It was always too late. By Fortune or fate or whatever streak of dumb, awful terrible luck that ruled the timeline of his life, it was always too late. It was too late to keep his brothers alive. It was too late to keep his Commander alive. It was too late to keep Adal in the game and it was too late to keep Raz from getting hurt and it was too late—
There was nothing that could have been done about it. And that was the background radiation of his life, wasn’t it? Even if he’d known, even if he’d been there, even if all the dice rolled seven, and all the coins had fallen right side up, there was nothing that could have been done about it. Yavul wasn’t a fleet commander with a hundred space ships. He wasn’t some kind of mage. He wasn’t capable of twisting the fabric of time, he wasn’t capable of reaching up into the sky itself and pulling it all down.
Lucky him, though. The sky was already falling, anyway.
”Look the red dot just north by northwest of Amristah, Coyote Man, that’s where you’ll find me. Don’t worry. I’m going up just for a few. I’ll be back before you know it.” Yavul looked up from where he stood on Valhalla’s roof, panting hard against the tightness in his chest, blinking hard against the burning in his eyes as his vision swam, making it harder and harder to keep north by northwest in his sights. Seeing a red dot in all of that was a futility. Keeping the burning in his eyes from overflowing was a futility. Each breath came out harder, harsher, more ragged than the last, and no matter how much he tried, Yavul couldn’t keep the sobs from coming.
It was always too late.
Whatever fleeting peace Yavul was afforded was always paid for in miles of Too Late, and he’d had it so, so good for too, too long. He should have known better than to expect it to last. Should have known better than to think what happened to Neeko would be the worst of it. Should have known better than to think the winds had finally stopped pushing the sand dunes higher and higher over his head. He’d gotten cocky. He’d gotten happy. He’d gotten hopeful. He’d genuinely believed that Luck had finally decided to show a little mercy, that Fortune had decided to make a little allowance on his behalf, and that maybe he’d paid enough dues to warrant not having to face the rest of what fate had in store alone.
”Don’t worry. I’m going up just for a few. I’ll be back before you know it.” Except he wouldn’t. It had taken days for the news to even reach Yavul. Distantly, he remembered the string of texts he’d sent Grisham between now and when he left Solarta. How they’d started off the usual way and then grew more and more unsure the longer silence hung between them. It was laughable, really, how quickly self doubt had snuck in. Yavul blinked hard, sniffed harder, and pulled his comm from his pocket just in time to push the icon denoting Bluebell’s name to the left, ignoring the call and instead pulling up his message history.
Sunday 21:34 Miss you already darlin
Sunday 21:36 Gonna be hittin th hay soon. Can’t imagine why I’d be this worn out LOL. I love you, I’ll talk t you tomorrow.
Monday 09:56 You’re probably all suited up an ready t go but wishin you some Luck anyway. I’ll keep an eye on that red dot a yours til you get back again
Monday 17:09 One hell of a mission were it?
Monday 20:24 Hope you’re gettin some proper rest in, can’t both of us be shamblin messes now. LOL Night, Dyna. <3
Tuesday 09:17 Y’all ain’t still up there are you? We’re gonna be hittin th sands for a little critter control, figure I can at least send up some scorpion steaks for you for dinner if you like. We’re headin out top a th hour so let me know before then if you want any.
Tuesday 10:00 Goin silent. Be back later.
Tuesday 18:26 Swear t both th gods if I’m sendin this shit wrong an some poor bastard is pickin up all these messages instead I’m just gonna swear off tech forever an farm mud.
Tuesday 21:34 Did I do somethin t make you angry? Was it th brandy? Whatever I done t upset you, I swear I never meant to. Talk to me? Please?
To think Fortune would be so simple as to have it all be over brandy. That had been a genuine fear, too. That somehow trying to keep up with a stupid bet had somehow insulted Grisham and that Grisham was somehow petty enough to give him the cold shoulder over it. It was shameful, really, and now that Yavul knew the truth of it, he felt even more ashamed.
‘The truth of it.’
The truth of it was, Grisham had never gotten those texts. The truth of it was, Grisham probably never would. The tightness in Yavul’s chest turned to a vice, and his blood felt chilled even in the hot afternoon air. One last time, he tried to look up to the sky, beyond the shielding glass of the dome and beyond north by northwest, beyond that red dot and daring to hope one last time that he might see anything other than brown, smogging emptiness.
The truth of it was, there was nothing there to see.
Something flickered beyond his blurred vision, and the fingers in Yavul’s flesh hand twitched and spasmed. The muscles tensed with every little jolt of energetic pain, but such was the severity of the rest of it Yavul didn’t even notice. Everything hurt, what was one more? He sucked in air that refused to fill his lungs, and shuddered in horror to think this was how Grisham felt. Panicked and breathless and far lost in the emptiness of everything. Yavul’s shoulders shook as the spasms rocketed up his arms, arcing between metal and flesh and stinging in places as every last bit of control was robbed of him.
It was always too late. And there was always nothing he could have done. All that was ever left was the moments after, and where any other point in time Yavul had managed to bite down on his grief and carry on, this…
This was too much. The thought that Grisham would never come home, the thought that he’d never get to speak to him again, see him again, watch him get grumpy-grunty over being pranked again, never get in another mud fight and never—
This was too much. Yavul sucked in another breath, dropped to his knees, and this time didn’t try to hold it back as the breath left. His throat burned, his chest ached, but every breath in left in a scream— long, howling agonies yelled to the dometop as the arcing between his hands sparked out of control and thundered skywards. The hot white lines of lightning cracked uselessly against the glass, wild and rageful against the still spring air. Yavul shut his eyes tight— even if he wanted to keep them open, even if he wanted to face the blinding thunderstorm of his own generation, the tears were in full force now and no manner of willpower could keep them from spilling over.
Yavul had spent all of his willpower getting up to the roof, after all, and now it was all he could do not to get caught up in his own storm. It was all he could do to convince himself not to
let himself get caught up in it. Something sparked and popped and exploded close by, and his flesh hand spasmed again, though something else kept his hand from moving quite the way it wanted to.
It would only be after he had no spark left to expel that he’d realize his comm had exploded in his hand, and the something that had prevented his hand from moving was a piece of shrapnel in his palm. But even then, he wondered if he really even cared. Blood pooled against the fabric of his uniform pants, staining the thigh a deep, darkening burgundy. He really needed to get up, to get to medical, to take care of this mess before it got worse. He knew he needed to, and yet no manner of knowing made his muscles respond. What did it really matter, anyhow? He wouldn’t die from this— he’d taken far worse and had little more than scars to show for it. This would just be yet another one in a long line of injuries, as Fortune had decreed, and he’d just march along bloodsoaked and battered the same as always.
So what was the harm? What did it matter? The crackling energy gave one final blue-white arc between his metal fingers before finally fizzling out, the mechanical limb clicking in warning that he was, indeed, out of ammo. Down to reserve batteries, the little potato clock that was the human body, and nothing else. No lightning. No screaming. No tears.
There was just nothing left.
