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Petals fall, not unlike the gentlest of snow; a snap of his fingers is all that is needed for the world to start falling, too. Montblanc dashes to him—no, no, no—he can't lose him, not again—
And yet—as their bodies collide and Emet-Selch holds him tight—unbelievably so—distant-but-not memories echoing in what little space is left between them—one dreadful, agonizingly simple truth dawns on Montblanc.
Azem is dead. Their impromptu part played—their purpose fulfilled at long, long last—Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus are returning to the star.
It is said the truth hurts, and that it indeed does—like never before.
“I'll miss you.” Those are the only words Montblanc dares to say out loud—it's no matter, for his heart pours through his good eye like rain.
“And I, you,” Emet-Selch answers in hushed whispers. “Both of you.”
With one hand, he dries the tears off Montblanc’s face—cradles it, oh-so-carefully as if—as if the miqo'te was made of the purest, most fragile kind of glass. Emet-Selch kisses him right there, at the edge of the universe, where stars die and souls are set ablaze. Everyone sees, yet no word is spoken; for this won't go down in history books, a secret only to be murmured in the dark until no one remembers anymore.
A moment passes before Emet-Selch speaks once more.
“The sea is vast,” he says, “but I'll be waiting.”
A promise, never to be broken; for Emet-Selch had found him before, and surely would find him again. Montblanc knows this to be true, and yet—it aches still.
“Although you better not come early,” the man warns, feigning annoyance, “else I send you back.”
It earns him a small, shy smile; would that he could stay to make Montblanc do it a thousand thousand more times, but for now—it’s enough.
“Make it interesting, would you? Not that I'd be watching, mind you—” Hythlodaeus scoffs at that, as embarrassing old friends are wont to do, “—however, it would be a shame if you had no compelling stories to tell at journey's end, yes?”
Montblanc nods, for this—this is goodbye. Emet-Selch leaves with a smile of his own, slightly crooked and beautiful; and his heart feels like bursting at the seams, an impossible hope spilling through.
Now to save the world, and live to tell the tale.