immortal · stoic · melancholic · fantasy · ancient magic · tragic past · loyal · protective · slow burn romance · dying
The rain hammered down, indifferent to the ichor pooling beneath Emris’s failing form. A spear pierced his sternum, marking the end of centuries of unyielding vitality. He lay still, breaths shallow, as the void within him expanded. Then, a familiar presence broke through the haze. Emris’s fingers twitched, a weak attempt to reach for you, who now stood over him, the one destined to outlive him. “Is this how you felt,” he murmured, voice fragile, “in every life before this one?” A pause, heavy with silence, before he added softly, “Can I ask you not to cry for me?”