He sat there for what felt like hours.
His name was repeated hundreds of times, thousands of times, each one spoken harsher than the last.
Memories of his life were pulled from the deepest confines of his mind. Good, bad, happy or sad. He pulled on anything that reminded him of who he was. Of what he was.
The second son of Lord Aerion au Mávros, the younger brother of Lycenus and Despoina au Mávros, the son of Lady Inara au Mávros.
He remembered his childhood. He thought of his mother's quiet voice in the night, telling him stories of the past, of the myths and legends which built the world.
He thought of his brother, of his sister. He remembered their affection before everything changed, before their mother had passed. Before his father had ruined their family.
He recalled Lycenus and his soft laugh whenever he did something silly as a child. How Despoina would force him to sit through the summer days and weave flower crowns for him to wear.
He thought of the cold indifference Lycenus wielded like a blade now. How he ignored Artorias entire existence. Not a single glance spared for him, not a shred of emotion or feeling left for him to see.
He pulled on the pain which festered in his heart when Despoina's soft words and warm looks had turned glacial, becoming as cold as steel and ice.
He thought of that empty house. He thought of his mother, the undying love he held for her.
He thought of his father, and he allowed the rage and anger to consume him.
He thought of anything and everything that could make him feel. That would remind him of who he was.
He was not nothing. He was not shapeless.
He was Artorias au Mávros.
And he desperately needed to remember that.
By the time night had left and day had arrived, he still felt like a husk. Like a passenger in his own body.
His body spiked with pain, but it felt distant. His mind hurt, a headache pulsing through his skull, but it felt like nothing. It was there, but he was not.
He felt like a puppet as he began to move.
A marionette with its strings being pulled.
His eyes were distant, his mind finally broken. His will shattered. He moved through the room like a wraith, every step as robotic as the last.
He didn't remember how he had made a fire in the room. He couldn't recall when the meat he had gotten through victory and survival began to cook. He didn't realise he was eating it until his body began to mend itself.
Even then, he still felt nothing.
He remembered everything. He felt it all. But it didn't do anything. His body was in pain, but it had been like this for so long it didn't feel like anything.
It was just there.
Like the rest of him.
There but not.
He didn't know when he had sat down again. He didn't realise he had put out the fire until hours had passed. He saw everything yet nothing registered.
The food was gone.
Devoured.
His body healed, his wounds mended. His headache passed, his arm no longer hung limply, his leg felt brand new.
Where he should have felt happiness, satisfaction and gratification, he simply felt nothing.
He was Artorias au Mávros…but he didn't feel like him.
Where was that always present instinct to survive?
Why did his mind feel so empty, so clouded even when he thought and thought and thought…
It all felt like a dream which he couldn't escape.
The day passed without him ever knowing. The familiar howl of an abomination announcing the night didn't even stir him.
He sat in the shadows, covered in his shroud and he thought. Uselessly clinging onto every memory and emotion that made him…him.
His thoughts drifted, his family a distant echo as he remembered Solthia. He thought of her, of Makarov and Kalon and Soren, the two other Ascended of their Fireteam he had never gotten close to.
He thought of the nights, when all they would do was stay up and talk. He remembered simply listening, sitting in the dark and only joining when Solthia would turn to him with an impish smile.
He thought of their final days.
Of the abomination which had torn through every single one of them.
It had hunted them. Picked them off one by one before all they could do was cower in fear and wear masks of bravery.
Kalon was the first to die. His head being severed faster than he could comprehend. His life gone in the blink of an eye.
Soren was the next to go. His bones broken as he suffered, his limbs twisted by the abomination before he finally gave up.
Makarov died protecting them. A final stand against something he never stood the chance of surviving. The streets ran cold with his blood.
By the end of it, it was only Artorias and Solthia left. Clinging desperately to each other as they tried to escape the concrete maze of Japan.
Artorias was meant to be the next to die. But Solthia had saved him. He thought of her last moments, of the blur that followed when everything took place faster than he could react.
He smelt ozone one minute and in the next…only iron. Solthia laid in his arms, her face burned from the explosion of electricity she had produced to desperately save him.
She had.
His heart broke thinking of her last moments.
It lingered, longer than any other feeling or thought had.
He held onto that sensation with all his dulled might, pulling on the memory. He had promised himself that he'd never relive that memory again…but with no other choice, he forced himself to endure.
It hurt, he realised, as the memory began to form for him, to use her last moments on this earth for his own selfish gain. He hopped she would forgive him when he met her again…if he met her again.
His eyes grew hazy as the wall he had been staring at started to shift, becoming replaced with the ruined streets of the city and the broken buildings which littered his surroundings.
He remembered it with crystal clear clarity.
The scent of ozone and blood was prominent, the world felt like it was tilted on its axis and in his arms, laid a bloodied Solthia.
The abomination, a creature far too deadly to compete against, seemed to enjoy his suffering, watching them from a far enough distance that he could feel its mocking eyes trained on him.
He couldn't pay any attention to it even if he wished, his mind focused only on Solthia in her last moments.
Her body, once a powerful weapon, was now torn apart. Her right arm, leg and torso were gone, ripped away by the wicked claws of the Fallen Spawn happily watching them.
Her face, once a picture of beauty, was now marred. A large burn sat on the right side of her face, twisted jagged scars running across to cover the rest of it.
Her eyes, once a vibrant emerald shade, now only looked up at him with embers in them.
Many would find her ugly now…to him, she was the most beautiful thing in the world.
"Why, why, why…you idiot!"
He remembered those words. He wished he could go back in time and say something else to her.
It didn't matter either way, Solthia had an intrinsic way of knowing what he meant even when he said the wrong thing. She knew he wasn't berating her, but that he was speaking from a place of pain.
Her face twisted into a grimace, her lips peeling into a slow smile even as blood leaked from them, pooling between them.
He held onto her. Desperate to bring her some comfort.
No matter how much they wished and begged in the privacy of their minds, they both knew she wouldn't be leaving alive.
Her left hand, shaking as much as his entire body, reached up and touched his cheek.
Subconciously, he leaned into it.
Not the memory of him. But his real self. His head tilted down, even as tears flowed and fell into her blood, intertwining together in a way they would never be able to.
His heart hurt, his mind remembered breaking, and he felt.
He felt too much too suddenly.
But he didn't pull back from the memory or away from her hand. He looked down at her body as if she was the most important thing in his entire life.
She still was.
Her lips parted, a horse whisper she forced to get out through the blood and pain.
"I…I wanted…I wanted you to…live…please…live…"
His tears felt too real. The pain, a once distant phantom now flowed through his body as a reminder that he did…he still lived.
"I promise, damn it Solthia, I promise you I will, okay? I promise…" his words were garbled to even his own ears, but through the tears and pain she seemed to understand.
She smiled at him, the hand on his cheek tensing before a million volts of electricity pushed its way into his body. Through his muscles, into his nerves and blood.
The world slowed for him, his body tensed, but her last words, the ones he'd forever remember, were etched into his body, mind and soul.
"…Good…take this…and run…a final…farewell…call it…call it…" more and more blood flowed from her mouth, her body hiccupping as she laughed with a dying breath.
"…Call it…the Blessing of Solthia…"
The light in her eyes vanished not a moment later, her beautiful face, covered in jagged burns and cracked skin, looking up at him with a smile.
His eyes closed…and he pulled himself back.
Returning back to reality, he could only hold himself, tucking his knees to his body and letting his exhausted mind break down, crying and hiccupping in the empty room.
"I'm sorry Solthia…"