Chasm

I've watched too many heroes degrade to be tempted to try it for myself. But I thought maybe I could help the heroes instead. So I took them in, and taught them what I knew about keeping relationships strong, about self-improvement, and about life for the unheroic. And in return, they showed me a life I never wanted to be mine.

Eventually, I watched my own life crumble under my loose grip. I felt nothing. No pain, no regret. Just acceptance. My own advice didn't seem as helpful as it had before.

I guess those who don't keep a tight grip on their hearts are destined to lose them.

"I needed you to be there for me then. Now, it's too late. I've already figured out how to live without you."

When he said those final, devastating words, the hole in my chest went cold. I suppose that means that if I still had my heart, it would have ached like nothing before. But it was gone now, so I just felt a little chilled. I remember how I stepped aside for him to brush by me, his feather crest tickling the edge of my nose as he passed through the narrow entryway I said I would improve when we moved in. The sound of his claws scraping over the floor shushed down the stone passage like a funeral dirge, announcing the last moment I ever cared.

Can you blame someone for caring too little? Is that a thing? Can I assign this heavy, awkward bulk resting where my heart should be to someone else's shoulders? Would someone please take it away from me?

Useless, meaningless questions spawned from a bored mind.

He took very few things with him. He had always encouraged me to dress up, to flaunt. I never understood it. He told me it was like an armor. If I presented to the world that I cared about my appearance, the world would see my effort and respect me for it. And maybe I'd like some pieces; they could make me feel happy as I wore them. So he brought me clothes, trying to show me how I could look, but telling me all the while that I didn't need them and that I was beautiful without them. I liked his attentions.

A sling of scarves dropped as I walked through the half-clean home. He never did learn how to properly clean, shoving things in drawers and cabinets till they popped open, stuffed to the brim. But his final effort spoke of one last try, until I methodically found the stashed items and returned them to their individual places, piece by piece. It didn't occur to me that most of these items no longer had owners. Eventually, I came back to the scarves. They fell in front of our mirror. He should have taken it with him. The cold worked glass was expensive and precious, large enough to show almost my entire body but still clear. I could see the hole.

A large, black void resting between the deep blue of my feathers. I raised myself to my back legs, watching how the hole unerringly displayed whatever was behind me. It was so dark inside. I couldn't find any evidence of blood or flesh, just a blackness covering the rim like a sheet. Gently, I reached inside but felt no sensation. Struck by an impulse, I tossed a scarf over my neck, covering the hole. Suddenly, I breathed. My vision went dim and I fell, landing half on the scarves and half on the hard floor, my head hitting the mirror with a bounce. I couldn't feel the pain. My eyes spun wildly as I tried to recapture my sight. I was stuck on the floor, trying to suck in as much air as I could. The spot underneath the scarf burned. The absurdity of breathing without a heart caught me, and instead of filling my lungs with air, I gasped with hollow laughter.

When I was done and my body felt normal, I left too. I packed more than he did, taking the remnants of a past life with me. For a long time, I just traveled. Saw the world. Pretended I was normal. I wore scarves until they started to fray. When I came back to my home, it was occupied.

A single Banescale lived there now. I hoped she liked the mirror.

I decided to move back to Arcane. It was my birth flight, and I had friends. But on my way there, the sun got in my eyes, bathing Light territory as it did every morning. The grass shone as a small dust cloud hovered over those golden lands. The Emperor's attacks flashed in the middle of it, the wind whipping the fire and dust into a corkscrew. My wings carried me closer before I realized it.

“That's... strange.” A Veilspun hovered in front of the hole, his long black hair getting in his eyes as he peered into the void.

“I know, right? I usually keep it covered with a scarf like this. Don't want to scare anyone.” I shifted on the stool, grabbing the scarf behind me. “It can be pretty useful too. I can hide things inside it, though it's only bigger than the width of my hand.”

“May I see this?”

“Sure.” I demonstrated by shoving my hand inside my chest and pulling out a dried fish. “There's a surprising amount of space in there. I can fit a small emergency stash, snacks for the road, etc. Anything as small as my hand.”

The Veilspun said nothing, landing on the table with a grunt. “Thank you for showing me. I'm sure a detail like this would shock anyone who found out, and they would likely come to me first, as you mentioned earlier. You are completely fine?”

“Absolutely normal. The hole is the only strange thing about me, but everybody has to have something special about them. Mine is just a little bit more out there.”

“Well, as long as you're physically okay. Come right away if you experience any problems breathing, if the hole grows, anything you think is wrong with it, and I'll do my best to help you, simple healer that I am.” The Veilspun showed me out and moved on to the next patient, a dragon with a wheezing cough. What now, I wondered, tying the last tattered scarf I had from him back into place.

The clan wasn't the first in the Emperor's Wake I had joined. Nor were they the most unique, the most diligent, or the most hearty. They existed in a circuit, a loop of their own making. Dragons, countless dragons, walked in circles after the Emperor, before the Emperor, and around the Emperor, scrounging for relics in the ruins those siblings uncovered and buried just as quickly. They picked plants, had teams fly to other territories, and somehow made profit off of it, along with whatever they pulled from the ruins. At first, I joined leveling, then gathering, then scavenging, then packing, then cooking, until Aliester, the dragon in charge, got tired of my dithering and told me to just stay home if I wouldn't make up my mind. And at my new lair along the circuit, I cleaned, cooked, tried to help with healing, got kicked out, and went back out again to Lanternlea. I helped manage the vault and hoard, auctions and trades, and businesses of all sorts. I stayed longer than I planned, then longer than I thought I would, and then I forgot about leaving. And I forgot about the hole.

I never looked in the mirror. Wearing a scarf was just a matter of getting ready for the day, always the long and hot ones that completely covered the back and front of the hole. A few commented on my fashion taste, or lack of it, but I just smiled and shook my head. Then they called me cryptic and cliche for never explaining or reacting. How could I tell them it was automatic?

I operated under the guidelines of not thinking. Don't dig too deep; don't recall. Just do the task at hand. It worked. The hole didn't matter if I didn't think about the hole. If I never left myself alone, working until I knew I would fall asleep as soon as my head dropped, the time to think about it would stay away, put off for tomorrow.

And then I crashed again.

I didn't let the clan pick me up. I felt so sick listening to them outside my halls, the decorated rooms I built as a project for any spare time. The hole hurt, because of course an injury hurts when you let it sit and fester for months. I needed their help. But at this point, was it worth being a burden? I was just going to die. I could feel it—whatever it was that had its grip on my heart—slowly squeezing out every drop of pain before letting me alone. I didn't get to decide my fate.

A Wildclaw wearing sages robes barged in. He found me in the dark quickly and leaned me against the wall. I couldn't stop him anymore. He poked at the hole, then removed the wrappings from his mouth to tell me in a creaky voice, “You need to let go.”

I started to laugh but ended up choking. He located the pitcher and poured us both a cup of water. “If it was that easy, I wouldn't be here.”

“I didn't say it was easy. I said you need to do it. If you want that hole gone, you have to let go of whatever it is you're carrying.” He slurped loudly.

I rolled my eyes to fix a side-eyed glare on him. “No.”

He paused. “Couldn't you hear them outside? Dragons, who care about you. They told me its been days since you came out. They may not have noticed immediately, but they did eventually. They even brought food, which I assume you were too sick to eat, since its sprouted flies outside your door. If you don't allow me to heal you, what will you leave them with?”

“One more empty room?”

“Grief, Chasm. Grief. You can let me help, but you're choosing to be childish instead.”

“My guilt is not childish.”

“Your refusal to face it and move on is childish. You even know what it is.” I hadn't identified it, but it made sense now that I'd spoken. “Tell me. Talk about it.”

Maybe he put something in the water, but I did talk. I talked extensively, about all the good I was doing before, when I earned the prestige to get us that house, about the Banescale living in it now, about him, and about how I left him facing the biggest struggle in his life alone because I decided the dragon I counseled needed me more. About all the hurt I'd given him before he finally had enough and left. I told him I deserved this hole.

“I don't think we really get to decide whether we deserve something. Deserving is all about what others think we should have. Deciding I deserve something feels like a form of selfishness, but others shouldn't get to dictate everything I deserve either. That leads to a whole pile of problems. " He paused to consider. "There is a perfect way out there somewhere, but I can't tell you what it is. Frankly, I don't think we deserve a lot of things. But we have them regardless, and that's an incredible grace.” He shifted his position. “So maybe you do deserve it. But I think you should be healed anyway. And an apology is a great way to start.”

“Words don't change anything.”

“You'd be surprised.” He stood, gold thread flashing even in the dark, and helped me up. Together, we went to the beginning of my lair, a sitting area I was extremely proud of at one point. Hakan waited there now, his crests raising in happiness as he saw us. His wings were tied in place with colorful ribbon, like using something colorful made it a decoration instead of a needed function. He nodded in thanks to the Wildclaw, who set me down on the cushion opposite and left.

“Before you sing, could I go first?” I cut short the rising hum floating from my throat as his increased. “I've thought a lot about how I treated you all that time ago. It was wrong to just leave like that. I should have given you a chance, and I'm sorry I didn't. I'm not saying that I completely absolve you, but I made a mistake too, and I can't put all the blame solely on you. I realize now that when my wings went limp, I stopped talking to you. I didn't tell you how much I was struggling, or how it hurt to suddenly be a flighted dragon using grounded technologies all the time. I didn't tell you how often I tried to divine, to use my Water magic, only to come up empty. I never told you anything. Just expected you to understand. And then I got angry when you didn't. Can you please... forgive me?”

I kept still. So still. The hole hurt. My heart hurt. Everything hurt, all at once. For too long, we sat there staring at each other, waiting for the words to materialize.

Waiting for me to make them materialize.

So I did. And then I apologized.

I still have the hole. I don't think it's ever going to go away completely. But as time passes, it gets smaller.