[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/qVsCSwh.png[/img]
[sub]The Golden Quarter[/sub][/center]

He saw his death.

Or maybe he had actually died.

He didn’t know.

But he felt it.

The ice gripping his veins, freezing him inside out as his heart crystallized and his mind fell into the blackness between death and sleep, until finally, his brain passed the point where resuscitation would mean anything. He felt it, and he remembered it, even as his blue eyes stared vacantly out towards the sifting crowds, the travellers that evaded them, the shops that closed, the guard that fidgeted at their presence. He felt his death still, and he fell to the ground, knees too weak to keep him steady any longer.

This sucked. Was this Limbo then? Or was this punishment? What was that again…the sins of the father will fall upon the shoulders of the son? He placed his hand against his chest. Breathed deeply. It rattled too hard still, the fleshy lungs that had once been turned to black ice, shrivelled and malformed. The pain wasn’t there, but the horror had been. Horror, with a kiss of death. The words of those around him bounced in his skull, and yet, he could not make sense of them. Couldn’t even move. The boy grasped the hands of others. The woman ran away. Another stayed. Meaningless, meaningless, meaningless.

He felt sick. He felt like he was going to die. He probably was going to die. How many more times was he going to die? Countless, if those sutras were correct. Endless, if those texts were correct. The executioner was a masked aberration in a world of fantastical creations, and they were intruders, to be purged immediately. So…running was just going to be uncomfortable, huh?

Slowly, Yuuki got up, patted the dust off his snow-laden pants, and walked to the side of the road, sitting with his back against the wall. He removed his backpack, placed it on one side, unzipped a side pocket, pulled out a one-liter thermos, and poured himself a cup of roasted green tea. Still fresh. Still steaming.

On a scale of one to ten, he probably didn’t hate that person that much. There wasn’t any prolonged pain, and they were probably just doing their job. And even if he did hate that person, it wasn’t going to help his case in the long or the short run. He didn't think he could run forever, and he didn't want them to chase him forever. So, what was there left to do?

Get comfortable and drink something mellow, cause Fate was turning the corner and none of mankind's inventions could stop the inevitable.

...maybe he can have a chat at least, before the icy death came again.