Star Trek: Starbase 777

Just behind his childhood home lay the grounds which his younger self and his family frequented so often; it was the spot of gathering, the spot to play in, the spot where Saren once saw his parents gently sway in a thoughtless dance not long after his siblings' births, the spot to sleep, to draw, to rest, to just... enjoy their life. It was also the spot where that life, that past, had ended. And his steps faltered at some point, and he was left standing, looking at the forest clearing for the first time since the attack. It was... nauseating. Disorienting, even, to return here. Almost like attending his own funeral, yet there was no body to see - the place where he was desperately clinging to life all but gone under the foliage, tiny, bright flowers peppered across the ground like blood splatter. There was no way to tell this place's past if you didn't know - a thought both comforting... and jarring. "This is where it happened," he said, looking at Renakir - clearly avoiding looking at the trees in front of them, across the small field. "This is where I... yeah." Saying "this is where I briefly met Death" was... a lot, even for him. He didn't want to upset his dinam, first of all - Renakir had enough grief as it was. It was also one of those very delicate, very awkward subjects that Saren never knew how to approach - really, how do you tell someone that you've died for a bit? Do you tell someone that you've have had the experience of non-existence for a minute or so, a time period that felt both like a speck of dust and an eternity? This was something that the medical officers always gave him a worried, sympathetic glance over, once they reached this peculiar point in Saren's medical file. A bid deal for them, a fucked up fact he learned to live with for the Romulan himself. (edited)

14:05

But then, in a sense, Renakir knew about this anyways - for Saren met not only the physical end, but also it's metaphorical manifestation. His personal Charon, grey-eyed and familiar. Silence followed, then broken as he turned towards Renakir again, hand on his chest pocket again, that thoughtful expression back on his face... "Renakir... would you help me build a pyre?.." (edited)

Renakir's lips curled into a little smile at his dinam's words, chuckling ever so slightly at the remark. "I'm Reman and Romulan, double loyal," He gave Saren's hand one more squeeze, his beady little silver eyes looking at their joined hands. It was strange to think how far they had come, from their serendipitus meeting in the now infamous turbolift two, to Saren threatening to commit murder on Renakir's behalf in the mess hall, to Renakir defending Saren's innocence only a few months ago... And now, here they were. A dark green blush grew across Renakir's cheeks extending all the way up to the tips of his floppy ears at the declaration. 'Follow', and follow he would. He gave Saren a nod and proceeded to do just that. Through the other's sniffles and hesitance in his voice, Renakir knew his dinam's sincerity. These little unspoken feelings that they convey through a glimmer in their eyes, touch of their fingers, it was those things that made their bond ever so special. Renakir wished there was a deeper word than dinam, something that conveyed their souls walking hand in hand, maybe they had different goals, but they would never forget the other. Approaching the house, the flowers that bloomed at the base of the house. A beautiful sight, was what Renakir wanted to say, but when the other spoke the significance of the place quickly hit him. So this was it. The place where... Saren had brushed with death. Renakir's eyes widened and fluffy eyebrows pulled together in a look of concern and then a glimmer of anger as he clenched his teeth for a split second. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to try and steady his emotions. When he opened his eyes again he saw Saren, still standing there. The sun rays dancing across his cheek bones and creating a halo of light around his figure. "I'm here for you, always," Renakir's voice was warm, like the rays of light shining down on them. x_divider

15:05

Renakir caught himself staring and quickly looked away, eyes facing towards the ground at the buddng flowers that lay at his dinam's feet. Luckily, Saren spoke right before Renakir had gotten too lost in his own thoughts and without hesitation he replied, "Of course," He took a step away from Saren and brought both hands up to rub his eyes for a moment. The dim lighting was certainly welcomed, but it was those little stray rays that poured throuh the gaps between branches that really got him. "We have no shortage of wood here, I can find some stuff, yeah."

"We would need long sticks and a burnable pile," Saren nodded, a grateful smile curling the corner of his mouth upwards. "It would be lovely if you could get the long sticks. Meanwhile, I will find some trash to burn and the place for the pyre." And as soon as Renakir went searching for the wood, Saren, instead of colleting rocks or clearing out the spot... walked further, eyes downcast, searching for something. Only now he noticed that it was slowly getting dark. Okay. He remembered that one time, in the summer evening, just a day before the solstice - he was running around the house, the smell of freshly cut grass clinging to his memories like it had happened yesterday; he was running, probably searching for his mother, when something caught his eye and he tripped on one of the rocks in the circle - a circle that was always left there to be used as a fire ring, and it should've been somewhere around-- He felt the heel of his boot land on something hard and distinctly rock-like. Here. It was overgrown with some grass, but it surprisingly wasn't that long - perhaps some herbivore favored this place as a grazing field? Saren made quick work clearing the old fire ring out, until he was left with the dark spot surrounded by rocks, it's middle still having the charred, old bits of the previous campfires. And seeing them did make Saren freeze up for a second - because these, too, were remnants of his past. But when he reached out and brough his fingers to one of the coals... instead of the naively expected warmth, he was touching a cold, dead stone. No fire left in this one. divider

14:42

Soon in the middle of the ring was a sizeable heap of sticks and grass and leaves, all fuel to feed the future pyre, and as soon as Renakir returned to him with the sticks, Saren helped putting them around the heap, their ends pointing upwards and crossing over each other, as if reaching to the skies. And after that was finished, Saren took out the lighter that he brought with himself, and lit the burnable pile on fire: "Careful, this, ah, might be bright..." Slowly, slowly the fire was coming to live, eagerly swallowing up the dry foliage and starting it's crawl up the pyre. It was almost done. Almost.* *Because then the young Lareth reached into his chest pocket, finally revealing what he had brought with him on this journey - a small, black case. He was about to open it, but then visibly hesitated, instead looking at his dinam. "You know, my colony held a belief that... sometimes, death is needed for something new to be brought into this world," he blinked, the darkness of the approaching night and the light from the campfire casting shadows all around and on him. There were twin lights in his eyes, reflections of burning embers. "In a sense... this is a funeral pyre."

Renakir gave Saren a nod in acknowledgement, his gaze lingering for only a few seconds before he turned around and slid his sunglasses back on. He knew he would be better at searching for 'the good sticks' with his glasses on and it would give his eyes a rest. Even under the canopy of leaves and branches, the light that did pour in was starting to get to him. He walked into the woods, soon disappearing behind the large trees. Now in the woods, Renakir went to work picking up the longest sticks he could find. He kept his eyes on the ground, making sure to step carefully. Bending down to grab a bundle of sticks, his floppy ears picked up a sound, causing him to quickly turn around only to see nothing there. 'It's just the wind,' he told himself, not wanting to think too much into it. After a few more bundles were gathered, he now had his arms full and was ready to head back. He made sure to keep his eyes on the ground and in front of him and cautiously made his way back. He still couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone there in the woods, but it was probably just his mind, he told himself. Just in time, Renakir returned with the sticks and began to work with Saren to arrange them neatly. He copied the way his dinam arranged the sticks, being careful with each one he laid. At the mention of the pyre being bright, Renakir gave Saren a nod, his sunglasses bouncing at little at the gesture. Right before the fire was lit, Renakir stepped back and watched as the flames enveloped the wood below them. His first instinct was to close his eyes as the light, even with his sunglasses, was quite bright. Dark sunglasses were now completely opaque to try and dim the light for him. Despite the strain on his eyes, he caught sight of Saren taking something out of his pocket. A box? "Oh, for whom?" He asked, already sort of knowing the answer, but he was curious as to what his dinam was thinking.

His thumb pushed the lid of the box, slowly sliding it open - Saren's eyes focusing on the enigmatic item inside, his face a carefully neutral mask. And then, after a second long pause... he finally reached in, something draped in cloth now pinched between his thumb and index finger, but as he raised his arm, the grey covering slipped off... The broken tip of the knife glistened ominously in the dancing firelight, inch and a half of damascus-like steel in the palm of a man who it tried, and almost succeeded, to kill - if Saren were to compare the blade's edge to his scars, the green lines on his body and the uneven line of the knife's teeth, would match... His head tilted to the side, then, that indifferent expression shaken by a sudden, breathy laugh: "In a sense... for me. For them. For the Past." He then turned, facing the now fully lit pyre, watching as the embers flew up into the darkened skies; the fire bloomed in front of them, big and wild yet controlled, it's crackling echoing in Saren ears as he grasped the shard and brought it closer to his other palm... And then quickly, before Renakir could react to possibly try and stop him, Saren left a cut across his palm's life and faith lines, long yet shallow; he then let some of those green droplets slide down the side of his palm and land on the forever hungry blade, allowing it a taste of Lareth blood for one, last, time, before his pale fingers let go - dropping the broken shard into the fire, to be devouered, to be reborn. And somehow, watching it turn red and slowly start to melt... perhaps it was a mere psychological trick. But in that moment, in that instance... Saren finally felt himself at peace.

Renakir watched with anticipation as Saren opened the box. The heat from the flames felt hot against his skin, causing him to gently touch his face as if to shield it from the fire's heat. Even with his sunglasses on, his eyes strained a bit to focus on his dinam's movements. Although he couldn't see the details, he could see Saren turning towards the flame and grazing something against his palm. A dark green liquid poured out and that's when it hit him-- the knife. He didn't want to stare too long and faced the pyre, his hand still against his cheek. The hot air was thick and Renakir was trying his best not to cough. Turning his head towards the ground, he sucked in a deep breath before returning his gaze to the orange and yellows in front of him. A glimmer of red shined, followed by a crackle and that's all Renakir needed to hear to realise what Saren had just done. As the flames continued to burn and silence befell the two of them, he wondered what would become of this site eventually. When the former colonists grew old, when people eventually forgot. Would this place ever be filled with life again? Such a beautiful forest and atmosphere, it would be a waste if it were to be abandoned for good, he thought. After a time of remaining silent, Renakir turned to Saren, "I'm proud of you, dinam."

The steel resisted for a while, burning through that bright, glowing red, his blood sizzling and evaporating together with the fire, some of it melting into the steel, becoming one; eventually, though, it gave up. It gave up, and melted, sizzling and losing it's shape and becoming formless. It wouldn't be that forever, though - because as soon as the past finished it's metamorphosis, as soon as the broken tip of the older Lareth's knife lost it's likeness to a sharp tool of death, Saren would pick it up, bring it to Mol'Rihan, and let it become something new. Something else. Something that belonged to him, not the boogeyman of his childhood. Renakir's words reached him, and Saren couldn't supress a tiny smile. His uncut hand reached out towards the older man, and gave his shoulder a squeeze: "You know... maybe today, I am too." [D] Eventually, the fire died out. And amongst the ashes, still warm from the burning, the melted iron was lying in a formless puddle, cooling rapidly against the dropping temperature of the fire ring and the cool air of the night. The pit was disassembled, made sure that there were no embers left to suddenly burst back to life, before Saren picked the melted material and placed it back into the box. The grey cloth was used to staunch his bleeding palm, at least until he could get his hands on a dermal regenerator - plenty of those in his room back at the starbase, but he knew for sure that their transport shuttle had at least one, too. The rediscovered blanket, of course, was taken with him. Both of them made their way back to the shuttle - Saren's sense of direction eerily precise despite the darkness that surrounded them - and off they went to Mol'Rihan, to stay there for another couple of days, before returning back to their station. And Llaiir Prime's colony fell silent once more.