He remembers this sort of darkness; the kind that is so thick he could wear it like a second skin. And he has. Once upon a lifetime ago, when he shared a womb with Tytos. For a glorious moment, he feels like he’s back there. For a glorious moment, he wonders if all those lives had just been dreams.
But Tytos isn’t next to him, isn’t kicking away in their shared darkness. And there are stars. There were no stars inside the womb. Still, he lets himself think that’s where he is. Not at the end of the world. Just the womb, and he’s just been dreaming.
If this is a dream, Noah isn’t dead. If it’s a dream, Noah never even existed in the first place. Or maybe he does. Maybe somewhere in Beqanna there’s a Noah waiting for Rhonan. Maybe they will find each other one day, and they will remember their shared dream, and it will be enough.
If this is a dream, Beqanna hasn't burned. His brother and mother aren’t dead, though he feels less sorrow over their loss than the loss of Noah. But he knows that quiet gray boy better than his own family. Maybe it all was just a figment of his imagination. Maybe Rhonan will wake up and find that he’s just been sound asleep in the depth of the jungle.
But he knows this isn’t true. He can feel the demon, creeping its way inside his mind. It hasn’t taken hold, but it will. And Rhonan doesn’t care. Maybe he’ll forget everything when the demon finally claims him. Maybe he’ll forget the crow and the sound of Noah dying. Maybe he’ll forget how Azula turned on them all, how she ripped the flesh right off of Gero’s bones.
If it is a dream, and he wakes up in Beqanna, what would he even do? How does he go back to life as it was? Back to sneaking out at night past his mother and her control of the jungle’s vines. Back to shooting the shit with Tytos. Had that even been his life? Would that ever be his life again? He can’t imagine it, can hardly remember it.
He just wants to stay here, in this place where all his worlds have ended. He wants to stay in a place that he cannot destroy. There is nothing left here to kill. He wants to stay in a place there is no one left to care about. He cannot bring himself to care ever again. What good has caring ever done him? What good did caring do Noah? Or Gero?
But the thing inside of him isn’t going to let him stay. He feels it, no longer creeping, but pushing into his mind with fury. And Rhonan’s own anger rises as it takes over, though not at it. He almost enjoys the anger, enjoys feeling something other than sorrow or nothing.
One by one, he sees the others, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt this is not a dream. He sees their stories. Through the eyes of the demon? Maybe. He doesn’t know how he sees the past, how he knows their names. Perhaps he should feel sorry for them, but he doesn’t even feel sorry for himself. He’s almost angry they are here, breaking into the peace he'd found in the darkness. Rhonan just wants to be alone, just wants to live and die at the end of the world.
But the demon won’t let them have peace.
Instead, he watches as horses scorn Heartworm for her defect. He watches the flesh falling away from her skin every time the sun dips below the horizon. He’s waiting for pitchforks and torches, for the villagers to chase her away. But a gray horse, so unlike Noah and yet so much like Noah, befriends the skeleton mare. The two mares bond with words, where Noah and Rhonan found comfort in silence. But still, he understands that bond. He watches as the gray mare dives into the horde for a daughter already long gone. The screams, the sound of flesh tearing from bone by blunt teeth. Those sounds he knows all too well, and he turns away.
He sees Jaide, can hear her scream. NO, ROUGE!, as it echoes all around him in the darkness. A chestnut dives into the horde, and those screams echo around him as well. Rhonan wants to shut off the screams, wants to shut off the sound. But it wouldn’t matter anyway; he still hears Noah dying in his sleep.
He watches Jaide as she wakes, discovering that her entire herd is dead. His almost envious of her, angry that her friends were spared the horror of the horde. Though he doesn’t know if that anger is the demon or himself. Maybe it's both. Maybe he has always been a demon. Rhonan cannot even muster pity when she finds Noir, head bobbing in the river like a dead fish. He snorts with laughter instead.
Why is that funny? He doesn’t know. It shouldn’t be funny. He knows it shouldn’t be funny. But it is, and he has to turn away before the laughter never stops.
Instead he sees Nadya, realization dawning, blood and guts smeared on her face. Lucky bitch. She had the balls to feed herself at least. Why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he taken Kav up on that offer? No, instead he wimped out, couldn’t bring himself to do the dirty deed. But he’s starving. Even in space, he’s fucking starving. And in that moment the sight of blood and meat looks more appealing than he cares to admit.
It must be the demon talking. It must. But he cannot tell. He doesn’t know where the demon stops and he begins. He doesn’t know which of his lives were real. He doesn’t know if he's alive.
He watches Nadya lose control, watching her feast on flesh. She tears the windpipe out of a horse, and he finds himself envious and sick all at once. He turns away, and sees Tyrna as she discovers the bodies. Her friends littering the ground around her. He watches as she kicks and screams, throwing a temper tantrum that could almost wake the dead. Almost. But not this time. Blood sprays into the air, coats her silver skin. One by one, she smashes them all to pieces, and now he laughs aloud. Maybe they were all just fucking mad. Smashing dead bodies to pieces just in case the pain wakes them up. Laughing at the sight of it.
He’s not sure the laughter will ever stop. It mixes with his rage, with his hatred for them and for himself, and he cannot stop.
Until the words coming spilling out of his mouth. They are not his words. He did not think them, and yet he speaks them. It is his hoarse voice that he hears, his raw throat that burns at the effort. But they are not his words. Or are they? Has he become the demon completely? But no, he can still feel some tiny part of him that doesn’t care. Some part that just wants to give up.
Pick two of them, it says. They are all there, close enough to touch now. They are all as pathetic and ruined as he. But he’s no longer laughing. They could name him. They could send him with the demon. Rhonan doesn’t hate that option. Part of him wants to name himself, part of him wants to go with the demon and quit this shit. There is nowhere to go. Beqanna burned. At least, he thinks it burned. So where would they go when the demon released them? He’s tired of living so many lives. He’ll take just one, with the demon or not.
But he hates the idea of them choosing him anyway. He just doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want to singled out as deserving to live life with a demon. He’s not a demon. He’s not.
Right?
Maybe he is. He pieced animals together at their own expense. He let his crow die. He let Noah die. He watched Azula tear Gero to pieces. What good had Rhonan ever done? Nothing. He was just a pretty pretty princess with no purpose to this world. In any world. Maybe he belonged with the demon.
Still, he does not want them to be the reason he isn’t freed. He wants to choose that life for himself, but he cannot. He cannot say his own name. The word will not form on his lips. He hates them all in that moment, and he wants to name them all instead if he cannot name himself. But he cannot do that either.
He must choose.
He thinks of Noah, the animal sounds of the horde and the screams of his ghost friend. He thinks of Heartworm, who watched her own gray friend die. And he cannot name her, because Cara reminds him of Noah. He thinks of Nadya, thinks of what it must be like to eat your friends. He had not been able to do it. Not even with his ribs showing through his skin. She doesn’t deserve to live with a demon, doesn’t need anything else to fuck her head up more. And he cannot name her either.
He thinks of Tyrna and Jaide. They may have dreamed of the horde, they may think they know. But they do not know. For that, he hates them the most. For that, he thinks they can survive the demon. They are not beaten and broken in the same way. They were never chased by their dead loved ones. They can survive more hell.
“Tyrna and Jaide,” he says. This time, he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt these are his words. He knows that he and he alone is condemning two mares who don’t deserve it. Perhaps the rest of them will say his name. Perhaps in the end, he will never live again. But it doesn’t matter. He hates himself as much as he hates them. He doesn’t care what they think. He doesn’t care what happens. He’s just ready for one life. One in hell, one in the stars, one in Beqanna. He’ll take anything, as long as it’s just one.
rhonan.