't receive an answer to his question, glowing eyes narrowing as he looked down at the strong male in front of him.
"Talon... I know that it might seem... scary. However, I have already spoken with the Void, and it has assured me that this new life will be much better than your old one, as I've told you many times before. You must learn to leave your mortal self behind... join me, and stay by my side in immortality."
Malzahar's words only troubled the assassin further, his dark eyes staring the other down like a hawk.
"And what of Noxus? Lady Katarina, Cassiopeia... the General?" Talon asked, "what shall I do about them?"
"You may still see them. Should they accept you in the new form you will be given. Perhaps your new form shall even hasten your search for the General." Malzahar spoke with a large, warm smile, one that somewhat comforted the assassin, though not nearly as much as the Prophet may have hoped for.
Talon just couldn't shake the thought of fleeing while he still had the chance, so it made it difficult for him to truly be comforted.
Soon... if the time was right, and if he was escorted away from the home with Malzahar... perhaps...
"Maybe." Came his simple reply, his lips being met with a gentle peck from the other. "...Malzahar..."
"Do love me yet, Talon?" The Prophet asked with a grin, hearing a smirk come from the assassin.
"I still don't know what you expect. You've held me hostage, stripped me of my blades, forgotten to feed me a couple times, nearly left me to die in the cold... and you wish to know if I love you?" Talon seemed, at most, appalled, though his expression didn't speak for his heart. "...Call me a fool, but I do feel something for you. Even if I shouldn't."
Malzahar's grin didn't falter. "Good to know. We shall have to learn to tolerate one another, given we will be together for eternity."
The thumb lightly stroking his cheek made Talon also give a warm smile. Though behind the smile, his mind was at work. Win the Prophet over, get him to remove the chains, if only for a little while... and then escape. Simple, but it was only simple within his mind.
Performing the actions required would be... difficult.
"Icathia beckons. We should go." Malzahar lifted Talon's arms, placing his hands lightly over the chains that bound them.
Immediately, they vanished, as though they were never present in the first place - not a single link of chain was left behind. Talon breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing his aching wrists, though scowling at the pain the raw skin brought. He had been in chains for so long, it was no wonder his skin had been rubbed raw.
"I trust you, Talon." Malzahar began, moving over to the window to look out at the sky above, deep purple slowly leaking into the dark blue of night. "I will not put you in chains for our journey there. It will be a dangerous road, but we shouldn't have many problems if you keep beside me."
With the Prophet fixated on the sky and speaking away to the assassin about their upcoming journey, Talon quieted his breathing. His eyes hastily glanced to the bed, soon fixated upon the undisturbed pillow at the headboard. Malzahar's dagger was there, and now was his chance.
Talon gulped, the Prophet not taking notice of the way he slowly inched towards the bed. His hand extended until it was underneath the pillow, fingers slowly curling around the leather wrapped hilt of the small blade. It felt all too comfortable in his hand as he lifted it, careful to not drag it across the sheets and make a sound that would alert the other.
Inhaling a breath, Talon held it as he slowly approached the Prophet's form, biting his lower lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. His heart twitched, aching as he rose the dagger above Malzahar's back, part of his mind begging him to not go through with it. It pained him; but this was his only chance at escape, his only way to reclaim his freedom, even if it may be selfish.
It was just like before; just like long ago, when he had killed his only friend as a child... the thought flashed through his mind for a moment, and a surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins.
The assassin closed his eyes as he drove the dagger down, heart racing and chest being filled with an unsteady pain.
This was it.
It happened as fast as one could blink. The dagger pierced through the Prophet's neck, blade ripping through the flesh and coating the assassin's hands in blood. He released a heavy breath as he felt the warm liquid stain his fingertips, dark eyes slowly opening to inspect his work.
A dull copper taste coated his bottom lip due to how hard he had bitten into it, running his tongue along it to clean it of blood as he withdrew the dagger, feeling the body slump back against him helplessly. Talon couldn't bring himself to look at his victim, keeping his head turned away as he pulled him towards the bed and placed him down. Hastily, he grasped the blankets, pulling them up over the Prophet's body, but stopping just before they reached his lips. It was only then that the assassin's eyes accidentally caught sight of Malzahar's expression.
Talon could only stare blankly, a shock of sorrow rushing through him at seeing Malzahar's blue eyes that were focused forward. Dead, lifeless, and no longer glowing. It sent a chill racing through Talon's veins, the dull feeling of nausea paining his stomach from the sight alone. He... truly wasn't immortal, like he had said - was it a lie?
The Noxian never wished to see Malzahar like this, never wished to be the one to cause him to be like this. Yet... it was something that had to be done. For his freedom, for his General... Talon couldn't leave him behind, and become a Voidborn - not yet, not while he was still out there somewhere.
"I'm sorry." The assassin whispered, placing his hand over Malzahar's eyes to draw his eyelids down to close them, "...I can't. I can't join the Void and leave everything behind, Malzahar, I-"
Intaking a shaking breath, he lowered himself down to place a lingering kiss on the Prophet's still warm lips. His heart felt like it was shattering the longer he stayed near the Seer's broken form, no longer wishing to see him this way, or even be in the near vicinity of him. He needed to leave immediately, less he risk losing himself to his own stubborn emotions.
Grabbing Malzahar's cape from the bedside where he had left it, Talon pulled it around his figure and hastily donned his metal boots. From there, he fled the room and flung open the creaking wooden door to the outside, slamming it shut behind him - no one was around to hear the noise, so he wasn't at all concerned with quieting his actions. Now... began the hard part. The trek across the desert, during the night, without food, nor water.
Stepping forward, Talon's eyes drew upwards to the sky, looking at the dark purple that stained the deep blue like an intricate work of art. Lightning crackled in the distance, illuminating the dark clouds that loomed there. Unconsciously, Talon's hands clenched into fists - the warm blood still present on his fingertips.
A storm was coming.
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His breathing was labored, legs aching as he stepped up yet another dune. It had begun to rain, pelting him with freezing droplets as the sand below him sloshed with each step. It was hard to keep moving, his mind wanting nothing more but to find a safe spot to rest until the storm had passed.
Yet, there was no way he could stop.
Talon needed to be as far away from Shurima as possible, away from Malzahar's home; guilt was still heavy in his heart, and he needed to leave, to vanish from the desert.
His hands shifted the drenched cloak, pulling it tighter around him as if to help keep in the warmth. Talon's limbs were aching, both from the chill that was slowly numbing his skin and also from having to traverse the dunes in such weather. His mind was beginning to shut down, and his instinct of survival beginning to kick in.
The only problem, was there was no form of shelter in sight, he lacked proper heat, and held no food nor water.
A loud crack of thunder boomed overhead, startling Talon and making him lose his footing. He dropped to his knees, sliding part of the way down the dune before catching himself with his hands. Hissing, Talon scowled at the sand below him, watching as the tiny grains would sometimes jump upwards as the heavy raindrops pelted and jarred it from its resting place. With a shaking huff, Talon forced himself up the dune, using his hands and feet to propel him forward in a rigid climbing motion.
Back on his feet once at the top of the dune, the assassin continued walking.
Ten minutes had passed, soon turning into thirty.
Upon reaching nearly an hour of traveling, Talon's legs gave out underneath him and he collapsed in an exhausted heap. His legs ached far too much to keep going, the numbness from the cold finally setting in and rendering them completely useless; even with his blood moving from the constant walking, it wasn't enough to keep him heated. The chill of the desert night was certainly as unforgiving as he had been told.
Talon growled – he couldn't just stop here.
Though his breathing was heavy, and his mind was completely numb, he outstretched his arm in front of him. Dragging himself forward was the only way to keep going, even if it wasn't a good way of moving fast. At least his arms still retained some feeling in them, and he planned to use them until he tired them out entirely.
Which, unfortunately, took a mere five minutes.
Talon was strong, but dragging his weight across wet sand during heavy rains would wear down even the toughest of men. He was no exception, now laying helpless in the middle of nowhere, breathing heavily as he struggled to intake breath. With his body rendered nearly useless, Talon only assumed that he would die here in the sands, just like many others before him.
Travelers that were unprepared never made it far in Shurima; the sands consumed them, and they were never heard from again.
"Malz..." Talon whimpered, unconsciously - his fingers curled in the wet sand, crushing the grain between them before driving his fist down into the dune in a rather lackluster punch.
The Prophet was dead; there was no way he could come to his rescue this time.
The assassin's bottom lip quivered. For once, in a long time, he truly felt like he was going to die. Outmatched by the harsh temperatures of nature once more.
His eyelids were growing heavy. What little feeling he still possessed in his body was nothing but stings of pain that slowly turned over to helpless numbness. There was nothing more he could do; he had killed the only one that would be capable of protecting him, saving him in his time of need.
Or, time of stupidity, as Talon was willing to admit to himself.
What a fool he was, he mentally scolded himself; allowing his eyelids to close as the rain fell atop his collapsed form. His fingers uncurled in the sand, resting limply against the ground below as he muttered a quiet curse. Despite how numb his mind truly was, his thoughts were still drawn to the Prophet; his name playing through his head numerous times, growing fainter as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness.
Malzahar... truly was the one that his heart belonged to - no matter how foolish he was for giving it away so easily.