i want to breathe, for one second more - kazuscara (原神)

prologue - endings, and new beginnings

The sight of his shadow had knocked

All air out of his slowly moving lungs

A sight to behold

A saviour before widened mortal eyes

Urging him to keep swimming

To not be buried underneath

Cold and unwelcoming waves

The hand grasping his

A strong tug from above

Lifting him out of the water

And into open arms

But the way he looked at him

Made the water solidify

And froze him into ice

Trapped within his own world

Yet time would continue ticking

Moving mercilessly as he remained there

Sitting, standing, shivering

As everything he once knew

Faded into the waters below

His saviour, wings struggling

Desperately against the current

And pulled in by the tide

So he would never see him again

He held his breath for all those seconds

Hoping the angel would come flying

Back to him, finally letting him take in

Another breath of fresh air

Although he never came

He would feel the words

Continue to grow beside him

Urging him to keep running

To thrive in a beautiful world

Even though he wouldn't be

There to welcome him

And he finally found

The courage to

Breathe

For one second more.

(Poem inspired by Kamikaze by Beatrice Garland)

Everybody has something to say. As Scaramouche, the Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, knelt before the dead boy's grave, he could hear whispers tickling his ear. If he had arrived a second earlier, if he had been there in time, if he had been more attentive to the poet... maybe Scaramouche could have heard the end of his sentence before breath faded to air.

He'd been laying there for a year now. Buried underneath sediment and soil. The rain pattered down mercilessly onto the ground, covering the grave with yet another layer of protection. A stray cat sat beside the rock, quivering from the cold. Originally white in colour, the poor creature was tinted grey and had lost a dangerous amount of weight. Scaramouche nearly refused to acknowledge the identity of the owner, unable to believe that death had taken his final ray of sunlight. If Scaramouche had been himself, he would have surrendered to the lingering thoughts that encouraged him to hurt others, to make them feel the pain he felt as he lost someone that deserved to live more than them. But he wasn't himself.

He hadn't been himself since he met Kazuha.

Every train of thought that passed through his empty head had been of him. He could feel the soft words from the poet eating him from the inside, tearing away all previous sins and basking the world in a new light. A parasite that he wished would never leave.

If Kazuha was still alive, he would be disappointed in Scaramouche's actions. Maybe even angry. Scaramouche wouldn't have minded. He would give anything to see Kazuha mad at him again, anything to see his face somewhere other than his thoughts once more. After all, life was so fragile. So, so delicate. If only he'd noticed this truth earlier. Every hour, every minute and every second should have been cherished. He should have held onto every little drop of life before it was taken away. He knew that Kazuha would disagree, though.

He would tell him to calm down, and that it wasn't his fault. To which Scaramouche would reply, "Of course, I see your point now. You're right." Kazuha was always right. When was he ever wrong about something? No one knew Scaramouche better than him. He was utterly perfect.

And now he was dead.

Scaramouche tightened his grip around the spider lilies, Kazuha's favourite, in his hand. He lifted them to his face, indulging in the fragrant scent of exotic flowers that reminded him so much of the other. Tears pricked his eyes as he remembered the way Kazuha's face lit up that one time he gathered spider lilies for him. If only he knew the limited time he had. Regrets piled up upon him, as heavy as a mountain, weighing him down, and he finally let the tears flow.

He cried for the death of his new beginning. He cried for all the innocent life that had been lost. He cried for the fleeting thoughts where he believed something that entered his life would stay.

His eyes stung as he sobbed, and every breath shook Scaramouche's frail frame. Tears streamed down his face, staining the scarlet petals with water. The cat lifted its head up to peer at the crying wreck, with a curious expression on its face. Fur stuck to its stomach, drawing attention to its flimsy bones. And beside it, within gasps, small mumbles could be heard from the figure. Fragmented sentences spilled out of his mouth, falling onto the grave below.

"Why... Why couldn't you have stayed... just for one moment longer...? C-Could I have done something to avert this?" He grieved, "Please say something... I would give anything to hear your voice, just once... once more. If you were here, you would probably laugh at me though..."

Scaramouche knew that he would never know whether Kazuha heard these words from his resting place or not, although he liked to believe that he did. Maybe he could at least give the other a small chuckle, wherever he was. This brought a small smile to his face, and he wiped the tears off his face, lifting his head up to face the familiar sword. Scaramouche gently placed the lilies beside the mound, as a parting gift. The flowers glowed crimson in the sunlight, a breathtaking sight to behold, if only there wasn't an ugly truth behind the scene.

Just before he was about to turn back and head home, Scaramouche put his hands in his pockets and his fingers curled around a familiar object. Kazuha's Vision. He felt a sudden pain in his chest as he realised what he had to do. Scaramouche had kept the Vision by his side all this time to remind himself of the other. A small tile of home to keep himself warm. Or maybe even replicate what Kazuha had done to his friend's. But it was time to let go.

He sighed as he pulled the Vision out of his pocket, the same manner a stubborn child would when they couldn't get what they wanted at a store. Scaramouche bowed his head once again, before placing Kazuha's Masterless Vision on the blade mound beside his friend's. The male then wiped the rainwater and tears off his face as he stood, finally turning away from the tragedy that couldn't be undone. The skies started to clear, and a ray of sunlight shone through the parting clouds, directly hitting the blade's shiny surface.

With a sudden burst of determination to live out the remainder of his life, Scaramouche broke into a sprint, escaping from the narrow and secluded area. He challenged the deities above, if they even existed, for the only one he would bow before was the body buried beneath the strong ground. He hadn't given Kazuha a proper parting ritual the first time he came by, due to the natural grief and anger that came behind death, but now that he had, Scaramouche felt the torturous heavy weight lifting off his shoulders. Words that he never got to say began to reform at the back of his throat; an answer to the silent question from the wind that had destroyed him from the insides for the entire year. At long last, a source of sweet salvation.

"I do, Kazuha. I do, and I forgive you."

A/N - Hello! This chapter may be super out of context but all answers will be revealed as the story progresses! This idea has been lingering at the back of my mind for a few months, and it's the holidays, so what better time to put this plan into action?

(The cover is currently my art homework, but I promise I'll change it one day!)

Thank you for choosing to read this book!