Ashes, Ashes, Again.

by CeciliusTheWitch

 

Tags: Appearance Different from Actual Age, Blind Protagonist, Caring Protagonist, Confinement, Demi-Humans, Determined Protagonist, Evil King, Fantasy World, First Love, Immortals, Multiple Protagonists, Multiple Realms, Revenge

Content warnings:

 

---

 

Sunstruck? He was closer to the buried molten core of the living Earth than he would ever be to the sun. Just like the boiling magma, Klaves was caged beneath the earth. His enclosure was too tight for him to stretch his wings or even his much shorter and smaller limbs. 

For years, he squatted in that golden cage, on display for all who passed. A living trophy for the terrible many who were once again making his way down the stone steps.

“I’m feeling nostalgic today.” He was no King. He was simply a small man with a smaller heart. Compared to the burden of thousands of years of sediment, his weight was nothing. But Klaves didn't say a word to retort. Impossibly, that man’s words seemed to bring more pressure than the sky. “Why don’t we remember when we first met?”

Klaves wings curled into itself, tense to the point of pain. Everytime he resurrected, it was like everything never happened. None of Klaves wounds ever remained on his body after his death. But those wounds still hurt. They just aren’t there physically anymore. Klaves can’t even remember most of them. But in the limbo between life and death, Klaves’s spirit remembers at least the wounds of his previous life. The gunshot through the chest, the concussion in his head, the awkward way his feathers are all tangled after his impact with the ground. 

A voice of countenance often spoke in his head. It was also a blessing that Klaves won’t have to live without his wings for the rest of his ‘life’. 

 

“You have such beautiful wings. I’m sure everyone you’ve met has said that before. Such gorgeous feathers, made of fire, burning like the sun.” 

Nevertheless, Klaves fought those words in his head. Condensed, thick, languid. Like lava. When those wings lifted him to the sky, he could burst upwards like the eruption of a volcano. His fingers clutched the edge of his wings. He didn’t even remember that anymore. Only remembering that time he recalled it. It has become a fairytale to him.

“When we had cut your wings off, did that make you human? We loved your wings of course. But we also wanted to answer that question. You remember our answer right?”

You're just a stupid bird. What is the point of remembering anything?

At some point, the underworld guide seemed to have arrived. Tremendously early, if Klaves’s predictions were correct. Apparently Cecilius has been busy. But it was good to see him again. Or not good, since they were out to hunt him again.

“And to think you thought to offer us a helping hand in the beginning…”

Shut up and get to the hunt already. At least his own blood tastes better in his mouth than the foul smell of that man’s presence. 

 

…

 

The Crow trekked through the snow, forging towards a dying man. It has been this way for a long time. The compass in his hand was his only direction. The Crow wondered how big the King’s garden was and how much more snow he had to trek through. He had come early in anticipation of the distance but it turned out this was redundant in the end. He was too early and his client moved too much.

The Crow had been assigned underworld guide to someone special this time. Klaves Lumiste, a sunstruck Birdian. Perhaps working so long has made the Temple favour him. The sunstruck are immortal.

As accommodating as the Temple of Death is, it is not a place for the living.

Nevertheless, the Crow didn’t object to this job. Plus, he thought it would be interesting to meet a Birdian of the flame. The only other people he met regularly were his co-workers, those from The Sanctuary and the newly deceased. 

Senior Everwood had handed him a letter to give to Klaves. Apparently from Klaves’s previous guide; Cecilius Lycannine. He was also the Crow’s senior but he has passed on… to the living realm to meet his lover.

Finally, from within the writhing blizzard, the Crow heard someone’s laboured breaths. Intermittent coughs pierced the snowy soundscape and the howl of the winds accompanied him in painful tune. 

The compass was tucked away in the Crow’s coat. The time had come.

It was getting hotter.

The Crow never expected to feel hot again in all his after death existence.

“You are not Cecilius Lycannine.” Klaves sounded angry. A bad beginning. 

“That should be clear to both of us. But the man in question has a letter for you. Would you like some seeds?”

“What?”

“Ghosts can no longer enjoy the feasts of the living but the memory and actions still serve to soothe the mind. What kind of seeds do you like?” The Crow had a large and spacious fur coat. 

“...uh, safflower seeds. Thank you sir.” 

The paper rustled in Klaves’s hands. It seems Klaves had begun reading the letter.

The Crow felt around his pockets. Which one had the safflower seeds? 

The hotness of Klaves’s wings seemed to calm to a more pleasant temperature. The Crow identified where the safflower seeds were.

“Mr Lumiste? Please hold out your hand for me.” The Crow held out his hand. Klaves didn’t respond. “Mr Lumiste?”

“Huh?”

“Please hold out your hand for me.”

“Ah.” Klaves held his hand over the Crow’s outstretched hand. The Crow used his other hand to pour a pile of seeds into Klaves’s palm. 

“Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

 

…

 

The period after dying was vulnerable. He has seen many people at their moment after death. The young, the old, the joyous, the saddened and… himself. With how long he had worked here, it had turned into his hobby to collect stories of people entering the underworld. Like a crow going after shiny things. People have always said his wings looked like that of a crow’s. 

The Crow’s wings shifted uncomfortably and he gripped his mango juice tighter. “Little miss human, you think I can’t hear you licking your lips and gulping, hm? You can’t have this cup because I’m drinking from it right now, but you only need to ask and I can get some for you.”

Though the Crow never really understood what to do in these moments. Only that sometimes, he would offer up some of his snacks or fruit juice. Ghosts can no longer enjoy the feasts of the living but the memory and actions still serve to soothe the mind.

The girl’s voice seemed to brighten into a rainbow. “Yes please! Thank you mister Granqvist! Um, also…”

“What is it? Don’t be afraid.”

“Why are your eyes covered like that?”

“Well, I don’t have eyes and this black ribbon is just a fun decoration. You want to see my face?”

“Yes!”

“Sure. Take it off yourself.”

The Crow’s wings drew back as he knelt down and let the girl clumsily tug off his ribbon. His eyes were firmly closed underneath.

“Wow! You're super handsome!!! Just like Mr Lumberjack! But Mr Lumberjack doesn’t have cool wings like you.”

“If you like seeing my face, I can keep the ribbon off for you.”

“Yay!”

“Wait here and hold on to my ribbon. I’ll get you mango juice.”

People also liked to say black feathered birds such as crows and ravens represent death. This way, it seemed fitting that he now worked for the Temple of Death.

 

“Juice acquired and successfully delivered to this sweet and lovely young maiden.” The Crow gave the young girl a bow and handed her the drink.

“Handsome mister…”

“Yes?”

“Why do you have no eyes?”

“Well missy, I don’t want to tell you the same way you might not want to tell me why you're in the underworld.”

“O-oh, I’m sorry mister Granqvist.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. Let's get going-” The Crow heard a familiar sound. The compass in his pocket. This was a special sequence for Klaves.

 

…

 

Klaves’s wings were limp and droopy. It was as if he was hollow inside and barely alive from the juice he drank. Orange juice today.

“I brought you some sunflower seeds.” 

“Hm…”

The Crow brought one to the Klaves lips. “Try one?”

Klaves took it from his fingers. “I do like sunflower seeds.”

“...”

“How long can you sit here with me?”

“Uhhh however long you want actually,” the Crow sat down. Technically untrue, but the Crow was willing to slack off on his job for Klaves. 

The crunch of breaking open a sunflower seed almost became rhythmic. A peaceful quiet formed between them. The Crow would’ve liked it if not for how terrible the Phoenix felt.

“...What's your name? I’m sorry I never let you introduce yourself.”

“Willem Granqvist.”

“Willem Granqvist. Please house me for a while. I want to die…”

“...” Willem’s wings shook a little.

“...But it’ll probably be fine after a while.”

“Is this what you did before?”

“No. Cecilius straight up didn’t have a house. We did calligraphy instead.”

 

…

 

It was technically Willem’s cabin but Willem didn’t say anything. He let Klaves lie on his bed and went off to fetch more food. Though none of it was real, it was nice to taste.

“Is this your bed?”

“Huh?”

“You smell nice.”

Heat flushed Willem’s cheeks. He forgot he even had a scent. Nobody else has visited in forever... Willem sighed to himself. As long as Klaves didn’t mind. He thought his nest was more comfortable than the guest room. Klaves should have something good to sleep on. 

Willem cringed at the memory of the cage they had put Klaves in. Once, the King had gone on a lengthy monologue on the ‘genius’ behind that torturous enclosure. 

“I didn’t know there was a cabin like this so close to me.”

“There isn’t. This place only exists in Limbo. It’s location is, in a way, wherever I want it.” Willem’s wings readjusted its posture. “What do you want for lunch?”

 

…

 

When snowfall begins, there is only a trickle of snow. But within a few minutes, it becomes as if the sky is falling.

Klaves watched Willem’s solitary figure trek the snow, following the compass. As the colours of the world dimmed into white, he continued to walk, steady, unperturbed. Klaves could not help but want to get closer.

Leaves shook and snow swirled. Ghosts can’t feel cold, but the howl of the wind still made him shiver. Klaves remembers the cold.

“Where are you from?”

“You want to know about me?” Willem paused in his path. “I don’t know. But I grew up by the uhh, mountains up north. The mountains were good to me. The merchants by the river not so much.”

Mountains. Klaves could only think of the distant mountains on the horizon of his homeland. His mother had pointed to those cliffs and warned him of their dangers. 

“I grew up on the prairie… somewhere. I barely remember it.” Klaves’s wings drooped.

Willem paused.

“Memories fade with time. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ve forgotten many important things. But sometimes, I’ll be reminded of something random and remember it again. Random reminders don’t always provoke bad memories. Like… ghost stories my sister used to tell me.” Willem ate a walnut. “Ghosts both envy and fear the living.”

“Is that true?”

“...” Willem ate another walnut. “It's true enough for me. I’ve worked here so long the living realm is a myth in my head. I don’t know if I want to leave the underworld but the way I am now is… icky. Living is… This isn’t helping with your situation is it?”

Klaves chuckled.
“You’ve put into words what I didn’t know how to say. Living is the way travellers pass your village from every edge of the world. It's busy, frantic, confusing and you can meet the most wonderful people, see the most amazing miracles. Willem, you remind me of good memories.” 

Willem seemed to brighten at these words. “I’m glad.”

 

…

 

Klaves was giving Willem a back massage. Willem felt ready to melt into the sofa. It was like all his cells were being pressed back down where they should be. Sadly, Willem will likely never experience this again. Only Klaves can do something like this since ghosts shouldn’t be able to touch each other.

Occasionally, Klave’s fingers would ghost over one of Willem’s scars. It was two burns, and a few cuts. Some of which were stitched up. Much lighter than his peers. Maybe something about money made merchants abandon their humanity.

“Klaves, I messaged my senior about your situation and apparently they are sending a caretaker from the sanctuary over.” Willem’s wings fluttered. “Ticklish.”

His senior often said that sentient beings like him are incomplete without their physical bodies and they shouldn’t stay in the underworld too long. Maybe Willem didn’t care before but now he understood. 

“Thank you.” Klaves gently pushed Willem’s wing out of the way and began to work on the muscles below the shoulder blades. “Feel free to change the topic to the relationship between Ricca, Lynx and Nova, but what happened to your eyes?”

“Oh, simple. I was born blind and then I traded them away for the freedom to go and see the world.”

“...”

“...”

“You-”

“Its alrig-”

Knocking came from the front door. Willem quickly pulled his long sleeved shirt back on.

“Who is this?” Willem called out as he tied his sash.

“From Lady of the Sanctuary, Libelle Corizon. Are you free right now?”

Willem opened the door to an old lady in a white lolita outfit.

“Come in.”

Libelle stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Upon seeing the set up on the sofa, Libelle exclaimed in shock.

“Gods, have you been letting Mr Lumiste sleep on the couch?”

“No, he’s been letting me sleep in his bed.” Klaves replied.

“Oh. That's good I guess. Anyways, I’m just here to deliver Mr Everwood’s message and check up on Mr Lumiste but you seem to have taken care of him well. Hold on.” Libelle paused in her speech, eyebrows furrowed. “Ah. I remember now. Since Mr Granqvist has overserved the time he needed to work as a guide, the Temple of Death is willing to give you various benefits such as resurrecting you to accompany Mr Lumiste. Mr Everwood said you sounded extremely worried in your letter and if that wasn’t your intention then you should message him.”

Klaves eyed Willem.

“Well, Mr Lumiste? Would you like to try again? Sometimes, another person can make everything infinitely more tolerable. I can confirm. I’m happily married to the hottest lady in existence.” Libelle spoke the last part as if the science was done and that was the hardest fact in the universe.

“I…” Willem began. He looked over at Klaves. “We can talk more about this tomorrow.”

 

…

 

For once, cold air seemed to energise him. Endless snow could not have been a sweeter, colder sight for Klaves to open his eyes to. He looked around at his surroundings. 

His own words echoed in his head. “I want to do it without dying once, with what I currently have. I want to march out their front gates. I can do it. I’ve told you of some of them, right? The friends I have there. They’ll help me. I’ll be ok. Don’t worry.”

Though he omitted his uncertainty in meeting his friends. They’re usually held in other cages under the garden.

What a beautiful place he had died in. Pine trees stretched up towards the sky. Snow coated every inch of the land. The world seemed to be frozen in time. Around this time, people should be preparing for Yulefest right?

Despite the scenery, Klaves held his tense wings close to his body. 

Klaves half flew half climbed himself up a certain tree.

This was a spot Klaves had known of for a long time. It was in the centre of the garden but it perfectly hid everything inside from view. 

Just as he was about to relax, the branches shuffled. Klaves tensed at the sound. That wasn’t wind or snow. 

“...Klaves? Is that really you!?” A familiar, hopeful cry came from behind him. Ricca, a young Birdian with sparrow wings.

“Ricca? You're still here?” This time, Klaves’s body finally relaxed against the trunk. 

“Well, I figured since I can slip out so easily, I better stay with you until you get out! Klaves. All of us want to help you! You’ve guided so many of us out of here yet you remain trapped elsewhere, unseen! Unable to escape yourself! We…”

“I’m planning to get out now. But my current plan is only to fly as high as I can and then out in whatever direction. This plan is… dangerous to say the least.” Klaves looked up and the overpowering blizzard.

“I have something I’ve always wanted to give you but…” Ricca gave it to him regardless.

It was a wonderfully neat and detailed map of both the garden and the palace. Klaves smiled at this work, but then he looked up at the pure snow around him. A world of white where he couldn’t see past his hands. It seems that they won’t be able to use the map right now… 

At least the guards will be easy to evade in this snow. They can figure it out slowly.

 

…

 

…Just a bird. ‘Just’, as if birds were inferior? Then the King still has many fun things to learn about himself, birds and Birdians.

Languid, Klaves let his wings hang a little open as he strode across the garden. According to the route they planned, Klaves encountered nobody at all. What the other Birdians did to some of the guards, Klaves wasn’t inclined to care anymore. Besides, they have more ‘specific’ grudges than just the guards generally. 

It felt like he’d tried this path a thousand times. 

Once he arrived at the mighty back gates, Klaves saw his first guards. He yawned and stretched his wings. Even if the plans fail, Klaves can still try to get out. Forever is an impossibility. An impossibility only afforded to the absurdity of the sun. The King however is just a man.

Klaves simply bolted through the gates.

If all went according to plan, Klaves would strut out this desolate wasteland mostly unimpeded. If it does not, then it will play out as you see right now.

The King has decided to situate himself round the precise room Klaves will go through. One of the many leisure rooms due to the overwhelming amount of redundant rooms of this palace. 

Klaves froze upon being spotted.

“My, my! So eager to have another look at your bones reexamined?”

Klaves shivered at his words. But then, he gritted his teeth.
“Is this what you think will fill the blackhole in your soul?”

The King gasped. “What audacity! There is no hole in my soul I’m trying to fill! I’m the happiest, richest, most handsome man alive!”

The palace was a sprawling mass of perfect beauty in an imperfect world. It looked as if it was never meant to be lived in as any other presence would taint its artistry. Its so-called owner always tried to dress lavishly to justify his existence there but he knew deep down it was a poor argument.

“When you had my feathers plucked, how did it feel? Did your heart throb with happiness? Did joy linger on your tongue? Or… was it not enough? It's been years and years you’ve tormented me. Nothing will ever be enough.”

A scowl marked across the King’s face as his breath quickened.

“If you had all the money in the world and everything obeyed your existence, would you be satisfied? If everything was perfect… you would be the one flaw in existence. What are you trying to achieve with this palace? To give it more height and weight, to show how grandiose its existence is compared to the pitiful you?

“Have you ever thought about what it would be like to die?”

The king gasped. “Insolent!-”

“When you are dead, what will you think of your life?…

“Phew. That felt good to say. Like the sweet taste of lemonade.” Klaves’s eyes narrowed in delight at the memory of lemonade from Willem. Not that it didn’t also come with a sour tang, but one should treat themselves once in a while.

The King sat in his palace of gold, gilded beside his wife. Yet the metal was freezing to the touch and the overwhelming beauty alienated him.

The King was in a cold daze. He glared down at Klaves but seemed to be looking at something else. He seemed to only order the guards out of habit. “Guards… take him down.”

 

…

 

Klaves made it out of that fucking place all in one piece. No trips to the underworld. He achieved his goal.

It hurt.

He’d bled lots even as he lay in the snow. Probably. One might be surprised to learn that being on your back, staring at the sky doesn’t help with assessing injuries. But since it felt like all the blood in his body was leaving his veins, it must be a lot.

He had wanted to feel at his wounds, but his fingers were numb. Frozen as ice. Frostbite would add to the pain. He moved his hands to his warm wings.

The snow seemed to have stopped falling. Beyond those clouds, bright electric blues peeked out. A wonderful, indescribable feeling seemed to bloom in Klaves’s chest. But his eyes were weighing down. Klaves tried to watch the clouds a moment longer. He tried to pinpoint his feelings. He thought it could be awe, or joy. Why did the sky give him more joy than leaving that horrible place? 

Whatever. That place wasn’t relevant right now. The snow dug into his wings and the water clung to his skin. Every gust brought chills but all he cared about now was keeping his eyes open. Every curve and every shade of those clouds drifting by appeared to be the most magical view he’d ever had.

What a gorgeous sight to die before…

 

…

 

Fire crackled in his ears. The howl of wind made his body tense but the expected cold didn’t touch him. Klaves was wrapped up against something soft and warm. He melted back into it. He didn’t have it in him to urge his eyes to even attempt to open.

Klaves drifted back to sleep.

 

…

 

In the background, the sizzling sounds of cooking and the smell of soup wafted over the entire tent. 

“Klaves? Klaves I can hear your stomach. Wake up and eat.”

Willem felt all soft and warm listening to Klaves’s calm breaths and movements of his breathing. He was snugly wrapped up, laid down by the fire. But these movements couldn't cure the slight twist of anxiety in his stomach. The kind that comes from a poorly planned endeavour - which is this case was really no plan at all. Resurrection was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Did Klaves want him around at all?

Klaves wiggled into his duvet cocoon and shrunk his head like a turtle. “...Willem?”

“Wait- Willem!?” Klaves was wide awake and he pulled the edge of Willem’s coat. “Willem, what are you doing here?”

“Firstly, I want to congratulate you for your success. As for why I’m here, I… I thought I’d follow you and try to live again. Though I’m afraid I don’t have any concrete plans at all.”

“Ah, mhm. That makes two of us without plans. How about we travel together while we figure things out?”

“It’d be my pleasure. Ah- don’t move too much. Your still wounded.”

“Sooooo, where are we?”

“We’re with a group of nomads who agreed to help us. Get up. The soup is almost done. Uh, unless you don’t like root vegetable soup…”

 

…

 

They travelled with the nomads for half a day to a train station. The train took them out away from the palace. Out to whatever scenery they fancied. This turned out to be a seaside town.

There, Klaves and Willem found a place to stay. A kindly widowed old lady named Zeris allowed them in.

They would also prepare for Yulefeast together.

Zeris spoke warmly of Yulefest.
“I used to hate Yulefest, it was bright and cheery and… beautiful. Unlike the life I had lived. But then the cute lady who was now my deceased wife pushed me to participate. Her hair grew white at a young age but she seemed to embrace it. On Yulefest that year, she wore a beautiful white dress out in the snow and we danced. Wherever she is now, I hope she is well.”

 

…

 

Klaves seemed mesmerised as he sat before the fire. The softly pounding pain from his insides seemed to mirror the nagging question in his head. What did he want his life to be now?

“Dear sir, are you busy right now?” Zeris slowly brought herself down the stairs. 

“No, anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, it's not me. I’m just a little worried about Willem. Your crow friend seemed absolutely exhausted. I suggested he take a bath but I’m worried he fell asleep there. I’m not familiar with him, so could you take a look at him for me? I’m also a little occupied right now.”

“Uh, that's no problem. I’ll go check now.” Klaves flitted round to the bathroom.

He knocked on the wooden door. “Hello? Willem? …Willem Granqvist?”

Nobody answered.

“Mr. Crow? Um, I’m coming in!”

In the corner, there was a large tub in the ground. Willem lay there, clearly asleep. The water that went up to his shoulders was beginning to cool.

Klaves approached him. Seeing Willem so tired, Klaves now realised how much he too needed to rest. 

“Wake up Williem. You can’t stay in the tub forever.”

 

…

 

The next day, Klaves found himself by the fireplace again. Willem wanted to sit on the seaside cliff alone for a while. Listen to the waves by himself. Klaves had something he wanted to seriously consider so he didn’t question it. He wanted to give Willem something for everything he had done.

By the fireplace, his mind drifted to all sorts of things but ultimately, he was unsatisfied. It seemed he knew exactly what he wanted to give Willem yet couldn’t bring it to the forefront of his mind. 

Zeris approached him. “You were looking for a gift right? Would any of these suffice? This is my box for jewellery that doesn't fit my style.”

In her jewellery box, Klaves spotted a couple of beautiful old rings.

An idea arose in Klaves's mind.

…

 

The sea entangled itself with the beach below his feet. The crashing of the waves and the chaos of the water seemed to bring order to his heart. Small inclinations and nonsensical thoughts used to not matter. Who would believe love between the living and the dead could be sustainable? He had been a ghost and Klaves was immortal. But that wasn’t true anymore.

Now… now all he can think of was Klaves. How does love even work? Why does he care so much? He wanted to try many things with Klaves. Wanted to learn more about him, tell him about himself, his feelings… ugh. He had no idea what he was doing.

“Huh? Hello there! Are you also one of the travellers helping out with Yulefest? I didn’t expect to see you here. I’m Agate.” A young man in incredibly casual clothes approached him. “Is there anything you want to do for Yulefest in particular?”

“Me? I want to… confess to someone. But maybe not this year.”

“Is that so? Well, you're welcome to take your time.”

That's right. Many things take time. He can slow down and think about one thing first. This year’s Yulefest with Klaves. The first they’ll both celebrate in a long while.

 

---

 

Author's Account:

CeciliusTheWitch

Author’s Note:

If you really wanted to know about Willem’s life span, I can tell you that this is actually a common problem for other reasons. Thus, there are several books of stuff like 20 soul binding variations. The ones claiming to be by the Temple of Death are scams. The Temple of Death does not have knowledge on such. They are only responsible for management of ghosts and after-death procedures. Mirror Maids are the most knowledgeable about this but contact them at your own risk.

Anyway, thank you for your time. I hope you all take care of yourselves. May the blistering sun in the sky protect and warm your soul. May the molten heart of the earth give you life and hold steady your world.