Chapter 39: Empty Steps
Arthur stayed in place holding his friend for hours into the day. The field of withered roses stretched endlessly around them, silent witnesses to his grief. The morning sun climbed higher, casting shifting shadows across Luke's peaceful face, but Arthur remained unmoved. His arms had long since grown numb, yet he couldn't bring himself to let go. It was like he was afraid that the second he let go it would become real.
The gentle breeze carried the faint scent of blood. Arthur's clothes were stiff with dried blood, some his own, most of it Luke's. He barely noticed the discomfort. His eyes never left his friend's face, memorizing every detail as if he could preserve Luke through sheer force of will. The silence of the field was broken only by Arthur's uneven breathing and occasional whispers of denial.
But finally, as the afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, Arthur worked up the courage and gently laid Luke's head down on the blood-stained roses. His hands trembled as they released their burden, fingers lingering for one final moment on his friend's shoulder before pulling away. The finality of the gesture struck him like a physical blow.
And slowly Arthur stood up to his feet. His muscles protested the movement after hours of stillness, joints cracking as he straightened. Arthur was slouched, his shoulders carrying an invisible weight that pressed him toward the earth. His eyes were gray and empty, all light extinguished from them, reflecting nothing of the bright sky above. The color of his skin was paler than normal, drained of vitality, as if part of his life force had departed alongside Luke's.
He looked down at Luke's body for a while longer, taking in the sight of his friend surrounded by withered petals that seemed to cradle him. Time stretched as Arthur stood motionless, trapped between unable to stay yet unwilling to leave.
Before Arthur simply turned to the distant horizon, he let out in an almost silent whisper, "I'm sorry." The words felt wholly inadequate, insufficient to express the depth of his regret, his failure, his loss. They dissolved into the air, carried away by the same breeze that gently stirred Luke's hair.
With nothing left to say, Arthur began to walk. His steps were haggard and sloppy, each one an effort of will rather than instinct. His head stayed glued to the ground as he walked, unable to face the world around him or the vastness of the sky that continued to exist despite everything that had happened. He had no goal... he had no destination anymore. The purpose that had driven him, the drive to get home, no longer mattered.