The Way We Fall

Chapter 151 (Roche)

TW: Blood, death, grief. Reader discretion is advised.

The bandit stood across the clearing, hand still extended from his throw. A triumphant smile curved on his lips, a perfect antithesis to the numb shock filling Roche as she scrambled to grab her father before he crashed into the leaves.

"No. Gods, please, no." Roche whispered frantically, struggling to hold the deadweight of the whisper. Ikaros struggled, his chest rising and falling in strained, gurgling breaths.

There was another sharp whistle of air, another blade, paired with a joyful cry of the bandit. The sound made something snap within Roche.

A scream rattled out of her, made deeper and thrumming with inkblood. The incantation had no form, no intent. It was just pure, white hot agony.

The torrent of ink slammed into the bandit's body, surrounding him, encasing him in a grip like the horror numbing Roche. She could only focus on her father's face as the bandit screamed, a short but sweet sound before his voice cut off. Roche didn't need to turn to know that his body was nothing but a mangled mix of crushed bone and skin.

She pressed her hands against the gushing wound, careful not to jostle the blade, even though she knew it did little good. The thin slip of metal had punctured his lung, she could hear it in the wet sound of his breaths, by the scarlet tinge of his mouth.

"Heal yourself," she begged, her hands pressing against the blade.

Ikaros wheezed, meeting her eyes sorrowfully. "I can't do the movements."

Panic gripped her tightly, as tight as the robes of death themself. Roche scrambled, crimson searing her palms. She nestled his head on her lap, leaning over to keep the wound covered. As if that would make it disappear.

"I can heal it. I-I just need the incantation," she said quickly, wracking her mind. "Llanosus! Llanosus qui alget ol mordere!"

Ikaros grunted as her ink seeped around the edges of the blade stubbornly. Roche felt her heart sink as the enchantment swirled around the blade, almost inquisitively.

"Roche," Ikaros whispered, "Daughter. There's nothing you can do."

Tears pricked Roche's eyes. "I just need to take out the dagger-"

"No, my child," he informed her gently, "I'll be dead before you can get a word out." His face twisted with agony. Roche held back a sob, desperation filling her.

"Please, no," she whimpered, "I can't lose you."

Ikaros gasped in pain but still leaned his head up. Roche lifted him, cradling him against her. His blood seeped into her clothes, but nothing pained her as much as the way his hand gripped her, faltering and reeking of goodbye.

"Listen to me, daughter," Ikaros murmured, a muscle jumping in his jaw with his pain. He still forged on, each word shattering Roche's soul. "It has been... the greatest honour of my life to meet you. You've forged a legacy for yourself."

"Don't say goodbye," Roche begged, her voice hoarse with tears, "Please, father, there must be something I can do."

Ikaros smiled ruefully. His face was pale now, nearly drained of its colour. "There is nothing. I have seen this day coming, Roche. There is no greater death I could have ever imagined. I only hope... that you can forgive me for leaving you for all these years."

Roche could hear footsteps approached. She didn't care.

Her voice broke. "There is nothing to forgive," she said, her hand brushing her face, "I am proud to be your daughter. I... I see why my mother loved you, I have not met a greater man."