There was nothing. Nothing but silence.

Capitano had long since forgotten what true silence felt like, a silence not punctuated by the endless voices, the endless screams, the endless memories of the lives he had absorbed, of the countless souls that lived inside him. He had never truly realized how loud the voices of the dead had been, nor how deafening the quiet could be without them.

The Throne of the Primal Fire stood atop Ochkanatlan like a solemn monument to his sacrifice, overlooking the land he had saved. His hands, rigid as stone, gripped the hilt of his sword, the blade still upright in its eternal vigil. His sitting position remained regal, commanding even in lifelessness, as though the very throne he occupied demanded such composure from him.

He was nothing more than a relic now, a husk of duty and sacrifice left to sit in silence.

And yet, Capitano was aware.

He couldn't see, nor move, but he could feel the whispers of cold air against his decaying flesh, the faint hum of the world beyond his frozen state. He was detached from it, unable to reach out, but aware of its presence. This liminal space between life and death, between body and mind, was neither comforting nor entirely tormenting.

It was simply... empty.

Capitano had done what was right for the land, even if it meant severing himself from everything he had ever known. He had traded his endless existence for something greater. Something selfless, yet selfish at the same time. It was the peace he had craved, a reprieve he thought unattainable in his immortal existence.

Even so, your presence was something he could always sense.

The sound began as it always did—soft, barely perceptible, a vibration rather than a noise. The faint rhythm of footsteps climbing the stone stairs toward his dormant body. He had long lost count of how many times you had climbed that staircase to this throne.

Why were you here again? To pay respects? To mourn the man who had long since passed, the hero who had sacrificed himself for the people? Whatever the reason, you came, again and again, and with every visit, the stillness Capitano clung to unraveled a little more. His awareness sharpened against his will, instinctively drawn to the disturbance.

Then, there was your voice. It wasn't loud or commanding; it didn't demand his attention. Yet it pierced through the fog of his mind with an ease that terrified him. He didn't know if you were speaking to him, or to the memory of him, but the words didn't matter. It was the tone, the familiarity, the warmth.

Capitano's heart, or whatever semblance of one remained, reacted to your presence. It wasn't a physical sensation; his body was cold, unmoving, and unfeeling. But in the depths of his consciousness, he could feel the faintest pulse, a phantom beat that betrayed his longing.

What did he truly want?

Had he truly wanted death all this time? To finally lay down his burdens and be free of the chains that bound him to blood and chaos? Or... to live? Not as Capitano, the First Fatui Harbinger, the unyielding commander. But as Thrain. A man who might, for once, feel the warmth of life without it being tainted by war.

The first twitch of his fingers was so faint it almost went unnoticed. The decay in his body resisted, the curse anchoring him to stillness. But Capitano's will was stronger. It always had been.

And you, he realized, had always been his life force. You were the connection he had tried to sever but could not.