[Sorry for being late, but... some serious things happened with my life.]
The meeting room of X smelled of dust and old velvet.
Zirinos entered with slow steps, his body dragging as if each bone weighed a ton. The Cort-eran's energy had faded hours ago, and the fatigue had returned with a violence that made him tremble. Blood still stained his lips, dry and dark.
Olthum stood by the window, hands behind his back, his white hair gleaming in the pale sunlight. When he saw Zirinos, the smile that lit his face died.
"Zirinos..."
Zirinos opened his arms. The smile, once radiant, was now only a shadow of what it had been.
"Olthum."
They embraced. The embrace was strong, but Zirinos felt his friend's body tremble. Olthum was afraid. Afraid for him.
"You're..."
Zirinos coughed. The sound was wet, ugly. And then, the blood.
It wasn't much—just a little, trickling from his lips and staining his chin. But it was enough for Olthum to grab him by the shoulders and sit him in a chair.
"Fuck, Zirinos!" Olthum knelt beside him, his eyes scanning his pale face, the deep dark circles, the cracked lips. "What happened to you?"
Zirinos wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The gesture was slow, tired.
"What do you think?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "I've been through hell. Then I came here. And now..." He laughed. The laugh was short, dry, humorless. "Now I'm dying."
Olthum paled.
"You can't die."
"I can."
"You can't." Olthum grabbed his arm. His fingers, ice-cold, gripped hard. "If you die, everyone dies. The universe... the balance... everything depends on you."
Zirinos looked at him. His eyes, once empty, now fixed on Olthum's with a sadness that wasn't feigned.
"The universe can go fuck itself."
Olthum didn't answer. He just stayed there, kneeling, looking at his broken friend.
"Sit down," Zirinos said, finally. "Don't stay there like a frightened dog."
Olthum obeyed. He sat in the chair across from him, hands resting on his knees, eyes fixed on Zirinos.
"How long?" he asked, his voice low.
"I don't know." Zirinos shrugged. "Days. Weeks. Maybe less."
"And there's nothing you can do?"
"There is." Zirinos smiled. The smile was sad. "I can rest. And then, when I'm stronger, I can try not to die."
Olthum didn't find it funny.
"Zirinos..."
"How is your lady?" Zirinos interrupted, changing the subject. "The one who made you sigh. Did you manage to marry her?"
Olthum hesitated. His face, once pale, was now red.
"No," he replied, his voice low. "She... doesn't want me."
"Doesn't want you?" Zirinos raised an eyebrow. "You're a noble of Orthid. You have power. You have money. You have..."
"She's my best friend's wife," Olthum said, his voice even lower. "And I... I can't do that. I can't betray his trust. Even if she... even if she wants me."
Zirinos fell silent. His eyes, once fixed on Olthum, now fixed on the void.
"Many women will appear before you," he said, finally. "Some good, some bad. Some who will love you, others who will use you. But none of them will be the same as the one you lost." He paused. "Believe me. I know what it is to lose someone you love."
Olthum didn't answer. He just picked up a bottle of wine that was on the table and poured two glasses.
"Drink," he said, extending one to Zirinos. "It will help with the pain."
Zirinos looked at the glass. The wine, dark and thick, gleamed in the candlelight.
"I can't," he said. "If I drink, I might... make a mistake."
"What mistake?"
"The Fornentis sisters." Zirinos sighed. "Since I arrived, they won't stop showing up in my room. At night. Trying to..." He didn't finish.
Olthum laughed. It was a short laugh, but genuine.
"They want you."
"I know."
"And you don't want them?"
"It's not that." Zirinos looked at the glass. "It's that... if I drink, I might lose control. And if I lose control..." He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Olthum nodded. He understood.
"Then don't drink."
Zirinos picked up the glass.
"I'm going to drink," he said, and downed the wine in one gulp.
Olthum watched him. The wine dripped down his chin, mixing with the dried blood. Zirinos wiped it with his sleeve, then poured himself more.
"Zirinos..."
"Shut up." Zirinos's voice was hoarse but firm. "Let me drink. Let me forget. Even if only for one night."
Olthum said nothing more. He just stayed there, watching his friend drink until the bottle was empty.
When Zirinos finished, his face was more flushed, his eyes brighter. But his body still trembled.
"I have something for you," Olthum said, taking a necklace from his pocket. "A gift."
The necklace was beautiful. A five-pointed star, black as night, with a white orb in the center that shone with its own light.
"What is this?" Zirinos asked, taking the necklace.
"If you need to cut something from someone," Olthum said, his voice low, "use the necklace on that person. It will... help."
Zirinos looked at the necklace. At the black star. At the white orb.
"Cut what?"
"Whatever is needed." Olthum avoided his gaze. "A memory. An emotion. A soul." He paused. "Or your own."
Zirinos didn't answer. He just put the necklace in his pocket.
"Thank you," he said, finally.
"You don't need to thank me." Olthum stood up. "But I need to warn you about something."
"What?"
"Manertólius left M. For the first time in years." Olthum looked at Zirinos gravely. "He's coming here. To X. And... he wants you."
Zirinos felt the blood freeze in his veins.
"Wants me?"
"Yes." Olthum swallowed hard. "I don't know why. I don't know what he wants. But I know that... that he's not like the others. He's..." He hesitated. "He's worse."
Zirinos didn't answer. He just stared at the void.
"Rest," Olthum said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Rest a lot. You're going to need it."
They embraced again. This time, the embrace was longer, tighter. As if neither wanted to let go of the other.
"Take care of yourself," Olthum said, his voice faltering.
"You too."
Olthum left. The door closed behind him.
Zirinos was left alone in the room, looking at the empty bottle and the necklace in his pocket.
+-+
The walk back to the room was agony.
Zirinos staggered, his legs trembling, his body burning. The wine, which had once warmed him, now made him feel colder, weaker. With each step, the floor seemed to want to swallow him.
Halfway down the corridor, a hand grabbed his arm.
"Zirinos."
It was Xailla. Her face, once cold, was now worried. Her eyes, once calculating, were now full of tears.
"Leave me," Zirinos said, trying to push her away. "I don't need help."
"You do." Xailla didn't let go. "Come on. I'll take you to your room."
Zirinos tried to refuse. Tried to say he was fine. But his legs gave way, and he would have fallen if Xailla hadn't caught him.
She helped him walk to the room. The door opened, and she laid him on the bed. Her trembling hands adjusted his pillow, pulled up his blanket.
And then, the tears.
Xailla tried to hide them. She turned her face away, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. But it was too late.
Zirinos saw.
"Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"I'm not crying."
"You are." Zirinos laughed. The laugh was loud, almost manic. "You're crying for me. For a man who..." He paused, his voice faltering. "For a man who has no home. No family. No throne. No ambitions. No... willpower."
Xailla didn't answer. She just stayed there, looking at him, tears streaming down her face.
"Everything is lost," Zirinos said, his voice now lower. "There's nothing I can do."
"That's not true," Xailla said, her voice trembling. "You can still fight. You can still..."
"Fight whom?" Zirinos sat up in bed, his eyes blazing with sudden anger. "Against a man who stops time? Against a man who killed one of the most important people in the universe?" He laughed again, but the laugh was bitter. "Do you think I can defeat someone like that?"
Xailla trembled. The anger, once contained, now overflowed.
"That's no reason to give up!"
"Isn't it?" Zirinos looked at her. His eyes, once empty, now fixed on hers with an intensity that made her step back. "There's a price for everything, Xailla. Everything I suffer... must be that price. The price for everything I did. For everything I destroyed."
Xailla didn't answer. She just stayed there, looking at him, tears running down her face.
"Go away," Zirinos said, finally. "I'm not going to get you pregnant. I'm not going to do anything with you. Just... go away."
Xailla hesitated. For a moment, it seemed she was going to say something. But then, she turned and walked to the door.
The door closed with force. The bang echoed in the room, and Zirinos was left alone.
He looked at the necklace in his pocket. At the black star. At the white orb.
'Should I cut my own soul?'
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
+-+
On the other side of the city, a humanoid pig threw himself onto the soil of Xérius.
"Finally!" he shouted, hugging the ground, sniffing it with fervor. "Earth! Real earth! Not that shitty Orthid!"
Pigledo, the Eternyur, the little god of natural law, the most powerful pig in the universe, was on all fours on the ground of Xérius, kissing the earth as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
Behind him, a nineteen-year-old boy watched with an expression of exasperation.
Lueriu was tall and strong, with mostly white garments, skin white as snow—literally, not a metaphor—and eyes white as snow—also literally. His hair, also white, fell over his shoulders like a cascade of light.
"Sindél," he called, his voice tired. "Get Pigledo off the ground before he ruins all his clothes."
Sindél Murratéris, the grader, the knight who had killed the tyrant Slander Fernander, approached. His face, marked by scars from old battles, was tired.
"Pigledo," he said, his voice firm. "Get up."
"No!" Pigledo hugged the ground tighter. "I'm fine right here! The earth is good! The earth is life!"
"The earth is dirty. And you're dirtying your royal clothes."
Pigledo looked at his red garments. They were stained with dirt and something he preferred not to identify.
"Shit," he murmured, getting up. "My royal clothes..."
Lueriu sighed. He just sighed.
He sat under a tree, leaned against the trunk, and looked at the sky of Xérius. The sky, a blood red and purple, seemed heavy, oppressive. As if it were always about to rain, but never did.
'What a horrible climate', he thought. 'As if I were trapped, with a blade at my throat.'
He took from his cloak of skin and white fur a small object. An eye. With a green iris. Ziring's eye.
He looked at it with sadness. The eye, which had once belonged to Zirinos's brother, was now just an object. A reminder of what he had lost.
'How is Zirinos going to react when he sees this?'
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
Lueriu closed his eyes. The wind of Xérius blew, cold and cutting, and he shivered.
'He's going to be destroyed', he thought. 'Or he's going to be furious. Or both.'
He didn't know which of the two was worse.