[PAST]The last thought of Pix
Chaos has won the night.
Chaos has won the night.
The amount of people that visited had started to dwindle in Methone, and it worried Pix and her clansmen. Ties between other planets and moons of Saturn were cut off, and it felt much like her moon had become a lonely island in the drift of the rings of Saturn.
She looked to the sky, sitting in the most open area of the Dias where most of the dancers had left for the night, called to their beds by the lack of guest and no audience. Her sash pooled around her, with the fading glitter of her dancer's costume shimmering in the northern lights. It refelcted the night sky she sought to look too.
She had heard of the wars that were happening. The Silver Millenium was coming to an end. Queen Serenity couldn't protect them all. Their age would fall. She had heard of the wars that were coming. She had heard that Chaos would take it all.
But it was not her planet she thought of. Worried for. In the Sky, where Saturn hung large and heavy, she thought of Alphonse. She thought of the knight who protected Mont Blanc. She prayed for his safety. She prayed that he would spared in the war that would take them. The war, she thought, they didn't have any part in but would pay for.
It would be the last prayer she would ever have. As she stood and turned to leave. Chaos landed on their planet within moments of her prayer, touching Methone's white sands and Fresh water and contorting it into something darker. Staining it with the blood of the ones who would be the first to rise to the defense of this small moon.
For the first time since she had been young, she heard the warning bells. The shouts of people. She came to aid her people in the fight. She drew her ceremonial sword, she used the magic of Methone, with its winds and lights, stunning and driving soliders of chaos away. One by one though, the peaceful citizens of Methone fell to the edge of darkness, the sword of chaos until there was just her, wounded. Weak. Driven to the original position of her night.
Yet the thought was always there. There was Alphonse. He'd be waiting for her. She kept fighting, she struggled to stay alive. She needed too. She could escape and see him again. They could escape and live. Somehow. She didn't feel the pain of the spear that pierced her stomach at first, her hand freezing mid swing. It dropped in the middle of the dias, where she had been praying not even hours before, clattered with a echo in the empty moon where no one was left alive of her own people. The red that dyed her purple and green sash was a foreign color. She recognized it as blood only by the smell.
She touched it with her fingers, brought it closer as if to hope it wasn't her own. Her sword pierced her shoulder, the final blow, picked up and used by one of the agents of chaos who sought to only end her before she could use her magic again. She fell to her knees. She hadn't told him. Maybe she would again. She hadn't told him, that ever since she had met him, he was the first and only thing she had ever truly cared for. Pined for. Loved for.
The last thing she saw was the fade of black and green and blue. The last thing she heard was the soft chimes placed around her world for comfort. The last smell was the fresh miniral water of the ocean she had loved and loathed. She could taste the copper rust of her blood, as her eyes closed and she took one last breath. But her last thought. Her last wish, she hoped that Cosmos would hear. That Cosmos would grant. Let Methone tell Mont Blanc again. Let her see him one more time. Let Pix and Alphonse find each other once more, as they were meant to be. As they had always meant to be.
Word count: 690
