By Athana Soulfire
Slowly, his red eyes followed the sun. Deeper into blackness it fell, and
with it was stolen the light of day. The glowing hues were all that gave
his chalky white skin any color in it's desperate attempt to find the blood
which ran so coldly through his veins. Cascading down the curve of his face
were dark lines of blue. Deep as the near night sky, but brilliant should
light catch their ocean strands. A dagger sharp nose twitched, thin lips
pulled into an even deeper frown then the one he always bore.
Magus could literally feel the colder blanket of night wash away any warmth day had provided to his form. The two crimson pupils which had watched the sun fall into it's silent sleep began to raise, looking out amongst the heavens. Each star, so fragile and far away would shimmer over the land before this cliff on which he stood. They watched, and they had seen, ever single step of his life.
They knew where Schala was.
Magus leaned heavily on the broad staff of his scythe, it's comforting presence assuring his body that should an enemy find him here, they would much quicker find death. Here, atop the wind torn mountains of wilderness, he had come many times to let his vision rain through and over a gap in the range. Far beyond were castles and countries, woman and men and children. Life. Life which he, at a point, had extinguished in quantities so great that the devil itself would have been proud to name him another of his wicked angels. Where would he fly, a proud creature of death, as he swooped to find the innocent?
Where would he fall?
Where had he sat, arms folded over a sickened stomach, when he finally realized how much blood had been shed by his own two hands?
Magus slowly knelt to the ground, sighing painfully as his heavy cloak settled with him. That place- it had been here. Shortly after he had helped to save this world from Lavos, a being nearly as evil as he, Magus had realized it. Realized that no amount of good he did would vanquish the suffering he had caused so many.
What now? What was he? What was his life worth? Had it ever been worth anything? Was he a coward for thinking these thoughts, which so relentlessly tore at his being?
He had always known where to go, and what to do. Always, those exceptions being when he had been young and alone in the fall of Zeal. He had wanted to find his sister then. That had been his only task.
...yet she was not here, because he had not found her. It was as if he had turned around and suddenly found himself straying from that goal. Another turn- he became the unquestioned leader of thousands of mystics. Again? he had suddenly waged war on all of mankind. It should seem such a long process, but in those three movements years had passed as a blink might have.
And then suddenly he'd jumped from that fray, and joined the same people his kind had sworn to death?
So.. Where was he now at this pointless journeys end? With peace having been reestablished and Lavos dead?
Right back where he started. The same lost boy, searching for his sister. He was Janus again, frightened eyes trailing the darkness ahead of him, and wondering if the black wind would come once more.
His life had happened without him even fully acknowledging it's passing.
Magus felt a heavy gust of night send his cape flying behind his form- flapping wildly over his shoulders and letting the hair so neatly smoothed behind his head erupt into blue fire.
Out of one battle and into another?
In this life, or the afterlife. Whatever his goal, wherever his sister was...
He could not- and he would not give up.
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