Brumathick

Have I been here months, or years, or merely days?

It becomes so hard to tell when the only measure of time is the steady pulsing of the machines that pump nutrients through my body. I am in darkness – absolute, utter black. Maybe they burnt out my visual nerves, or maybe I am in a room with no windows, or in a box. Regardless, I see nothing; hear nothing but the pulsing fluids; have nothing by which to judge my position, my surroundings. I only know that I am away from my Brumathick and the war, and that I am needed; if the war has not already been lost.

I do not brag or exaggerate. Bruma and I are that important.

I feel that familiar crawling along the back of my neck sometimes, that feeling of dimensions sliding by, of reality shells brushing against my spine. I make myself believe that Brumathick has found me, that my partner has come for me, that he has been scouring the allverse and has finally come upon whatever dark corner they have thrust me into. Then the feeling is gone and I feel dampness trace its way down my face, twin paths of lost hope. I used to be stronger than that.

I cannot speak, there is something in my mouth, in my throat; I can make noises though. Hearing myself makes me feel more alive. The need for such a crutch shames me.

How much time has been lost?

I know this much: I have never been apart from Bruma for so long. I feel that in my aching chest, I feel it with every beat. I feel it and I use that feeling, I push outwards with each beat, believing in my old strength, being the beacon he needs. I am alive because they need him distracted, searching for me, kept away from the war. So he must know I am alive, he must feel me, he must be coming for me.

I must believe that.

I do believe that, why would I be alive otherwise?

Why would I feel that creeping tingle, that caressing touch of energy blown by something surfing a dimensional breach, if it wasn’t Bruma searching for me, coming close? I will be strong for him, for my Brumathick, and he will find me and free me and we will be vengeful.

I do not even remember how we were parted. It does not matter, all will be clear when we are together; everything makes sense when we are together.

The prickling passes. I cannot countenance the possibility that it might just be in my imagination; I thrust such thoughts to the back of my mind because Bruma needs me to be strong. I need my belief to stay firm, to power the beacon of my thoughts.

The feeling returns, a pressure in my thoughts, an itch within my scalp. He noticed, he is nearby!

My heart soars and I plough all that I am into the beacon. I am here! I cry silently into the void between universes. Find me!

There is more than just dimensional wash now, I can feel presence, I can feel Brumathick. I can hear him again, for the first time in forever. His roar is triumphant, exultant, terrible and beautiful, and just for me. Whatever contains me, whatever blinds me, I can feel him around me; I know I am in his hold, he surrounds me and we are moving again, punching through dimensions. He is full of love and ferocity. I hear one word again and again, his only word, such an incredible achievement among his kind.

Captain.

It holds everything I am feeling.

Brumathick, I reply, again and again.

Symbiosis re-establishes itself with our proximity. My mind floods with knowledge, with sensory input, timescales and dimensional blueprints, positions, battles, battle fleets, enemies and allies. It has been longer than I thought. But it has not been too long.

We are together, and there will be a time for sentimentality, but time is what they stole. We have work to do.

We have vengeance to deal, we have a war to win. We have each other, again.



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Recommended Reading: The End of Love by Valerie Geary on Litro.co.uk


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