Moonspear There will be no more stories after this one.

For @Praimfaya and @Opalia - making a few assumptions that they are already there with him. All other tags for reference.

Beyond his hollow, snow fell. It came heavily, whirled by icy winds that swept through the mountains, and Dacio watched it with an empty stare. Despite his stubbornness and pride, the infection had taken hold of him. He'd withered rapidly in the recent week, faded until he became a shell if who he'd been: once strong muscles had been wasted away and his entire body shivered with fever that spiked often.

@Lyra's efforts to curb any spread had been fruitless. It was rot, they all knew, one that embedded deep in his damaged joint and seeped into his bloodstream. For a while after the fight to save @Osiris there was hope to free him of its grip, to reverse the affects and bring him to his feet once more - but it was not meant to be. If anything, the healer's potions had given him a few more days to spend with those he held most dear, and for that he was grateful.

It was alright, however. Dacio had never wished that death would come for him, but he did not fear it. Exhaustion gripped him, encouraged him gently to close his eyes and let go, but he wasn't quite ready. He blinked up at his gilded sister, at his pallid young ward, and mustered a tired smile for them. "You better name your firstborn after me," he teased, naturally, even in the face of his inevitable end. Dacio tried to laugh at his own poor jest, but the effort was too much. Instead, he settled with simply looking up at the two she-wolves, his most constant and beloved companions, and considered all the things he wished to tell them.

He had died before, he recalled. On the day that news reached him of his mother's demise, the day her body was washed ashore on Drageda's beach. Dacio remembered vividly how he felt his soul disintegrate, how he pleaded with some higher force to take his instead of @Portia's. No, he had not perished that day in the same manner as others might expect, but some invisible part of him did - and he'd never recovered.

"I learned the hard way," he said softly, weakly, "to not be afraid of death. Because a life without loss is one without love." And oh, how he loved them. Fiercely, with every fibre if his being, and he closed his eyes briefly in attempt to reign himself. His heart wasn't ready to release its hold of them, and it fluttered desperately in his chest. He'd made a promise to Opalia the year prior that he hoped he'd fulfilled, and hoped she might carry on in his memory - Praimfaya would need her to guide her where he no longer could.

He inhled deeply, painfully, and blinked up at his companions. I'm sorry, his hollow eyes seemed to communicate.