tofi's trail: shadows of red and black

Obi stares up at the ceiling, wasting precious long moments on trying to control his breath. In front of his eyes, decapitated heads dance, remains of the dream that tore him awake with a hard grasp on knives and forced silence. He turned his head to the side, searching for Zens form in the room. His pale hair seems to glow silver in the moonlight, and it is a relief to see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Obi sits up, careful not to cause the linen to rustle loudly in the quiet room, and he puts his bare feet against the cold floor. He dresses in silence, and Master only moves once, rolling over to find a more comfortable position. Obi is close enough that he can see the crease marks from the pillow in his skin, and he watches a while longer, can’t help brushing a finger just lightly against Master’s cheek and the creases there. Master mumbles something nearly incoherent, but Obis sharp ears catch the breathed-out words, and a corner of his mouth twitches upward. Some of the heads vanish from his field of vision, dispersing mist in his eyes for a few moments. Master is dreaming happy dreams about Mistress, and Obi wants him to keep doing so.

He slips out of the room and finds his way to the herbalist dormitories, and he slips far too easily into Mistress’ room. She is sitting bent over her table with a burnt-out candle in the lamp beside her, and she is so heavily asleep that she doesn’t stirr when Obi moves her to the bed and tucks her in. She clasps a few of his fingers in her hand in her sleep and his heart aches, but it causes a few more heads to vanish into the mist. He cards his fingers through her hair once after she releases him after he whispers to her to let him go, and she sighs a content sigh and burrows into her mattress and blankets. He can feel Miss Kikis gaze upon him but she says nothing when he presses a finger to his lips and slips back out of the room.

Little Ryu is unsurprisingly awake. Obi sees the sliver of light underneath the door and knocks softly before entering. Little Ryu has his nose buried in a book, and he peers over the edge at Obi when he closes the door behind him. On the bed, Little Kiri lays sprawled out, an open book on his chest. Obi picks it up as more of the disembodied heads dissipate, and he places a piece of paper between the pages before putting the book to the side. “I’m going out for a bit,” he tells Little Ryu, and the boy looks at him in askance. “Just for a few days. Won’t you tell Mistress and Master for me?” Little Ryu blinks at him slowly, and Obi can see a slight crease between his eyebrows. The boy lowers his book a little. “You have to go now?” he asks, and Obi nods. “I do. Please, Little Ryu?” Ryu shrugs, and after a little while he nods in acknowledgement. He knows that sometimes, Obi needs to leave. He knows that he will return as promised. He doesn’t know everything, but he knows that Obi dreams terrible dreams, and that he needs to rid himself of them in his own way. He doesn’t know how. Doesn’t need to know how. He knows that Obi will feel better once he returns, at least for a while.

There is a small smile on Obi’s lips when he ruffles Little Ryu’s hair, and Little Ryu looks a mix between embarrassed and pleased. It’s like they’re sharing a secret, slipping it below the nose of the people of Lyrias.

Obi leaves the way that he came, and sets out for the edge of the city. He leaves a message for the guards, excusing himself for a few days. Once he passes the gate out of the city, he disappears into the darkness.

Screams echoes loudly in his ears, pleas of help, of mercy, feels the thick smell of metal in his nose, and he sees the shadow of his own hands, drenched in dark liquids and holding gleaming weapons weeping red.

The sounds from the dream mixes with the monotone silence, the quiet trample of his own feet in snow, and the occasional thud as the snow slides from the tree branch that he had stepped on and down to the ground. The chill bites into his cheeks and stings in his lungs, and ice drips of memories and hallucinations, caught in drops and frozen in time for his eternity.

The cold grows wet, and then dry. It fades slowly, and leaves rustle on branches. The snow fades from his sight, making room for the fire of dying foliage.

His feet are silent on the marble as he makes his way unnoticed through long corridors, and he reaches his latest destination suddenly, when his hands catch in fabric and pulls. His ears register a sharp intake of breath and the lips that meet his are parted in surprise. Obis hands search for skin and find its warmth hidden underneath layers of clothing. His lover and king shudders at the cold of his touch, he utters a question, wondering about his presence, and Obi tells him he’s paying a quick visit; he’ll be gone before he knows it. His clothes are in the way.

He pulls the man aside, mumbles in his ear to meet him in the bedroom, and though it is still not so late as to make the darkness fall, tall shadows mask their forms. The red fades from his vision. Obis vision feels clear. The cold of his nightmares are forced out by hands on his skin and a weight on his waist, eyes locked upon him, burning with life.

Shadows of Red and Black