Waylinn's gaze hardened with resolve despite his weakness. He would protect Heka, even if it meant dragging himself through the path of his own defeat.
For now, all he could do was tend the fire, to keep Heka warm. And then wait for the moment when his strength would return.
Waylinn approached Heka with deliberate steps, moving through the circle of fire he had just kindled. The flames flickered and danced around them, casting wavering shadows on the cave walls.
When he reached Heka, he stopped and stood before him. The warmth of the fire contrasted sharply with the cold vibe that hung between them.
Slowly, Waylinn raised his hand and extended it toward Heka. From his palms glowed faintly with a dusky gleam of light, the Soul Delivery. The ethereal glow pulsed softly, a living essence ready to flow into Heka's weary body.
Heka's eyes lifted to meet the gleam. For a fleeting moment, a memory stirred deep within him. The moment when he first received Soul Delivery. Back then, it had been a moment of joy, a spark of hope and renewal.
But now, that same light filled Heka with dread and loathing. He wanted to scream at Waylinn to stop, to halt this transfer of power that felt more like a curse than a blessing.
Yet, no sound came from his lips. His voice, once strong and loud, was now a fragile whisper lost to the cold air of the cave.
He didn't understand why he hated it so fiercely. Perhaps it was the origin of Soul Delivery itself. The dark truth behind its gleams.
Each soul absorbed was a life taken, a death caused. Though Heka never wielded the blade himself, the souls he consumed were harvested through intermediaries.
Or perhaps he knew if it was useless. No matter how many souls he absorbed, it would never prolong his life. As he knew that he didn't have much time to live.
The irony was bitter. He had feared this power, yet now it was inseparable from him. Stopping the Soul Delivery would not erase the sins he had committed. The weight of those lives lost would remain, an indelible stain no light could cleanse.
Waylinn chuckled softly, shaking his head at his own dumbness. "I almost forgot to feed you."
He said with a faint smile, turning away. "Wait here for a while. I will seek something to eat."
As Waylinn's footsteps echoed away, Heka's heart pounded with a sudden urgency. He called out, his voice strained but clear: "Waylinn!!!"
Waylinn stopped and turned, concern flickering in his eyes. "What's wrong?"
Heka hesitated. Then he forced the words out. "Can I ask for something?"
The fire crackled between them. The cave held its breath as the fragile moment stretched on.
"Just said." Waylinn replied. His tone was calm but edged with a hint of impatience.
Heka's heart sank. He doubted Waylinn would truly listen to him. No, he wouldn't. He never would.
Waylinn's loyalty was bound tightly to Marchio, and no plea from Heka could break that bond. Yet, despite the hopelessness clawing at his chest, Heka knew he had to try.
Heka's voice was barely more than a whisper. It strained with desperation and fear. "Can you stop giving me Soul Delivery?"
Waylinn's expression hardened, the faint glow in his eyes dimming. He said quietly, the weight of obedience heavy in his words. "I just do what my lord asks me."
The cave fell into a tense silence, broken only by the crackling fire. Heka felt a cold emptiness spread through him. It was deeper than the physical pain he carried. The power that sustained him was also a chain, binding him to a fate he wished to escape.
He wanted to argue, to plead for mercy, but the truth was clear: Waylinn was not his ally in this. He was a servant of Marchio. Although Heka's fate was no longer his to decide.
Yet, in that moment of despair, a flicker of resolve ignited within Heka. If he could not stop the Soul Delivery now, perhaps he could find another way. Another path to reclaim his own
path, thus breaking everything that haunted him.
Even he had to die.
Finally, after a long silence that weighed heavily between them. Heka gathered the courage to speak the words that had been buried deep within his heart.
"I know, but for this time, I choked up for everything, especially for Soul Delivery. Because I got it. It will not save me. It will delay my death. So, can you please just let me die when I'm on the edge?"
Waylinn asked. His voice was tinged with confusion and concern. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing." Heka replied, the words slipping out almost unintentionally. He realized he had murmured something only he could understand. An echo of his own torment that sounded like nonsense to anyone else.
This was often the case. His thoughts and feelings were locked away behind a veil of silence because he was afraid they would be misunderstood or dismissed. Hence, he took it as nonsense. So, more often than not, he chose to remain quiet.
He confessed softly, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I'm just tired. I'm tired of breathing and living.
Waylinn's expression softened. Without a word, he stepped closer and knelt before Heka, lowering himself to meet his gaze. The firelight flickered across his face, revealing a rare vulnerability beneath his presence.
Heka's eyes were drawn to the faint gleam that shimmered in Waylinn's outstretched hand.
Slowly, the light coalesced. It transformed into a delicate, exquisite sword. Heka stared in awe, unable to discern the material from which it was forged. However, its beauty was undeniable.
The sword was transparent, like the clearest crystal, yet it held a mysterious strength. As the light shifted. The blade sparkled with an array of colors, each angle revealing a new hue, emerald greens, deep sapphires, fiery reds, and soft violets. It was like a prism capturing the essence of the world itself.