Before the Horizon Returned

It was a downpour outside, silver sheets of rain beating on the earth – not helping the already gloomy atmosphere of Elakin, with its grayed grasses and sickly trees, dull buildings made for ghosts placed amongst them. Appropriate for the land of those over death, but only creating more depression for a 17-year-old boy.

Steph, shielding himself with a hood, gripped the letter like a vice. He could’ve taken a carriage, one of the many symbols of the family’s wealth – but he was never fond of attention, and it wasn’t like he wanted to get to the post fast. He’d rather deal with cold rain and muddy streets, trudging his boots along the thick slosh.

“It’s not a big deal…,” he said. “If not now, it’d be a year – or however long it’s been, since the Elders announced the end. It’s probably better sooner than later… Yeah. I mean, it’s not like I wanna burn anyway.”

He had always been aware of it. Death – what must come to all, from which there is no escape. Even from a young age, it was no mystery to him. After all, Reaper children were never spared from the knowledge of its inevitableness, accustomed since infancy. A slight exaggeration.

Yet even for a Reaper, Steph’s experience with death was a unique one – since most did not know when and how they would pass on.

Day by day, it followed him like a shadow. Prowling, waiting to slash him down at his strongest. He was reminded every funeral, or aftermath of a natural disaster, or a visit to those denied healings, as were the common places trainees were brought to learn. But it wasn’t witnessing death that evoked misery.

It was progress.

Each time he grew more efficient at catching the deceased’s floating threads, or swifter at taking life – the latter experimented on plants or animals.

With every improvement, death was closer. The same went for his cousins – though at least they had some chance, having siblings.

“Are you saying something to me?” asked a random passerby.

“No!” he hissed.

Talking to himself was a habit picked up by loneliness. The estate was packed with servants, his family members, and “clients.” But surrounded with people, he was alone.

Except when Roe was around, his only shred of light.

She became that light, brighter than the horizon’s sunrise, on the morning he tried to end his fears once and for all – by as he thought, “getting it over with.”

Out of nowhere, a cool, metal hand had gripped the collar of his shirt just as his feet left the rooftop. Dangling from several stories high, he first believed he was levitating, until he saw Roe’s blank face. She pulled him up, releasing him back to safety. Her arms crossed, she said,

“That was stupid of you.”

Steph, an emotional ball of nerves, stomped his foot and shouted, “Where did you come from!? Go away, you’re ruining everything!”

Roe blinked.

“Is that what you honestly believe?”

He was taken aback by her calmness, but not enough to suppress himself. “Yeah, it is! So leave me alone, that’s an order!”

“I’m under your grandmother’s authority, not yours. Even if I was, it would be shameful as a Guardian to let you jump from a roof.”

“Well… Well, I’m a Reaper – a Cyrus, too! If you don’t leave, I’ll cut your threads— AH!”

He was flipped onto his frontside instantly, hitting the stone surface as Roe, completely unbothered, secured his hands behind his back. The fresh smell of purple roses also hit his nose, a barrier against Reapers, meaning he couldn’t harm her even if he wanted – so what was the point in this?

“You were saying?”

“L-Let— let go of me, you dunderhead! I’ll get you fired!”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes I will! Do you think you’ve gained favor already, when you’ve only been here for a few days!?”

“It’s not about ‘favor.’ You can’t exactly tattle on me if you’re pinned, so I’ll keep you here until you get yourself together.”

So, for almost an hour, Steph squirmed, whined, and made empty threats. Until finally, he was spent, his chin shivering as he held back a cry.

“Are you done now?” she asked.

“Mhm…”

She set him free, leaning against a tower. Steph sat, looking timid and pitiful. He couldn’t possibly turn to her, not after his dignity was squashed like a bug.

“Care to explain why you wanted to do that?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Correct. It’s unfathomable to relinquish your life by your own doing.”

His face soured again as he said, “Maybe you’d say something else if you were me. My life is awful.”

“So what if it is? It’s still yours, is it not? And once you let it go, you can’t get it back.”

“Good, I don’t want it back! I hate it!”

Only the last words were true.

“Then do something about it. That’d be a lot more productive, don’t you think?”

“Ha! Yeah, sure. How easy. What could I do?”

“You fight. Whatever it is you’re up against, you fight.”

Steph recoiled, overcome with horror at the suggestion. She clearly had no idea what she was talking about, to say something so reckless. It was a good thing they were alone, otherwise…

“Never,” he hushed.

He'd never forget it, the only time he ever saw Roe offended.

“Idiot. What type of answer is that? You can’t be content with moping around like a weakling. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Now you have,” he uttered under his breath – though it didn’t feel too good to be called “weak.”

Roe marched to him, and against his expectations, pulled him onto his feet. Steph tensed, fearing he was about to get attacked again – instead, he was given a scrutinizing stare that made him feel two inches tall.

“You’d be the first one dead in the far sections,” she said. “We call people like you ‘throwaways’ in Seris – sent out as decoys for the anomalies, so that the real fighters can step in later. Is that what you want to be? An anomaly’s lunch?”

“Not technically…”

“Louder, be more assertive. I’ll slam you again if you don’t.”

“No!”

She nodded approvingly. “Then stop acting like it. I don’t know anything about you or your life, but I know this one thing applies to everyone – surrender earns you nothing. It’s either you break into pieces, or pick yourself up and keep it moving. Choose one.”

Steph didn’t know what to think, or how to feel. He had never been spoken to like that before, let alone have a listening ear. It was so foreign it triggered a fight-or-flight response – but as he was being taught, apparently only the former was acceptable.

“Pick myself up?”

“Assertion.”

“Pick myself up!”

“Better.”

That was the day he discovered that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t so helpless after all.

But onward to three years after, he still wasn’t the boy that Roe desired him to become on that roof. Sometimes, he wondered if he ever would be. Such a boy wouldn’t be walking up the steps to the post, succumbing to his grandmother’s every will – no matter what said will entailed. He was jealous of the Fliers around him, who could fly to all corners of the Nexus until their hearts were content.

Unlike him, they were free.

“A letter to Roe Darcy in the Oston district of Seris,” Steph muttered. “Immediate delivery.”

“Wow, kid. You’re expecting one of us to fly all the way there in this weather? Not a chance, you’ll have to wait,” replied the woman at the desk.

“It’s pretty important… It’s from Elder Dulcie.”

“Proof?”

He lifted his wrist to show the bronze pin – altered from the ones used for Highland, as this showed an image of an anomaly, and was used as his family’s symbol.

But his palm was empty.

“Ugh! Did I seriously forget it?”

“No proof, no special service. Move along.”

“I’m not lying to you, you—!” he cut off the insult, reigning himself in before he said, “Okay, fine. I’ll just prove I’m a Cyrus the other way.”