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He reminded himself, as he sealed the Eluvian behind him, that this was not his first time being so utterly alone. He reminded himself of waking up in an old, abandoned building, not so long ago. Of those who had survived Arlathan gone, missing, their fates unknown and unknowable—despite his many efforts to catch a glimpse in the Fade.
He snarled and blinked back the sting of tears, angrier that they refused to stop. They felt wrong. He had not cried then, stunned silent by the hollow world he’d woken to. So empty that he’d been startled by the first beast he’d seen, half-believing that no one and nothing had survived. Surprise after surprise had awaited him. People still existed. Elves still existed, but not the Elvhen he’d known. Marked with the vallaslin and without resonance, he’d half-thought all of them hallucinations, the mark of his desperation.
He had learned, in time. Learned the depths of what he had done to this world. Learned the value that remained. Learned how to care about these people. Learned how to love the one he’d just left, her—his—Anchor burning in his palm, finally right, finally fulfilled. Terribly wrong.
He took a step forward, another, the path ahead blurry. Eventually he let himself collapse, rage sparking in him, like a banked fire suddenly roaring back to life. He had discovered so much and yet—!
He had to turn on it all. He had to betray them all.
Her final words echoed incessantly through his mind. The feel of her lips. Their goodbye.
He was alone again. Or had always been alone, and had allowed himself the foolish belief that it could be otherwise. That he could enjoy the fleeting moment, her fleeting life, this fleeting world. Immortality naught but a lonely ache. He hoped it was gone, faded with the Veil, and that nothing would bring it back. But he had no way of knowing.
The idea of roaming this earth without her tore at him, rage transmuted to despair, cheeks wet as his breath hitched. Foolish.
This was not his first time being alone.