thm. blissful death - nier automata
Ishgard and Coerthas as a whole seemed to always be wrapped in a perpetual cold, but that was one of the many things that Rune loved about the region. It reminded him of home, of the snowfall and the mountains so steep as if the land itself was reaching for the sky. It was rare to feel now that he had called Eorzea home for several decades, but on occasion does he feel the pangs of homesickness; and with that homesickness does he make the trek out into the Coerthan wilds.
And yet, despite the frost and the snow, nothing could take him out of the thick cotton that clung to his mind.
He laid his back down against the snow with a sigh, arms and legs spread out as if he was seconds away from making a snow angel. He watched as the snow slowly drifted down from the firmament, and the muffled silence that the environment brought only made it easier to draw back into his mind and into the threads of the nightmare that refused to leave him.
Dark smiles. A splash of blood that was not his own. Screams abruptly turning into silence after an explosion. Lifeless blue eyes, burning their gaze into his soul.
He didn’t want to see any of it.
With another sigh, he turned to his side, dragging his gaze along the treeline of the pines that surrounded the clearing. The sleepless nights had bled into the days, and he knew it showed, but that stubborn part of him – the part that was so averse to being taken care of – refused to let the other Scions do anything about it.
They’re trying to take care of you, you know, his own inner voice chastised him. He buried his face half into the snow as if it were warm covers of a bed and closed his eyes in response.
Nothing was working. Insomnia was one enemy he didn’t know how to fight against, let alone win, and it was all thanks to that damnable prince.
His fingers twitched at the thought, and he resisted the urge to close them into a fist. Embers of fury threatened to stoke a fire in his heart, and yet he felt too tired to even let them smolder into a flame. Instead, he let his mind drift as he imagined the snow slowly covering him and forming a blanket he can pull over himself. If only sleep was easy to reach these days.
That said, perhaps today he can get some sleep, just for a little while. Anything to escape the fogginess of his mind and the fragments of nightmares that refused to leave him be.
Yes, maybe…
Snow-muffled silence permeated the air as Rune, finding the first small peace he’s had in days, let the oblivion of sleep take him without much fight.
…
Silence…
And then…
Footsteps, leisurely in their pace, slowly began to break up the silence as black boots crunched the snow beneath them, approaching the exhausted, sleeping Viera. Eventually, the steps came to a stop immediately next to Rune, whose deep, gentle breaths signaled that he well and truly was out like a light.
There was a chuckle as the figure dressed in black knelt down onto one knee. They said nothing as they reached a gloved hand towards Rune’s face, ghosting their fingers lightly against his cheek almost reverently.
“To think you’d allow me to torment you in this way…” a man’s low voice murmured. “…what an honor. But it’s not quite what I’m looking for.” His other hand reached for the massive, bloodstained scythe holstered to his back and unsheathed it, lowering its blade down to meet Rune’s neck. The latter didn’t move an inch, still sound asleep.
“It would be so easy to kill you now,” the man mused thoughtfully. “You practically gave yourself to me on a silver platter that the temptation is very nearly hard to bear. And yet…” He trailed off, the blade continuing to rest next to Rune’s jugular as a part of him half-expected him to suddenly jump up and attack out of nowhere, but nothing; Rune continued to sleep as if there was nothing around that threatened his life at this very moment. Something inside his chest fluttered - a fleeting emotion - at the sight before him that he inexplicably found beautiful.
Raven hair against the white snow. The gentle peace that had overtaken Rune’s normally guarded and vigilant features. So tranquil.
So vulnerable.
Death was very much giving this Warrior of Light a kind of loving embrace in the snow, so much that the man was nearly jealous. He need only to move his hand in the fatal direction, and that’ll be it – the end of his friend.
He sat there for what seemed to be an eternity until he slowly moved his scythe away, resheathing it. “It would give me no pleasure,” the man finished. He fully cupped his hand to Rune’s cheek, giving him a smile as he leaned down next to his ear.
“Rest well, hero.”
With that, he drew away and stood back up to his full height, keeping the image before him locked tightly somewhere in his mind and heart. He stood in the silence for a few more heartbeats and slowly turned, walking away towards the direction from where he came.