20th of Frost, 120
It wasn't futile. For once, one of Arkash's ideas would work; he'd smuggle all the nameless aboard the train to Rainier amidst their cargo. It took some sacrifice of his own to secure the first cabin where he'd revealed himself to be a blood mage, but it didn't matter. True, blood mages were hunted and killed relentlessly, but Arkash wasn't long for the world anyway. The dirty bandages that wrapped his chest hid a serious infection; it was sickly yellow in the deepest parts of his wound, and he'd been off and on with a fever of the last few days. When pus began to stream down the scales of his stomach, he knew he was too far gone to help.
Why hadn't he treated his wounds when they treated the other nameless with the medical supplies they'd stolen? Some part of him convinced himself it was because they needed the supplies for the rest of the nameless, or because he was too busy training the nameless, leading raids, and cleaning the streets to even try. Though all of those were true, they could have easily spared him the bandages and disinfectant he needed.
In truth, he was done. He'd been done for some time. Losing Liu and Cojack both, being sentenced to death, kidnapped, and enslaved; he'd not lived a life worth living and saw reason to continue. He'd done his part to feed the pigs of the higher castes, he'd saved as many of the broken and the lost as he could. He'd given everything he had, from his blood to his home. The world still demanded more from him, but the final stretch was in sight. There wasn't much more to go before he would finally rest.
Sure, that final stretch involved pulling a human and an elf across the icy inch-wide board of a moving train's cabin to safety, but hibernation was right around the corner, and he knew he'd not wake that time. If in his last moments in the world, he could save a few cretins, then why not? For all his evils, his final act could make a positive impact on the world, however meager it was.
Two nameless remained at the cabin's doors, clinging for dear life. Between him and the nameless was an empty space without any surfaces to grip, just the raw iron wall of the cargo cabin. So, Arkash pulled himself out further over the edge and exposed his back to the rush of the frigid wind. There, he reached across to take the arm of the human. His teeth bared beneath his widened yellow eyes and his claws swiped at the open-air before him in an effort to reach the human. There was no way, a good foot of empty space separated him from the man. So, Arkash drew his bloodshaped, sharpened knife and thrust it into the wall for an extra grip before stepping around to offer his claw to the human. His full body was exposed to the rush of the cold, and his back tightened considerably, but he was within reach of the human. Quickly, he took the man by the arm and willed his worn limb to bend. "JUMP!" he roared over the rush of freezing wind and pulled on the man's arm to propel him. Arkash swung his whole body and pivoted to throw the human, who leaped at the carriage behind him and gripped the bumpy corner of the caboose, where he found his footing.
As he watched the nameless tuck himself between the cabins, he spied a silhouette in the distance; a winged man, taller than any hollow. A Velsign, an overseer. "No..." he muttered through his stiff jaw, then turned to face the elf. "COME ON!" he cried as he extended his frozen claws to her, and waved his arm about in an effort take her. "HURRY! WE GOTTA MOVE!" he called. She was afraid, terrified even. he knew that look in the eyes of humans, he'd seen it plenty himself.
"Focus on me," he instructed, barely speaking over the wind. "Taek my 'and." Still, she was reluctant, but the tall woman eventually reached out, then jumped the small space to take the rathor's hand. her weight was surprising, too much for him to bear on such a small path. His teeth bared and his arm shook with a distinct strain that ensured he'd pull the muscle as his back buckled slightly. "Fack!" he called as he released his knife, and fell back toward the opposite cabin. She fell with him, but before either of them could hit the ground, she extended her long arms to grip the rath with one hand and support herself on the cabin with the other. Arkash clung to her arm for dear life as she helped him up.
The overseer couldn't have been far ahead of them, so with great urgency, he pulled the woman over the link and threw both his own and her body weight through the frozen iron door of the cabin to land flat on his back with a thud. She rolled somewhere off to the side, then scrambled to her feet to shut the door of the cabin.
He was sheltered from the wind again, but it did little good without a fire or some source of heat to warm him up. He'd lost it, beyond the shallow graze of hibernation. The cold in his veins was deathly in its severity. His heart skipped beats as it pushed his thickened, slow blood through his veins, and oxygen so limited fuelled his brain. His broken, festering body was quickly shutting down as the ice set in, and he breathed deeply in a passive effort to save his dying body to no avail; he began to succumb to the call of Frost. It was over; he'd saved the three nameless and he could finally rest. There, on the floor of the cargo cabin, he exhaled what he believed to be his last breath, then widened his eyes as the room became washed in a soft amber glow. Warmth, heat. It was near him. How?
His vision cleared a little, and some sense of feeling returned as his body was elevated. Fayeth was there above him, Asmodei too with his enkindled sword. Those two who'd once seen so much potential in him, those two that had saved his life and offered their teachings; they were with him in the end. They spoke at him, but he knew not what they said. It felt as though his ears were clogged; he was underwater, and the muffle of their voices didn't focus. In her arms, he shut his eyes but continued to draw breath.
"Why didn't you tell us?" her voice asked above the muffle. Again, he exhaled and opened his eyes to watch her own.
With his next breath, he spoke "I didn' wanna worry 'ew... Am sorry."
"Well now that I know you're hiding things from me, I'm worried, Arkash." She huffed with a shake of her head. "Is there anything else I should know about?"
The rathor pulled his stiff lips into a smile and blinked slowly again. The heat of Asmodei's sword helped keep him conscious, but it was too little too late. The ice was in his bones. "I'm dyin'..." he laughed a breath, then shook his head. "Nah, I'm o'redy gone," he declared with a brief exhale.
"Ark?" She asked with a glare of confusion, then shook her head. "You'll warm up, you're fine."
Again, the rathor shook his head and took her by the wrist. Weakly, he moved her fingers to pull back the dirty bandages that wrapped his wound, and hisses as the fabric peeled from his sore scales.
Her pupils seemed to shrink, then widened in fear as dead flesh, pus, and grime were rife in the wound he beheld. "ARKASH?!" She shrieked after a sharp gasp. "WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?! I TOLD YOU-" She bellowed with a quake to her voice that he'd not heard before.
"I know, am sorry..." he spoke with a shake f his head, then let her wrist go and gripped her shoulder.
The dranoch shook her head quickly, then covered her eyes with her index finger and thumb. "Arkash... I can't..."
"I know," he spoke with his lazy, tired eyes on hers. He took to surprise when he pulled her wrist aside to show them, for he found tears running down her cheeks. "Fayeth," he spoke softly, but she didn't look at him. "Am tired, but i'ss okay... Am redy," he explained as his consciousness withdrew. Still, the dranoch didn't look at him. "Fayeth..." he spoke again.
Quietly, she lifted the rathor into a tighter embrace and pleaded a weak "What?" her voice was broken, strained with her grief.
"Am orite, Fay..." He continued as his voice wavered. "Am sorry for everyfin... Jus'..." He continued, then let his claws fall limp as darkness crept around the corners of his vision. His hands were so numb that he couldn't feel them impact the floor. His body was finally giving out. "Lemme go..." he finished, then grunted a hiss of pain as he strained his sore neck muscles. "Dun' saev me, orite?" he affirmed, though he couldn't know how she might save him from the fate he'd chosen for himself.
She cried above him as he shut his eyes. The warmth of Asmodei's sword drew closer while she sobbed into his broken, burned leathers.
He cared not what came next, only that his struggle was over. No more would he writhe beneath the boots of the more fortunate, no more would he bleed for those that hated him. No more nightmares awaited him, just peace and warmth.
Hibernation had claimed him for what he believed to be the last time. In his deep sleep, he was moved about, thrown, jostled, and eventually settled before impenetrable darkness overtook him. For a moment, he was at peace.
