Everything in this world must end—an immutable truth as relentless as time itself. Rivers run dry, flames flicker into darkness, and even Life, that most precious of gifts, must one day surrender to eternity.
No matter how fiercely men cling to their years, death comes for us all. That is why purpose is essential—to live in such a way that when the final hour arrives, one may close their eyes without regret and embrace the rest they have earned.
Words make it sound simple. Reality is far crueler. The world turns against you. Your own body betrays you. Pain carves its mark deep, and only those who have suffered the same agony can truly understand. The poor will never grasp the burdens of the rich, nor the healthy the torment of the broken. But as it is said: nothing lasts forever.
And so, at last, old Rockwell Dragunov reached his end. Not the peaceful conclusion he had envisioned, but an ending all the same.
So here he is. Sitting on this large rock, in front of a cliff with an incredible view. And the sunset complemented it all.
This sunset was not fiery or violent at all. It was a consummation. The sun hung just above the serrated silhouette of Mount Kruglitsa. The light it cast felt warm and welcoming. It poured across the endless forest below, turning the sea of fir and spruce into a tapestry of burnished bronze and velvety shadow.
Sunset means a lot of things. And one of them is End. End of a cycle, or in this situation an era.
His era.
The long, dramatic shadows stretched, merged, and began to claim the world, starting in the deep folds of the earth and rising steadily toward him. It was the most natural, most inevitable process in the world.
Damn it's beautiful. It was absolutely perfect! The clouds, which had been just a few wisps earlier, were now delicate brushstrokes of peach and lavender against a sky that was slowly changing from cerulean to a deep, rich indigo. The first star, a perfect, icy pinprick, appeared directly above the highest peak.
He first saw this place many years ago. He was certain that it was the most beautiful place on earth. He had been in a lot of places, but nothing compared to the beauty of a homeland. In his honest opinion.
It is unfortunate that his second visit coincided with his death.
This was definitely not Adamah anymore. He knew that.
"You're right," the male voice said, sounding apathetic. His pronunciation was pure and correct, without any accent or mistakes. Rockwell instantly thought that this was his fellow countryman, but that thought immediately disappeared when he looked down.
A "living" shadow sat next to him. Its body was dark, without a shred of light, and its presence was zero, as was its sense.
Rockwell did not feel its presence or hear it until it spoke. Despite its darkness, the shadow had contours, broad shoulders, and long arms. Its "head" was turned toward the landscape ahead. The only thing that wasn't the color of shadow was the ordinary white cigarette it held where its mouth should have been. One hand simply reached up to the cigarette, took it out of his mouth, and exhaled smoke.
Rockwell was not afraid of his guest. Although, Dragunov was sure that he himself was the guest here. He was calm. He was happy and a little disappointed, but there was no room for fear in his heart now.
The Shadow is the owner of this place or its resident. Company is always welcome. Rockwell smiled broadly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "So, how did I do?"
The cigarette changed its angle, which meant that the Shadow looked at him, then rose up and down, which Rockwell took as a nod. "You did well." The shadow turned back to the landscape and took a long drag on the cigarette.
Dragunov nodded in the same way, to himself. "Do I earn a pass at the Gates?"
The Shadow replied without hesitation. "You did."
Rockwell smiled, a small, funny smile breaking out on his lips, and his gaze fixed firmly on the majestic forest below him. "I'm honored," he declared, taking a deliberate breath. His smile, though slightly tightened, remained resolute. He wanted to know one thing. "I hope you'll forgive this old fool, my friend. Just wanted to ask, can you tell me who you are?
The shadow exhaled thick smoke. It was surprising how such a small cigarette could be so powerful, but that was probably for another reason. After the smoke cleared, the shadow spoke. "I am not death. Neither angel nor enemy. Many names. I'm just a companion and listener. I'm your friend. "
Rockwell leaned forward, his fingers crossed, and his smile, which had been wide with visible teeth, became modest. "And I thank you for that."
"You are disappointed in yourself for not meeting the end the way you wanted."
"No matter how hard I tried, my friend. But that's life."
"The one you went through as the person you wanted to be."
"And yet there was much beyond my control. Even with the power I was gifted with. The only person whose body worked so strangely that gigantism was considered an improvement rather than a disease. The path was difficult, especially iny youth, but we come into this world to be tested. To make something of ourselves."
"And how did you want to meet your end?"
"By protecting my family," Rockwell laughed, straightening his back, "Bwahaha, I know, it's childish and naive. I really hoped I could have been better parent."
"But you still became a father figure to so many people."
"And that was the greatest achievement. "
The Shadow nodded, the end of the cigarette still burning, even when he took a drag, the cigarette didn't go out, "Indeed it was. But you wanted more."
"I wanted to have more strength, a little more time, more space for each of them. I wanted to be there for them whenever they needed me, to be Super Dad, or Super Grandpa, BWAHAHA!" Rockwell laughed loudly, slapping his knee like those cowboys in the movies. " A Superman, but instead of him, a three-meter-tall old man in a white coat with superpowers rushing to the rescue, bwhahah. ",
"That would be interesting to see. But I think Morphism would be a cool ability too," said the shadow, and Rockwell turned his head toward him in surprise. An interesting change.
"Bwhahaha, what an idea, my friend. I think you're as big a fan of science fiction as I am! A kindred spirit." Dragunov cheered up and was about to slap the shadow on the back as a friendly gesture, but changed his mind, so he just pointed his index finger at the shadow with a smile.
"Friends after all," the shadow said, exhaling smoke.
"Yeap! And oh, A Super Grandpa needs a SuperPlace, don't you think?"
"I do think. One from where he can go wherever he wants and build this place in his own image."
"Bwhahaha, that would be interesting. But if it were a book, it would only be interesting for a few chapters, bwhahaha!"
"Such a work would definitely find its fans."
As they spoke, the sunset bled away, into moonlight. The world was re-drawn in silver and shadow.
The moon, full and watchful, rose over the blackened peaks. The vast forest below became a sea of whispered movement, the wind shaking the distant treetops into a shimmering, mercury-like dance. Rockwell watched it, a calm smile on his face, enjoying the wonderful conversation. He felt no cold, even as the last of the day's warmth left the rock.
Time was running out. He knew it again.
"I really wish it wasn't a fantasy."
But this, the Shadow had only dragged on once again. And a little longer, Rockwell noticed. Exhalation was even slower.
"Thank you for your presence, my friend," he whispered, the words soft against the immense, quiet night. "You've embellished this moment."
"Farewell, Rockwell "Colossus" Dragunov, son of Vitaliy Dragunov and Rosemary Pierce, may you use new time as you wished. "