The Flickering Flame. [PK]

[Jentos 9422]

“DAMNATION.” 

 

The word howled from spires above, raging, raging, raging! Repeated, over and, over. 
 

The An-Gho cast down the offering bowls, bent and clutched at the ash of the sacral pit. A hundred dead heralds seeped between his fingers. 

And as he knew, that in every drop of blood shone every star. 

 

Soon, he would sow worlds. 

[Security_ 2287]

An elden adunian, greyed of hair and withered in age knelt before a great pyre. The place-that-once-was-Casimir would have sobbed for the loss so great.

 

Alrei knew it was only a shadow, and that nothing was truly lost. And yet, such a shadow monumental would no longer grace his days.
 

The fires were quiet that day, no matter the offering given.
 

Oh so quiet 

[Metamancy 1764]

An Cheong-Won never knew Telemachus. Not well, at the very least.

She could recall, however, seeing the cursed one around the streets of Junmura.

Always there, always guarding the village.

It was a strange thing, when someone died. The descendant mind could scarcely comprehend that someone was gone, that they would no longer walk the face of the earth.

Similarly, the Won-In woman took a while to adjust to the empty space where Telemachus once stood.

 

She noticed, that morning, that the streets of Junmura seemed just a little bit quieter.

And she noticed, a month later, that Telemachus was gone.

[Halfirate 135]

Those memories of a troubled, forsaken boy clung dearly in the mind of the alchemist. Once, merely his doctor- then, a mother figure for him. Adopted though he was, Telemachus held a seat at her table worth no less than those of her own blood. Naith knew that the day would eventually come when they no longer jeered and jested with one another.

 

When that letter came, it didn't soften the blow at all, however. She'd lost her son.

 

"Love you, too, kiddo."

 

---

 

"I don't care what you do, just don't end up like Telemachus." 

 

"You don't want to be like Telemachus, do you?"

 

"Stay away from Telemachus."

 

At first, there was rage. Terror. Before the man was a brother to him, he was an invincible obstacle of death. And yet, the boy that lashed out at him was welcomed at the dinner table as if he were kin, and for once in his short life, he felt at home. 

 

Four short years, and Telemachus had taught him more than any other. He taught him Brotherhood. Discipline. And now, most of all, Grief. There were still so many things that he wanted to know about his previously-estranged brother, and it never once crossed his mind that he would fall and leave him stranded in this world. There were still so many things he wanted to know. 

 

But even before Jackdaw learned any of that, he learned that this world was an unfair one. 

[latte 2238]

Seiryu Hina could be described as a petty, hateful person. Which was true, she was more often than not violent, petty and demanding. She cared very little for those not in her circles, she cared even litterer for the jumoko race. But Hina met Telemachus as a boy. He had a fighting spirit and a sharp tongue, which reminded the woman so much of herself. She was a hateful person, but she took a chance, and brought him to her temple. 

 

"Telemachus is not like that...." Her pitched raised to yell at the Azdrazi. "You are wrong to hate him," her volume raised impossible loud. "He is good. you are wrong."

 

Much like her carelessness for violence and slaughter, she did not care much for death. But through the years of many fights and victories, and personal moments shared, she had come to find the Jumoko less of a student needing to be beat, but more like a son. He had grown into a strong young man, and although Hina rarely said it, she loved and was ever so proud of him. The emotional pain hit her hard when found out. It was like grieving a child. Memories flooded her system the next couple of weeks, squeezing at her aching heart. For the first time in forever, she allowed herself to grieve.

 

"I will miss you Telemachus, like a son. so, so, very proud."

[Moumins 378]

 

.-──–──-.

༺ The boat-shrine rocked tempestuously.༻

◎────────────⊰  ⊱────────────◎ 

There laid within a place’s hands, a long rosary of brown beads, each etched with a new, ignited word. 

 

NID LOS AL; NID LOS ZOROS. PAH DAH LOS DILON. AHRK ZU’U LOS VOTH NIIN.

 

An Eremun took to the hearth, and cast the rosary so that it may become ash. 

“We will speak, soon, brother”

The boat disappeared into the storm.

[TheCoolestYoukai 43]

"I'm sorry I never got to serve under your command, Telly. I'm sorry I never knew who you were as a person before it became too late."

 

That was all the Yosei could offer — the small, brittle courtesy he gave to the fallen. Kinji had never truly known Telly, not in the ways that mattered. He knew the silhouette, the steel, the presence in Junmura’s streets. A figure that had become as familiar as home itself… and now was gone. 

 

“I wish I had reached that place where serving under you was more than a distant hope.”

 

"May you find peace in the next life." The words rang hollow even as he spoke them. He didn’t believe in such comforts, not really. What peace existed for someone whose story ended before it could finish?

 

But he said them anyways

 

For it was all he could do.

 

 

Edited December 5, 2025 by TheCoolestYoukai
small formatting and grammar correction

[PartyPupper 21]

Dreadful nights had become normal for the blue deviless, but this night brought especially harrowing news with it. When Melia read one of  the letters she had returned home with only a moment ago, she froze, unable to move, unable to take her eyes off the parchment. 

Her brother was dead.

 

In an instant, her knees buckled beneath her, but unlike when her sister died, her brother was no longer here to catch her. No one was. She fell to her knees, her trembling hands rose to her horns, gripping them tightly as a vein attempt to comfort herself, much like she did as a child. A loud shriek would echo throughout the streets, a shriek filled with pain and anguish. Tears streamed down the poor girls cheeks as a long broken promise made by a group of triplets echoed in her head over and over "Us against the world." Even if that promise had never been broken, there was no hope of upholding it now, there was no "us" anymore. She was the only one left.

Melia would manage to shuffle herself up against a wall, where she would lay in the fetal position and weep. Oh how cold she felt, how alone she felt in this moment. Two thirds of herself were gone now, with the deaths of Nocte and Telly. The gecko girl could only muster up one word to break through her cries, a name, her brothers name, "Telly.." 

She would lay there for hours, wondering why and how..

 Three Had Become One.

[DragonofTaters 920]

Turmoil and regret seemed constant. One event after another threatening to send the woman past a point of return.
A letter reached her. A farewell, from a friend whom she never spent enough time with. Allowed the world to distract her from.
Always another day...can reach out tomorrow...Now tomorrow had come, but he was gone. Grief, rage, and a devastating sense of loss. By the time she'd wasted, and the knowledge that she'd failed him. Failed the boy who walked through fire for everyone around him. Failed the man who sought to do right despite the darkness constantly attempting to douse his own inner flame.

She climbed. Past villages and waterfalls. Past trees and geysers. Moving ever upward, to the peak of a mountain. 'Til naught but air was between her and the heavens. Wind tousled her hair. Caught at her wings and forced them back. Threatening to take her straight off the mountaintop.
There she remained. Hours, days...time stood still. Staring up at the stars as if they could give her answers. Turn back time.

The wind howled. Protesting her silence. Voices battering at the still being there at the mountain's peak. The loudest of all her own. Regret hollowing her out. 

[Gamma 812]

"Mrm.." The Elder of the northwestern monastery grumbled to herself, receiving the letter. Upon reading such, she'd lean back against her seat "And it was only yesterday, when I spoke to you. Seems someone from Tor' will need to be potentially culled. Such ultimatum that was given is useless. I wonder what he'll do now." The woman then grunted, coming to a stand as she headed on downstairs, knocking on a few doors of some within her flock "Come. We've a horned one to hunt."

[Apotolofo 2204]

Yukiko recalled locking eyes with the jumoko, leading him from the edge of his balcony in a hypnotic haze. Wiping his tears, tucking a blanket around him. She remembered holding him as he cried- as he often would, when she cried. And Yukiko cried often. 

 

Yukiko recalled fighting in battle beside the jumoko. Using his shield as a lift, grinning wildly as they worked together. She recalled their spars, often ending in laughter. She recalled how he never treated her as fragile, or delicate. 

 

Her first friend, her closest friend. Her second brother.

 

The Winter Child wept. But this time, Telemachus could not be there to hold her. 

[wytch 870]

Ilyra stared down at the letter sent to her and Vrys, clenching it tightly within her hands as the whirlwind felt like a dagger to the heart. A dagger that saw another crack into her facade of recovery she'd made over the decades. Surely this news wasn't the truth, it was another ploy for safety, she'd had plenty of others fake their demise only to return in time. Surely, surely he would return, wouldn't he? The alternative was far too difficult in the moment to reconcile. The possibility that the boy she'd watched grow up, the one she mentored, she'd healed, the one she watched grow into a man she genuinely respected and was proud to call a brother.. was gone. There were no words from her, only the silent sobs of a grieving older sister who had lost another pillar in her life, and felt another part of herself wither away.

 

Another crack, another fissure, another shattered heart, a promise broken, as the world came crumbling down.

[Bethinwonderland 2213]

Spoiler

I didn't have any characters that were close to Telly; however, it was always fun to see him around and hear bits and pieces of what he was up to.

 

[retro 277]

A lone fae came to linger within the windowsill of an elder build. . Something stone, cold, and quiet. She filed through the some various letters collected that morning, and silently, she questioned the curious lack in one signed name. It wasn't unusual, but it felt odd in the moment. Still, she thought aloud, "I wonder if now would be fine for that evening tea and catch-up."

[Frostdrop1 1843]

"I assume you've heard the news?"

It was not a letter, but a tongue. Reinhard turned his gaze, his thoughts whirring elsewhere, plans being made. Something was finally in motion. He had the means. He had the backing. And though he wouldn't wish to admit it to anyone, he had someone with the mentality for it.

"Telemachus is dead."

 

How inconvenient. Now, luck was never truly his mistress. Or, more accurately, Fate. The day just prior they were at odds. He was hounded again by the boy and was, in all frankness, at his wit's end. His life was in crumples.  He couldn't possibly be sad that Telemachus died. In many ways, it was a relief. He was looking at a ghost - and he had to tread petty nonsense all over again. He just didn't need it. Time. Asahiko had been right that he needed time. He needed to get away - and yet this is what followed him? All the time. All the time. 

He was genial, as genial as he could be. He didn't stoop to insults. He didn't lie. He was left strictly trying to control his tone, and his body at some of the information he was being given. At the insults levelled. At the prying around him. Fight. Oh yes, fighting would resolve it. This years-long endeavour of the boy. Fighting would solve it. Not that he could trust his hand - if he started fighting, he knew he wouldn't have stopped. His body was wired to go as of late. It had already carried him too far once. The only faint relief he had was what defense another granted him, observing the way the discourse was between the two. It wasn't his fault things were so aggressive. It wasn't him doing that. All this time, he hadn't acted. He had held his hand, held his tongue. He held it, because they were allies. They were brothers.

"What brothers and sisters?"

Okay, they weren't brothers. His vision fuzzed. After all this time. Was that what they all thought? He couldn't voice that. He grabbed it. He boxed it. He boxed it alongside all the other boxes in his head.

Still, he held he rage, his offense. He could do that, if he just closed the boxes tight. Everything he wished to say was silenced, as ever. Maybe he was his own worst enemy. Reinhard couldn't know. He was trying to do right by his allies, but he always seemed to choose wrong. He needed to speak with the correct people. The one who had dealt with them before. And still, they were paired. Forced to work together. He just didn't need it.

Then, they talked. It wasn't the first time. He hadn't expected it to be the last time. Things were far from repaired, but they were amicable. At least, on the surface. Reinhard certainly hadn't forgotten everything Telemachus said, and everything Telemachus did. He hadn't forgotten what had happened in that room, nor what he had led his partner into. He hadn't forgotten the way people looked at him over what spilled from his mouth. Not the fear of it, the loss of it, the blood spilled over it. He hadn't forgotten that.

---

By the time he was alone in his study, the devil was brooding. A book laid before him, no bigger than a pocketbook. He had many books, but this one was special. It was familiar. Taunting. Fingers curled and folded together to support his chin. Thinking. Contemplating. Telemachus might have been one of the few people he truly hated. And even then, he made what he could of it. Was he that much of an idiot? Had he not learned his lesson? What would he do the next time he met someone like Telly - just let them ruin his life again? Again? Again?

The accusations levelled his way toyed in his mind, living rent-free. He didn't have a way to rid them. Of course he didn't. He couldn't remember. He couldn't defend himself. Pathetic, is what Telemachus left him feeling. And he took answers with him. He took perspective. He took all of his usefulness with him. All his Truth. Maybe that was the point, the effect of it. He wasn't wrong. Was he wrong? No, he wasn't wrong. It was the tale of his life. He sat straighter as a metallic taste crept upon his tongue. His incessant gnawing. Eyes slid down to black-slathered gloves. He shifted them under the desk, to wipe. Wipe. Wipe. It didn't move, that fixture of his mind's eye.

When they raised they clasped around the edges of the book. His mind was like snow; buzzing like static. He could know.

The warning rang in his ears. Don't open it. With a thud, he dropped it.

He heaved breaths, raised his hand to fold fingers through his hair. He cursed to himself, quietly. When his wits even half-recovered, he murmured a slow prayer for Telemachus below his breath before he opted for a whiskey instead.