Chapter Text
He stares down at fingers painted red, red splattered everywhere from the mangled half-elf. Each drop spilled and overflowed and dripped and oozed and flowed until it was everywhere, everything was red and why did he listen to that voice? The body shouldn't be red, he remembers him being such a warm blue, like a clear sky and deep ocean that had been a constant at his side for as long as he could remember. But it’s tainted by him and his red trail that poisons and chokes and he’s snuffed out that blue, smothering with his overpowering red and he doesn't want it he doesn't want the red he needs the blue he can't have the red not this way take it back take it back what has he done what has he done what has he done what has he done what has he done?
He vaguely floats above himself like a kite, tethered only by a thin thread as his eyes gaze, unseeing and glassy at the red. Seconds, minutes, hours, the burning itching feeling beneath his skin is like a colony of ants trying to escape. How long has it been? Has grass sprung around his feet, vines twisting round and round, has his body withered and turned to dust? He tries to lift an arm and feels nothing.
He can faintly feel the voice’s presence in the back of his mind, tucked away as if hibernating. It doesn’t move when he prods it, only lets out a grumble of satisfaction. He doesn’t like it.
Is he dead? He didn’t think the afterlife would be just endless drifting like this but here he was, body failing to move, refusing his commands. Maybe he was dead and this was just his soul rising. Or descending. After all, Katherine wouldn't want his red, would she? And he had so, so much red. Too much.
The world is blurred and tinged with grey like a half-erased drawing. Hazy clouds of static drift across his vision, parting only for the once-blue half-elf.
His brother.
It’s like an electrical jolt as the pieces click together. Sylnan looks down at the red. It’s beginning to dull now. He doesn't know what that means. Surely nothing good.
Those purple eyes, once so full of life, are fixed blankly on the sky. Tentatively, he reaches out a hand towards Br’aad but immediately jerks back at the sight of the bright red. His body is littered with gashes and gouges, all still oozing blood. An expression of terror is forever frozen on his face and something inside Sylnan twists the wrong way, blocking his throat and clenching an icy hand around his heart.
”B-Br’aad?” he whispers, voice cracking. He feels tears running down his cheeks and chokes back a sob. Gently, he gathers up his limp form and cradles the brother that he killed in his arms, praying to anyone, anything to bring him back.
The trees remain silent.