A/N: This has been in the back of my mind for months, so I figured I'd throw it out here. My WoL is a male Miqo'te. This will be diverging off of current canon (right before 6.3) and thusly will be kept fairly canon-compliant. Chapters will be kept fairly short. RxR
stars bear witness
"You."
There is nothing to add, apparently. The spoken word echoes in his ears, the sound cacophonous and muffled simultaneously, cutting through the fog in his brain; it is heavy, weighty, meaningful. Laden with too much. He cannot unpack what it means- not with his eyelids feeling sewn shut, his lungs emptied of all life.
And then, something switches. His gut warms as the voice sinks in, a faint echo in his brain crying out in wanton familiarity. Then, his lungs expand, giving him a mouthful of ice and frigid awareness of every pore in his skin, every ounce of flesh upon his bones crying out in extreme, unearthly pain. He grits his teeth and flexes his fingers, familiar gauntlets creaking in protest as they move, stiff as if they have not budged in years. The ache under his skin creeps ever deeper, but he focuses upon that voice as he shakes his hair, damp with what can only be frozen snow, away from his ears; the muffled sensation decreases slightly, the wind growing ever-louder as he clears his mind.
A different voice echoes. This one, however, rings within.
"Hear. Feel. Think."
He shudders, bile rising into his throat as his stomach contracts, painfully empty. Who are-?
"You never had the chance to live," the voice murmurs softly, a feminine tone lilting upwards in a manner that feels foreign. He wonders if it mocks him as he pushes himself up onto hands and knees, his torso promptly collapsing as acid rushes out past his lips, sizzling through the fresh layer of snow before him. He does not know this voice.
Pain is quickly growing into a searing agony of pinpricks and freezing heat and spasms taking over his flesh. He spits through sickly drool and bile. His body is broken.
"You helped save my children. It is time someone saved you."
He does not understand. Why would he need saving?
He glances about, anchored heavily in a field of snow. Off in the distance, a familiar, menacing tower of writhing metal, flesh, and corrupted aether rises into the heavens, partially obscured by low-hanging clouds, thick and heavy with snow and smog. He knows this land, he realises slowly. Fingers grasping at the ice underneath his palms, he sucks in a deep breath, pushing past the pain to taste the air. I know this land, indeed.
Suddenly, another voice- the first voice- cuts back through his confusion. It is familiar and warm, the tantalising tenor causing his heart to skip, blood rushing through his veins, a frenzy overtaking his heart. "What… what are you doing here?" it breathes, just barely louder than the brisk wind blowing through the air.
Slowly, he lifts his eyes, muscles tense and strained at the motion; his eyes land upon the tip of a spear, held by hands which he knows- hands whose strength still mars his flesh, if the pain is anything to go by. He knows these hands, and the Miqo'te who bears that flesh, gazing down at him in haunted, baffled fear.
He is akin to a ghost, he realises.
"I… don't know." It is the truth.
Pointed violet ears flick back and forth in confusion, creeping recognition climbing over the stoic warrior's face. "Do… do you know who I am?" the man breathes, bafflement and horror growing with every syllable. The tip of the spear relaxes slightly, no longer immediately ready to strike. "Do you know who you are?"
He shuts his eyes and sucks in a breath, holds it, and exhales. Zenos yae- no, Zenos viator- no, he thinks. Zenos Galvus lifts his chin to look up at the Warrior of Light, the figure who looms large over his mind, body, heart. His one and only friend. The memories which slowly flicker back into his mind tell him of the source of every bruise, every battered bone: this man standing before him, their fight at the end of the universe the only piece of clarity he thinks his soul shall ever possess.
The Warrior of Light had wept at the end of it all. At his end. He remembers this, too.
"No," Zenos lies gently. Then, he smiles.
He does not witness a response; it is time to sleep, the snow and ice of his motherland welcoming him back once again.