Chapter 6:
The Beginning Before The End II
Hollow Dawn: #405
The snow hadn't stopped falling.
It covered the mountain, the forest, and the distant hills in a thick white blanket. The storm had swallowed the horizon, leaving only vague shapes in the distance. Somewhere behind the clouds, the sun was setting, though there was little difference between the pale afternoon sky and the darkness gathering beneath it.
405 was still moving.
He didn't know how long he'd been walking.
His right leg dragged behind him, leaving a crooked trail in the snow. Every few steps, the damaged joint caught against the frozen ground. He'd stop, lean forward, and force it to move again. Sometimes it responded. Sometimes his entire body tilted to one side before he managed to catch himself.
His left leg wasn't much better.
The mechanisms beneath his knee had stopped working properly, and the foot occasionally folded beneath his weight. He couldn't lift it high enough to clear the snow. Instead, he dragged it forward, scraping a shallow line through the white surface.
His blazer was still hanging from his shoulders.
The fabric had been torn in several places, and one sleeve was almost completely detached. The wind caught it as he walked, pulling it behind him. His hat was gone, leaving the exposed mechanisms around his head uncovered.
N was in his arms.
He held her close to his chest, though his arms no longer looked capable of supporting anything. One was bent at an awkward angle, its fingers curled inward. The other hung beneath her legs, barely maintaining its position. Neither hand moved when the wind shifted her clothing.
405 continued forward.
The red gem in his chest gave off a faint glow.
It was the only light visible through the storm.
A weak red pulse illuminated the snow beneath him, followed by several seconds of darkness. When it returned, the light seemed a little smaller than before. Thin red lines had begun spreading from the gem, creeping beneath the damaged plating and disappearing into the joints of his torso.
405 didn't look down.
He kept walking.
The mountain was somewhere behind him now. He couldn't see it through the snowfall, and he couldn't remember exactly when he'd reached the bottom. There were no clear tracks to follow. The wind had already begun covering the marks he'd left behind.
He didn't know where he was going.
There was no particular destination in mind. No road, no village, no shelter he could remember seeing. He only knew that the ground continued ahead of him, and that he could still move.
So he did.
The snow reached his ankles.
Then his shins.
His damaged foot caught beneath a buried stone. He stopped, leaned forward, and tried to pull it free. The joint made a short clicking sound.
Nothing happened.
405 shifted his weight.
His knee bent.
The foot came loose.
He took another step.
The red gem flickered.
A small cloud of steam escaped through the damaged plating around his chest. It vanished almost immediately in the cold.
405's head tilted toward N.
She hadn't moved.
He adjusted his arms around her, though the movement was slow and uneven. His right hand didn't respond at all. The left managed to shift a few centimeters before locking in place.
He continued walking.
---
The storm made it difficult to see more than a few yards ahead.
405 followed the slope of the land, occasionally stumbling over rocks hidden beneath the snow. His remaining eye was dim, and the edges of his vision had become clouded. Every so often, a dark shape appeared in the distance, only to disappear when he looked directly at it.
He passed a tree.
Then another.
The branches hung low beneath the weight of the snow, their tips nearly touching the ground. A few dead leaves remained attached to the smaller twigs, frozen in place.
405 walked beneath them.
One branch caught the torn fabric of his blazer.
He stopped.
The fabric stretched.
He pulled forward.
The branch snapped.
405 stumbled into the snow, falling onto one knee. N's body shifted in his arms. His head lowered toward hers, and for several seconds he remained in that position.
The red gem pulsed.
405 slowly raised himself.
His arms were still holding N.
He continued.
The wind pushed against his back, lifting the torn edges of his blazer. The fabric fluttered behind him, occasionally wrapping around his legs. He made no attempt to fix it.
A faint sound came from his arms.
A cough.
405 stopped.
He looked down.
N's fingers twitched.
Another cough followed, weaker than the first. Her body shifted against his chest, and her head turned slightly to one side.
405 leaned closer.
“N?”
Her eyelids moved.
For a moment, she didn't seem to recognize where she was. Her eyes opened halfway, then closed again as she struggled to breathe. A cough escaped her, and a dark stain appeared against the fabric near her mouth.
405's head tilted.
N opened her eyes again.
“...405?”
He didn't answer immediately.
His remaining eye focused on her face.
She looked at him, confused. Her gaze moved across the broken side of his head, then down toward his chest. The faint red light reflected in her eyes.
Her expression changed.
She tried to lift her hand.
It barely moved.
“I'm sorry.”
405 stared at her.
N coughed again. Her voice trembled when she tried to speak, and she had to pause to catch her breath.
“I'm so sorry.”
405's head lowered slightly.
“Why?”
She shook her head.
“I didn't... I didn't mean for this to happen.”
The snow gathered in her hair. She tried to wipe her mouth, but her arm fell back against his chest.
405 looked at the stain.
Then he looked at her.
“It's okay.”
N's face crumpled.
“No, it isn't.”
Her voice was so small that the wind nearly swallowed it.
“I got you hurt. I made you keep running. I knew he was following us, and I still...”
She stopped.
Her eyes filled with tears.
405 continued walking.
He didn't seem to understand what she was apologizing for. His movements had become slower, and he had to drag his damaged leg through a deeper patch of snow.
N watched him struggle.
“Please stop.”
He took another step.
“405, please.”
He didn't stop.
She looked down at his chest again. The red light was weaker than she'd ever seen it. The lines spreading from the gem had reached the edge of his collar, and small fractures were visible across the plating.
Her breathing became uneven.
“You're going to die.”
405 looked ahead.
He didn't answer.
N began crying.
---
They walked for a long time without speaking.
The storm grew heavier. Snow gathered along the shoulders of 405's blazer and on the top of his head. His remaining eye occasionally flickered, causing the world around him to disappear and return in uneven flashes.
N remained awake.
She watched the ground pass beneath them, watching the crooked trail left by his feet. Every few steps, his body would jerk as a damaged mechanism caught. Sometimes his arms tightened around her. Sometimes they seemed to loosen entirely before he forced them back into position.
He was still holding her.
That was all she could think about.
He was still holding her.
N swallowed.
“405?”
His head moved slightly.
She looked toward the storm.
“There's something I need to tell you.”
405 kept walking.
“My name isn't N.”
The wind passed between them.
N lowered her eyes.
“It's Göll.”
405's remaining eye shifted toward her.
“Göll?”
She nodded.
“Göll Nyctelius.”
He repeated it quietly.
“Göll.”
She looked at him.
“That's my name.”
405 continued forward.
He didn't ask why she'd hidden it. He didn't ask whether she'd been afraid of telling him. He didn't ask what the name meant.
He simply remembered it.
“Göll,” he said again.
Her tears continued falling.
“I've been looking for my big sister.”
405 looked ahead.
Göll tried to explain, but her breathing became unsteady. She coughed into her sleeve, and when she lowered it, another dark stain marked the fabric.
“I thought if I kept going, I'd find her. I thought if I could just get far enough, she'd be somewhere waiting for me.”
She looked at the snow.
“I don't know where she is.”
405's head tilted slightly.
Göll wiped her eyes.
“I don't know if she even knows I'm looking for her.”
The wind pulled at the torn blazer.
405 continued walking.
“Do you miss her?”
Göll nodded.
“Every day.”
He didn't say anything else.
She looked at him, waiting for a response that never came. Eventually, she rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the weak mechanical hum beneath the damaged plating.
It was fading.
She could hear it becoming quieter.
Göll closed her eyes.
“I'm sorry I lied.”
405's head lowered toward her.
“It's okay.”
She shook her head.
“I should've told you.”
“Göll.”
She stopped crying for a moment.
405's voice was faint, almost buried beneath the wind.
“That's a nice name.”
Her face tightened.
She pressed herself against him, trying to hold on without hurting his broken arms.
405 continued walking.
---
The horizon was beginning to change.
At first, Göll thought it was another shadow in the storm. A dark shape appeared beyond the falling snow, rising above the uneven landscape. It was too large to be a tree, and too straight to be part of the mountain.
She lifted her head.
“405?”
He didn't respond.
She looked again.
The shape became clearer.
A building.
It stood on a low rise beyond the snow-covered fields, its dark exterior barely visible through the storm. Tall windows lined its front, and a broad staircase led toward an enormous set of doors. Several chimneys rose above the roof, though no smoke came from them.
A mansion.
Göll stared.
“There's a house.”
405's eye shifted toward the building.
He kept walking.
The red gem flickered.
A thin line of red light spread from its center, traveling beneath the plating along his neck. Another appeared across his shoulder. The light moved slowly, like something searching for a place to settle.
405's head tilted.
He looked down.
The gem was no longer bright enough to illuminate his hand.
He pressed his fingers against it.
The glow weakened.
Göll saw it.
“405?”
He didn't answer.
The red lines continued spreading.
They moved across his chest, following the cracks in the damaged plating. One reached his collarbone. Another traveled beneath the fabric of his blazer, disappearing toward his back.
The gem pulsed.
The light returned.
Then faded again.
Göll began to panic.
“No. No, no, no.”
She grabbed the front of his blazer.
“405, look at me.”
His head turned.
She could barely see his remaining eye.
“Please.”
The gem flickered.
Göll started crying again.
“Please don't die.”
405 looked at her.
She pressed her forehead against his.
“I'm asking you. Please.”
The wind swept over them.
Göll began whispering.
“Ten Fates, please. Please hear me.”
405 continued walking.
“Please don't take him away. He's my friend. He's my friend, and he hasn't done anything wrong.”
Her voice cracked.
“I'll do anything. I'll find my sister. I'll go wherever you want. Just please don't let him die.”
The snow gathered against 405's shoulders.
He didn't seem to hear her.
Göll looked down at his chest.
The red light was spreading faster now. Thin lines had reached the base of his neck, and the plating around the gem had begun to crack. The faint hum beneath it was becoming irregular.
She grabbed his blazer again.
“405!”
He stumbled.
His damaged knee folded beneath him, and his body tilted forward. He caught himself with one foot, but his other leg dragged through the snow.
Göll cried out.
405 slowly straightened.
He kept walking.
---
The mansion grew larger.
Its gates stood open.
Two tall iron structures framed the entrance, their black bars coated in snow. Beyond them, a stone path led toward the staircase. The grounds were enormous, though most of the garden had disappeared beneath the storm.
405 reached the gates.
He stopped.
The metal bars rose above him, disappearing into the snowfall. A decorative pattern stretched across the center, its details difficult to make out beneath the ice.
He looked beyond them.
The mansion stood with all its windows dark.
There were no lights in the upper floors. No movement behind the glass. No smoke from the chimneys.
Göll lifted her head.
“405?”
He stepped through the gates.
The path was covered in snow. His feet dragged across the stone, leaving uneven marks behind him. The wind pushed against his back, and the torn blazer lifted from his shoulders.
Göll looked toward the staircase.
Someone was sitting there.
A man.
He sat several steps below the mansion's enormous doors, his elbows resting loosely against his knees. His saber lay beside him, partially buried beneath the snow.
He wasn't looking toward the gates.
He was watching the snowfall.
405 stopped.
His body seemed to recognize him before his remaining eye could focus.
Göll looked at the man.
Then at 405.
Her breathing stopped.
Brass.
He sat alone on the stairs.
The snow gathered on his shoulders and along the edges of his clothing. He didn't brush it away. His posture was relaxed, and his gaze remained fixed on the flakes falling in front of him.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Brass raised one hand.
A snowflake drifted toward his palm.
He watched it settle against his skin.
“A requiem of silence.”
---
Göll began struggling.
She pushed against 405's chest, trying to get down. His arms didn't respond quickly enough, and she slipped from his hold, landing awkwardly in the snow.
Her legs wobbled.
She caught herself with both hands.
“Leave us alone!”
Brass didn't look at her.
Göll tried to stand.
Her knees shook, and she nearly fell again. She forced herself upright, facing the man on the stairs.
“Leave him alone!”
Brass lowered his hand.
The snowflake had already melted.
“This isn't your battle.”
Göll took a step toward him.
“I don't care!”
Brass finally turned his head.
His expression hadn't changed.
“If you don't have the strength necessary to cut me down, then you need to go.”
Göll stared at him.
For a moment, the only sound between them was the wind passing through the open gates.
Then she looked back at 405.
He was still standing.
Barely.
His arms remained raised in front of him, holding an empty space against his chest. His broken hands were curled around nothing, and his head hung forward as the red gem flickered beneath the damaged plating.
Göll turned back toward Brass.
“What was all this for?”
Brass watched her.
She took another step.
“Why did you do this?”
He didn't answer.
Göll's voice grew louder.
“You chased us! You kept hurting him! You made him run all that way, and now look at him!”
She pointed toward 405.
“He can't even stand properly!”
Brass's gaze shifted briefly toward the puppet.
Then returned to her.
Göll's hands curled into fists.
“What did he do to you?”
Nothing.
“Why couldn't you just leave us alone?”
The wind pushed her hair across her face. She brushed it away, tears gathering along her lower eyelids.
“Don't you have a human heart?!”
The question struck him.
It covered the mountain, the forest, and the distant hills in a thick white blanket. The storm had swallowed the horizon, leaving only vague shapes in the distance. Somewhere behind the clouds, the sun was setting, though there was little difference between the pale afternoon sky and the darkness gathering beneath it.
405 was still moving.
He didn't know how long he'd been walking.
His right leg dragged behind him, leaving a crooked trail in the snow. Every few steps, the damaged joint caught against the frozen ground. He'd stop, lean forward, and force it to move again. Sometimes it responded. Sometimes his entire body tilted to one side before he managed to catch himself.
His left leg wasn't much better.
The mechanisms beneath his knee had stopped working properly, and the foot occasionally folded beneath his weight. He couldn't lift it high enough to clear the snow. Instead, he dragged it forward, scraping a shallow line through the white surface.
His blazer was still hanging from his shoulders.
The fabric had been torn in several places, and one sleeve was almost completely detached. The wind caught it as he walked, pulling it behind him. His hat was gone, leaving the exposed mechanisms around his head uncovered.
N was in his arms.
He held her close to his chest, though his arms no longer looked capable of supporting anything. One was bent at an awkward angle, its fingers curled inward. The other hung beneath her legs, barely maintaining its position. Neither hand moved when the wind shifted her clothing.
405 continued forward.
The red gem in his chest gave off a faint glow.
It was the only light visible through the storm.
A weak red pulse illuminated the snow beneath him, followed by several seconds of darkness. When it returned, the light seemed a little smaller than before. Thin red lines had begun spreading from the gem, creeping beneath the damaged plating and disappearing into the joints of his torso.
405 didn't look down.
He kept walking.
The mountain was somewhere behind him now. He couldn't see it through the snowfall, and he couldn't remember exactly when he'd reached the bottom. There were no clear tracks to follow. The wind had already begun covering the marks he'd left behind.
He didn't know where he was going.
There was no particular destination in mind. No road, no village, no shelter he could remember seeing. He only knew that the ground continued ahead of him, and that he could still move.
So he did.
The snow reached his ankles.
Then his shins.
His damaged foot caught beneath a buried stone. He stopped, leaned forward, and tried to pull it free. The joint made a short clicking sound.
Nothing happened.
405 shifted his weight.
His knee bent.
The foot came loose.
He took another step.
The red gem flickered.
A small cloud of steam escaped through the damaged plating around his chest. It vanished almost immediately in the cold.
405's head tilted toward N.
She hadn't moved.
He adjusted his arms around her, though the movement was slow and uneven. His right hand didn't respond at all. The left managed to shift a few centimeters before locking in place.
He continued walking.
---
The storm made it difficult to see more than a few yards ahead.
405 followed the slope of the land, occasionally stumbling over rocks hidden beneath the snow. His remaining eye was dim, and the edges of his vision had become clouded. Every so often, a dark shape appeared in the distance, only to disappear when he looked directly at it.
He passed a tree.
Then another.
The branches hung low beneath the weight of the snow, their tips nearly touching the ground. A few dead leaves remained attached to the smaller twigs, frozen in place.
405 walked beneath them.
One branch caught the torn fabric of his blazer.
He stopped.
The fabric stretched.
He pulled forward.
The branch snapped.
405 stumbled into the snow, falling onto one knee. N's body shifted in his arms. His head lowered toward hers, and for several seconds he remained in that position.
The red gem pulsed.
405 slowly raised himself.
His arms were still holding N.
He continued.
The wind pushed against his back, lifting the torn edges of his blazer. The fabric fluttered behind him, occasionally wrapping around his legs. He made no attempt to fix it.
A faint sound came from his arms.
A cough.
405 stopped.
He looked down.
N's fingers twitched.
Another cough followed, weaker than the first. Her body shifted against his chest, and her head turned slightly to one side.
405 leaned closer.
“N?”
Her eyelids moved.
For a moment, she didn't seem to recognize where she was. Her eyes opened halfway, then closed again as she struggled to breathe. A cough escaped her, and a dark stain appeared against the fabric near her mouth.
405's head tilted.
N opened her eyes again.
“...405?”
He didn't answer immediately.
His remaining eye focused on her face.
She looked at him, confused. Her gaze moved across the broken side of his head, then down toward his chest. The faint red light reflected in her eyes.
Her expression changed.
She tried to lift her hand.
It barely moved.
“I'm sorry.”
405 stared at her.
N coughed again. Her voice trembled when she tried to speak, and she had to pause to catch her breath.
“I'm so sorry.”
405's head lowered slightly.
“Why?”
She shook her head.
“I didn't... I didn't mean for this to happen.”
The snow gathered in her hair. She tried to wipe her mouth, but her arm fell back against his chest.
405 looked at the stain.
Then he looked at her.
“It's okay.”
N's face crumpled.
“No, it isn't.”
Her voice was so small that the wind nearly swallowed it.
“I got you hurt. I made you keep running. I knew he was following us, and I still...”
She stopped.
Her eyes filled with tears.
405 continued walking.
He didn't seem to understand what she was apologizing for. His movements had become slower, and he had to drag his damaged leg through a deeper patch of snow.
N watched him struggle.
“Please stop.”
He took another step.
“405, please.”
He didn't stop.
She looked down at his chest again. The red light was weaker than she'd ever seen it. The lines spreading from the gem had reached the edge of his collar, and small fractures were visible across the plating.
Her breathing became uneven.
“You're going to die.”
405 looked ahead.
He didn't answer.
N began crying.
---
They walked for a long time without speaking.
The storm grew heavier. Snow gathered along the shoulders of 405's blazer and on the top of his head. His remaining eye occasionally flickered, causing the world around him to disappear and return in uneven flashes.
N remained awake.
She watched the ground pass beneath them, watching the crooked trail left by his feet. Every few steps, his body would jerk as a damaged mechanism caught. Sometimes his arms tightened around her. Sometimes they seemed to loosen entirely before he forced them back into position.
He was still holding her.
That was all she could think about.
He was still holding her.
N swallowed.
“405?”
His head moved slightly.
She looked toward the storm.
“There's something I need to tell you.”
405 kept walking.
“My name isn't N.”
The wind passed between them.
N lowered her eyes.
“It's Göll.”
405's remaining eye shifted toward her.
“Göll?”
She nodded.
“Göll Nyctelius.”
He repeated it quietly.
“Göll.”
She looked at him.
“That's my name.”
405 continued forward.
He didn't ask why she'd hidden it. He didn't ask whether she'd been afraid of telling him. He didn't ask what the name meant.
He simply remembered it.
“Göll,” he said again.
Her tears continued falling.
“I've been looking for my big sister.”
405 looked ahead.
Göll tried to explain, but her breathing became unsteady. She coughed into her sleeve, and when she lowered it, another dark stain marked the fabric.
“I thought if I kept going, I'd find her. I thought if I could just get far enough, she'd be somewhere waiting for me.”
She looked at the snow.
“I don't know where she is.”
405's head tilted slightly.
Göll wiped her eyes.
“I don't know if she even knows I'm looking for her.”
The wind pulled at the torn blazer.
405 continued walking.
“Do you miss her?”
Göll nodded.
“Every day.”
He didn't say anything else.
She looked at him, waiting for a response that never came. Eventually, she rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the weak mechanical hum beneath the damaged plating.
It was fading.
She could hear it becoming quieter.
Göll closed her eyes.
“I'm sorry I lied.”
405's head lowered toward her.
“It's okay.”
She shook her head.
“I should've told you.”
“Göll.”
She stopped crying for a moment.
405's voice was faint, almost buried beneath the wind.
“That's a nice name.”
Her face tightened.
She pressed herself against him, trying to hold on without hurting his broken arms.
405 continued walking.
---
The horizon was beginning to change.
At first, Göll thought it was another shadow in the storm. A dark shape appeared beyond the falling snow, rising above the uneven landscape. It was too large to be a tree, and too straight to be part of the mountain.
She lifted her head.
“405?”
He didn't respond.
She looked again.
The shape became clearer.
A building.
It stood on a low rise beyond the snow-covered fields, its dark exterior barely visible through the storm. Tall windows lined its front, and a broad staircase led toward an enormous set of doors. Several chimneys rose above the roof, though no smoke came from them.
A mansion.
Göll stared.
“There's a house.”
405's eye shifted toward the building.
He kept walking.
The red gem flickered.
A thin line of red light spread from its center, traveling beneath the plating along his neck. Another appeared across his shoulder. The light moved slowly, like something searching for a place to settle.
405's head tilted.
He looked down.
The gem was no longer bright enough to illuminate his hand.
He pressed his fingers against it.
The glow weakened.
Göll saw it.
“405?”
He didn't answer.
The red lines continued spreading.
They moved across his chest, following the cracks in the damaged plating. One reached his collarbone. Another traveled beneath the fabric of his blazer, disappearing toward his back.
The gem pulsed.
The light returned.
Then faded again.
Göll began to panic.
“No. No, no, no.”
She grabbed the front of his blazer.
“405, look at me.”
His head turned.
She could barely see his remaining eye.
“Please.”
The gem flickered.
Göll started crying again.
“Please don't die.”
405 looked at her.
She pressed her forehead against his.
“I'm asking you. Please.”
The wind swept over them.
Göll began whispering.
“Ten Fates, please. Please hear me.”
405 continued walking.
“Please don't take him away. He's my friend. He's my friend, and he hasn't done anything wrong.”
Her voice cracked.
“I'll do anything. I'll find my sister. I'll go wherever you want. Just please don't let him die.”
The snow gathered against 405's shoulders.
He didn't seem to hear her.
Göll looked down at his chest.
The red light was spreading faster now. Thin lines had reached the base of his neck, and the plating around the gem had begun to crack. The faint hum beneath it was becoming irregular.
She grabbed his blazer again.
“405!”
He stumbled.
His damaged knee folded beneath him, and his body tilted forward. He caught himself with one foot, but his other leg dragged through the snow.
Göll cried out.
405 slowly straightened.
He kept walking.
---
The mansion grew larger.
Its gates stood open.
Two tall iron structures framed the entrance, their black bars coated in snow. Beyond them, a stone path led toward the staircase. The grounds were enormous, though most of the garden had disappeared beneath the storm.
405 reached the gates.
He stopped.
The metal bars rose above him, disappearing into the snowfall. A decorative pattern stretched across the center, its details difficult to make out beneath the ice.
He looked beyond them.
The mansion stood with all its windows dark.
There were no lights in the upper floors. No movement behind the glass. No smoke from the chimneys.
Göll lifted her head.
“405?”
He stepped through the gates.
The path was covered in snow. His feet dragged across the stone, leaving uneven marks behind him. The wind pushed against his back, and the torn blazer lifted from his shoulders.
Göll looked toward the staircase.
Someone was sitting there.
A man.
He sat several steps below the mansion's enormous doors, his elbows resting loosely against his knees. His saber lay beside him, partially buried beneath the snow.
He wasn't looking toward the gates.
He was watching the snowfall.
405 stopped.
His body seemed to recognize him before his remaining eye could focus.
Göll looked at the man.
Then at 405.
Her breathing stopped.
Brass.
He sat alone on the stairs.
The snow gathered on his shoulders and along the edges of his clothing. He didn't brush it away. His posture was relaxed, and his gaze remained fixed on the flakes falling in front of him.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Brass raised one hand.
A snowflake drifted toward his palm.
He watched it settle against his skin.
“A requiem of silence.”
---
Göll began struggling.
She pushed against 405's chest, trying to get down. His arms didn't respond quickly enough, and she slipped from his hold, landing awkwardly in the snow.
Her legs wobbled.
She caught herself with both hands.
“Leave us alone!”
Brass didn't look at her.
Göll tried to stand.
Her knees shook, and she nearly fell again. She forced herself upright, facing the man on the stairs.
“Leave him alone!”
Brass lowered his hand.
The snowflake had already melted.
“This isn't your battle.”
Göll took a step toward him.
“I don't care!”
Brass finally turned his head.
His expression hadn't changed.
“If you don't have the strength necessary to cut me down, then you need to go.”
Göll stared at him.
For a moment, the only sound between them was the wind passing through the open gates.
Then she looked back at 405.
He was still standing.
Barely.
His arms remained raised in front of him, holding an empty space against his chest. His broken hands were curled around nothing, and his head hung forward as the red gem flickered beneath the damaged plating.
Göll turned back toward Brass.
“What was all this for?”
Brass watched her.
She took another step.
“Why did you do this?”
He didn't answer.
Göll's voice grew louder.
“You chased us! You kept hurting him! You made him run all that way, and now look at him!”
She pointed toward 405.
“He can't even stand properly!”
Brass's gaze shifted briefly toward the puppet.
Then returned to her.
Göll's hands curled into fists.
“What did he do to you?”
Nothing.
“Why couldn't you just leave us alone?”
The wind pushed her hair across her face. She brushed it away, tears gathering along her lower eyelids.
“Don't you have a human heart?!”
The question struck him.
Something in Brass's expression changed. His eyes widened slightly, and his fingers stopped moving.
For a fraction of a second, he looked as though he'd forgotten where he was.
They were talking over one another, their voices blending together in a constant stream of complaints and laughter.
He turned off the stove.
He placed the first one in front of the child nearest him, then moved to the next. Mosa watched him approach and shifted her chair slightly to make room.
He placed a plate in front of her.
“Thank you,” she said.
Brass gave her a small nod.
The last plate landed on the table.
The three children began eating.
Mosa immediately reached for the serving spoon, checking whether the others had enough before taking anything for herself.
Brass stood beside the table.
For a moment, he watched them.
He was back on the mansion steps, surrounded by snow.
His face was hidden beneath the shadow cast by the upper portion of the staircase. Only the lower half was visible, and even that was obscured whenever the wind swept snow between them.
He looked at Göll.
“I won't turn you in to your father.”
Göll didn't move.
Brass stepped down from the stairs.
“But you still need to get out of my way.”
She stared at him.
“I'm not leaving.”
Brass began walking toward her.
His boots pressed into the snow.
Göll glanced toward 405.
The puppet hadn't moved.
His arms remained raised.
His head hung forward.
The gem in his chest flickered.
Göll looked back at Brass.
He was getting closer.
She stepped backward.
“Don't come any closer.”
Brass continued walking.
Göll turned and ran toward 405.
She stumbled through the snow, her legs struggling to carry her. Her arms reached forward, and her eyes stayed fixed on the puppet.
“405!”
Brass raised one hand.
It was a small movement.
Barely more than a gesture.
The air shifted.
Göll disappeared.
There was no flash of light. No explosion. No sound of a mechanism activating. One moment, she was running toward 405, and the next, the snow beneath her feet was empty.
Her voice vanished with her.
The last thing either of them saw was the tearful face of a five-year-old girl.
Then she was gone.
---
405 remained standing.
His arms were still raised.
His fingers were curled around the empty space where Göll had been.
The storm moved between them.
Brass lowered his hand.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then 405's knees gave out.
He dropped into the snow.
His body tilted forward, but his arms remained in the same position, still shaped around the child he'd been carrying. His damaged legs folded beneath him, and his head hung low.
The red gem flickered.
Once.
Twice.
A faint mechanical sound came from inside his chest.
Brass looked down at him.
He didn't approach immediately.
He stood several feet away, watching the puppet remain on his knees. Snow gathered along the back of 405's blazer, covering the torn fabric and the exposed mechanisms beneath it.
Brass's gaze moved toward the empty space in his arms.
Then toward the gem.
“This is it?”
405 didn't move.
“This is the end of your rope?”
The puppet's remaining eye flickered.
Brass stepped closer.
“I want you to know that this isn't personal.”
He looked down at the red gem.
“We all have a rose that we can't wait to see bloom.”
The wind pulled at his clothing.
“I do this to honor my family.”
He paused.
“I do this to honor myself.”
405's head raised slightly.
Brass reached down and picked up his saber.
The hilt emerged from beneath the snow, and he pulled the blade free. Pale blue Zyn energy traveled along its surface.
He held it at his side.
“I do this, not as Brass Hymlinn, but as the Apostle of Frost, representing the Cult of Liberation.”
The snow continued falling.
Brass stood before the kneeling puppet.
“May the 10 Fates guide your spirit into a better life.”
405's featureless face focused on him.
For a moment, the red gem brightened.
Brass raised his saber.
The movement was clean.
One swift motion.
The storm swallowed the sound.
405's body remained on its knees for a moment longer before collapsing into the snow. His head fell separately, disappearing beneath the falling white before the wind could carry it farther.
Brass lowered his blade.
He looked at the body.
There was no celebration in his expression. No visible relief. He simply stood there, waiting for the last movement to stop.
Then he turned.
He reached down, took hold of the puppet's damaged clothing, and began dragging the body away from the mansion.
The snow swallowed the trail behind him.
405's broken arms remained bent in front of his chest, still holding the shape of someone who was no longer there.
Brass continued into the storm.
The mansion doors stood closed behind him.
The gates remained open.
And the snow kept falling, burying what was the left of the puppets head.
Snow landed against his cheek.
He didn't wipe it away....
A kitchen.The image was unclear, softened by a layer of fog that made the edges of the room difficult to distinguish.
Warm light illuminated the wooden cabinets. A stove sat against the far wall, and a pot rested above the flame. Steam drifted toward the ceiling.Brass stood in front of it.
His sleeves were rolled up.He held a wooden spoon in one hand, stirring the contents of the pot while occasionally glancing toward the table behind him.
Three children were sitting there.They were talking over one another, their voices blending together in a constant stream of complaints and laughter.
One of them had begun reaching across the table for something that wasn't theirs.
Another pulled it away.The third watched them with an expression of exhausted disapproval.
Mosa Saint.He turned off the stove.
He placed the first one in front of the child nearest him, then moved to the next. Mosa watched him approach and shifted her chair slightly to make room.
He placed a plate in front of her.
“Thank you,” she said.
Brass gave her a small nod.
The last plate landed on the table.
The three children began eating.
Mosa immediately reached for the serving spoon, checking whether the others had enough before taking anything for herself.
Brass stood beside the table.
For a moment, he watched them.
Mosa noticed and kicked the other two children beneath the table. They all looked over at Brass with smiles on their faces.
"Thank you, daddy!"
The kitchen was warm.The stove continued to crackle.
Then he reached for his own chair....
Brass stood up.He was back on the mansion steps, surrounded by snow.
His face was hidden beneath the shadow cast by the upper portion of the staircase. Only the lower half was visible, and even that was obscured whenever the wind swept snow between them.
He looked at Göll.
“I won't turn you in to your father.”
Göll didn't move.
Brass stepped down from the stairs.
“But you still need to get out of my way.”
She stared at him.
“I'm not leaving.”
Brass began walking toward her.
His boots pressed into the snow.
Göll glanced toward 405.
The puppet hadn't moved.
His arms remained raised.
His head hung forward.
The gem in his chest flickered.
Göll looked back at Brass.
He was getting closer.
She stepped backward.
“Don't come any closer.”
Brass continued walking.
Göll turned and ran toward 405.
She stumbled through the snow, her legs struggling to carry her. Her arms reached forward, and her eyes stayed fixed on the puppet.
“405!”
Brass raised one hand.
It was a small movement.
Barely more than a gesture.
The air shifted.
Göll disappeared.
There was no flash of light. No explosion. No sound of a mechanism activating. One moment, she was running toward 405, and the next, the snow beneath her feet was empty.
Her voice vanished with her.
The last thing either of them saw was the tearful face of a five-year-old girl.
Then she was gone.
---
405 remained standing.
His arms were still raised.
His fingers were curled around the empty space where Göll had been.
The storm moved between them.
Brass lowered his hand.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then 405's knees gave out.
He dropped into the snow.
His body tilted forward, but his arms remained in the same position, still shaped around the child he'd been carrying. His damaged legs folded beneath him, and his head hung low.
The red gem flickered.
Once.
Twice.
A faint mechanical sound came from inside his chest.
Brass looked down at him.
He didn't approach immediately.
He stood several feet away, watching the puppet remain on his knees. Snow gathered along the back of 405's blazer, covering the torn fabric and the exposed mechanisms beneath it.
Brass's gaze moved toward the empty space in his arms.
Then toward the gem.
“This is it?”
405 didn't move.
“This is the end of your rope?”
The puppet's remaining eye flickered.
Brass stepped closer.
“I want you to know that this isn't personal.”
He looked down at the red gem.
“We all have a rose that we can't wait to see bloom.”
The wind pulled at his clothing.
“I do this to honor my family.”
He paused.
“I do this to honor myself.”
405's head raised slightly.
Brass reached down and picked up his saber.
The hilt emerged from beneath the snow, and he pulled the blade free. Pale blue Zyn energy traveled along its surface.
He held it at his side.
“I do this, not as Brass Hymlinn, but as the Apostle of Frost, representing the Cult of Liberation.”
The snow continued falling.
Brass stood before the kneeling puppet.
“May the 10 Fates guide your spirit into a better life.”
405's featureless face focused on him.
For a moment, the red gem brightened.
Brass raised his saber.
The movement was clean.
One swift motion.
The storm swallowed the sound.
405's body remained on its knees for a moment longer before collapsing into the snow. His head fell separately, disappearing beneath the falling white before the wind could carry it farther.
Brass lowered his blade.
He looked at the body.
There was no celebration in his expression. No visible relief. He simply stood there, waiting for the last movement to stop.
Then he turned.
He reached down, took hold of the puppet's damaged clothing, and began dragging the body away from the mansion.
The snow swallowed the trail behind him.
405's broken arms remained bent in front of his chest, still holding the shape of someone who was no longer there.
Brass continued into the storm.
The mansion doors stood closed behind him.
The gates remained open.
And the snow kept falling, burying what was the left of the puppets head.
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