Post-Origin Waking

[lightundying]

c a t c h - a l l?

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Clive + Dion

[lightundying]

It is an odd thing, to feel wettened and cold after death- to feel his face rub against equally cold and damp sand as he lifts his head and stares out across the gently lapping waters.

No crystal hangs in the sky, and the dawn shines so brightly- so clearly- that for several stretched moments, Dion is nearly certain he has passed on after all, that mayhap the afterlife is a paradise.

But no, there is pain that afflicts only the living- and the cursed ones at that. His right arm is weighted stone and barely moves; his chest feels uncomfortably tight. The rest of him does manage to cooperate, and he staggers to his feet. His halberd lies mere yalms away, and he is drawn to the shine of it, the promise of security to have it to hand- and considers briefly an alternative.

He hadn't meant to wake; had every intention to die and achieve a measure of penance through sacrifice.

Dion wanders the shore in the sort of half-attentive haze of a long march: one foot in front of the other and not particularly concerned with aught else. His thoughts are slow and tangled, and he cannot fix upon any of them for long.

It does not occur to him to seek out Phoenix or Ifrit until there is a body in the sand. Then, at once, the world rushes into motion.

Dion drops his halberd and presses a hand to Ifrit's pulse, curses when he realizes he is yet wearing gauntlets and instead drops his ear to the man's broad chest. And yes, there is breath, his airways clear.

He laughs a rasping breath of his own.

"Thank Greagor."

[rosarianoath]

Clive had closed his eyes to die. That he can open them all again is as surprising as the laugh so close to his face, and it jolts him from sleep, or a faint, or whatever incapacitation exhaustion had forced on him. He is aware, instantly, of every inch of his body aching. He is also aware of the man crouched over him, and the weight of him leant on his chest. He struggles to lift his head.

“Greagor?” he repeats, and it’s in that moment he realizes who it is. Dion. Oh, Founder. He lets his head fall back, closing his eyes again. He gropes for Dion’s shoulder with his good hand. What a terrible thing to have –– a good hand. He breathes: “I didn’t see Greagor up there.”

What did he see? His mind spins.

[lightundying]

Dion straightens up with a tired grin, relieved over again to see and hear the man awake and aware. His eyes glance further down the shore for a moment, wondering after Phoenix, but he spots naught of him as yet.

"Only a demon," he agrees. "One I pray you were able to dethrone."

[rosarianoath]

It takes a moment for his memories to catch up, wading through the bog in his brain. He takes a hard breath, screwing his eyes closed. Yes.

“He’s gone,” Clive says. “I thought you were too.”

And then, with an alarm constrained by the simple lack of energy left in his body: “And Joshua.”

[lightundying]

His shoulder slumps beneath Ifrit's hand. He had not known how badly he'd needed to hear of it; the demon gone, his plots not only in ruin, but ended. No longer would they be subject to such grand schemes and manipulations.

Dion presses a steadying hand to Ifrit's midsection, keen to the distress bleeding through his brother's name. "I've not seen him yet, but I have thought him dead once before. Certainly I should be."

[rosarianoath]

“You fell before Bahamut was wiped from the world,” he murmurs.

He wishes he could feel relief, but Joshua has been ripped from him too many times. He opens his eyes once more and looks up at the stars, still hanging onto the Prince’s shoulder, as if it were a tether to the waking world. Everything hurts, but it doesn’t feel like it matters. He’s grounded, as much by Dion’s hand as anything.

But he needs to get up.

“Can you help me to my feet?”

[lightundying]

Wiped.

It's well he has a moment to simply sit in frozen silence. For all the beast had been near-silent after Twinside, he had not been truly lost. And now that he has turned his focus inward, he finds there is nothing- not even aether. It's troubling and he means to ask further, but there are more pressing matters.

Dion breathes through the rising tide of uncertainty and worry, and shifts to stand. "Of course."

After a moment's recollection wherein his right arm resists his will, he offers out his left hand. His knees brace in anticipation of Ifrit's weight.

"As much as I am able."

[rosarianoath]

Clive groans as he sits up, his aching body protesting the inconvenience of having to be alive at all. He’s not sure how either of them manage it one-handed, but they do.

“At least if we go down, we’ll go down together,” he breathes, trying to bear as much of his own weight as he can. “I’m sorry.”

[lightundying]

Dion shifts and grunts for the effort. He has borne Terence's weight enough to be familiar- though he'd had two functioning arms then. But they are both of them standing in the end, and Dion flashes a breathless smile. Such exertion should not have ordinarily been enough to wind him, but it has been a rather harrowing day.

"No apologies," he sighs, casting another glance to the sun as it relates to their surroundings. Greagor, but they are leagues from Bennumere and have not even chocobos. "Shall we search for your brother?"

[rosarianoath]

Founder, would it ever be nice to just lay back down, and let his flesh and bones sink into the hard sand until they were one, but Joshua is a north star, a singular reason to persist in this very moment. Even if he drops dead from exhaustion a moment later, it will have been worth this effort.

He nods, just a hasty jerk of his chin.

"Yes," he says. "The sooner we find him, the better. If we can't..." He can't even think of what that'd feel like, but there has to be some semblance of a plan. "We camp. Recover some strength."

They die of exposure. Sounds better than exhaustion, as if the two of them had fought decades just to fall short of expectations.

[lightundying]

Dion bends to retrieve his halberd, comforted for the weight of it. The loss of his right arm had been a known inevitability, and thus he had gained reasonable proficiency with his left. With fortune however, they would not run into aught that would press their new disadvantages.

The beach seems clear enough for now. Dion nods ahead.

"It seems unwise to split forces as we are now. Pray lead on, and I shall follow."

[rosarianoath]

Clive takes a step, but he doesn’t veer far from Dion; either of them could collapse from exertion, and he isn’t sure he could do much about it if Dion went first, but it soothes the anxiety thrumming in his chest to think he could. Even turning his head feels like a great feat, let alone putting one foot in front of the other, but he manages, somehow.

“If one of us falls, at least the other can carry on and make it a little further,” he says, barely above a murmur.