In the darkness, that light grew brighter and brighter and brighter. It wasn't angry like the cinders that clung to Luther's soot-stained skin nor was jovial like the spirit of flame that followed Vega. This light was harsh, stark in the face of unrelenting darkness. It was full of life and all the stubbornness that existence brought with it, and it did not yield. Luther could feel his soul splinter and shred itself as that light consumed the once empty blackness that he found himself in, but as long as that emerald lantern burned onward the ghost would not relent. Life and Luther, both far too mulish to know when to stop.
He could feel his ectoplasm flee him as he poured his being into Daia. He could feel layers of himself shear off from the surface of his soul. Memories once held so tightly to his core began to unravel and dissipate before his very eyes as he pushed his spirit far beyond anything an Echo would be capable of. Quiet trials spent in the fields with his brothers, an inside joke he shared with his mother, even a moment of quiet admiration for his grandfather, all gone in a flash. He sacrificed those treasured moments of his past and more so that a new future could be forged. In that, Luther found peace in offering them to Daia.
Or he would have, if he even realized they were missing. Which he wouldn't. Those trials, those ticks of time more valuable than any possession that Luther owned in life or death, were burned at the altar of an Immortal who deserved her second chance. And he would never even know that they were gone.
Like smoke from a pipe, Luther was expelled from Daia's body. The black fumes which hung ever present around his form seemed darker now and the cinders that once only burned in anger now sparked in the smoke. His spectral body regained its form, but even that was far more obfuscated than it appeared prior to his possession. He had shredded so much of himself in that desperate attempt to resurrect Daia, he knew that all it would take was a moment more before he was reduced to a Whisper of himself. Drained of his ectoplasm and some memories, Luther's appearance had taken on an unstable quality. As he looked at his companions and the sudden shape of Moseke, it became apparent that they all made sacrifices for the return of Daia.
The Immortal blinked back tears of joy, and if the spectre had the body to do so he would have done the same. She smiled, loving and impossibly thankful to all of them. In that moment, Luther knew it had all been worth it.
The ghost offered a solemn smile in return, for he had no strength left to speak. If he could have, he would replied that he was simply returning the favor. That his soul was suited towards liberation, and that it was almost like he was made for this. To free her. A life for a life, and a soul for a soul. He wanted to say that and so much more, but the ghost knew it wasn't his place. These were the affairs of the divine, he was just a farm boy angry at the world. He had done enough, said enough, at least for now. Instead, he sat next to his Anchor, allowing the ambient ectoplasm to restore some semblance strength to the spirit.
With some selfish sadness, he watched Daia collect the fractured form of Moseke and turn towards a door that had sprung from plants so much like those that clung to Moseke. He wanted Daia to stay, to join them all in a moment of rest. They had all earned a tick of quiet peace, and the ghost very much wanted to spend it with this woman who had so deeply affected him. He wondered, for a moment, if this was how others felt towards Immortals they worshiped. He wondered if they felt this type of...well, loyalty wasn't quite the right word.
Devotion?
Caught in his own thoughts and exhausted of his ectoplasm, Luther almost didn't notice the appearance of another Immortal. The man in red, the man that Daia had been waiting for all that time under the Mistress' thrall. The woman's face lit up at his arrival, and Luther felt an angry stab of jealousy pierce the waves of joy that emanated from the Immortal. If Daia noticed, she made no sign of it. It was clear where her attention lay.
Faldrun. The tyrant of flame who still ruled the woman's heart.
Defiant cinders sparked from Luther's smoking form as he rose from his seat. He had barely enough ectoplasm to make his Anchor rest on his shoulders, but at Faldrun's icy tone the ghost found enough emotional energy to make the coat cling to him. Luther had seen what the Daia's devotion had done to her soul, and though there was little he could do to challenge an Immortal of Faldrun's caliber, he would not allow her to be chained to her feelings again.
Then Faldrun left, and all the turmoil of the world became clear.
"He caused the war. All those people dead, because of him! He destroyed the world in my name!"
Luther could feel himself boil with a shared rage. So much death, so many people chained to the machinations of a would-be-ruler, all so that Faldrun could wear a crown.
"It is time to end this. Once and for all."
He couldn't agree more. He only hoped, that, when the time came, Daia would allow him to fight alongside her to end the tyrant's reign. With a quiet nod, Luther bade the Immortal goodbye, knowing that he would see her again before his soul faded from this world.
When the Door of Death appeared, Luther did not move to it immediately. Without adequate ecto, he couldn't even attempt to open it, so he waited while his strength slowly returned. With quiet appreciation, he watched Hart once again serve others before himself, closing the eyes of the dancers that gave themselves to Daia. As Hart moved to the door, Luther followed close behind. With all that the ghost had seen totrial, the strange appearance of Number None barely gave him pause. He gave the figure a half-hearted wave and entered the circular stone room.
