𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗗 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗦 || 𝖠𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖺 𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗈𝗏

𝘪 - 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦

And then he was swept away, embraced by the cold arms of death. He sank through the floor like it wasn't solid at all, and then he was suspended in the air, or maybe it was water, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was calm there, a forceful juxtaposition to the chaos he'd been surrounded by moments before. It was calm, and so cold.

This was what death felt like, he realized with a sudden start. Everything was freezing, chilling him down to his bone marrow, and it was so dark that for a moment he thought he must've been dreaming of the Fold, for he couldn't recall anything else in existence that could be so abyss-like. He wanted to cry, but his body wasn't his body anymore, and he was only floating in it, trapped like in some sort of cage. Something was pulling him deeper into the blackness, something like claws or talons, he couldn't be certain, but he knew it felt like something sharp and jagged was being embedded between his ribs, tugging him forcefully in the direction it wanted. It wasn't as painful as he thought it would be.

For an awfully long, clarifying moment, he realised he truly dying. And what was perhaps even more horrifying was that he was alright with it. He didn't feel like fighting against the grasp of death as it tore at his ribcage to pull him continuously down into his cavernous jaws.

It was then that something happened. Whatever it was, it came hurdling down from above him, and it was perhaps even darker and more abysmal than the thing he was surrounded in, if not in appearance – for he couldn't see a thing – then the mere essence of it. Death was dark, but it was natural. This thing was woven from pure evil, something so cruel and abhorrent that he would rather wrap himself in death's safe clutches than allow it anywhere near him.

But it came anyway, ripping death's claws out from his body before firmly curling itself around him like a possessive little thing. Before he knew it, he was flying upwards faster than a hawk's dive.

His lungs expanded with the sudden inhale that came through him. The air felt fresh, addictive, like pure life support, because that was what it was, and he gulped it down over and over again as the world around him exploded in an array of jumbled colours. It was blinding, and disorienting, but he was grounded by someone's hands clutched tightly around him, pulling him into a hard chest adorned in black silk.

"You're alright, you're alright, you're alright," the person chanted hoarsely, and it was then that Luca realised it was his father who held him. He took a painfully short moment to revel in the comfort of that. Then he noticed he was no longer bleeding, and that the pain was practically absent save for a few dizzying throbs. He wanted to speak, but his throat was dry, and so he didn't say anything at all. He only tilted his head to the side, sweeping his gaze over his surroundings as the world blurred again.

He stopped when he found the head of pale hair he hadn't even realised he was looking for. Freya Helvar stared at him with such wide and disbelieving eyes that he wondered if he should rethink the entire existence of everything around him. She was caked in blood – his blood – and her skin was as pale as a ghost.

There were no words he could possibly say before the world collapsed around him again, and he fell with it into a dreamless sleep.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When he woke next, he lay upon something soft and warm. He stretched his arm out, curling his fingers in what must've been the silk sheets of his bed before he peeled his eyes open. The room was swamped in bleak grey light which filtered in through the window, but there was a distinct sound of a fire crackling in the hearth. When he looked up, he noticed the ceiling was painted with various symbols and creatures. Oh, it wasn't his and David's room then. He didn't recognize the ceiling, or anything else for that matter.