Chapter Text
It was a beautiful sunny day, one of Owen’s very few moments of calm.
His battalion had been stationed beside a small town rather unfortunately in between the conflicting districts. Kiar Village was a small, but lively place. They were also moderately welcoming, which was better than a lot of the villages on the outskirts of 13 and 12, where demons and humans were rather alarmingly blurred together.
They didn’t exactly want his soldiers there, but conversation was polite so long as the war was not a subject. They were welcomed into shops and greeted in the plaza, and that was really all Owen could ask for.
His favourite part of the village, by far, was the small bakery across from the inn. Sugarcane Corner always smelled like freshly baked bread and rosemary, and so did the owner.
Miss Dalie, who insisted Owen call her Emma, was a nice lady who lived alone in her bakery with her 6 cats. Others in the village whispered about such life choices behind her back (for reasons beyond him, since that sounded pretty great to Owen), but that didn’t change the fact that she made the best pastries out of anyone there.
As the little brass bell above the door announced his entry, Emma glanced up and gave him a gentle smile. “Ah, Owen! How’ve you been?”
Owen smiled back, and Emma didn’t mind that it made his scars crinkle a bit.
“Good as I can be, out here. Noah’s finally warming up to everyone else, so I think siccing Felix on him worked. They spent all of yesterday talking, something about mako sharks?”
She laughed, an easy sound. “Well, it’s nice that they’re getting along. They’re much too young to be out here, so it’s good for them to have friends.”
They fell silent at that, allowing the simple sounds of the streets outside to wash over the shop.
“Have you ever been to the coast, Emma?” He asked. She hummed passively.
“Ah, no. My parents were always much too protective to let me go wandering down to 12 or 10 like that, and nowadays it’s much too dangerous for someone like me. But I’d love to go someday when everything calms down. The ocean sounds so beautiful.”
— — —
Everything is blue, deep and dark and beautiful and cold. Owen has a few precious seconds of wonder before he is tossed onto his stomach by the waves and he discovers he cannot breathe.
Don’t-
Owen can you-
He’s not-
Virus-
Chat is too fast and too slow and too muddled all at once, and Owen can’t make out a word of it over the panic of his own lungs. He is tossed up by the water once again, and this time his head presses against the water’s surface before managing to break it.
He gets five seconds to cough, and take one deep breath, before he is pulled under for another round. Then his head hits something hard, and he’s dreaming once again.
— — —
“The troops arrived too late, sir. They haven’t found any survivors.”
Owen sighed, hand to his temple as he read the letter over once more. It’s been a while since his stay in Kiar Village, but it’s still a shame to hear. The innocent lives of such a welcoming place were lost now, burned away by demons.
The village had been gone for some time now, but Owen was all the way in 12 now, and hadn’t received an official report until several weeks after the event himself
He thought back idly on the memories of those streets. Small and quaint, almost idealistic compared to the brutality of the war he’d found himself in. The water in 12’s harbours weren’t as blue as they’d discussed them being. They were rather choppy now, with the bodies flooding their confines.
Honeysuckle on garden fences, and a quaint bakery full of bread and rosemary. He prayed Miss Dalie’s final moments had been peaceful, with her cats.
Sadly, he had no time to ponder over the lives of dead elders. He’d learned that long ago. So, Owen righted himself and headed for the entrance.
— — —
Owen was thrust rather harshly into land, and lay there for a few moments before being struck once again by the waters. He coughed wetly, turning to his side to vomit up the remaining salt water. His throat burned.
The sun beat down from above, trying to dry out his soaked poncho. His mask was gone, the familiar pressure long escaped into the depths. When he shifted, his unused rope dart jabbed him in the side, still secured against his thigh. The rest of his things hadn’t been nearly so lucky.
His vision swam, multicoloured spots blotting his sight as he tried to look up at the expanse of sky surrounding him. Everything was much too bright and so much and his head was pounding. Everything began to fade out in intervals and Owen was aware of his voices beginning to speak again, but he couldn’t quite make out most of it as he closed his eyes again.
Owen wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, but at some point his voices quieted down and he was able to hear approaching footsteps. Sand brushed over his poncho, disturbed by approaching… feet? Were they footsteps? They had to be, but whoever it was was sinking into the sand a rather alarming amount. Like a goat on a beach or something.
Something nudged his side, and Owen opened his eyes again.
The first thing he saw was oranges of every shade. Everything from Tangerine to almost brown, this guy was probably wearing it. Not even Owen wore that much orange. Dark brown hooves were positioned at his side, with most of the man’s supposed fur covered by a long, cider coloured cloak. As Owen struggled to look upwards, his view of the sun was thankfully blocked out by the face staring down at him.
His own face, framed by wild curls and almost amber shaded freckles, eyes bright and furious, stared back.