Augustine Kir was not exactly dead.

He was delivered directly, via helicopter, to the Northern Co-operative Military Hospital which found him in a much more perplexing state. He was clearly not dead - he had a heartbeat. His circulatory system, though somewhat modified, was functioning and he had no open wounds. His missing limbs had been safely disengaged with minimal blood loss. His single lung also appeared to be in operation; he was breathing, or something close to it. His condition didn’t quite look like a coma, either. His brain was sending signals to the rest of his body. Sometimes, the signals would increase in response to the voices of those he knew, though outwardly there was no further reaction.

Roha wrapped him in the train of her dress before leaving, in an attempt at netting against hungry birds, but some larger predator came and ripped at his cheek, and took the remains of his arm. (Roha’s presence had likely kept animals at bay, and they struck when she left.) However, the wounds were healing nicely, fresh pink skin covering what were clearly recent scars. While hospitalized, his peeled scalp also sprouted a fresh, downy layer of hair.

He was alive. He was healing. So why didn’t he awaken?

The obvious clue was that huge portions of his body had been wholly replaced with Roha’s aura. When he first arrived in the hospital, one reporter compared his torso to 'a pulsating mass of overripe fruit'. His left side and abdomen were both covered and filled with clusters of fist-sized blue aura pods. Internal organs - including one lung, the heart, and 95% of his digestive system - were encased almost entirely in the substance. One Central doctor who partook in the x-raying and later autopsy claimed ‘while the external appearance was hopeful, there was little about the inside of [his] body that suggested human life.’

But, investigators pondered as they reviewed the camera cards, Augustine had maintained consciousness for two weeks in his aura-ridden state. What had changed in those hours Roha was not at his side? What was there to do?

—

The more philosophical among them proposed that it was the will of Augustine himself that put him in this so-called predicament.

Yes, he was being sustained by aura. Aura could make beings effectively immortal. But there was still precedent. 

In 170x, scholars began to wonder if Life Fountains were truly immortal. The specimens in their mountain villages were long-lived without a doubt, but now centuries into the study, surveyors found that on rare occasions a Life Fountain would disappear from the census. There was no indication that the missing individuals had left town, nor was there news of any accident (if anything, accidents tended to invigorate the injured individuals; kept them busy and talkative). The treatment of the disappearances by the other Life Fountains was generally apathetic - though some close friends to the missing took on a tone researches described as ‘vaguely funereal’. But no funerals were held.

Careful monitoring revealed where they’d gone.

It is in fact not impossible for a Life Fountain to ‘die’, though it is still very difficult. Their aging after 40 or so is negligible. While unpredictable in result, even the greatest of injuries can be recovered with time, even if mobility must be given up for the while. Some Life Fountains claim to have reattached or regrown important body parts years after 'losing' them. However, the constant regeneration inflicts them with conditions similar to human cell overgrowth - cancer-like tumors. Possessing much of benevolent aura’s innate attributes, aura tumors cannot be effectively healed (though recent developments found that they can be removed) and the less superhuman aspects of the Life Fountain’s biology begins to get smothered. Aided again by aura, organs heal rapidly, far beyond the capacity of a human inflicted with cancer, but tumors continue to proliferate. Their body wages war from within, distorting itself around what it, itself, has grown.

When discomfort exceeds all that life has to offer, the Life Fountain, in their own home or more often, after reaching a secluded location, falls into a deep and potentially endless sleep. Researchers followed a few Life Fountains who had seemingly chosen unusual places to nap and questioned their purposes, approximating their true reasoning over the course of several interviews. Of course, if the Life Fountain is disturbed, they may wake without incident. Similarly, if they choose to rouse themselves, then the process will again be cut off. But if they remain in their slumber, rejecting any stimuli to wake, then over time they lose consciousness, their will, the ability to wake at all. (The impulses from the brain in that final resistant phase, later research would find, are as strong as in an alert mind.) It's a somewhat abstract technique to combat an abstract state of existence. For a body that cannot die, the only solution is to abandon ship - the process known as brain death. With no will tethering them to their existing form, the aura that sustains them soon melts free from its bindings, into the earth, the air, whatever living organisms may be in the vicinity. Our romantic forefathers might have called this 'becoming one with nature.'

The process can take decades. It can also take days. As with anything determined by willpower, the nebulous ‘spirit’ that varies so greatly among the world's living beings, there’s no strict formula.

As it has long been known, humans can be inflicted with aura tumors as well, largely due to overexposure. Without timely removal, the accelerating growths will be fatal. Their unspecialized bodies are not quite so adept at fighting the growth, but then, few are also attended to by a Life Fountain who truly cares about saving them.

When Augustine fell asleep for the last time, his body was riddled with aura pods and tumors, but he was stable - he was breathing independently, his heart was beating. The condition of his head, despite it having been half-smashed in the fall, was remarkably well-repaired. It was perhaps the most thoroughly regenerated part of him.

It is theorized that overextended healing, at the speed that would be required to make him whole again, would have at the same time consumed him with tumors and killed him, the human part of him. So, out of ingenuity or naivety, Roha patched his external wounds to stem bleeding, made makeshift replacements of missing organs, and focused on recovering his brain, the conduit of that abstract thing that might be called a soul. The brain is largely considered to be the most difficult part for magic - medicine and indeed, aura - to recover. Aura tumors in the brain are so delicate as to be nearly impossible to treat. But she succeeded, even if it meant the rest of his body would be forsaken, unable to be taken off its glowing blue life support after the fact.

For better or worse, Augustine was fairly lucid in the final days. He joked to the camera, expressed interest and regrets, and eventually cooked up a way to talk Roha into leaving the cave.

He would also be painfully aware of how alone and defenseless he was in the fifty hours she was gone. He feared the animals that came for him and bit his flesh, and was horrified when he did not even feel their teeth. He saw and began to understand that he was rotting, and physical sensations were becoming less and less distinct. He would have pondered and panicked if Roha would ever come back for him. Having asked to see the recording of himself, he knew what he looked like. Biologically sustained, but lying alone, decaying and devoured - he simply gave up. He went to sleep. Any essence beyond bodily function was let go, leaving behind something living yet hollow. Brain death. Willful suicide, the final gambit of the so-called immortal.

And so an operational shell was rescued, powered by the infinite battery of aura, but there was nobody left inside. Nothing to wake up. As with his channel persona, Augustine wasn't stashing away some special, secret reward; a person waiting deep within to be saved or revealed. No treatment or magic, keyword or smell or prayer, was going to remake the person; refill a void. 

So, what to do? With all that remained of his showmanship, he'd enacted his message right there: just let go.

That’s the theory.

—

September 200x. The trial usage of Life Fountains in hospitals is immediately suspended, and would not be reworked until fifteen years later. Kir is shipped around the country to various facilities for study, but it already seems clear that there is no miracle cure to be had anymore.

While he is in transit, press members bribe guards and sneak photographs. Some come out of the vans tramatized enough to admit their wrongdoing. One outlet claims he was in ‘a state so unfathomable we cannot guess if he is in pain or not.’

As the public latches onto the story, AK Undercovers hits 1.7 million subscribers. Many take to video comments to reminisce, lament and occasionally to gloat.

praying for your recovery! rly wanna see those wedding pics, says one well-wisher.

try getting a girl to even look at you now pus-face, says a less savory user, linking to an uncensored photo of his body, leaked by tabloids.

‘Absolute ghouls. But his stupid channel was never anything but white noise,’ Petra says in an interview.​ ‘They didn’t know him - it didn’t matter to us what he looked like. What matters is that he didn’t wake up. But at least he was himself until the very end.’

—

While the shell of Augustine Kir is making its tour of Central, Roha goes into hiding, and the Kir family begins to formulate a lawsuit. A sense of vengeance burns in the air, alongside bitter desperation.

Early in the proceedings, Augustine’s final recordings are ‘misplaced’ while in possession of the family. Included is the one he made using the camera Roha left with him, before her trek up the mountain. When Northern investigators claimed to have made copies, accusations began. These backups are forgeries; the order of events is incorrect. The police are colluding with the hotel, or even the Life Fountain Foundation. The reasoning given by the Kirs for these accusations range wildly and unaffirmed.

The Kirs hired the aforementioned professor, and a variety of experts in variant and Life Foundation-tangential policies. They drilled into Life Fountain physiology and psychology, and took to the public like prophets with every new proposal.

Nia Kir in a speech to her organization: They are intelligent; they are cunning and indulgent, but they are sociopathic. They lack the innate respect for life - including their own - that defines humans: horned, finned, winged and tailed. Life, for them, is not as we know it.

Says the hired professor: They are, in essence, a totally different species. A human cannot hope to marry and bed a shark or a bear or a cactus. With Life Fountains, it only makes sense to take the same precaution.

Emile Kir on a podcast (he was a modest success during this period): I think we need to do some good old-fashioned vivisection to see how they really tick. It’s not like they’ll die of it, right?

The family also leveraged Lis and Vira’s access to the AK Undercovers channel to publicize a fundraiser. The campaign had no particular spending goals, it was simply a way for the 1.7 million followers to show support, a single, centralized link to share, to spread the word. The Kirs didn’t need the money, anyway.

The family’s goal was spelled out clearly: they wanted to talk to Roha and make her take responsibility for the death of their beloved son, grandson, brother, and cousin. She’d admit her monstrosity in court or on television, or both and accept what came as a result. But Roha did not respond to requests for contact, so the Kirs took the time to continuously solidify their case, releasing new findings every month.

If they got their way, the lawyers would make mincemeat of her without having to present a shred of evidence. Roha was always a poor orator and tended to blindly agree when caught in headlights - if they got her before a camera, it would be an easy win. Contact with Roha was barred by the Life Fountain Foundation, so the Kirs sought to do away with that barrier.

The case is deeply personal, said the Kirs’ attorney. There are many facets that do not concern the Foundation. The accused's Life Fountain qualities are just a drop in the barrel and we hold no animosity against the species as a whole. Enough with the proxy wars. Let the woman speak for herself if she is as innocent as you all claim.

When Foundation head Cadmus continued his refusal, venomous peace offerings turned to unmasked threats. The Foundation insisted it was a Life Fountain issue? Then they would be held responsible for the crime committed; irresponsible aura usage leading to a man condemned to a fate worse than death. It was above murder; it was torture, willful cruelty, abomination against civilization as well as the natural order. Life Fountains would be declared animals, and all associated humans would be guilty of bestiality and crimes against humanity. Would the Foundation accept this charge?

The Carthage legal network shoots back with the Kirs’ previous case; dredging up the accusations of mail fraud and nepotism, all which led to Augustine Kir walking from charges of abduction. The Kirs are furious, but temporarily diverted. The battle hangs in a stalemate for ten months.

—

Augustine’s final recording, like all his content, somehow made it into online circulation.

Good. She’s gone. So I can say this clear - fuck you all.

Fuck you mom and dad. And Petra and Cal. Em, you goddamned freeloader. And you know what, fuck grandma Rue while we’re at it. Fuck you old lady, I hope you die. I know what I'm saying doesn’t mean jack shit. She’s never going to kick the bucket, by the way. That money’s going nowhere near your accounts. Listening now?

I’m Augustine Kir. I’m 27, and it’s September 200x. Or maybe it’s October. Close enough. I’m saying this all of my own free will. No, my wife Roha doesn’t have a gun to my head or some shit. She’s fucking gone. I waited for her to go. I know how these things work. Any of you peabrained enough to go after her for what happened now? Hah. You think she could make me do anything I didn’t want to do? I never did. I'm here, and she was here, because of me. Me. Did you hear that? It was always me. I was with her because she always let it all be about me.

Well, that's it for me. As for her - I'm not worried. I know you’re going to try to chase her down. I also know you’re going to fail. Even if you lock her up, all she has to do is take a nap and wait for you to die. You and all your kids and grandkids will all be rotting in your graves full of holes and worms while she’s still her beautiful self years and years and years down the line. So think on that before you try. No - you won’t think. You’ll just do. Like I did, huh? Never learning a thing. But I’ll be there to meet you at the gates of the deepest, darkest pit, saying I told you so.

He coughs.

And all you other fuckers. The ones who were watching for the dirty parts. It was fun, eh? Hope you enjoyed it. Sorry to say, it’s time for me to retire. I’m a married man now, after all.

And he laughs and laughs his disarming, natural laugh, his veins and lungs burning neon blue. Then he rests his head back onto the dirt and closes his eyes, a faint smile lingering on his icy lips.

—

The decision is made to have Augustine Kir’s aura tumors removed. Now scarcely more than 30 pounds of skin and bone, his precariously ‘alive’ body begins to deteriorate at an alarming rate. He is put on specialty life support - a metal frame and six interconnected devices custom-built for his unprecedented condition - and his loved ones are called in to say their goodbyes before the final bits of aura are taken out.

January 201x. Over a year since the wedding and Augustine’s final video. The Life Fountain Foundation and Kir family come to an agreement: to let Roha see her husband in his final hours.

The Kir family adds the condition that she must come alone. Lemina Carthage brands this as blackmail, but says that the visit was one of the rare instances where Roha insisted on anything. It wouldn’t have been right to reject her. Roha is thoroughly debriefed on the limitations of her visit. She is not to touch him or any of the family members. Detection of radio equipment or aura will result in her prompt removal.

Dressed in her old cotton pinafore - now yellow with age - she emerges from a Foundation car, which idles outside, apprehensive.

It is no surprise that the Kirs take the opportunity to ambush Roha with their lawyers, the moment she steps into the hospital. Dead to rights - or would have been. She isn’t quite alone and the realization shocks them.

The perplexed Kirs restrain their legal team. Nia and Andon frantically begin making calls to the rest of the family. Petra begins to cry. And Roha goes to visit Augustine.

The press have photos of Augustine in his final hospital room, from a conference where the bespoke life support machine was being shown off. There are also pictures of Roha outside the room. What exactly goes on inside in speculation.

In the darkened room, she is a little shaky. That day, she appears tired. In the watery shadows, the blue dots in her hair blink anxiously. She murmurs a few words and leans toward his stiff, colorless face. She remembers she’s been instructed not to touch, and obeys the instruction, even though the Kirs have become too distracted to watch her. Instead, she tries to show him what she’s bought.

Or maybe she can tell from the start that it is not worth trying to communicate with him anymore.

After twenty five minutes, she leaves the hospital unhindered.

The following day, the Kirs quietly shut down their fundraiser and issue half a million in refunds to donors. Their press schedules fizzle out. After ‘internal discussion,’ they say, it’s been decided not to pursue the lawsuit any further. There’s a funeral to plan, and they would appreciate privacy. They also request, with inexplicable courtesy, that the public also respect their wishes to leave Roha alone.

—

The funeral is in the spring.

The reporter M from the Daily is in attendance, the same reporter who documented Roha’s unremarkable arrival to Central only a few years prior. She was not asked to come by the editors, but volunteered, to see the story through to the end.

The Kirs have arranged flowers, photos and family members around a large funeral parlor just outside the city. The location is close to the cemetery where the patriarch Ansel Kir was recently buried, on the family plot. But the setup is just ceremonial. Augustine will not receive a burial, and his body isn't in attendance. He had to be cremated, and his ashes are locked away in ‘the interest of biological safety.’ The black-clothed crowd is thin and sullen; the mood is bitter.

On one of the benches, engrossed in his phone, Emile Kir comments blandly on the music playing in the overhead speakers. Not this song again.

Petra turns from her own phone to hiss at him. Shush, dumbass. The music was the only thing the wife had a say in. This was their song.

Sorry, just telling the truth. Music’s kind of my job. Where is she, anyhow? Did she even come?

Don’t ask me.

Reporter M heads outside. The springtime sun is dazzling, but the air has grown hot and humid. There are a handful of women by the gate; a griffin, a satyr and a seemingly unvaried woman in a wheelchair. The report sees at least four other variant or visibly disabled women, in groups or alone, pass by. None of them enter.

Even beyond the walls of the ceremony, the atmosphere is stifling.

M seeks refuge behind the building. The back windows overlook a small garden, which in turn overlooks a hill, at the base of which is an iron fence and the first rows of gravestones.

Under the shade of an old pergola sits Roha Kir. The reporter approaches; it’s the perfect opportunity for a comment, but stops. Roha doesn’t look talkative, she doesn’t look quite herself. She’s sweating and sagging forward, as if about to collapse - or more likely, doze off. By then it is well known that Roha deals poorly with warmer weather, and the day’s temperature must be taking its toll.

Which makes it odd, then, that she carries a heavy padded coat on her lap. Noticing her audience, she makes an effort to straighten up, holding the bundle to her chest.

Do you think he’ll die too, if he falls? If a stone falls on him?

The reporter inches closer and asks who she refers to.

I don’t know what to do. He’s like Augustine. I’ve seen little ones fall in the... the place where I come from. But he’s not like them. I’m tired. I’m not thinking right.

The two women sit and regard the graveyard. In front of the building, Cadmus and the Foundation representatives have come to pick up Roha. The Kirs make clear they would rather the Foundation hadn’t come at all. An argument begins within the parlor.

At the noise, Roha sags forward, and her heavy eyelids droop shut. The coat on her lap slips, and a small head of milky-colored hair is revealed from within the cushioned fabric. It is an infant, who cannot be more than a year or two old. He is sleeping peacefully - and about to be dropped to the ground. M lurches forward to catch him.

With the abrupt jostling the child wakes. He is confronted with M, an unfamiliar face, and lets out a piteous scream. His hands wave blindly before him, brushing M’s cheek and for a moment she is stunned. The baby has ten tiny fingers stained a radiant blue, glowing with the Life Fountain aura that courses within him.

The screams falter into reticent sobbing, and Roha shudders awake. M only just notices the blue growths that have sprouted around her feet, the bench, the nearby tree. Aura pods, flickering alongside Roha’s nerves. When her son is returned to her, he becomes quiet again.

The sounds of a near-fistfight in front of the building beckon her to leave. She stands, and the baby coos contentedly. She looks down at him, as if she’d forgotten about his presence in the few moments, with mixed emotion.

M assures her he’ll be okay. She congratulates Roha on her beautiful son.

Roha gives the reporter, whom she does not recognize, one last quizzical look. Then she pads off, toward the feverish noise.