4338.209 · July 28, 2018 AD
Blood for Blood
Jamie has held Duke's body through the long hours of darkness, legs numb in the river's cold embrace. Henri sits beside them—nudging his brother, placing gentle kisses on a head that won't respond. Dawn breaks in colours that have no right to be beautiful. And in the hollow where grief scraped Jamie clean, something harder begins to crystallise.
Grief is exhausting. It hollows you out and offers nothing in return.
Jamie has spent the night in the river, cradling Duke's body while the stars wheeled overhead and the water lapped indifferent against his numb legs. Henri keeps vigil beside them—nudging his brother every few minutes, pressing gentle kisses to fur that's grown stiff with dried blood. A dog's version of denial. The inability to comprehend why Duke won't wake up.
The lagoon saved Joel. Brought his son back from death itself, knitted a slit throat closed, restarted a stopped heart. But when Jamie begged for the same miracle—pleaded with everything he had—nothing happened. The water remained just water. Duke slipped away, and all of Clivilius's mysterious powers did absolutely nothing.
Rejected. That's what it felt like. Selective mercy from a dimension that plays favourites.
By dawn, the hollow in Jamie's chest has filled with something far more sustainable than sorrow. Hatred gives you something to do with your hands. And Jamie makes a promise to the dead he fully intends to keep.
