Stumbling through the woods with bones that felt entirely different but deep down they were all the same, Armani braced against the trunk of a tree and wheezed for breath.

Their face, once smoothed and young, now bore wrinkles and loose skin. They closed their eyes when they saw their swollen hands, one clutching tight to a black flower with orange creeping from the inner cup. Everything ached and pulsed.

Taking another deep breath, Armani stepped through the borders of Pludon City, intent on finding Paccia.

Something in their chest ached at the thought of the boy. How long had it been? Armani knew by the sun and moon it had only been maybe 2 weeks, but looking down at their wrinkly skin made them think twice.

When the house came into view, so did Paccia. Armani swallowed down the cry of joy they almost gave at the sight. He was tending to his garden, coughing and shaking as he pulled weeds from the flower bed.

“Paccia,” Armani’s voice croaked. They winced at how different it sounded and something in their stomach clenched at how it would never sound the same.

The boy looked up from his gardening and tilted his head with confusion. “Hello? How can I help you?”

“Paccia, it’s me,” Armani opened their arms and smiled.

Paccia leaned back, face pinching with confusion and disgust. Armani slowly lowered their arms. “Paccia…”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. You must have the wrong person.” The boy stood shakily and pulled his crutches under his arms.

“Paccia!” Armani bit their lip, unsure of how to remedy the situation. Then, with heat rising to their cheeks, Armani said, “When we were 10, I fell into the river and I still have a C-shaped scar.”

Paccia stilled, his crutches tapping to a stop on the dry ground. He turned slowly and looked over Armani with an investigative eye.

With narrowed eyes, Paccia slowly spoke. “Mani? What-? What is this?”

Armani couldn’t help it any more, letting tears fall down their face without remorse. They stepped forward but stopped when Paccia flinched. “Yeah… It’s me, Paccia. Remember when I said I was going to visit my grandfather in Stredale?”

Paccia nodded slowly, brows furrowed with confusion. Armani could understand that, given how their appearance was drastically different. “Well, I didn’t. I went… I went to…”

They looked down at the flower in their hand and huffed. “I went to The City of Death.”

Paccia’s haw dropped and he almost dropped his crutches, but he managed to hop forward and catch them, his amputated leg swinging in an attempt to regain his balance.

“Mani! This can’t- you- Why?!”

“To save you!” Armani shouted, voice breaking. They let Paccia shift forward and place a hand on their cheek. They felt as he wiped away the tears from their saggy skin.

“What happened..?”

Armani gestured for them to go inside and they did. Once settled on the torn up rug, Armani recounted what happened with an unsettled pinch in their features. “I heard a rumor…”

—————————

A rumor of a flower that could cure any illness? Yeah right!

Armani wanted to roll their eyes at how stupid it was, but… they didn’t have the options to disregard the opportunity. Paccia was fading with every sunset and, regardless of his positive whispers, Armani knew he didn’t have much longer left.

So, against the nervousness swirling in their gut, the doubt echoing in their head, Armani stepped into the City of The Dead. An infamous place that stories of tragedy and horror hailed from. But according to the witch, the only person who has any Achlys Flowers lived in the City of The Dead.

Dodging piss puddles and passed out bodies, Armani made their way through the forevodingly quiet city. The people of the city stared at them as they passed. Ashy faces narrowing discerningly at the stranger.

They almost ran into a child as he was playing with… with… a dead rat. He looked up at Armani with dark rings around his greyed-out eyes.

Armani backed away with mumbled apologies, clutching their bag closer as they jogged down the cobbled streets. They had all of their life savings in this bag. Granted, it wasn’t that much, but it was the best Armani could put together. They hoped it would be enough; they passed out from exhaustion far too much for this not to work.

Eventually they made it. A half-fallen building standing adjacent to ‘_Desdemona’s Home for The Damned_’. They didn’t think they would ever forget the muffled screams they heard as they pushed into the collapsing shop.

The keeper behind the counter was cooing at a golden birdcage where a pile of bones lay scattered, flies landing and taking off at every movement from the woman.

“Um… Excuse me?” Armani spoke up, voice shaking. The woman quieted, her head turning to slowly meet Armani’s gaze.

Immediately, Armani couldn’t breathe. Their arms raised goosebumps and feet stuck as if sap had risen from the floor.

The woman, gradually, lifted her lips into a smile, her teeth gapped and rotted. “Hello, dear… You’re quite young. And healthy. What have you to be so desperate as to come to Old Lady Solikha?”

Armani swallowed thickly, closing their eyes for a moment before stepping up to the counter. “I’m here for the Ankles Flower.”

Solikha raised a brow at that. “You mean the _Achlys Flower_?” She grinned and stood up. “That is a powerful ingredient, Young One. Whatever do you have to pay for such a thing?”

Armani, unwaveringly, pulled their satchel from their waist and handed a bag filled with gold.

The old woman cackled at the sight of the precious metal. “Oh, no! This won’t do! Old Lady Solikha has no need for such worldly objects.”

Beneath Solikha’s cloak raised a dark, black mist in place of an arm. Despite the fear pulsing through Armani’s bones, they could not move. Not as Solikha’s black mist pressed against their forehead. Not as they shivered with cold piercing their bones. Not as agonizing pain filled their chest and screams ripped from their throat, a golden string of light pulled from their mouth and disappeared into the woman’s black mist.

The pain stopped as Solikha pulled her hand back with a laugh and happily bobbing her head. Armani felt all-too-weak to hold themself up, legs shaking as they crumpled to the ground.

They watched as Solikha opened the bird cage and the black mist hand fell over the bones. That golden light regurgitated from the mist, winding the remains into the formation of the bird it most likely once was.

The bird squawked and screamed, flapping its half-formed wings. It screamed some more, freaking out before it was finally somewhat more bird-like.

Solikha cooed and rubbed the side of the bird’s head with the black mist. Then, pulling from the ash remnants on the floor of the cage, a flower grew. It bloomed in a fit of embers and mist, the bird squawking and moving to the edge of the cage.

Then Solikha pressed the flower into Armani’s greyed hair. “Here you go, dear. I hope you spend the time you have left wisely.”

—————————

“And then I came back,” Armani finished, their voice hoarse.

Paccia, who had his head in his hands, made a distressed noise. He sat up, wiping at his puffy eyes. “Mani! Why would you-! Why- Why would you do this to save me? I’m beyond saving!”

“Obviously not,” Armani parried, holding up the flower. “Maybe it was useless. Maybe you’ll still die. But I can’t just _sit here_ and watch you wither, Pac! I needed to do _something_.”

Paccia bit his tongue and looked away. Would he really not even take the flower? After everything Armani had done? They just wanted more time with him! They needed more time…

A weak hand placed itself over Armani’s wrinkly one. He squeezed their wrist and gently took the flower.

“When I get better, we’re hunting that witch bitch _down_.”

The two looked at each other. The same age, yet both close to death for entirely different reasons. They pulled eachother into a hug, both determined to battle with Death and any of his cohorts.