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Ushering the Empowered down the river is one of the harder struggles that Brachium faces in his life. They’re always full of so much more fight, so much drive to claw to life for as long as they can, and watching their hope fade as the river saps them of the magic in their soul hurts more than anything else.
It’s a bone deep ache, a nameless feeling that he can’t decipher, and it’s in the times that it settles deep in his chest that he is weakest.
Times like this.
Wolves are the ones that fight hardest. There’s no question about it. Even their Shifter counterparts cannot compare to the pure ferocity in which they fight, which is what makes it so difficult to guide them into the peace of the water, the softness of its current. Sometimes, they show up as wolves, snarling and biting, claws little use for traction in the silt, and it is those that Brachium feels the worst about.
So confused, so lost and afraid, and when their magic slips from their fingers for the last time and they are returned to their human form, the panic is so raw that they often end up being swept away with the current, too agitated to even attempt to grab ahold of sand and silt again.
Except…
This Wolf is calm. Composed. And Brachium knows, deep down, that it can only mean one thing. Atop the river’s surface, he kneels at the Wolf’s side, head bowed in respect, as is customary for anyone he comes across who had power in life. Status. He folds his hands over his chest, holding them close to mask the way he trembles.
“Your fight will be in vain, Alpha,” he tells the Wolf, “and soon, your magic will be sapped from you completely. You are not in a place of life, not anymore.”
The Wolf looks up at him, eyes filled with unspoken regrets, and the ache settles in his chest again, heavy and all consuming.
“I am truly sorry. But the best thing for you to do now is let the water soothe your aches, and let the current carry you. It has likely already been too long for you to be returned to life once more; lingering here will only do you more harm than good.”
The water laps at the Wolf’s fur, chips away at their magic, and Brachium finds himself surprised when they shift back of their own accord, fingers settling into the silt where claws had once been.
“I’m not ready to go yet,” the Shifter murmurs, “There’s people who need me.”
“You may not be ready,” Brachium says softly, “But it is your time. Death comes for everyone, and it happens in the moment that it should. There is nothing that any of us can do to prevent that.”
“But I have a son! And a stupid, reckless teen with no parents who needs someone to guide them, when nobody else will!” The Shifter’s voice cracks, and Brachium watches as he begins to cry, tears that are washed away by the water, as all things are. “My pack still need me, there are people who need my support-”
“Perhaps, this is what is best for them too.” Brachium says, soft, soothing, “You have supported them this far, and now it is their turn to support themselves, and each other. Have faith in them. You have brought them this far, and now it is their turn to prove that they have learnt from you.”
The Shifter lets his head sink below the water for a few moments, and the ache that has settled in Brachium’s chest dredges up a yearning for something he has never had. He closes his eyes until he hears the splash of the Shifter resurfacing, carefully setting the feeling to the side.
“Sometimes I feel… felt, like I could never do enough to prepare him for his role.” The Shifter admits. His voice is laced with regret, his whole being unravelling at the edges as he pours his soul out to a being created to guide him through his death. Brachium stays knelt at his side, a willing listener to another lost soul’s story, another parent’s regret. “But he’s in his mid-twenties for Christ's sake. He’s been old enough to take care of himself for years and yet… I guess it’s just part of being a Dad, worrying for your kids. Bad enough that I was Pack Alpha too, looking after all these kids that know nothing about the world, trying to protect everyone you love… It just never feels like enough.”
“I am certain that you did more than enough. You would not be here, with me, in the river, if you had not. Death may take some people too soon, but you had the time you needed, I can assure you of that.”
“What if I didn’t, though? What if this freak accident wasn’t meant to kill me, and yet I'm here anyway, grasping onto the last dregs of life I have with all of my strength?”
“Then your loved ones will continue on as they should anyway. Life will always find a way to keep moving, just as the river continues to flow, everlasting. You are here now, and there is no changing that. I am truly sorry that there is no other way, but it is for the best, I assure you.”
“I didn’t get to tell him how proud of him I am,” the Shifter says, almost absentmindedly, and Brachium can feel the moment the last of his magic is sapped from him, and the water starts to work on his memories. In the comfort of death, the strong front that he has held his whole life is worn away, leaving behind nothing but an exhausted soul, held together by nothing but regret.
“I am afraid that it is too late for you now,” Brachium tells him, “Your fight is almost over. It is time for you to let go, Alpha.”
“I just want to see my son again,” the Shifter whispers, looking up at Brachium.
“I know. And you will, eventually. But for now, all that is left is for you to pass through the veil. Things will take care of themselves, I can promise you that. You can rest easy now, for that is all that is needed of you. Let the current take you; it will soothe the ache soon enough.”
“My name is Gabriel, and I was Alpha of the Shaw Pack.” the Shifter tells him, letting the silt slip from his fingers, “please, look over my pack for me, and protect them here as you did for me.”
“I will.” Brachium tells him. Then, like all the souls before him, Gabe is swept up by the current, and carried beyond the Veil, leaving behind nothing but his memories. He goes quietly, willingly, but that does nothing to ease the ache in Brachium’s chest. Seeing someone so powerful pass so quietly never feels quite right. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it any longer than that though. Not when another soul comes splashing into his domain, silt slipping through their fingers in their panicked attempt to stay afloat.
He is a Deathwalker, and how he feels about the souls he shepherds does not matter.