Chapter Text
“I’m surprised you’re still alive,” Lydia murmurs to Ross as the most recent events settle in their minds. She can see Xephos approaching the group again out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad, but I didn’t think…”
“I’m surprised too, honestly,” Ross says with a sigh. They stand for a second, watching as Xephos falls numbly into Angor’s arms, before he speaks again. “I’m only here because of you.”
“What?”
“He shot me, you know. I think I said too much, freaked him out. But the bulletproof saved me. I fell over from the force and pain and he thought I was dead.” One of Ross’ hands curl absentmindedly over the vest, the one that Lydia forced him to take several hours ago. The vest that’s identical to the one she’s currently wearing. “You saved my life, Lydia.”
That sentence alone causes a lot of emotions to rush into her chest, making her think of things she doesn’t want to think about, and not knowing what to say to that, all Lydia can do is nod.
There’s nobody left, so the decision to leave the town behind is an easy one for all of them to make.
They all split off for the rest of the day, packing away whatever belongings they want to bring and treating any injuries they’ve been ignoring, and not another word is spoken as the sun sinks below the horizon.
It’s distinctly colder that night, Ross thinks. He’s lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling he’s lived under for the past however long, and the slight chill of the air bites at his skin in a way that he’s not used to experiencing. Most of him believes it’s from the lack of his status as a phoenix—a cruel reminder that he only has one chance left and if he messes up, it’s game over for good this time. It’s an easy assumption to justify; after all, Smiffy had liked to mention the way Ross always seemed warm.
He ignores the part of him that lingers on the lack of snores coming from the rooms across the hall.
Lydia walks the streets instead of sleeping that night, restless and unable to push the faces of those she’d never see again from her mind. It’s the first time in ages she’s felt safe walking through the town at night (even before the whole game of traitors and trust started, there had still been a sense of threat that loomed over the town during twilight, which says a lot, really), so she’d never realised just how many stars you can see when the skies are clear. There’s a distinct beauty to it, she thinks.
She doesn’t think about how many people would no longer be able to see the sight.
There’s a figure huddled on the doorstep of the town hall, sitting in silence. As Lydia approaches, she makes out the distinct shape of Angor, slouched and staring at the ground.
“How’re you holding up?” she asks, a whisper that breaks the silence that had settled over the town.
There’s a moment of pause, charged with memories and grief, then, “It’s really quiet, isn’t it?” It’s not a proper answer, not by a long shot, but she thinks she gets it. The town is quiet, enough that a breath is as loud as the wind, and it’s odd. Sure, people slept through the night, but there was always some sort of noise, like a group out on a walk or a quiet conversation over comms or someone yelling at another to turn their music down; the commotion came with living in their little messed up town. Now that the night has been left to settle, Lydia can’t decide whether the town feels as if it’s finally at peace or...dead. In a weird way, it feels like a mix of both.
“Yeah.” She takes a seat beside him. Another pause. “Zoeya was crying when the bomb went off. She never wanted all the violence.” She doesn’t know why she’s telling this to Angor, it’s not like he needs to know, but she was the only one who walked away with the memory of that meeting and that doesn’t sit right with her. “She...she didn’t try and get out, you know. She didn’t try to stop Bouphe from saving me either.”
This is news to Angor—nobody ever found out what had truly happened in that room—but he hides the surprise behind practiced apathy and nods along. “Bedgar was...well. I don’t know what he wanted.” He sighs. “He’s with the stars, now. So are the others.”
Lydia looks back up at the clear night sky. “I never realised how many you could see from out here. It’s beautiful.”
“Sure is,” Angor says. “Most stars I’ve seen in awhile.”
“You spend a lot of time out at night?”
“Mm.”
A door creaks open then, somewhere in the distance. Soft footsteps crunch along the gravel path, followed by a pause and a quiet knock. The two of them don’t say anything, listening to the hushed voices that drift down the street, and then another door swings closed and two pairs of feet resume walking.
Lydia raises a hand in greeting as Xephos and Ross round the corner, the former looking momentarily surprised at seeing her and Angor out as well.
“I assume we’re all still awake for the same reason?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Probably.”
“Sort of.”
Everyone casts a curious glance to Ross, who merely shrugs. “I dunno, man, it’s really cold. Though I guess that might just be me ‘cause...” He gestures vaguely at the simple t-shirts that Lydia and Xephos are wearing, which look flimsy compared to Ross’ heavy jacket (that none of them have ever seen him in). “I mean, it’s not like I’m getting any sleep anyway, too many thoughts.”
“Here, here,” Lydia mutters, a lifeless cheer. Angor pats the ground beside him and the two sit, the group hunched together in quiet solidarity.
Nobody says anything until Ross’ breath hitches.
“Ross?” Lydia murmurs, watching as the man curls in tighter to himself and rubs a hand over his eyes, sniffing lightly. He shakes his head, averting his tear-filled eyes from everyone else’s as Xephos puts his hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Ross whispers, a fruitless apology to nobody in particular, and the hand on his shoulder tightens in some vague attempt of comfort. Lydia feels her own eyes tear up at the quiver in his voice.
“Don’t be,” Xephos replies, and they fall back into unsteady silence.
After another minute of thinking, Lydia sighs. “I’m gonna miss them all.”
“Yeah,” Angor agrees, voice quiet and slightly strained. “They were...they were good people. As good as they could be.”
“Even the- the traitors?” Lydia asks, and she’s surprised at how hard it is to get the word out. Even before Angor replies she knows the answer—despite what they did, what they were planning against everybody, she could never consider them as anything other than friends.
“Even them,” Angor says. “Rythian, Zoeya, Bedgar…” He trails off on this name, for obvious reasons to all of them, and takes a moment to continue. “Maybe even Trott.” Ross visibly winces when Trott is mentioned, wiping at his eyes; whatever had happened, it definitely left behind scars. “Although, I dunno, maybe I don’t know what good really means.”
“Whatever they were, they were our friends,” Xephos says, exactly what Lydia had been thinking. If she looks close enough, she thinks she can see tears building up in his eyes too. “And, you know, they’re in a better place now. They…” His voice breaks and, unable to finish whatever he was going to say, he hunches in on himself with a sniffle.
Once again they lapse into silence, all four of them crying with only the stars to witness it. It hurts, more than the gunshots and explosions they had endured, but somehow it’s almost therapeutic.
“...Are we going to be alright?” Lydia whispers at one point, rubbing at her eyes uselessly.
“Fucking...no,” Xephos chuckles wetly. Angor and Ross have nothing to say on the matter.
And in the quiet of the night, an empty town is mourned.