For what that is already dust

Chapter 2 : Crude obligation

Vykaria watches as Melissa stumbles, her desperate leap cut short by the iron grip of an ancient being. The moment stretches-too loud, too sharp, like a blade dragged across bone.

"Tch." Her fingers loosen just enough to let Melissa fall-not fatally, but hard enough to break something. A shoulder? A pride? Vykaria doesn't care which.

She steps back smoothly as alarms blare and shouts erupt below. Her face is blank again now; no flicker of emotion betrays that she just intervened in a human tragedy for the first time in centuries.

A pause. Then she turns on her heel toward the stairwell-but not before murmuring under her breath: "...Should've jumped higher." It's not callousness (she stopped feeling that long ago). It's calculation: if you're going to ruin your life with spectacle,commit to it properly next time.

By tomorrow morning? She'll be sipping cheap coffee at some 24-hour diner while radio hosts debate "the tragic office balcony incident" like it's theater gossip rather than real blood on pavement where moments earlier.

Vykaria watches as Melissa stumbles, her body landing with a thud on the lower balcony-painful, but not lethal. The gasps of bystanders echo up from below, and Vykaria can already feel the ripple of panic spreading through the building like wildfire.

She exhales sharply through her nose (a habit she picked up from mortals) and mutters under her breath:

"This is why I preferred hibernating in a coffin."

Mostly because the only thing close to death,and irrelevant enough to pass time for all her insufferable longevity.

But before she can slip away unnoticed, someone shouts-"Was that her?! Did someone just try to jump?"-and heads start turning upward. A security guard is already sprinting toward the scene below. Meanwhile, Melissa groans in pain but stays conscious; small mercies.

"If I stay here." she thinks coldly "I become a witness." A witness means paperwork and palerwork means explanations"

So without further ado she left.

Its strange these hands were used to crush bones and skull during wars eons ago,mostly people who deserved it. One prominent kill she remembered was in ancient Rome before its fall (in her opinion it was a good thing that empire fell,their hypocrisy was poisonous.)

2400 years ago,Vykaria was wondering around and was mistaken to be a foreigner by roman soldiers during one of their conquest, and was enslaved amongst many others and had to buy her freedom.

She was alongside a boy who was barely 14,his role was assigned to be a cup bearer to the elite guests,however she couldnt stand the fact he was taken advantage of by his master who forced his advances upon the child.

Vykaria was young then,and in her outrage she killed that senator in a cold,brutal blood ,she heard of rumours of such horrors of what happens behind closed doors but the intensity to experience/witness it first hand was a different story.

It was the most satisfying kill she ever committed.

What disgusts her even more is the same children their slaves bore were sometimes their own,yet most elites either ignored them to cover the scandalous affairs or treated their offspring no differently from slaves not sparing them any mercy. However maybe some emperors were kind enough to free them though not entirely.

A ritualistic sacrifice with practiced orgy, back then to please their gods.

Yet these same hands also helped countless others like Melissa, a strange balance,a dichotomy as if Vykaria was reminded just how fragile human life can be. It was pathetic really.

The boy kept quite about her existence a mere gratitude for her help,but problem is that senator was only one man,there were many other political figures who may had taken interest on that boy and he'd be subjected to the same cruelty.

Cowards called her insane but they knew they all knew the truth.

People of power back then slept with anybody irregardless of gender,the woman's marital status or if that person is a maiden or virgin,not out of love but rather for the thrill of power.

The Greeks theorised love to be a disease,because of the depths of insanity each layer of infatuation caused,but Vykaria had long since lost interest in romance especially with its history.

The only thing she regrets is not giving that senator a slow agonizing death.

Vykaria's fingers twitch at her sides, phantom sensations of bone cracking under her grip. The memory is vivid-the senator's choked gasp, the boy's tear-filled eyes widening in shock as blood spilled across marble floors.

"Hypocrites." she mutters to herself "all of them. Pretending to be civilized while they defiled children behind closed doors."

A bitter smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. "I should've crushed his skull slower." But no-this isn't about that now. This is about a balcony and a sobbing woman who almost became another headline for mortals to gossip over like vultures.

She flexes her hands once more before shoving them into pockets (a modern habit she tolerates). She can still feel it-that split second when Melissa looked down with something worse than despair: resignation.Disgusting.

Humans make life so unnecessarily complicated when death would be easier... but then again,she knows better than anyone what true despair looks like after seven millennia watching civilizations rise and crumble around worthless lives lost in wars or betrayals too mundane even for legends now forgotten by time itself.

As for the boy,his name was it Heptia no that was the name of his wife ,perhaps Aquilius or- nevermind she forgot,but she does remember him becoming a decent poet,not quite famous but well known enough to earn bread on his plate. All because Vykaria gave him a bag of gold roman coins which would now be hanging in some museum as a relic. She gave him enough to buy his freedom,because she didnt need it for herself since Vykaria would've outlived them all anyways,if there was one thing Rome couldnt conquer it was immortality,Rome could never own her ,can never e*****e eternity something their empire hoped to achieve,which is now a pile of dust.

Perhaps Aquilius had a wife(Heptia) and kids,their descendants a blur amongst this outstretched world while the senator? He had no legacy not even in blood.

And something about that fact stirred something akin to pride in her heart,because honestly good riddance.

Vykaria remembers the way Aquilius stared at her with wide eyes, the gold coins clutched tightly in his trembling hands. She'd given him freedom, saved him from a future of endless servitude and humiliation.

She never expected to feel proud, never believed her ancient blood was even capable. And yet...

A flicker of something close to pride. The same thing a mother might feel when their child takes their first steps, or the spark of pride an artist feels after finishing their masterpiece.

Something so utterly human, it should have made her repulsed.

Yet she didnt, it felt rather promising.

One great about living so long is that trivial things like status,money or labelles like 'good' and 'evil' didnt matter to her,didnt define her,nor constrict Vykaria to its role as it didnt suit her,in a way it is freeing. Because she didnt feel obligated to owe society something.

If she learnt anything its that morality is not ran by emotions but rather solely by logic alone,as sentimentality clouds judgement.

Vykaria doesnt do righteous deeds out of pity or wanting to be praised,but simply because its the right thing to do,even if she gains nothing back. She had long stopped believing in rewards,that was a tale for fools,whispered by myths to comfort mortals,even in old testament it says the Lord gives alms to both the rightoeus and wicked for all are flawed. Life is unfair,the universe doesn't owe anyone anything.

Humans didnt need plagues to drive them to extinction,their hatred was enough to brew wars to lead them to their own destruction.

Hence perhaps thats why morality still played a crucial role,without it there'd be chaos.

And maybe thats why mercy and grace was another lesson to keep going,and perhaps that was the beatiful thing it was unearned.

Undeserving that enough to give forgiveness meaning.