Gently, Milo pressed his forehead against Ollieās, his clawed hands cradling the young witchās face as he poured his heart out in hopes of reaching the man who had become so much more than just a friend to him.
"You saved my family," Milo whispered. "You saved my mother when everyone else had given up on the carvings in our village as lost. You dug through the ashes and the embers to bring back the missing pieces of her heart."
"You gave us a home when we had nothing," he continued. "You became my brother when I needed one most. So please, Ollie. Please donāt leave me. Donāt leave us. We still need you. I still need you."
The carving pulsed with emotion in Ollieās hands, hope and pride and worry and fear and determination all swirling together, all speaking of how much Milo cared, how much Milo valued him, how much it would hurt to lose him.
And slowly, gradually, like dawn breaking after the longest night, the darkness began to recede from Ollieās eyes.
It didnāt happen all at once. The shadows clung stubbornly, reluctant to release their hold on someone who had come so close to crossing the threshold. But the emotions in the carving pushed back against them, warm and alive and insistent, reminding Ollie that he was loved, that he was needed, that he was wanted.
The void offered peace, yes. But the carving offered something more. It offered connection, belonging, and purpose. It offered the knowledge that there were people in the world who would grieve if he was gone, who would be diminished by his absence.
It offered proof that he mattered. To Milo. To Ashlynn. To countless others who, in the grip of the voidās darkness, he hadnāt thought would miss him when he was gone.
Ollieās fingers tightened around the carving, and he took a deeper breath. Not the shallow, rattling gasps of before, but a slow, steady breath that carried the warmth of the fire into his chest and held it there for a moment before he allowed himself to exhale. His eyes blinked once, twice, and a third time before the shadows began to thin, revealing glimpses of the pale irises beneath.
"Milo?" Ollieās voice was confused, uncertain, like someone waking from a terrible dream. "What... what happened? Why are you crying?"
The shadows were still there, still visible at the edges of his gaze, but they were receding now, retreating back toward whatever dark place they had come from. Ollieās eyes focused on Miloās face, really seeing him for the first time since being pulled from the water, and confusion gave way to concern.
"Why does everyone look so worried?" Ollie asked, his voice growing slightly stronger. His body felt weak, weaker than heād ever felt before, and he was cold and wet beneath the cloak that someone had thrown over him, but that alone couldnāt explain why everyone around him was looking at him with puffy eyes and tearful gazes. "Did something go wrong? Is Lady Cerys...?"
He tried to sit up, to look across the fire where Lady Cerys lay wrapped in cloaks, but Miloās arms tightened around him, holding him in place, and Ollie was far too weak to resist him.
"Donāt," Milo said, his voice thick with tears. "Donāt try to move. Donāt try to do anything. Just... just stay here. Stay with me. Please."
Ollieās brow furrowed in confusion, and his free hand came up to touch Miloās face, his fingers brushing against the wet fur and the tears that wouldnāt stop falling.
"Milo, whatās wrong?" Ollie asked as he fought to keep his teeth from chattering in the cold. "Please, tell me, if something happened to Lady Cerys, I have to..."
"You almost died," Milo interrupted, his voice cracking on the words. "You almost let go, Ollie. You were staring into the void, and you were going to..." he started to say, only for a lump to form in his throat that stopped him from repeating the word ādie.ā
"You were going to leave us," Milo said instead, gazing directly into Ollieās pale eyes to see if he understood. "We were, we were all about to lose you."
Understanding dawned slowly in Ollieās clearing eyes. He looked down at the carving in his hand, at the rough wooden knight that Milo had pressed into his palm, and something in his expression shifted. The confusion gave way to recognition, and then to something that might have been shame or regret or grief.
"Iām sorry," Ollie whispered as the memory of that terrible emptiness came back to him, and he realized how close heād been to succumbing to the sweet, siren call of the void. "Milo, Iām so sorry. I didnāt... I wasnāt thinking clearly. Everything just felt so heavy, and I was so tired, and..."
He couldnāt finish the sentence. His voice broke, and suddenly he was crying too, tears streaming down his pale cheeks as the weight of what he had almost done crashed down on him.
"Iām sorry," he said again, clutching the carving to his chest with one hand while the other one wrapped tightly around Miloās body. "Iām so sorry."
Milo pulled him close, holding him as tightly as he dared without hurting him, and felt Ollieās whole body shake with exhausted sobs. Around them, the others maintained a respectful distance.
"Donāt ever do that to me again," Milo said fiercely into Ollieās ear. "Donāt ever frighten me like that again. Do you understand? You donāt get to decide that youāre done, that your duty is finished, that you can just slip away. Not without talking to me first. Not without giving me a chance to fight for you."
"I wonāt," Ollie promised, his voice muffled against Miloās shoulder. "I wonāt. I promise. Iām sorry. Iām so sorry."
They stayed like that for a long time, two brothers holding onto each other while the fire crackled nearby and the dead forest stood silent witness to the price of miracles. And gradually, as the warmth of the flames and the warmth of his brotherās embrace seeped into his bones, the last of the shadows faded from Ollieās eyes, leaving behind only exhaustion and lingering tears.
He was alive. He was here. He was staying.
And that, Milo thought as he held his brother close, was all that mattered...