Archive of Our Own ^beta

Waves crashed along the ancient shoreline, now quiet with nothing more than the sound of gulls and the water itself. Once, some short time ago, these beaches were filled with the clamor of voices and tellings of great stories. That time was over. Soon, this kingdom would become ruins just like the buildings of the humans had become, a memory lost in time. Something in the waves had washed ashore not long ago, perhaps a few hours. Proximus hadn’t noticed he had made landfall until he was hurling up water, and in that moment he could feel every bone, ligament, and muscle in his body. Seawater stung open cuts, making it all the more impossible to move. 

Was he alive?

Was he dead?

Proximus laid against the sand, a hand weakly raising to brush the warm sand beside him. He could feel the grains of sand along his palm, surely not something he’d be able to feel in death. Proximus growled with pain, another thing he couldn’t feel in death. He was very much alive and being alive hurt more than anything. Somehow he found the strength to drag himself far enough from the waves that they no longer crashed against him. He took the feeling of sun and sand in his wounds over burning salt water, it was not much better, but it was warmth. He heard nothing but the waves and birds, fortunately not the same birds that had clawed him into the sea. It was here that he decided to lay limp in the sand, not knowing what to do next or where to go. 

For all he knew he was completely alone. That everyone was dead. That Sylva and Lightning were dead.

He wasn’t entirely sure why they came to mind at that moment. Well, he was , but even in the brink of death he couldn’t think about why. He hadn’t seen what happened to Sylva in the bunker, he was too busy pushing every other ape– including him – to their death to save his own hide. Had he killed Sylva? And Lightning…

That was a shame for another time. Now he was wondering if that was the right decision. He wished he was dead too. 

But surely some divine power had brought him to this shore? 

There was no way he could have survived yet he did. 

Proxmus closed his eyes, clenching a fistful of sand. His heart was still beating, and that had to mean something. His kingdom was gone yet he still lived. 

Somewhere a few miles from the coast… 

Near the shore, was another drain that led into the bunker. A few apes had made it out of the flood, those that survived were quick to retreat back  into the ruins and forests in search of Noa and the Eagle Clan. All except for one. 

Sylva had nearly drowned in that place, the only saving grace having being an air pocket at the top of the water. He had stayed there until the water levels began to even out, where he weakly waded his way out from the narrow tunnel. The apes scurried away at the sight of him emerging from that dark place, now he sat alone in a tree nearby, picking out bits of debris from his fur. 

Nothing could kill him. He wished that wasn’t true. For once he wanted to know what death felt like.

In his past he had been stabbed, mauled, left for dead, now nearly drowned yet here he was breathing air and still lucky enough to have rust to pick from his fur.

Sylva didn’t bother to question it. He survived because of pure luck. Nothing and nobody saved him but himself. If he was alive, then maybe…?

No.

Surely not.

His earthy gaze drifted from his arm to the beach not far from where he was. From the top of the tree he could see the remains of their recently destroyed kingdom. His eyes remained steady, tired yet focused. He had three decisions now.

Find Noa, kill Noa, or hang onto the slight chance that Proximus was alive. He wasn’t entirely sure why he hoped Proximus was alive, even after he had pushed him aside to save himself. As a matter of fact, he could think of so many reasons why it was wrong to hope for his survival. Yet through it all a part of him remained hopelessly devoted.

He decided to make a foolish decision. One even more foolish than every decision he had ever made both on his own and in the name of Proximus. He shrugged off the last of the debris from his fur and clutched the bark and climbed down from the tree. If he was alive, he had to make something of it.

Lightning had died right in front of them, and he still held the weight of his death. Through that weight he trudged on regardless.

The return to the beach was more difficult than he had anticipated. His body ached from wading in water for so long, his knuckles burned any time they dared meet the earth, and his head felt light. He had to keep pushing forward. Sylva could have been chasing a ghost for all he knew. He walked along the beach until his legs were numb and until the sun finally began to meet the horizon. He saw some of their horses on the way, although the creatures were not keen on returning. They were free now. Sylva hoped to feel that same freedom one day.

It wasn’t until he had walked some length away from the tarnished kingdom that he saw a dark figure on the beach.

The dull, orange light from the sunset cascaded the land, making the dark figure stand out against the pale sand. There was hesitance in his next step, he could only smell blood and seawater. It was impossible to tell who that was from here. Sylva chuffed out a few times before he made a slow approach to the limp figure in the sand.

He let out a chatter of surprise upon recognizing who it was. Proximus. He… was he alive ?

Sylva’s eyes widened, a tentative grumble in his breath when he stepped closer. A hand extended, his knuckles meeting cold fur. His shoulders slouched when Proximus did not respond. At least not at first. He nudged him again, with more force this time. That was when he heard the once-king inhale sharply, his eyes flying open. 

In shock the gorilla stepped back. Maybe he had just found a ghost. For a few heartbeats it seemed like it. Sylva fell to his knuckles once more and reached to help Proximus roll onto his back. He kneeled, that same hand cradling the back of his head. He was wounded badly . How long had he been here? And how was he alive? 

There was a moment of realization. Proximus was weaker than he had ever been before, Sylva could still stand, still had the strength to walk. An intrusive thought crossed his mind; that would be so easy to put him down where he laid, just…

Kill him.

Why did every thought go back to death? He frowned.

He wished Lightning was here. Lightning would have known what to say, what to do. He would have been able to say something witty to lift their spirits, would have taken his mind off of death. Now it was only them and Lightning was gone forever. What kind of cruel game was life playing with him? It let them live only for it to rip away another half of them? It was a game he no longer wished to play.

Even in this moment Sylva struggled to express his emotions, his features twisted into a pathetic frown, his brows furrowed and eyes holding back the most unexpected rush of tears. He managed to banish them into being no more than a lump in his throat. Proximus began to weakly reach for Sylva, clutching a handful of his fur.

“ Y… You are… alive… ” the fallen king spoke with a haggard voice, sore from seawater and injury. 

Sylva’s head ducked down, his chin touching his king’s hand. “And you,” he whispered. “Lightning died, then I thought I saw you die.”

Sylva had assumed that Proximus had died in the water, now he was grateful he hadn’t. Sylva had seldom felt grateful for anything, especially after their world had been ripped right from them because of Noa and his pathetic friends. Now wasn’t the time for anger. He wasn’t going to lose Proximus just as he had lost Lightning, no matter the circumstances.

“Do you have the strength to stand?” Sylva asked.

He felt a tug on his fur as Proximus slowly but surely heaved himself forward to sit up. “Hurts. Hurts a lot,” he just barely managed to say, his eyes squeezing shut. There wasn’t any way he was walking in this condition. His eyes remained closed as he slumped weakly against Sylva’s chest, but Sylva could still hear his quiet breath.

Among the orange horizon Sylva looked to the distance where their Temple was. No longer was it illuminated by torchlight, but now stood as a dark monument. The water too had engulfed most of it. His eyes then turned to the abandoned settlement that remained standing just a few feet away from them. It too was dull and empty, although it could have been their saving grace. With that in mind, Sylva carefully brought the smaller ape into his arms. Ignoring the ache in his own body, he had managed to carry them both up over the dune and to the nearest camp. 

Beneath the red tarp, there was an assortment of things; abandoned nests, woven baskets, some blankets— most of what had been here had been taken by any survivors. Seeing this place so empty was absurd to him, though in that moment he was glad it was. He felt that if he were to encounter any other ape right now, he would have torn them into nothing . Perhaps he couldn’t completely stifle his anger. He couldn’t quite process anything going on through his head, the only clear thing was to help Proximus. 

He was quiet now, most likely asleep again. Sylva set him down in the abandoned nest and began to scavenge through the baskets. There was little food aside from nuts and dried berries, some herbs as well. With the limited knowledge he had of tending his own wounds, he gathered what he could, along with some cloth. 

Tending to the fallen king’s wounds was enough to keep him occupied for now. After that was taken care of, he’d have time to rest, but unfortunately there was never any rest for the wicked. He’d stand guard, wait and watch. Just as he always did. Only now it’d be all the more lonely. 

Sylva sat beside the nest after he wrapped the smaller ape’s wounds. His amber gaze lingered but for a moment before he looked out to the empty ocean.

Three weeks later… 

After weeks without rain, a storm had finally graced what had become their temporary campsite. Sylva was quick to set out some buckets around the outside of the camp, hooting quickly and tensing up to avoid the rain. He almost rolled back under the tarp, chuffing loudly. He swung an angry hand at the rain, then stepped back. 

“After everything you still hate the rain?” Proximus mused. He wasn’t one to talk, he had pulled their nest to the center of the camp to avoid the rain. 

Sylva snarled at Proximus, “Quiet. You too fear the rain,” he raised himself to his hind limbs and shook himself clean of water.

He sat down beside Proximus, side eyeing the rain. There was a distant sound of rumbling. The two apes turned their attention to the beach, where they could see the dark clouds over the ocean. Soon there came a flash of lightning. It struck as a clean bolt in the distance, and in that moment Sylva turned his head away.

The weeks had been filled mostly with staying alive, just surviving. But there was no time to mourn. Now that the two of them had mostly recovered from their wounds, there was more time to think, more time to consider. For a few days now, Sylva had been thinking of… everything. All the things he had done, everything they had built, and everything they had lost.

In the three weeks he had spent with Proximus in this state, he had begun to realize something. They had lost so much, and what was there to lose now?

Another strike of lightning in the distance.

Sylva slowly looked from the ocean to the other. “What was it for?” He murmured.

For a moment, a bewildered expression crossed Proximus’s features, only for him to turn away shamefully upon realizing. He had done well not to speak his mind because of that shame, and Sylva was not blind to it. They had spent three weeks in near silence because of it– to Sylva, their injury was no excuse. 

A disgruntled huff left Sylva, “Lightning died and everything is gone. Because you wanted what was in that vault.”

Proximus was shocked. Never before had he heard Sylva talk like this, never before had Sylva questioned him like this. Though he had come to realize he had been blinded by his own self absorbed goals and still hung on to his pride enough that he wasn’t about to admit it. He slowly shook his head, not in disagreement but disbelief. 

“Have you nothing to say?” Sylva’s voice rose, causing the smaller ape to flinch ever so slightly.

“I saw him die,” Proximus murmured, fearful eyes fixed on the silverback.

“You did. And you did  nothing ,” Sylva’s teeth bared. “You asked for that weapon instead. You pushed me aside.”

Proximus swallowed the bile in his throat. He was about to look away until–

“ Look at me when I speak! ” the gorilla practically roared his anger, his fist fiercely hitting the nest. 

Thunder crashed in the distance. Proximus’s eyes were full of shame and Sylva saw it. There was shame, but was there regret? That was what he wanted to know.

“I think of him,” Proximus attempted to shield the crack in his voice. There was no reason to lie, not to Sylva. What did the fallen king have to hide now? “I think of what I did. All of it.”

Sylva’s head slanted. He would give him the chance to speak, he was just weak enough that his temper couldn’t completely take hold. There was no use in it, anyway. 

“I did not… want this,” Proximus gestured nonchalantly to the air before his arm fell to his lap, his head hanging. “When we built the kingdom I saw a chance. I saw a future for apes–”

“You saw power,” Sylva spoke coldly. His voice was as frigid as the dew that clung to their fur, as cold as the night itself. There was no hatred in his voice; but disappointment .

The bonobo’s head twisted to the side, a pained grimace pulling at his lips. His wounds had mostly healed, but there was nothing that could heal this kind of pain. “It… was the only way.”

Typical. His brows furrowed with frustration in his eyes. Yet even after Proximus had claimed such a thing, he could see every drop of pride in Proximus beginning to fade into nothing. All without Sylva having to sink his fangs into his fur, despite every primitive instinct that took control of them both; he realized this on his own . It only took losing his entire kingdom and all his dignity. Sylva wasn’t exactly thrilled.

A low sigh fell from the silverback’s lips, eyes focusing elsewhere now. “You ruined so much,” Sylva said slowly. A pause– “ I … I ruined so much too. I did it all for you.” He peered to his hand, the same hand that had killed more apes than he could remember. 

“I believed in you. I– I saw you as… something more than a king,” Sylva’s eyes were unfocused as he spoke, his voice faltering ever so slightly.

Proximus sat up with as much strength as he could muster, forcing a smile. There was nothing left in him, nothing at all, yet his mind still told him to keep trying. They had to keep trying, right? “We could rebuild it. We can… start again!” Proximus began to stand, an arm gesturing to the Temple in the other direction. “I could… really be a king this time. I could– rule… with mercy ! Then maybe–”

“ STOP !” Sylva snarled, his hand racing to grab Proximus by the forearm. He forced the bonobo to his knees. Now he was the one standing. “No more of this! No more killing clans, no more of your STUPID ideas! You… You care only for yourself!”

Sylva sneered, his smaller fangs baring with anguish. Something in him hurt to admit it. “ You always have .”

A strike of lightning in the distance. A boom of thunder.

“You are no king… not anymore!” The gorilla chuffed with wrath in his voice, his breath heavy as he spoke. “Your kingdom is gone .” 

He didn’t know it until that very moment, but that was something that Sylva had wanted to say for so many passing moons. Just as his fallen king, Sylva too had fallen into the delusion of the kingdom and the ideology that they followed. This false idol– Caesar. His name had only ever been a means of control, and from the start Sylva knew it, yet he chose to hide in the delusion to cascade every awful thing that he had previously come from.

For some time, it did him well. The ideology of Caesar saved him. At first, all of it had saved him from himself and everything he knew before. In the kingdom he had a place, he had a home, but now he saw it for what it was. Because he believed in who Proximus was, he aided him in everything. From the ground up he helped him build his kingdom, believing that there was a future for them and all apes.

Now he saw that everything about it was a lie.

The smaller ape was struggling, although he clung tightly to the shroud of willpower that still remained. Proximus attempted to retort, as shameful as he now was, keeping up that ridiculous fake smile. “ But I have done it before! You… You helped me, you can help again, we can find… a way—!”

He was losing control of his train of thought the more he realized. By the moment his anger was burning hotter and hotter, like the sun itself was inside his mind. 

“Do you realize… How MANY I have killed for YOU !” Sylva yelled harshly, stepping forward. There was some strange catharsis in feeling Proximus struggle against his grasp, trying to hide from the humiliation. He could hide no longer. “You truly believe… that YOU … could be something now? You are NOTHING .”

Proximus’s false smile faded back into that desolate, lost expression. Whether he liked it or not, Sylva was right . This was the end of it all. The kingdom had fallen, there was nothing left to rebuild. 

It would take some time to really get through his head, if it would at all, though in that moment Sylva saw that something had gone off in Proximus’s head– like he was a bolt of electricity that had struck a metal chord. His hand practically strangled the smaller ape’s forearm. 

Sylva blinked tears of wrath from his eyes. “No more,” Sylva murmured, out of breath from raising his voice finally letting go of Proximus’s arm. “I… I cannot do it anymore.”

For a few fleeting moments Proximus held his arm, grimacing from the pain. Sylva’s grasp was stronger than any other apes, even his own. It would leave a bruise beneath his fur, a reminder of every awful thing he had done.

Proximus was horrified .

Proximus’s voice was so soft, the softest that Sylva had ever heard before. “Then… what… shall we do?” He spoke so pathetically and desperate for an answer like he needed to know as if his life depended on it. His eyes were strangely enough, filled with tears. Real tears. For himself or something else, Sylva didn’t know. That part of him that still cared for Proximus despite it all thought these tears to be genuine. Sylva hoped that he cried not for himself, but for Lightning. For him. For all the apes he had killed. For everything he had done . 

Then, something even more unexpected happened. Proximus’s hand had begun to upturn to Sylva, his head lowering. He was that desperate for an answer. For a moment the gorilla felt choked up at it, he could not believe his eyes. That for the first time, Proximus sought an answer in him, some clarity through the destruction. 

Sylva’s fingertips met that of the other’s, now gentle in contrast to how he handled him before. Their palms met, Sylva’s hand curling around the smaller hand. With a small tug he lifted Proximus to his feet. Sylva’s brows furrowed.

His answer was not immediate. For some time they just stared at each other, just hoping that one or the other would break the silence. At this point, Sylva cared little for having a clan. His clan before this had failed him. He had never truly been happy in the kingdom, as he had come to realize it was a mere escape. The illusion of success had disappeared. Now, there was nothing. Now, he wanted nothing. 

He knew the answer Proximus sought.

His hand squeezed the other’s for just a moment before his hand fell to his side. Soon came a flash and another rumble of thunder. The rain kept falling.

“We walk,” Sylva stated. “We walk until we join Lightning.”

Proximus scooted closer to Sylva, his gaze turning from the larger ape to the rain. “Where do we go?” he whispered.

“We go far. Far from here,” Sylva responded gently. 

“Far from here sounds… Good.” Proximus nodded sluggishly, turning back to the ape who was once his guard, who now stood as an ape who had lost more than he could imagine. It was true, the only thing that mattered now was them. Along the way they could talk more, but for now, he wanted to walk. 

The rain would not stop him. He nudged Sylva. “We could… start now.”

“In the rain?” Sylva grumbled.

“You see. He already waits for us,” Proximus stated, a hand gesturing to the storm above the ocean. As if nature itself heard him, there was a light flash in the clouds. “Maybe he… can guide us. At least… until we are ready to meet him.”

Sylva exhaled, not having noticed he was holding his breath at all. He nodded. There was nothing to gather here. They would leave it as it was meant to be, to be claimed by the Earth and everything that came after it. Proximus stayed close to Sylva, hoping to use him as some sort of shield in the rain. At that Sylva couldn’t help but chuff with a slight amusement.

They left the ruins of the kingdom without a second glance. They didn’t know where their journey would lead them or if it would amount to anything at all. At the very least, leaving this place once and for all felt like the right decision. 

“If we survived… this… I wonder how we will die,” Sylva murmured as they began to stagger to the beach. In every other instance it would have been an obscure statement, though at that moment it felt right. 

“Perhaps you shall be the one to kill me,” Proximus responded, there was little thought in his words, no more use in pretending.

Sylva chuffed at that, his nose scrunching up at the thought. “I would… Like to witness you die,” he mumbled. “Then, maybe I can die too.”

Proximus chuckled under his breath. He was satisfied with that. He leaned into Sylva only the slightest bit more, just enough to get out of the rain. Sylva did not push him away, only chuffing in response to the smaller ape.

Sylva felt relief leaving the kingdom behind. 

Proximus wondered if this was what a second chance felt like, even if they were both walking to their own death out there.

Now, they would venture across the ruined landscape until they met the same embrace of death that Lightning had.