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.
He was just walking, hoping to lose himself in the field of roses to never be found. Each step carried him further from Luke, but the distance did nothing to diminish the pain. The guilt that hung over him was immense, consuming him more and more by the moment as he walked, a shadow that grew rather than diminished with the passing hours. But what was killing him more was the fact that now he had nothing left. Nothing at all in all the seven realms.
He was completely and utterly alone as he walked along the roses far into the distance until the temple and the body of a dead friend were no longer in sight. The horizon stretched endlessly before him, indifferent to his suffering. The withered roses brushed against his legs as he passed, their dried petals crumbling at his touch.
He walked for hours into the day with a blank thoughtless mind. The sun fell slightly lower, casting long shadows across the endless field. He dragged his feet across the roses until finally, after endless walking, he stopped. His legs could carry him no further, his body rebelling against the mindless journey.
Slowly, with effort that seemed almost beyond him, he brought his head up to the sky. The vast expanse of blue had shifted to the deep purples and oranges of sunset, stars beginning to appear in the east. As he stared upward, thoughts finally penetrated the numbness that had enveloped him.
'I wonder... If I die right here with nobody to witness, nobody to hear and nobody to remember me or my existence would I really even have died? Would I really have even ever been alive? Am I even alive right now? Am I real?'
The questions tumbled through his mind, philosophical ponderings that somehow cut through the fog of grief. Arthur sighed at the stupid question. Of course he was real, for if he was not real he would not be in such pain. If he was not alive he would not be able to feel this sorrow... this guilt. The very agony of his existence proved its reality.
So yes, even if he died right here and even if there was nobody to witness it or anybody to remember him, right now in this very moment he was very much alive no matter how much he felt like he didn't want to be. The cruel irony wasn't lost on him—to be utterly alone yet unable to escape the prison of his own existence.
Arthur stood staring at the sky lost in motionless thought for a while before finally something changed, catching Arthur's attention. A subtle shift in the atmosphere, a different quality to the light filtering through the dying day.
He looked down at the ground and the vast expanse in front of him and maybe a day ago seeing what he was seeing now might have made his eyes widen or his jaw drop, maybe make him tremble in fear. But today he had no strength for such emotions and just stared blankly as all the dead roses around him simultaneously came back to life, blooming a deep crimson red, making a carpet across the field around him. The transformation spread outward like a ripple, roses unfurling their petals in perfect synchronicity, until as far as he could see, vibrant life had replaced decay.