Work Text:
What are you doing at the end of the world?
Are you busy?
Is there anything you wish you'd done?
. . .
Hey, what does it feel like to die?
Chtholly knows the orders that will come, knows that she will not make it to the next month. She doesn't even have two weeks. She tries not to think about it too much, tries not to let any worries show on her face. What can she do in two weeks, after all? There's a lot of things she won't be able to attain in that time, after she activates her Fairy Gate, like living a life without bloodshed, or reaching adulthood, or falling in love.
That's (not) okay.
That's their purpose, as fairies — to give themselves in battle so that nobody else has to, because nobody else can . Nobody else can wield the Dug Weapons, and nobody else can battle against the Seventeen Beasts, and nobody else can muster the amount of power needed to take down the Timire.
Just the fairies.
Just her.
Chtholly inhales deeply and lets the morning air fill her lungs before exhaling with just as much force. Her legs dangle off the edge of Island 68, her fingers curling into the sharp grass beneath her palms. The wind picks up around her, tossing strands of blue hair in a multitude of directions. In front of her stretches an endless blue sky, dotted with white clouds. Two small blue birds dart out from the treeline behind her, dancing and singing to each other over open air. A branch creaks softly, and then a third bird streaks over her head and breaks up the game, chittering as if scolding them. Together, the three birds retreat back to the island’s trees.
Chtholly lets out a shaky huff. Or maybe it’s a laugh.
She'll do it, of course. It’s her duty, as the remaining oldest, to do what needs to be done. She took up a Dug Weapon, fought in battles, chased after the younger fairies and forced them to dry their hair, all with that intent. She’s long since come to terms with it — (hopes nobody else has to do it, understands it’s a hopeless wish) — and knows her sacrifice will bring her friends a few moments of peace in this dying world.
She doesn't consider what will happen after she's gone. No point in counting days she won’t get to see, after all! Will they be able to train new fairies before the next Timire attack? All she needs to do is see her duty through to the end, just as her Senpai did before her. As did their senpais, and their senpai’s senpais, and—
Chtholly sighs and drops backwards into the grass, blades poking at the back of her neck. It doesn’t hurt, so she doesn’t make any effort to move. A cloud passes overhead, drifting slowly across the sky.
...Had her senpais felt the same, when they had fallen in battle? She remembers them as strong, as smiling, as wanting to fight and to protect. Chtholly remembers seeing them off at the dock, warm smiles and long hair billowing in the wind as they headed off to battle.
Her fingers reach up and catch on the pendant around her throat, bringing it up above her face. The blue crystal in the middle glitters against the soft morning light, whispering promises of duty and responsibility.
Chtholly has spent most of her childhood admiring her senpai, mimicking them, hoping that she can be half as good as them.
Has she done enough?
Would her senpais be proud of her?
She thinks of the younger fairies in the warehouse. She thinks of warm meals on birthdays. She thinks of clear skies and playing outside and the ever-present knowledge that she could be called away any second, to pick up Seniorious and wield it in battle again and again and again.
She slowly fastens the pendant back into place, memory guiding shaking fingers as her vision blurs.
Her senpais before her had been strong in the face of death. If she wants to live up to their memory, then Chtholly needs to be, too.
She doesn’t want to.
She’s the oldest now, so she has to be.
In the distance, she hears a voice calling her name. Maybe it’s Ithea, or maybe it’s Ren, or maybe it’s Nygglatho. Chtholly ignores the voice and allows herself a few moments of selfishness as she enjoys the wind alone: not as Chtholly Nota Seniorious, wielder of a Dug Weapon, nor as Older Sister Chtholly, oldest at the Fairy Warehouse.
Just Chtholly.
…So what does Chtholly want to do, before she dies?
When the voice calls her name for the third time, she stands up, dusts off her dress, and turns back towards her purpose.
A few days later, she sneaks away to the city of Grimbjhal. There's a lot of milestones she won't ever reach. She’ll never know a life without bloodshed. She’ll never be able to grow old. She’ll never fall in love. The promised day itself hangs just out of sight, dangling beneath the horizon. The sun drags it farther and farther up the sky with each passing day like a rope attached to a guillotine.
Chtholly has lived her entire life for others’ sake — taking up Seniorious, taking care of the younger fairies, even planning her death. She wants to see the world from the center, be the center, just once, before the blade drops onto her neck.
It’s supposed to be a short trip, but when she finally makes it to the top of the highest tower in Grimbjhal, the sun is setting. She’s seen more of what a normal life could look like today than she has her entire life. She dances up the winding stairs up and up and up, her heartbeat beating in her ears.
Not once, in this entire day, has she had to be anyone except Chtholly.
Chtholly's world is dyed in monochrome, an endless sea of blues, from her hair to the pendant at her neck to the duty she binds herself to.
She steps out onto the top floor of the belltower, and the sunset paints the town in reds and oranges and pinks.
It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
Chtholly inhales deeply and lets the early evening air fill her lungs before exhaling with just as much force. Her feet are planted firmly on the tiled floor, her fingers curling into the soft fabric of the hat her companion had bought for her. The winds pick up around her, tossing strands of blue hair in a multitude of directions. In front of her stretches an endless red and orange sky, dotted with sky islands and airships. Behind her, footsteps tap quietly against the tiled floor as her companion of the day steps forward, questioning if this is what she was looking for.
Chtholly looks out towards the buildings scattered beneath her view, at the small figures that shift about their daily lives, at the warm glow from the slowly-setting sun.
She may not reach many milestones, may not grow old, may not fall in love — but she has many more memories to take with her. She’s done something she wanted to do — not as Chtholly Nota Seniorious, wielder of a Dug Weapon, nor as Older Sister Chtholly, oldest at the Fairy Warehouse, but as just Chtholly.
She can go without regrets now.
She turns to him, and smiles. “Mind if I make one last request?”
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
- 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' by Robert Frost