1881-11-26 - Tak

Life, Trauma/ Loss

The first rays of dawn had barely touched the horizon when I awoke, restless and troubled by the task that lay before us. After a night of fitful sleep, haunted by visions of Tak's pained visage, I rose with a single purpose – to summon the family and devise a plan to save our brother.

The air was crisp as I made my way to Agneya's abode, the first stop in rallying our kin. The door opened before I could even knock, revealing Agneya, her amber eyes reflecting the concern that had gripped us all.

"Eirikr, I've been expecting you," she said, her voice laced with anxiety. "How is Tak?"

I stepped inside, welcomed by the warmth of her hearth. "No better," I replied, my voice heavy. "We need to gather everyone. It's time we took collective action."

Agneya nodded, her determination mirroring my own. "I'll send word to the others. We'll meet at your place within the hour."

The assembly was quick to respond. One by one, our brethren arrived at my dwelling, a gathering of gods united by a common cause. Ashur, Cipactli, Farhad – each brought their unique strengths and perspectives to the table. We convened in the great hall, the air thick with tension and worry. "Tak is in dire straits," I began, addressing the group. "We must take shifts, watching over him, ensuring he does not succumb to his despair."

Cipactli, ever the nurturer, spoke first. "I'll take the first watch. I can use my powers to soothe his mind, ease his pain." Ashur, his blue-grey eyes intense, added, "And I'll follow. My strength can bolster his, keep him grounded."

One by one, we devised a schedule, a constant vigil over Tak. It was more than a duty; it was an act of love, a testament to the bonds that held us together.

As the day progressed, we each spent time with Tak, offering our support, our powers, our presence. I took the late afternoon shift, entering his dimly lit chamber with a sense of solemnity.

Tak was seated by the window, his gaze lost in the distance. I approached quietly, pulling up a chair beside him. "Brother," I said softly, "we're here for you. You're not alone in this." He turned to me, his eyes a well of unspoken agony. "Eirikr, I... I can't bear it. The pain, the guilt... it's consuming me."

I reached out, clasping his hand in mine. "I know, Tak. I know. But you must hold on. We're fighting for you, all of us. You're stronger than you realize."

We sat in silence for a while, the unspoken words hanging heavily between us. Then, slowly, Tak began to speak, his voice a mere whisper. He talked of Henry, of their time together, of the dreams they had shared. It was a bittersweet soliloquy, a god reminiscing about a mortal love.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, I felt a shift in Tak. A slight easing of the tension, a fleeting moment of peace. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

I left his side as Cipactli entered, her presence a soothing balm. My heart was heavy, yet there was a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, we could pull Tak back from the edge. The night descended, and with it came a quiet resolve. We would stand guard, keep the vigil, for as long as it took. We were more than gods; we were family, bound by ties that transcended the heavens themselves.