Azag’s Suffering

In her dreams she saw images of a life that was becoming harder and harder to recall.

Not far from her apartment, there was a warmly lit listening bar. Shelves of vinyl lined the oak walls. She’d spent so many nights alone having a cold beer while letting the staff select everything from piano arrangements, Soviet punk, American blues, and classic Japanese City Pop.

Her label’s main studio had elaborate rugs laid across every recording room floor. They occasionally smelled like cigarette smoke.

An hour west of central Tokyo, there was a neighborhood named Asagaya, which had dozens of jazz bars cloistered within its narrow streets. Door after door in every building was open at night, revealing live music from perspiring musicians.

Surreal, blurred images swirled in the deep caverns of memory, reminding her of sounds she might never hear again, and feelings she might never feel again.

She missed music.

She missed receiving music.

Sayane’s eyes opened and Tokyo returned to the abstraction of recollection. She was still in Illarios.

Another new day. She was still here. Again.

“Another sunrise,” she whispered to herself.

A soft blanket covered her shoulders, and she realized she was still in her personal room with the instruments. At some point, Azag must have covered her and let her rest. Exhaustion and overstimulation had worn her and Azag down after their full day, and she’d seemingly once again fallen asleep on the cushion in her room while spending time with her musical friends.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for them or everything they’d done together. She was simply coming to terms with being the only songstress. No one else could truly sing with her or perform with her the way she did, much less do it for her and to her. She wondered if she would ever get to experience a concert as an audience member ever again.

For now, she simply ran her hand along the nearest surreal vessel and whispered morning greetings to them all.

A grunt from the bedroom told her Azag was still asleep. Sayane listened to his strained breathing as she undid her undergarments to rinse them and change. As she knelt to dip the fabric into the water, Azag let out another grimace.

The sound caught her attention. This time, it sounded truly pained. Sayane paused and watched as unconscious spasms sent tremors through his legs.

“Azag?” Sayane whispered.

Another grunt rose from his chest like a tired engine awakening.

She set the fabric onto the floor and made her way to the bed. As she neared, she saw the cabling on his mask had become disconnected and was draped over his shoulder. Glistening, faintly glowing sweat was coating his body as he inhaled deep, desperate breaths.

His hand was locked over the place where his wound had been. Sayane once again saw that it was not yet fully healed.

Shed reached out for him as his grunt grew into a growl.

“Azag?” she repeated.

She didn’t want to startle him, but she could tell something was very wrong. Her fingers neared his, and he shifted in his sleep. Before Sayane could move, his unloved hand grabbed onto her arm as it grasped for comfort.

There was a scraping screech then everything turned unclear.

Pain.

All Sayane knew was pain. It seeped into every corner of her mind, bleeding between the carefully guarded cracks like poisoned smoke until it filled the entire volume of her thoughts with all-encompassing pain. Her skin ignited and she could still feel the blades cutting chunks of her away as she watched with conscious eyes. No matter how hard she wanted to scream, no sound came.

The room was dark and blurred at its edges. Red. She saw flickers of red. Red dripped and glitched and smeared. Red covered her and consumed her. She had to scream. She had to scream. She had to scream.

This was all she would ever know. That burning, draining, hating suffering which tore through flesh and bone and dulled her very mind. Blades cut and pieces were peeled away and horror of awareness made her want for nothing more to die. Existence was agony and death would be the escape. Suffering was the sound of her screaming. Of his screaming. She wasn’t her. She was him. Everything roared and burned and broke as more red spread until every inch of him was red.

Red.

Red.

Red.

Screaming wasn’t enough. Light wasn’t enough. He needed darkness but he couldn’t close his eyes. Sound overwhelmed him. He needed nothingness. He needed…

Silence.

Waves of Dissonance rose from the horizon and a fear beyond measure soaked her.

“AZAG!!” Sayane screamed as she ripped to her body away from his grasp.

Reality returned to the tune of horrified gasps for air. Absolute torment sunk its fangs into her muscles and flesh, threatening to break her mind right then and there. The edges of her eyes felt like they were on fire.

Azag bolted upright in a stunned stupor as he looked to see what had happened.

“Sayane?!” he called as consciousness returned.

Words wouldn’t form. Pain’s lingering assault was still blocking her brain from forming anything coherent. All she could do was pant in horror. Understanding poured itself onto Azag’s shoulders and shame laughed as he looked at his hand and realized what had happened.

“Oh, gods. Oh, no. Sayane… I’m so sorry…” he muttered as he yanked his gloves over his hands in humiliation.

Shaking fingers snapped his mask into place and he lurched across the bed to reach for his sobbing partner.

Sayane was still on the floor, trembling in shock. His hand reached for her, then stopped itself. Sobs ran without control. Everything felt cold. Unseen weights pulled her into the tile. It hurt to open her eyes.

“Sayane, I am so sorry,” Azag whimpered in shame.

She finally opened her eyes as she tried to speak.

“Oh my gods… Azag… is that… is that what you feel?!” she cried.

Another wave of hysterical sobs slammed against her and she almost crumpled over.

“Is that how much you hurt? Every day?!”

In the depths of slumber, Azag’s psyche had allowed his true self to slip into the sensation of his touch. Whatever pain he carried every day, he had always forced himself forward as he hid his hurt. But in that moment of sleep, the truth of his suffering had been allowed to articulate itself to another, and Sayane was there to receive the unvarnished reality. Now, she was weeping on the floor as she tried to process just how much horror he carried every moment.

“Azag…” she whispered.

He couldn’t speak. Instead, his focus lingered on his hand as shame threatened to consume him.

“Azag, please answer me…” she said as she wiped her eyes.

Instead of responding, Azag looked away and latched his mask into place to hide his face. Then, to Sayane’s quiet horror, he slid his gloves back over his hands. They’d rested in his pocket for days as he’d slowly come to peace with the idea of being trusted by many and no longer needing to hide his touch from the world. For so long, he and his kind had been stigmatized for their ability to manipulate through touch. Those gloves had been Azag’s plea to be seen, and for a brief moment he hadn’t felt like he needed them.

But now he was pulling them over his fingers once more, and the soft sounds of weathered leather stretching over bent fingers sounded more cruel to Sayane than any dissonant screech.

“I’m very sorry,” he whispered.

Then he started to stand with a grunt, but his legs buckled and he sank back to the bed in exhausted bitterness.

Sayane rushed to his side as she wiped more tears away. When she was close enough to see him in the low light, she could see the tremors shaking his hands.

“Azag, please talk to me. I’m not mad at you,” she said as she reached for him.

“That makes one of us. This wretched body!” he snarled.

“Is that what you are always feeling? Or is it worse?” Sayane asked in a soft tone as she tried to diffuse the moment.

His eyes narrowed but didn’t close, just like always.

“Every day,” he replied.

“Ohh,” Sayane whimpered as she pressed her hands to his chest.

Suddenly, her complaints about her knee pain seemed so insignificant. Imagining him laboring to make her brace while he himself was aflame with agony sent a chill through Sayane’s chest.

His hand found hers, and the leather embrace was more distant than ever before.

“Please go to a doctor,” she pleaded.

He scoffed something and pressed his hand to his mask.

“Maybe they can help you!” she tried.

Sayane was now spiraling as she imagined the toll such pain must have been taking on his mind and body. Such suffering would break anyone.

“What if that pain kills you?! I don’t want you to die,” she bleated.

Tears burned hotter than usual. Every nerve was still alight with heightened awareness, and it felt like her ducts were being carved open.

He finally looked her in the eyes. Even though the mask hid the truth of his gaze, she could see that shame was raging behind that glowing blue. He wanted to say something, she could tell that, but he merely sat in silence as he wrestled with his words.

“I’m sorry, Sayane. But it wasn’t just scientists that did this to me. It was the doctors, too. And ever since that cursed week, I’ve never been able to look at one the same. For so long, I would have rather died from an infection that lay down on an examination table ever again.”

His voice shook and he pushed the mask aside to wipe his face.

“But I know I should. I know I need help. I just don’t know how. I… I didn’t think healing would be this hard,” he said.

Before she could even consider asking for consent to touch him, she was wrapping her arms around him. To her relief, his large hands found her waist and pulled her close.

“I’ll go with you. Please, let’s go today. Please,” Sayane begged as tears scorched her face.

She returned to facing him as he processed the situation. Every flinch hinted at more pain. Each spasm told a clearer store of fatigue beyond words. After a long pause, he shifted. Words didn’t bring a reply. All Azag could do was nod as he breathed in and out in deep, conflicted breaths.

Sayane eventually lowered herself to the bed and slowly connected his pain dampening cables to their ports. Seconds later, his breathing calmed.

“We can’t go just yet,” he finally replied.

Joints popped and metal clicked as he forced himself to stand.

“We have another council meeting.”

Sayane accepted that he was sincere. They could go to the doctors that afternoon. For the immediate moment, he was correct: it was time to decide the first steps in building their new world. Though she didn’t know what all it would entail, Sayane knew it was almost time for her to sing again. Only this time, it would be with the aid of the mages.