Kanimir chokes on a sob, the burning behind his eyes erasing what little vision he still had a hold on. He curls into himself, clutching at her like a lifeline amid the agony gripping him, twisting through his chest and burning in a way that is far more than physical. He should be angry, really, should hate her for leaving him, abandoning him to Kyto and all that became of his childhood, but he can't. He's too broken, too desperate for an end to the horror his life has become, and amongst it all she's the only one to offer him comfort.
He's so cold, shaking and trembling with every breath, the blood pooling down his side chilling before its even soaked through his clothes. The rational part of him recognises the freezing sensation, the cold sweat upon his brow, as shock, his body giving in to the abuse it has suffered, the blood draining away into snow below him, but he's too far lost to the emotions wreaking havoc in his head and all he wants, as independent as he has ever been, is for someone to put the shattered pieces of his self back together again, make him whole. He's losing himself to the pain, and there's a fear in the back of his mind that he might never make it back.
Just survive, he remembers thinking to himself what feels like years ago, when he had made the decision to do whatever it took to see Keithia free. That outcome is looking ever less likely, even if Fiachna manages to keep him alive, and his hold on her dress tightens, his fingers weak and failing further by the moment.
"Keithia," He gasps, voice rasping and a shadow of itself, taut with pain and the emotions suffocating him, "
Please. You h-have to save her. You have to g-give her back her f-freedom.
Please."
Kyto can smell death in the air before he even hears Fiachna's call. The stench of it hits him as he catches sight of the dancing red and gold sparks in the air, familiar in ways he never hoped to see again. Fiachna's voice is almost desperate, concerned, and despite himself fear washes over him. For her, or for another, he can't tell, he barely recognises the emotion as what it is, a foreign concept to him by now, buried by years of anger and bitterness.
He abandons the armload of wood and his torch, both, with barely a second thought. Launching forwards, he moves through the trees into a clearing that is almost twice the size it was when he left it, ash and sparks floating on a static breeze and filling the air with the smell of burning and ash. Fiachna kneels close to the fire, shaking sobs filling the air alongside the near silent crackle of fading magic. Kyto freezes, unable to process for a split second, his hand automatically on his sword hilt, searching for the danger, the enemy.
Horror at what he knows his son has done follows soon after, and it is enough to jolt him from his shock. He moves forwards quickly, coming to face where Fiachna kneels and taking in the sight before him. Ice slides down his spine once again, anger slipping away as something he can't even name falls into its place. Kanimir is clutching at Fiachna's dress, wailing like a frightened child. His entire frame shakes with the force of his anguish, and something in Kyto's chest aches to see it. The feeling is, once again, foreign and forgotten and he doesn't know what to do with it.
He glances down at Fiachna's hands and sees red, in a way far different to how he usually perceives it. The thin shaft of an arrow protrudes from his son's tattered clothes, crimson too dark to be human slipping away down his side, coating Fiachna's hands and the glove she is using to stem the bleeding. His breath catches in his throat and he doesn't know what to do with the emotions suddenly clouding his mind, alike to the thoughtless intimacy Fiachna spurs him into but so much colder. He can't process the situation at hand and the feelings he thought long dead, so he locks them away, tucks them down under the anger and resentment he has grown so used to.
He still feels cold with the shock of the moment, but that he can handle.
"What happened?" He demands, taut and harsh as he reaches for Kanimir's throat and presses his fingers to the boy's jugular with an almost gentle touch. His pulse is racing, trembling with an erratic beat, and he doesn't even flinch away from Kyto's icy fingers, still sobbing harshly into his mother's side. It's surprisingly strong, though, given how much crimson red Kyto can see pooling in the snow beneath them, and he supposes he has Fiachna to thank for that.
He reaches for the pack at his waist, just a small pouch of bare necessities to dealing with minor injuries on his own. He travels light, deals with anything major if or when he can find civilization, or else makes do. Right now, he almost regrets that choice, but there's little he can do about it. The boy's shirt will have to do for bandages.
@SanctifiedSavage
