#( i will die on the hill that moze was the very last thing he saw )

[daybreakrising]

MOMENTS BEFORE SHADOW - A J.IAOQIU DRABBLE

i have been musing on this idea ever since i finished the 2.5 story, but i held off until i knew most people were caught up to avoid spoilers. even so, this will be tagged & the majority of it will be under a cut anyway as per my usual drabble formatting, but in case it wasn't clear: spoilers ahead. you've been warned and speaking of warnings: mentions of blood, themes of death, etc. nothing huge and/or detailed bc this is just a quick little thing, but even so.

So, then. This is how it ends.

The stone beneath him is cold – or perhaps it is simply he who is cold, despite the fire that is slowly burning him alive from the inside. He has never felt such pain in all his life. He has witnessed it, he has treated it, but experiencing it is… something else. The scent of blood is ripe and overpowering, a cloying stench thick upon the air. He can taste the tang of iron on his tongue. And yet, he has never been more at ease. That he feels this pain is only evidence that he has truly been alive. It is… comforting, almost.

Comforting, too, to know that he has succeeded. He would suffer pain like this a thousand times over if it meant he could finally help to save his general… or, at least, to help her to save herself. His blood will be the trap that ensnares Hoolay, leaving him open, vulnerable. It was a worthy sacrifice.

If he had the strength to laugh, he might. Once, he had scorned such sacrifice, despaired over the pointless loss of life he had worked tirelessly to save time and time again. What was the point, he had wondered, what was the point in saving them only to watch them die the next day? How far he has come since then, he thinks, and it is all because of her.

No… because of them.

They gave him purpose. She, who once asked if he could cure war. He, so mistrusting of doctors after endless suffering at their hands, yet so trusting of him. The broken pieces of himself that he left behind in war were too shattered to be repaired, but they forged new ones to rebuild him. He would not have had the strength to do what needed to be done without them. He can only hope that they will understand; that they can forgive him for this final act.

It will be Moze who finds him. Of this, he is certain. He always finds me. His lips part and he utters an apology to the sky above that the shadow guard will not hear, his voice little more than a rattling wheeze: he is leaving such a mess for Moze to clean up. His strength is fading, his vision clouding, darkening. Is it his consciousness departing, or the tumbledust working through him? Does it matter?

He is cold; so cold. He can no longer taste the iron on his tongue. The stench is fading. Even the pain, the endless burning in his veins, has dulled. He knows, of course, what this heralds. He is a healer. The pain is not gone, but he no longer has the capacity to feel it. His body is disconnected from his brain as it gives him a final reprieve before the end: a moment of peace, of comfort, in which to depart the world.

There is temptation there, to sink into blissful darkness, but he resists. He fixes his weakening gaze upon the world above this corner where he lies, discarded like trash once Hoolay had satiated his thirst. If these are his last moments, then he will spend them with face turned to the sun, even if he can no longer feel its warmth. He will take this memory with him, wherever he is going.

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile. Though his world is almost nought but shadows now, he sees it: a flicker of movement, a familiar figure that darts from rooftop to rooftop with almost frenzied purpose. There is no hesitation to the path it weaves towards him. You found me, he thinks, both with relief and despair. You found me.

Moze sinks into shadows from which he will never emerge, and Jiaoqiu at last surrenders to the tempting call of oblivion.