Alone with their thoughts.
1221 Words
Kael moved slightly, setting the cup down on the counter, his hand lingering there as if he needed the support.
“We have everything,” he murmured. “Power, wealth, land, and influence" and still nothing. Kael let out a hollow breath.
“Nothing that mattered,” Azruk said. Because they've understood that power doesn’t fill space, strength doesn’t quiet the mind, and control, no matter how absolute, did not stop the curse.
"We were not meant to be alone," Azruk said. The words struck deeper than anything else, because beneath the beast, beneath the hunger, there was something else entirely: a need, ancient, unresolved, unfulfilled. Kael’s voice dropped.
“There were no females left,” he said.
"No, no female like us," Azruk replied.
“And the humans…” He stopped himself, because he didn’t need to finish it; Azruk already knew.
"They are not of us." The words came out, not cruel, not dismissive, just the truth. Kael leaned his head lightly against the wall, closing his eyes again.
“So this is what’s left,” he said. “A curse we can’t escape. A world we don’t belong to, and no one who understands it.” Yes. No hesitation, no comfort, just certainty. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, because there was nothing to argue with.
Nothing to deny.
Only the quiet reality of what they were.
And what they had lost.
Kael finally pushed himself upright, drawing in a slow breath as he reached for his coffee again.
“We’re still here,” he said, almost stubbornly.
A pause.
Then—
Yes.
But this time, something in Azruk’s tone shifted.
Not softer.
Not kinder.
But… aligned.
Not against him.
Not fighting.
Just…
Present.
Kael opened his eyes.
The house returned.
The light.
The silence.
The day waiting outside.
He took one last sip of the now-cooling coffee and set the cup down.
“We survive,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t hope.
It wasn’t belief.
It was something simpler.
More stubborn.
More human.
And more beast.
Azruk did not argue.
The coffee had gone cold.
Kael hadn’t noticed when.
He stood by the window still, cup resting loosely in his hand, his eyes closed—not in rest, but in retreat. The kind of stillness that came when there was nothing left to distract from what waited underneath.
Inside.
Around.
Everywhere.
We are still here.
Azruk’s voice was quieter now.
Not strong.
Not commanding.
Just… present.
Kael let out a slow, hollow breath.
“Are we?” he murmured.
The question lingered.
Because existing was not the same as living.
And neither of them had done that in a very long time.
The silence stretched between them—not tense, not hostile… but heavy. Like something that had been carried too far for too long, with no place left to set it down.
Kael’s grip on the cup tightened slightly.
“I don’t remember what it felt like,” he said, voice low, distant. “Before all this.”
Neither do I.
That, more than anything, made his chest ache.
Because Azruk remembered everything.
Except that.
Fragments stirred in the back of his mind—laughter that didn’t echo, faces that no longer had names, a warmth that felt unreal now, like something borrowed from another life.
Gone.
All of it.
“I was supposed to have…” Kael stopped himself, swallowing hard. “Something.”
A life.
A future.
People.
Something more than this endless cycle of night and regret.
We all were.
Azruk’s presence dimmed slightly, like a flame lowering rather than going out.
They had it… for a time.
Kael’s eyes opened slowly, unfocused, staring at nothing.
“And then the war took them.”
Yes.
“And the curse finished what was left.”
A pause.
Longer this time.
Yes.
Kael laughed—but there was no humor in it.
Just a quiet, broken sound.
“All that power,” he muttered. “All that strength… and we couldn’t save a single one of them.”
His voice dropped.
“Not even our own.”
The words hung in the air, heavier than anything else he had said.
Because this wasn’t just about a lost kind.
It was personal.
It always had been.
A flicker of memory passed through him—too fast to grasp, but sharp enough to hurt. A presence that had once been larger than life. A voice that had guided. Protected.
Gone.
Both of them.
Taken in a war Kael had been too young to understand… and too powerless to stop.
Azruk did not speak.
For once, even the beast had nothing to offer.
The house creaked softly around him, settling as the day grew stronger outside. Light filled the empty space, but it did nothing to warm it.
Nothing to fill it.
Kael finally lowered the cup, setting it down with a soft, almost absent movement.
“What’s the point?” he asked quietly.
Not dramatic.
Not desperate.
Just… tired.
“What’s the point of surviving like this?”
No answer came.
Not from the world.
Not from Azruk.
Because there wasn’t one.
They stood together in that emptiness—man and beast, bound not just by curse, but by something far worse:
Endurance without purpose.
Time without change.
Existence without belonging.
We endure, Azruk said at last.
But even that sounded… hollow now.
Kael shook his head slightly.
“That’s not living.”
No.
The agreement came without resistance.
Without pride.
Without denial.
Just truth.
Another silence fell.
Deeper.
Colder.
Kael leaned his forehead lightly against the window, the cool glass grounding him in a way nothing else could.
Outside, the world moved on.
People would wake.
Laugh.
Live.
Unaware that something like him existed just beyond their reach.
Unaware that something like him had already touched their lives… and left nothing behind but absence.
“I don’t even belong to this world anymore,” he whispered.
Nor do I.
And that was the cruelest part.
Not the curse.
Not the hunger.
Not even the nights.
But this—
Existing in a world that no longer had a place for them.
A species reduced to memory.
A legacy reduced to one broken man… and the beast inside him.
Alone.
Completely.
Irrevocably.
Alone.
Kael closed his eyes again, letting the weight of it settle fully this time.
Not fighting it.
Not pushing it away.
Just… feeling it.
For a moment—just one—he let himself sink into that quiet despair.
Because pretending otherwise had never helped.
Had never changed anything.
Then, slowly, he straightened.
Not because he felt better.
Not because anything had changed.
But because the day would not stop.
And neither could he.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath.
Not to the world.
Not even to himself.
But to both of them.
“Another day.”
Azruk did not respond.
But he remained.
As he always would.Then, slowly, he straightened.
Not because he felt better.
Not because anything had changed.
But because the day would not stop.
And neither could he.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath.
Not to the world.
Not even to himself.
But to both of them.
“Another day.”
Azruk did not respond.
But he remained.
As he always would.
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