Chapter Text
Perhaps you had always known the outcome even before the rite had been preformed.
An unfamiliar chill crept up your spine and numbed your fingers, but you stared upwards towards the darkening sky. Alfonse sobbed openly by your side. It's a heart-wrenching, broken cry that reverberated deep in your soul, but you didn't even have the strength to face him.
"It's not your fault," you murmured reassuringly, eyes glazed over as you began to stare into forever, "you couldn't have possibly known."
Your words fell to deaf ears and Alfonse's pleas of I love you and don't leave me resounded in your mind. Everything that registered to you is stagnant, and you just felt cold. Your fingers sought out warmth, and they curled around his trembling hands. With a sigh, you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. Your mind is foggy at best now, and it seemed like the present was nothing but a hazy dream.
"Alfonse..." you softly called. "I'm tired, will you please put me to rest one, last time?"
"No," he cried, choking on his words, "I can't, I won't. You can't leave, not like this."
He grasped both your hands in his own and brought them to his face. Fervent prayers fell from his lips as he clung to the belief that you'll be alright if he just prayed hard enough. The dampness of his tears were cold against your fingertips and you reached out to brush his cheeks.
You pleaded. "Please, Alfonse."
Maybe it was a sign that no matter how many wars were fought, Askr was not meant to have a happy ending. The pain and death and sorrow that came with fighting would only continue to reap more tragedy. The dagger in your pocket seemed to weigh like lead on your leg. Colors shifted and distorted together, and there was a pressure that rested on your chest, weighing you down, and your breaths began to shallow.
A plethora of no and a sorrowful please god no tumbled from his lips and he shook his head, eyes widened in horror and disbelief. It hurt seeing him like this. But you're tired and every effort you spent fighting to stay awake was meaningless, you felt the end approaching near in the hollowness of your bones.
"Alfonse," you tried again, "please."
You just want to rest now. Alfonse knew this. He couldn't bring himself to respond to your statement, but his choked up apology and his trembling hands reaching for his sword told you enough. He was crying harder now, loud sobs racked his frame from the depths of his chest. His sword glimmered dully, a sign of its glory laid to waste, and he raised it just above your neck.
A serene smile overtook your features as you closed your eyes.
"Thank you, Alfonse."
You felt the cool blade against your neck. Then, you felt nothing at all.