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Ao’nung had never considered Rotxo dying before him. The other was a constant, in those peaceful 15 years.
His death was viewed by only the trembling figure of Tsireya. Who had stood witness to his cold and lonely end. Two spears pierced through flesh as blood mixed with the ocean as he sunk to the bottom. The sea finally taking after all it gave to the young Navi.
After the battle at the Cove of Ancestors, a team was set to look for the dead the following morning.
But Ao’nung searched, and searched, and searched. Combing through the aftermath, his Ilu trembled with exhaustion, as he pushed and pushed and pushed until he found Rotxo mangled and pale.
He brought him up a rock close by. Gently, he pulled the spears off his brother. Although the pain ended hours ago, Ao’nung covered the wounds with medical cream. His eyes once bright had dulled.
He cradled Rotxo close, like they had when they were younger. He had helped Rotxo take his first steps. His own self, tiny and shaky, pulled up the younger until they walked hand in hand.
The two ended up a pair. Where one was the other always close by. Ronal had to correct neighboring clans. She had one son, not two. Rotxo, however, was like another son. He stuck so close to the Olo'eyktan family, that he was introduced to Tsireya alongside Ao’nung.
He started to shake, muscles vibrating with the trill of grief. Harsh, echoing sobs spilled from him. He wasn’t one to cry. He was the one to comfort. Pulling Tsireya close, as he held her.
But his tears did not come as his sobs turned into screams. He clutched Rotxo, ears close to his heart, desperate to hear the faint heart beats of the other.
He held the boy in a hug. An odd site given the other’s body was limp. Rotxo was unable to cling to Ao’nung with the same desperate fervor as the other.
Ao’nung doesn’t know how long he stayed with Rotxo, holding his cold body. He settled Rotxo down and covered him while Ao’nung pulled him on to the ilu.
Rotxo was a dreamer, and a peace maker. He was so much better than what Ao’nung could ever become. Pure of heart was what he was, he had welcomed the Sully’s. He was never assigned to them by the Olo'eyktan, but so much so, he ended up whispering into Ao’nung’s ear of feelings for the eldest daughter.
He even got along with the demon boy.
Ao’nung traveled back home, hands trembling as he held the reins. Oh, how Rotxo’s mother would scream for him, her precious baby boy. He had just passed his Iknimaya, the three beads freshly strung to his song cord, and skin still tender from his new tattoo.
How Ao’nung knew the screams of his spirt brother would echo through the ocean, reaching. They had just reached adulthood, and now, only one would age.
He reached shore, pulling up Rotxo’s limp body. Gently hauling the boy into his arms. The clan ran to him.
Rotxo’s father picked him up, arms trembling. Not due to the weight but the smell of death on his once lively son.
The funeral was an impersonal affair. The village burned, all to adorn the dead gone. The rest of the slayed were laid to rest together. The funeral rites heavy with misery. Tsireya had cried onto his shoulder. Hand bruising marks into his arm. Lo’ak was no better. He gripped Ao’nungs wrist, eyes shut as tears poured from his eyes, paint streaking.
Ao’nung didn’t cry. His ducts were awfully dry, as Rotxo was lowered into the ocean. Rotxo’s spirit brother screamed. His anger shook the water and his grief was audible to pods days away.
Ao’nung didn’t cry. He reached home, or whatever you could call it. The fire burned down his family’s mauri until all they could do was place a makeshift structure. He hauled Tsireya in, laying her in sleeping mat. He pressed a kiss on to her forehead.
She grabbed his arm as he went to leave. He shook his head as he pushed out to the ocean. She was mindful enough to stay behind.
He ended up by the shore curled up into a ball. His tears came. Not with the racking sobs of Rotxo’s mother, or the stoicisms of Ao’nungs father, but with a smile.
Tears poured out of him, one by one until he lost count. The younger had never known a life without Ao’nung, born after and dead earlier.
He had 14 years with Rotxo, and it still wasn’t enough.
He whispered out to the sea, “Rotxo te Rara Yapto'itan. Ewya has blessed me to be able to call you a brother.”