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Cold.
He felt cold.
Snow and ice whipped around from the wind, coating the freshly built tower in layers of white.
Saparata stood at the top of his tower, relishing his final moments.
He knew he couldn’t stop himself.
Not this time, at least.
Everyone hated him for what “he” had done. He knew he was innocent— hell he tried pleading his case many times, yet, every time he put someone else in danger. Someone who didn’t deserve it.
Guilt was etched into his being. His soul.
He was innocent, but only in the eyes of those who listened. Who watched.
That only got them killed.
At some point he started to believe the rumors, too. It was far easier to go along with what everyone assumed. It made everything seem a lot smoother and easier to cope with.
Deep down, something wants him to keep fighting— get his revenge on the man that wronged him and his dear friends. To make a plan, retaliate and murder Fluixon.
Yet, something stopped him.
Was it even going to be worth it?
Will the death of his best friend enemy suffice to his months of suffering— for the sense of peace?
Is the cost of all this bloodshed worth his freedom?
…
His life?
…
No.
It couldn’t be.
He wasn’t happy with this. He couldn’t just be content with the false feeling of victory. With victory, he’d at least gain something,
but with each success,
he had only lost.
His sister, his friends, something worth living for, what more was left for him?
Saparata stared out into the tundra, watching as the snow piled onto itself. His brain was foggy— his trains of thought quickly starting and ending over and over again.
Who even is he anymore?
What is he?
One of the innocent?
A murderer?
A martyr?
A scapegoat?
A human?
Or is he nothing at all?
He’s felt like a shell of himself. A shell of the man he used to be.
He doesn’t blame Fluixon, Thomas— or even the whole conspiracy for that matter. He knew they only wanted best for Pandora, the only difference was their fear got the best of them.
He couldn’t help but feel angry, not at their plan to murder him and the world leaders, no. He was angry he didn’t die in the first place.
If he had died as planned, he wouldn’t be here.
He wouldn’t have to deal with being stuck alone in the frost of the arctic with his fingers already turning a purple hue,
numbness spreading from his thighs and forearms, spreading with each moment the wind brushes him,
the illumination of the lanterns hitting his pale skin— highlighting the exhaustion that reeked from his body,
highlighting his anguish—
his last moments alive.
Even so, it wasn’t all bad.
The cold was almost comforting. It lulled him into a sense of security, happiness, almost.
Saparata’s breaths came out uneven, pulse racing with every passing minute.
He stepped toward his chest, collapsing to the floor, his mind spinning.
Unrequited blurred vision and dizziness soon joined him— god— he felt pathetic.
He was so, so tired.
Tugging off his remaining armor pieces for the final time, he felt a pang of sadness.
It was fun hanging with Fluixon and the others. They collected these diamonds together, after all.
Saps recalled a time he borrowed a few diamonds from Flux, promising he’d pay him back.
He smiled softly at the memory.
In a way, he kept his promise.
He drawled out the letters he wrote to his remaining believers and allies, even those to the ones who wronged him.
Despite it all, he didn’t want to be forgotten.
Purely a horrible memory, before fading into nothing at all.
It was selfish, but he at least wanted to be remembered.
Not for the sake of himself,
but for his sister, Jophiel.
If she were alive she would personally drag him away from this tower, to save him.
She always hated death, she couldn’t stand Micro dying, and she sure as hell wouldn’t want to lose her last remaining brother, either.
Saparata missed her, missed Micro, missed the scent of dry bread radiating from stalls in Theria.
He missed when they would always sneak out of the castle to hang around with the community, seeking for company.
Too bad they were both dead.
He soon will join them though.
They can finally talk, finally reunite.
Saps imagined the trio talking in heaven about how their lives were like when they were alive, the memories they shared, the ones they loved, too.
Saparata stood up abruptly, closing the chest for a final time.
Slowly he turned, looking up at the moon which only seemed to glare back.
He felt a sense of clarity, his mind finally quiet; empty.
He took a step forward, then another, stopping right at the ledge.
He wondered for a brief moment if anyone would miss him, grieve for him after death.
Surely not.
…
He paused,
…
then jumped.
…
His body smashed against the powdered snow with a sickening crunch.
It wasn’t as painful as anticipated, it didn’t even hurt.
He was simply just numb.
Snow packed against the wounds, slowly freezing his body.
Blood pooled around his body, soaking his dirtied clothes with gold.
As his conscience faded in and out, he realized something.
This was what freedom meant.
And for the first time in his life,
he felt truly at peace.
“Saparata fell from a high place.”