Darkness again...
But it wasn't the cold and painful darkness he had known for so many centuries; instead, it was a warm, almost comforting, dark.
It was also achingly constricting, like being entombed within a heavy weighted blanket.
He tried to open his eyes again, but this time the darkness remained, just as soothing as before.
Next, he tried to reach out with his hands—now feeling unusually empty without the weight of the Heavens braced against them.
Nothing as well.
Confused, he tried to move with every ounce of his strength.
Success...!
Well, partially.
He could feel himself shift. But rather than escape, the dark blanket rolled with him, before rocking him back into his previous position once his strength faltered.
He tried to push again, but this time his body refused. The subtle wobble he had managed left him utterly exhausted.
That was new. How long had it been since he had felt fatigue? It was another concept he had all but forgotten, let alone its feeling, until the sensation had crept into his being to remind him.
His thoughts settled for the first time in ages. There didn't seem to be any Sin eating away at his body and mind, no Herculean burden which constantly demanded his attention. He could just...
What was the word for it again...
Oh yes.
Sleep.
————————————————————————————————————
He awoke sometime later. He didn't know how long he had slept, only that it paradoxically felt both very long and very short.
At the very least, he no longer felt tired. In fact, he felt more vigorous than he had in... Well, as long as he could remember.
He tried to open his eyes again.
Still nothing.
He tried to reach his hand out... and this time he felt something—a hard backing hidden behind the insulating blanket!
He pushed against it, and his blanket-prison wobbled before returning to its previous orientation much like before.
The effort was fatiguing, but not so utterly exhausting this time.
Alas, he still lacked the strength to escape from his relaxing cell; any further effort would only exhaust himself again.
So instead, he nestled within this novel darkness and tried to think.
Just how had he gotten here...?
The last thing he remembered before waking up 'here' was...
He had let go of the sword!
Panic and despair welled within his chest. His hands, both of them, tried to reach forward and pull apart the blankets wrapped around him, or perhaps even break through their hard backing!
He needed to...!
He needed to... what?
He paused suddenly, his struggles amounting to nothing more than an idle rocking before they fell silent.
He wasn't in Heaven anymore... The fact that he could feel physical tiredness proved he was no longer just his Soul; he had a body, and a human's flesh could not set foot in Heaven.
The lack of cancerous pustules of Sin-corrupted flesh tearing into his mind was yet more proof—there was nowhere in Heaven not touched by Manus' filth.
Manus... That name had survived in his mind through his long guardianship. The voice he remembered was his. He...
He remembered striking that foul Dark God down!
He remembered cursing, spitting, and raging against it during his centuries of isolation, imprinting it upon his tattered psyche far more than even the names of his friends and family.
More than even his own name...
Now... now he was free. Or, at least, the putrefied Sin that had once composed him was free.
Or was he?
Wherever he was now, he was clearly back in Creation if he possessed his body. But if Manus' remnants were free, then Creation should have been dissolved into nothingness.
He furrowed his brow and tried to remember.
He had failed again. His determination had slipped, and his sword had fallen from his hands. Without it holding the Gates to Heaven shut, Manus's Sin should have poured down from the skies and washed away the world in a giant, cataclysmic wave.
He had felt the excitement from the Dark God's lingering will when their centuries-long struggle finally ended.
It had been a futile, token struggle. Without Heaven to reincarnate the souls of mortals, and without the Heavenly Flames to purify humanity of its Sin, no new beings could be born, and those that died would inevitably rise as Demons.
He knew that. Manus had taunted him with that fact when the Dark God lay dying at his feet.
But he still held on until nearly every iota of his consciousness had worn away.
Why...?
Another memory flickered through his mind. His daughter... Yes. She was a dragon. She could live for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.
He had wanted to preserve her life, however bleak it might have been in a ruined world beneath a broken Heaven.
Perhaps he had also hoped that someone could succeed where he had failed, to save Creation if he merely gave them the time to do so. But that hope had turned bitter in the first few centuries of lonely agony.
He slumped back against the insulating darkness. His panicked struggle had tired him out again, pulling his consciousness back into slumber.
————————————————————————————————————
The sword clattered against the stone base of the Heavenly Throne.
His body slumped against the vacant seat in defeat—so worn away by the quivering, vile flesh growing across most of the ruins that only his arm and the right side of his face could be seen.
He was too tired... too tired to continue fighting the pain anymore, too tired to continue delaying the war's inevitable conclusion.
Too tired even to muster a feeble apology for his weakness.
His eyes drooped, while the oppressive, painful darkness advanced to snuff out the last flicker of light within his being...
Before a bright, blinding light erupted around him.
Pain once again seared through his body, but at least the darkness felt it as well.
He, along with the rampant Sin infesting him, was burning.
Ah, a funeral pyre was better than being reduced to a festering soul-husk, or worse, rising as a Demon.
Unfortunately, it wouldn't work. Only the Heavenly Flame could purify Sin. All this fire could do—however radiant it may be—was chase it away for a time.
Not that he minded that at all. A chance to rest his weary head at Creation's end, free from the pain of his vigil, was a blessing he had never hoped to receive.
"Rest now..."
A voice... so gentle and kind, helped loll him to slumber.
It wasn't like the mocking sneer he had felt from the darkness—he trusted it implicitly.
"You've done enough...
"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner...
"But you just had to be so stubborn, didn't you…?"
Strangely, the voice's presence with him in Heaven also made his heart wrench and his eyes blur.
He blinked away a tear, and a platinum-scaled face with golden eyes like the rising sun appeared before him. A name rolled to the tip of his tongue, but his mind couldn't quite finish recalling it.
"I'm sorry... I couldn't keep my promise..."
Then the comfortable, insulating darkness enveloped him.
————————————————————————————————————
Oriana!
The name sprang to his mind as he awakened within his mysterious prison once more, now bristling with energy.
Her name! He remembered her name!
How could he have ever forgotten her name!?
Memories he had long forgotten resurfaced to the forefront of his thoughts. He had struggled to come up with a name for the newborn dragon hatchling he had inadvertently become the foster to. Because he had picked a name that sounded good on a human tongue, she always struggled to pronounce her own name while in her true form. Her struggle to maintain the dignity of her species despite such a comical trial never failed to make him or the others laugh.
What had she done!?
His eyes opened. Once again, darkness.
His hands reached back out. This time the warm, comforting blanket was all but gone, leaving behind only the firm backing that his earlier struggles had discovered.
This time he'd succeed. Both his mind and his body agreed; he had slept enough!
He pushed, and his dark cocoon jostled.
He pushed again; the same effect.
No matter how much he pushed or scraped against its surface, the backing didn't seem to budge at all, only causing his prison to wobble and roll once again.
It took him another moment to remember he had legs—Sin had overgrown them for so long, gluing his legs in place beneath its festering corruption, that he had forgotten about them too.
But now that Oriana had burned the filth away, he could use them to brace against his shoves!
Well, provided there was anything left of them.
Using his legs for the first time in centuries was awkward, but after feeling firm ground beneath his feet, it seemed like his plan would work. He pushed, stretching out his arms and legs in equal measure, shoving and kicking in tandem with every ounce of his strength to stretch and deform his cramped prison.
The firm backing cracked, splitting apart for a second as he pushed. Light danced across his eyes for the first time since being imprisoned; only to be back in darkness a second later when his muscles faltered and the gap closed.
But with the first cracks spreading through its surface, every following push was easier, splitting the wall wider than the last shove.
Just one more solid push, and...
Success!
With a lurching shove, the cracks grew so pronounced that the thin wall crumbled away before his shove, causing him to suddenly stumble forward onto the ground.
Proper ground.
Ground that felt solid beneath his hands and feet, accompanied by proper air which tickled his nose.
Air...
His chest burned as his starved lungs protested.
Oh yes. Air. He had his body again; he needed to remember to breathe!
He felt his chest expand, and cool morning air flowed into his nostrils and down his throat. He followed the feeling of each breath and its following exhale, letting the fatigue his limbs had gained during his escape fade as he did so.
As he focused on his breathing, he felt a quick, drumming heartbeat within his chest—its beat slowing to an even tempo after the exertion of his escape.
It was only then that it struck him: he was alive!
But how?
He glanced around, but all he could see from his current position was a gigantic rocky cavern with a decent-sized stream trickling in from the surface. No sight of the dragoness that had somehow rescued him.
He would find her! Now that he wasn't confined to the empty throne, he swore he would find her!
That being said, even getting to his feet was more awkward than he thought it would be. But considering he could barely remember having legs in the first place, let alone walking, it wasn't too surprising. He was just happy he had them, even if he felt like he was constantly fighting his own body just to stand upright.
A few seconds later, he finally felt like he had stable enough footing to take his first tentative step forward.
He fell.
With a squeaking-yelp, he tucked himself into a ball to shield his face and allowed the momentum of his collapsing body to roll him forward, coming to a rest just shy of the stream.
'Some hero I am... Unable to even walk,' he lampooned while steadying himself.
He stood slower this time, pressing his hands against the edge of the stream to lift his chest from the rocky ground first.
While he was here, he might as well take advantage of the water's reflection to see what sort of condition he was in after all those years—
He looked down into the stream, only to see a small, platinum-scaled head adorned with short, stubby horns and bright golden eyes staring back at him through the water's ripples.
He turned his head to the left, and the dragon's head mirrored him by tilting to its right.
That... That wasn't his face!