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There is heat and then there is nothing.
Kahaku lets his eyes remain closed, feeling weightless. Strangely, his left hand twitches at his side, free of his nokker.
He opens his eyes.
He’s standing in the middle of a quaint kitchen, not unlike the one from where he stayed in Renril. Sunlight streams through a window behind a small table at the farthest wall, bathing the room in a warm glow. He thinks he can hear laughter and voices in the next room over.
Kahaku takes a step forward. He goes through a door and finds himself faced by a crowd of mirrored features around a table. They’re all women, dressed in the Guardians’ uniform and interacting with a warm camaraderie. Like family.
Some of them are particularly familiar. They bring Kahaku’s thoughts back to the paintings at his family’s home in Yanome. Paintings of women warriors with carved descriptions in plaques that sing praises for a legacy that was well carried on—until Kahaku came along.
But none of them look angry, he realizes. Nobody’s upset with him. They’re all smiling. At each other. At him, like he did something right. They beckon him to move forward, to join their circle. He does, with slow, heavy steps like wading through molasses, while they all encourage him in voices he can’t sort through, with features he can’t discern but he knows he bears a striking resemblance to.
They praise him, like carvings on ancient plaques, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s dreaming.
Kahaku is dead and this is only an illusion to comfort him in the end.
Images of swirling forms and an orb flash through his mind. He thinks of Fushi, stripped of bodies and memories, all regained with his death.
He thinks of a pulsing, living tumor he used to call a friend occupying the side of his face. He thinks of bags of gunpowder strapped to his body, weighing him down into flames.
He thinks of saying one last goodbye.
His predecessors open their arms to him. He takes a step back.
Kahaku finds himself in the doorway of a building. He’s not the only one there.
Fushi sits on a chair inside, his eyes closed and head tilted back. He would almost look peaceful if it weren’t for his nails digging into the arm rests. Kahaku sags in relief at the sight of him in a human form. At least Kahaku can be sure that dying wasn’t a bad choice.
Fushi did always seem fond of his white-haired form.
At Fushi’s feet is March. She looks up at Kahaku and doesn’t seem too surprised, even as she says, “Oh, it’s you.”
Kahaku sighs and sits next to her in front of Fushi. The guilt must be clear on his face as he studies the immortal, because March smiles sadly and pats him on the knee.
“Will you stay and watch him with me?” March asks. “Until he wakes up?”
Kahaku looks away from Fushi and gazes down at her. He replies honestly. “Yes. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”
They sit together in silence. It’s not uncomfortable. There isn’t any tension but instead an unspoken forgiveness that takes a weight off of Kahaku’s shoulders. He would even go as far as to say that he feels content sitting there, especially when Eko skips into the building and brightens at the sight of him. Despite March being there, it reminds him of traveling with nobody but Eko and Fushi. It was a pleasant time when he wasn’t wallowing in his uselessness.
March is excited to have someone closer to her age to spend time with, and Kahaku watches sometimes as they chase each other around and play together. Other times, he tells them old Yanome legends. Sometimes March will tell him her own stories in exchange—stories from Ninnanah and stories about a younger Fushi.
They’re the only three there for a long time, or Kahaku at least thinks it’s a long time. It’s not always easy to keep track.
The experience becomes slightly less enjoyable once everyone else starts trickling in.
Kahaku knows that the others aren’t particularly fond of him. He knows Tonari in particular has a grudge against his bloodline. He knows that his last interactions with Bon and the three members of the immortal army weren’t the best. Some of them eye his lack of arm with something like suspicion or uncertainty.
March may have been quick to befriend him, but she’s a child. So is Eko. Even after everything, they’re naive enough to stick to his side and never be afraid of him—to never hate him. Meanwhile, Kahaku doesn’t have a single idea how to approach the others when they’re always watching him from the corners of their eyes, as if he can kill any of them as they are now.
They definitely hate him.
It’s fine, though, Kahaku tells himself as he stays in the outskirts of the ruins the building has become and Fushi only becomes older and older. He’s not here for them. He’s here for Fushi. He’s here to see Fushi wake up in the peaceful world he’s always wanted. He’s here to see joy on Fushi’s face one last time, and maybe to say one last unheard I’m sorry to his face before fading into a dream world of everything Kahaku has ever wanted. Except for Fushi.
He’s not here for them, so he ignores them and keeps watching Fushi. He doesn’t bother them and they don’t bother him. Some of them leave for a while to see the changing world, always returning to their unconscious friend, but Kahaku never strays too far from the ruins.
He observes separately from the group as plant life continues to overtake Fushi, and Fushi becomes something withered and gray.
Then Fushi wakes up.
Shortly after, so do the others. Kahaku watches Fushi stumble into the new world, and he waits.
Fushi reunites with his revived friends, and Kahaku waits.
He knows Bon can see him lingering not too far off from Fushi, so he waits more.
March asks about him. Fushi looks sad and assumes he moved on. Bon doesn't even look up, so Kahaku waits for someone else to say something. No one does.
Kahaku stays dead.