#i also used a dead owl for this specifically bc 1) he likes birds; 2) a loose reference to the day he lost nagi when she first died

[eternadyne]

"the hunter does not seek dead game." / @lunaetis​

Cold is the rain that drenches his entire being whole ——— the clouds heavy, blurring out the moon, his shadow looming solemnly over the (winged) creature cradled within his grasp.

Its heart had long stopped, and its feathers had long dulled ——— merely gazing back into his eyes with all the color drained from its own, stirring his wayward soul like a needle-kissed nerve. How foolish of you, he thought ——— to die alone in such an unruly place; to allow them a reason to take you away.

Calloused fingers, unconsciously trembling, loosened their grip upon the fallen bird and began to (fervently) claw at the ground: hearing none of the ignorance that fumbled from the woman’s mouth, for she knew naught of what she was talking about ——— believing oh-so naively in what she couldn’t possibly hope to understand. Of the hunters that lie below: those that wanted bones. Those who craved (wandering) souls.

Those whom he’d been running from for nearly two entire centuries ——— their fingers wrung so very gently ‘round his neck, like a noose that had not yet been tightened. Waiting eagerly for the day that he should one day slip from the stepping stool and find himself jerked back down into the dark.

His fingernails grew filthier with every labored drag of his hands, digging and digging without end ——— his blank expression contrasting the welling in his eyes, not a single sob or choke to be heard out of his mouth. Dig deeper, dig deeper, dig deeper: it is all he can think about, all he can do.

It is only when Nagi finally perches upon his shoulder that he stops, as if drawn out of a (haunting) trance. As if reminded that this grave is not meant to be his.

The gate must remain open; and you, Setsuna, must never falter. Yours is the blade that shall silence any and all who wish to bury us again. Yours is the soul that shall let the dead roam free. Stand, and never forget that. 

Cold is the rain that drenches his entire being whole when he stood upright again ——— the clouds heavy, blurring out the moon, his shadow looming briefly over Misaya as he walked past her without a word; the dead owl in his arms again, taken instead to a flowing river where its corpse would inevitably float downstream. Alone, for the rest of its days.

…But free ——— forever free.