Chapter Text
There’s a legend on the server.
In a place where anarchy reins in bloodstained ground and the sounds of explosions are just background sounds. Selfishness kept you alive, next to your strength.
And someone would see your strength and would decide they wanted it. They would take whatever was dear to you or try to trick you into joining whatever conflict they had. Being strong made you nothing more than a weapon.
A place so violent should be devoid of any hopeful myth, of anything beautiful at all.
It is said that during the starry night.
If your soul bleeds yearning for something hard enough, the void will take pity on you and grant the wish.
No one knows what type of yearning is required.
There’s rumors that say that you are supposed to wish so strongly, that you feel like suffocating on your own. Others say that you are supposed to be willing to die for it or lead a particularly sad life for it to work.
Flame doesn’t know the specifics, nor does he believe in it.
How could he?
He was the strongest player on the server.
Flame huffs, sharpening his sword while Saparata is giving another speech. Things hadn’t ended according to plan recently, not with Wemmbu massacring a good part of every army around them. It’s not like Flame blames him.
He had seen the darkness in Wemmbu’s eyes and the betrayed stare the man had sent Flame.
They were both weapons after all, acting on different orders.
Does it matter if it was leverage or a hint of hope, the thing keeping them stuck in the battle?
The ending is the same.
Both of them fight under people weaker than them, even if the two of them were supposed to be the strongest.
Wemmbu didn’t kill and destroy just for the fun of it, not anymore.
And Flame had been the one who dragged him back into that life while acting on someone else's orders. Flame had captured the hostage, giving the leverage while ignoring the sour taste in his mouth.
It was pathetic.
At first, Flame had entered for a similar reason— to protect his best friend. Now, he had stayed for the fragile hope that someone would take his interest into heart. He had stayed even after Lomedy left. In his selfishness, he had wanted to try, to prove himself that things could change.
It was pathetic.
A soft growl exits his lips as he packs his things to return back to his base. Flame hadn’t even wanted to take part on this war, yet here he was— stuck by his own traitorous mind.
He was back to being a solo player.
He'd survive loneliness before, he could do it again.
He had to, if he wanted to become a combat master.
The base is quiet, walls rundown and space empty. It seemed bigger than before, way too big for just himself alone. Flame just sighed, continuing to walk down the passages robotically before stopping in front of one of the flower beds nearby.
Lomedy had insisted on adding it with a grin.
It was a combination of sunflowers and daisies that liven up the other way black base.
Before he even realizes it, his hands are closing on a piece of notebook.
Shaking his head, he drops the notebook as if he had been burnt. It had been a week since Lomedy left and he still had to stop himself from sending out letters to the other man. Flame could not drag Lomedy into this war again.
No, he couldn’t allow his selfishness to do so.
“C’mon lock in, dammit” Flame mutters to himself before throwing his body on the ground nearby and watching the stars through the open ceiling.
Why is he letting himself mope over something like this?
Flame had known that it would happen, every friendship he’s ever had dissolves due to his selfishness. It doesn’t matter how much he tries to hold, how much he tries to learn from his past mistakes and tries again.
It’s just a fact.
Who does he have on his side that cares for him in any way?
A hand reaches to his hair, dreads catching on his fingers as the blindfold resting on his eyes becomes crooked. Flame lets out a sigh, face neutral, nor a single emotion present.
He had learnt young enough that tears didn’t help, no matter the situation.
There’s a soft yip to his side, a nudge of a wet nose touching his cheek. Flame can’t help but laugh at the sensation— reaching to scratch behind the ears.
Flame knows he shouldn’t be so attached to a fight dog.
They always die in the end.
“Asher, bro, c’mon”
It’s selfish, and it seems that that’s all Flame will ever be.
The dog lays its huge body next to Flame, fur covering his shoulders, as it falls into slumber once more.
He just lets Asher do so, watching the stars with a frown on his face.
And even Asher will end up dying in the near future.
He would have to dig the dog a grave like he had for all of the fight dogs that had perished in battle.
Then what? He'd be alone again.
Flame looks up at the stars, eyes tired and muscles sore from the constant fighting. He lets the familiar feeling of helplessness invade his body.
He allows himself to remember Jaiden, to remember Lomedy, to remember every person that left him for his own selfishness.
To remember Rose, Flight and every fight dog that he had spent hours searching for their corpses and burying them into the cold ground.
Flame knows that he’s stuck, stuck in a place where he’s nothing but a weapon and yet unable to turn away from the battle.
He always falls for these types of traps.
First Prince Zam, then the Mafia, then Parrot and lastly Saparata. A guard, a soldier, someone who would be a liability to lose. He lets himself dwell on his loneliness.
He wishes for someone to stay, someone to see the burden of loving him and stays anyway.
Flame is selfish.
Holding that close to his heart, he falls asleep under the pale moonlight.
Letting a single tear fall through his cheeks.