"Y mae'r rhaff fesul cainc yn ymddatod ar y dibyn draw."
-Unknown

He made his rounds.

He wasn't even sure why. It wasn't as if he owed anything to this city; he had given it a lot of himself already. He had paced its streets and docks and followed the wooded paths, and had covered more of it than most humans ever had the chance to do.

He went anyway, even if he didn't know why.

To the Dawnstar, quiet and seemingly forsaken. To the Medieval, and the familiar faces, and the new ones, and the old low chatter in the background. To the old storefront where Almond Cross once had his antiques; to the tree where the rabid squirrels once were.

He went into the woods where his first Browning was destroyed, and to the spot now at Kit's grave where it sat. To the abandoned Rhy'Din Weapons Shoppe where he bought the new one. He went to the forest where he once held a man up with an arm over his shoulders, getting him to safety; to the docks where he'd freed a slave girl.

He went anyway.

To beach where he met Sarah, to the old Theatre des Vampires where he and Archie once play-acted on stage.

That one hurt. All of them did, really, in some way.

"I'm scared," he thought, in such a calm and collected way that it might have been funny, if it hadn't been so true.

He went to the field where he and Lily had slept together, holding hands like children. To the road where it headed for Copper Forge, and the pain and memories there. To the mall, not to go in, just to look at it and know there was a creepy plaster deer standing outside of the outdoor store.

He walked for hours; the long hours of the night, the bright hours of a cold fall day. He walked long after his feet felt tired, and he felt tired and hollowed out, as though someone cored him like an apple.

What do you do when the life you love becomes unrecognizable?

What do you do when the world stopped having a place for you in it?

He had asked those questions before the Ides. The answer was simple, in theory: Make a new life. Find a new world.

In practice, it was far harder. Few things reminded him of how hard as much as trodding these old paths. Looking at the fragments of old dreams and hopes. Perhaps even the remnants of old fears.

"How did it end up this way?"

It was a universal question. He had no delusions that it was only his plight; it was the plight of mankind. Of humanity. He did not think there were any humans alive who hadn't asked that question at some point; the lucky ones were the ones who could ask it with joy.

The city bled. Not to the myriad same old people who wandered around, living their lives with the unceasing drama of the Red Dragon, or the everyday routine of the Medieval; the bland oblivion that they all seemed to exist in, breathing only inside of their own circles, forgetting that life once existed.

For that reason alone, he had not really fit well with them; they continued on, talking with people who seemed to have had the life sterilized out of them, in settings that had no color, in a world without flavor.

He hated them for that, sometimes; when he walked past the bones of the once busy Vampire Tavern, when he saw the bones of the All Creatures. When he saw the new buildings on the docks -- not because of the rebuilding, but because of the memories that had been lost. He had already been the only one left who remembered some of those old places. Now, not even the buildings could tell the stories.

He hated that he seemed to be one of the few who noticed how quiet the city had become. How it had lost its vast population; from the buxom beauties who had tried to woo him, to the giant men who were always looking to prove their worth, to the hundreds of vampires and elves that once called this place home.

Once, not so long ago, he had been lamenting Rhy'Din's transient nature. How it lacked certainty; the certainties that he ached for, even needed. How much he hated growing to love people, only to have them vanish -- how much he wished that there was more stability.

"I'm sorry," he thought, looking at what was left of that city.

He could not have meant it more.

If he would have known that the certainty he wanted would have ended up leading to the death of the very living heart of this place, he never would have wished for it. If he would have known that having law, order, the same faces, the same places would have lead to losing the strangers and vampires and elves and little one-time-only taverns, he never would have allowed himself to think of it.

The city bled. Not to them; he was certain that few people left had ever really tapped that living heartbeat. He hadn't meant to himself. It had just happened.

With paths, and served drinks, and trouble he wandered out to find; with random encounters, one-time taverns, a chance meetings on the streets. With a thousand faces and more.

The beach where he hired Ranyor. The street where he'd hired Kitten. The library where he acted Antony on the steps. Now, Caesar and Antony both were gone away.

So many people had. He almost could not bear to look at what was left, and know that he was again obsolete. That the world he loved once wasn't his; the life he'd loved once was gone. It hurt; it hurt unsounded, echoing back from some place inside of himself that he couldn't reach in and touch.

There was a woman he loved, who would go away with him. To find this new life, this new world. It was all he had, really, to keep him breathing; he had told her that, and it was the truth.

But tonight, he bled for his city, and it bled with him.

Not so very long ago, this place teemed with life and it came from every quarter; dreams were made, broken, remade. Hopes and terrors intermingled, and the world felt alive. And when he once cried out into the darkness, a metaphorical sounding to prove he was not alone, a thousand voices would all be sounding for the same.

Tonight, he cried out into the darkness, a metaphorical sounding.

But the only voice he heard was his own.