Chapter Text
As soon as Saint Viktor understood what he was looking at his body froze. Icy cold ground into him like claws and dug deep into his bones. He couldn’t feel anything else, besides a vague pain in his right wrist that Archemorus must have grabbed at some point.
He could see it clearly from his slightly elevated position next to a jade wave. A sizable group of what looked like a mix of Kurzick and Luxon were entrenched in a fortified temple structure. Imperial looking attackers approached the hideout, slowly but relentlessly. A trap struck the attackers, slowing them down a bit. It looked like a Ludgardis construction with some unfamiliar elements, his brain supplied hazily. A fox spirit appeared for a moment. Spears flew, far too few to make a difference. A speciality of the Luxon, he remembered. Everything seemed unreal in this moment, like a montage in a play, and yet he knew that this had really happened. Ringing sounded in his ears. A pain in his hand brought him out of it for a moment. Archemorus had taken a step forward, squeezing at his arm. But Saint Viktor did not move. He felt like if he moved, his bones would shatter like shards of ice. Archemorus didn't get far either, his hand remained connected to Saint Viktor's arm and his pull was weak. His cheeks were wet. The last barricades down at the temple fell without resistance. He could hear screams. The scene flickered strangely. Then there was only silence.
The surroundings slowly collapsed, like shards of a broken vase. Saint Viktor didn't know how long he stood rigid, gazing into the void of the mists. Someone screamed again. Eventually, the pain in his arm subsided. With effort, he raised his hand to his face which was dry. A part of him wished he could cry. A hand gently rested on his shoulder and a warmth spread from there. This felt unacceptable to Saint Viktor and in a sudden rage he pushed Archemorus away from him. But the latter only put both arms around him and hugged him tightly. All fighting spirit left Saint Viktor when he felt Archemorus body trembling and heard his sobs next to his ear. He stood rigid as the ice slowly left his body, guided by Archemorus shuddering breath.
After a while, the two broke away from each other.
"That must have been the end" said Archemorus, hoarsely.
Saint Viktor didn’t reply and started stalking off in one direction. He still felt brittle. Archemorus followed after him.
"That came out of the blue." Archemorus muttered after some time.
"Everything here comes out of the blue" Saint Viktor said sharply.
Silently, the two walked side by side for a while. You could only rarely hear sounds in the mists unless fragments from events of the past, present or future were reflected. But never before had the silence seemed so deafening to Saint Viktor.
"I am glad" whispered Archemorus. "I have often wondered why, after a certain point our clans are… no longer there. In the events of history."
"Glad?!" Saint Viktor felt like shards had locked in his throat. "You're glad our clans were hunted like some undead filth? There could have been so many possibilities, they could have slowly declined, could have emigrated or integrated into Canthan society, they could have..." his voice became shrill.
"Hey, hey- " interrupted in Archemorus. He just sounded sad. Strong arms wrapped around Saint Viktor from behind and held him tight. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"I know" whispered Saint Viktor and suddenly everything overcame him at once. He felt his knees give way and the arms kept him from sinking all the way to the floor. Tears streamed down his face and sobs escaped without his doing.
"Why?" he choked out between sobs. "Why, Archemorus?"
Archemorus did not answer but squeezed harder. Tightly embraced, the two knelt on the ground for an indeterminate amount of time while the mists built around them, always unpredictable, always all-encompassing.