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His eyes traveled across the crimson sky as the world began slowly fading around him - he wasn’t sure if his blurry vision was caused by the blood loss or the tears trailing down his face. The falling snow gently consumed the screams of other players and harsh clashes of metal in the background. The once lively village was absorbed by white delicate powder. Gone were all the supplies, all the houses and the memories of warmth and laughter. The smoke coming from chimneys no longer lingered on the sky, letting stars shine brightly - to their full potential. The whispers in his mind were as loud as always, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to listen to them this time. They screamed at the edges of his consciousness as he desperately tried to stay awake.
Martyn felt the sword in his hand, his knuckles clenching hopelessly around it as if trying to prove that he was still able to fight. But prove it to who? The only person worthy of his efforts was lying next to him, swallowed in the red of his cape and the blood that was yet to stop fleeing from his body. The snow around them was infected by crimson - the gory reminder of his failure. Martyn had been blessed with another chance, a chance to make things right, to bring honor and glory sworn by the name of his most beloved. Yet he failed once again.
The memories of Third Life flashed through his mind. The heat of the body that was always next to him - and as the days passed by, Martyn wouldn’t dare to imagine one, where the man, he so willingly gave his heart and loyalty to, would be no longer there - within his arms reach. Ren’s hearty laughter boomed in Martyn’s ears. That sound was destined only for him, only for Martyn. It wasn’t the evil sneer or mean grin sent in their enemy’s way. It wasn’t the pitying smirk while he spoke with Jimmy. Nor was it the chuckling Ren used when he was surrounded by his friends and allies. That sound was pure and undisturbed. It would come unexpectedly and leave Martyn with adoration and warmth in his heart. He would sacrifice the whole world if it meant he would be able to hear it everyday for the rest of his life.
But fate had different plans.
Ren died and with him a part of Martyn’s soul. When he saw the man, he was so painfully pledged to, fall to the ground, all the hopes and dreams kept secret in his mind broke. With a grief-stricken scream Martyn kept going, fighting for their kingdom and their dreams. He not once stopped to think about the beautiful man laying in the dirt surrounded by the red of his own making. His mind was blank until it was his turn to meet the lady Death.
When it happened the brightness swallowed him whole and the next thing he remembered was waking up in his bed - breathing heavily with tracks of stray tears leaking from his eyes and no memory of the previous game. His life continued, but the subtle echo of the past did not let him forget completely. Was that a punishment imposed by Watchers or a blessing given by Listeners? Martyn wasn’t sure, but with time the memories came back and with them the one thing became clear. The most important thing in his mind was a beautiful man that haunted his dreams smiling at him with a bloody crown proudly displayed on his head. The smooth voice rang out in his head, the delicate touch of his fingertips brushed against his bare arm, the sweet innocent kiss placed against his cheek. All of it - just an illusion of what could have been.
They met once again in Last Life. On different teams with different allies and different goals. Everytime they crossed paths Martyn felt sick to his stomach. He should be by his king’s side, defending him and serving as he always did. But Ren did not remember and it was not Martyn’s place to remind him. Each day he prayed for the smallest interaction, of even a small glance of a man he devoted his life to. Sometimes Martyn would see him, smiling brightly with Lizzy or sitting in silence next to Cleo and could not contain the jealousy filling out his heart. It should have been him. It could have been him. All he had to do was come up to Ren and explain everything - maybe even ask Grian for help - since the one decent Watcher and the winner of first Life Game was the only person, except for him, that remembered the games. Ren would understand, because Ren was good. He was kind and so, so Ren. With all the drama and over-the-top theatrics, he would listen. Because that was the type of person Ren always was - and if he remembered, he would never leave Martyn’s side in the first place.
But he had no right to bring Ren into this. If the Watchers had decided that the players were not to remember the games, then Martyn had no choice but to oblige. He would not risk a chance of Ren getting punished by his misdemeanor. Keeping Ren safe in a world of violence and upcoming bloodshed was all that mattered.
So the game continued. With scarcer players left and most of them being on their last life, Martyn was able to get closer to Ren once again without it seeming suspicious. It may have not been the same, but the shadow of their once unbreakable bond was still there. The unspoken understanding between them and shy brushes of fingers as they walked through the forest. The uncertain glances of forgotten love were there. Even if Ren didn’t realise it till the very end. With the final blow and loud booming noise announcing his death, all Ren could see was the face of a man he had no memory of. One in elegant crimson cloth and unkept blond hair flowing through the wind. One with a sharp sword raised in Ren’s honor. One Ren could have sworn was someone dear to him.
But with one last congratulations to the new winner, the blackness consumed him.
Next Life Game. Double Life. Ren was too busy with his fleeing romance drama to pay focus on a similar blond man appearing in his dreams every night. He ignored and denied the strong temptation to go and speak with Martyn. To ask him to join forces. To abandon his soulmate and be with him. He did not know the source of the weird feeling and with death lurking in every corner, he did not try to understand. He died before the game got serious.
In Double Life Martyn tried to move on. A new soulmate - a one that was not destined to suffer a grim fate. A chance for a fresh start - to replace the missing beats of his heart with someone new. He spent the beginning of the game with Pearl. She was capable and strong - a person everyone would want on their side. Secretly he hoped that she would be his new soulmate.
But fate was a jester. Drowning in jokes and ironies. With fiery hair and fierce heart his soulmate had forsaken him - running off with a blue-haired man Martyn didn’t bother to remember. Martyn and Ren killed him, as well as his husband, in the Third Life. But it was also the same man who killed Ren in the Last Life - depriving him a chance to remember. Depriving Martyn from a man he loved. At that moment Martyn decided that he wanted nothing to do with him. Then why was Cleo so happy to pair with him? Why was she so easily swayed to abandon their soulmate and choose a life with another man? Why was Pearl losing her mind trying to get him back? He couldn’t understand. And he didn’t want to. With moon as his only witness, Martyn wished for Scott’s quick demise. Even if it meant losing Pearl alongside him.
He spent the entirety of the game trying to win Cleo back. With some mistakes and miscalculations on his part in the end he managed to succeed. They forgave him and agreed to work together. A new feeling blossomed in his chest. It was not the pure love he held for Ren, but maybe a start of something fresh, an omen of good fortune. Sadly his happiness didn’t last long. Their game came to an end with utter chaos and confusion. Murdered by the hands of their former ally, separated from each other once again.
Pearl won. Of course she did. Last time around she was also close. Deep inside Martyn was glad it was her. Better her than the blue-haired bastard or pathetically smitten Ranchers. Or the crazy duo that sent him crashing through memory lane to the Third Life.
In the next game the “blue-haired bastard” became his loyal ally. With no Ren in sight Martyn felt lost. As if a part of his soul was misplaced. Before then, Ren was always there - out of reach, but still there. Martyn could admire him from afar or engage in small talks that led to nowhere. Now he was gone. No sight of long ragged hair, no stolen glances and no possible way to reunite. Scott was a good teammate. Great even. Loyal to a fault and generous. So easy to love. So easy to get attached to. Maybe in another life Martyn would have tried harder to recruit him into Ren’s kingdom; maybe they could have been friends. The game passed by in a blur and in the end he was the one to proudly take a claim of the last life left. With Impulse lying dead on the floor and Scott’s body slowly melting in the pool of lava Martyn had left behind, his mind became blank.
Before the showdown Martyn felt his presence, he could feel the delicate snow of Red Winter on his back, he smelled the crisp air of Dogwarts. Ren was there, he had to be. The feeling of eyes following his every move, the quiet whispers muffled by loud voices of Listeners, the flashes of memories back from the Third Life. Ren was there and with this realisation Martyn poured lava on his sole ally, and killed the last remaining player with no hesitation at all.
In the light of his victory Martyn was gifted with peace. A spacious room occupied by other winners, a place tainted with tranquility and solitude. Aside from him only three other people resided there. Grian, the first winner; Scott who with a wave of a hand disregarded Martyn’s betrayal and Pearl - with a grin as bright as always. They spoke to him, tried to engage, but every word said fell deaf to his ears. Ren was not here. It was all in his head.
In the Secret Life, Martyn missed Ren. With each day passing his heart became heavier. He couldn’t comprehend why Ren was not once again competing in the twisted games of Watchers. Was he safe? Was he finally free? Or did the Watchers lose their interest and condemn him to even worse suffering? In the end it didn’t matter at all.
In the Wild Life, Ren was back. Ren was back and Martyn was able to finally team up with him once again. Suddenly the world became brighter. The weird somber atmosphere that surrounded his life since the end of Third Life was gone, instead replaced by sunny skies and sense of relief. Martyn smiled easier, laughed freely and fully enjoyed himself in the time he was given with Ren. Because that was the thing - Ren was there. Ren was there and all of the sudden everything came to be perfect. Even in death he wore a smile. The pain of departure from existence meant nothing at that time. Why? Because Martyn knew that these fleeting moments, he was blessed with, would never go away. The memories of Ren’s face, his jokes and theatric escapades. He would go back to all of them when the game was over. Each night and each morning he would fall asleep and wake up with even more cherished memories of Ren flooding his mind. It was a wonderful feeling. Truly beautiful.
Next time they met, Martyn wanted to team up again. Memories intact or not. To repeat the wonderful life he could have had with Ren all over again. The new game - Past Life - had just begun, but Ren had already made an alliance with other people and as for Martyn? Cleo was there. Not as a soulmate, definitely not as rebound, but as a dear friend. Maybe teaming up with her would not be that bad?
Ren died second this time around. Martyn couldn’t believe it. He hoped they would meet in the final. Martyn would help him win. Sabotage all the other players and himself if it meant they could be finally together. He ended the game as a second time winner. It didn’t feel as good as he hoped it would.
And then Christmas came. Christmas came and with it a new special edition of a Life Game and long forgotten memories. For this one game they were blessed with the knowledge of what had happened before. And for this one game the king and his right hand were finally reunited.
“I love you, Ren,” Martyn said in a whisper, hand reaching for the one that belonged to the man he swore to protect. His words were lost in the sea of screams and desperate cries, but there was no need for him to speak up. The dead could not hear the living.