Chapter Text
The adeptus is quiet upon their return to the domain. It appears, however, that he is deep in thought, so Morax leaves him to it while he quickly fixes them both something to eat. They part ways for the night that way, with the adepts not having spoken a single word before the door to his room softly closes.
Starting the following day, they settle back into their previous routine. Morax, however, will have to be dead to not notice something has shifted.
It does not necessarily feel bad, but it still leaves Morax with an unsettled feeling in his stomach.
At least some things stay the same.
They still spend a part of the day reading the one book. The adeptus cannot read, not yet, even if he has occasionally been pointing out words he has come to recognise, repeating them under his breath and sounding out the words like he's trying to put the shapes on the paper to the meaning behind it.
Still, they have reread the book enough times that the adeptus can recite most of it by heart, and the one change to this particular routine is that sometimes, the adeptus likes to speak the words himself.
“He looks to the sky,” the adeptus says quietly.
Morax traces the words on the page as the adeptus utters them. “That's right,” he says, just as softly. Then, when the adeptus is quiet for a moment too long, he reads, “The blue is familiar, warm, and welcoming.”
The adeptus mouths the line Morax read to himself. He nods, biting his lips, then stares at the next words for a moment. “It could be home.”
It could be home.
The adeptus flips the page. On the pages, the spirit settles in his new potential home. Over time, he makes a space for himself and meets those who help him do this.
Over time, he makes his potential home, his home.
The adeptus goes to turn the page again, to the final page of the book. The spirit, whose name is—
“Xiao,” Morax says, and the adeptus looks up.
Xiao, the protagonist of the book, who is almost a reflection of the adeptus in the way he has suffered and survived, who eventually learned to live in the way the adeptus is learning to right now.
Perhaps that starts with having an identity, a name, something to help remember the reason for fighting.
The adeptus is looking at Morax, waiting for him to continue. “Your name,” Morax says, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Because you, like the spirit, will overcome.”
Something crosses the adeptus expression, something too quick for even Morax to catch. He mouths the name once, twice, then a small, content smile settles on his lips. “Xiao,” he repeats. “I like it.”
He says it like it is all that simple, like that is all it takes.
The adeptus, Xiao, turns back to the book, but the small smile never fades. He mouths something to himself, runs a gentle hand over the page.
Now, the adeptus has a name. What he needs next, just like the spirit in the books, is a new place to call home. Someplace to return to if he ever gets lost.
And really, there is only one thing left that Morax can do. He has been ignoring it, but perhaps it is for the best.
Morax watches the faint movement of Xiao’s eyes as he scans them over the words printed onto the pages. He turns the page again, to the final spread of the book, where the freed spirit stands in the middle of a beautiful home.
A happy ending. A deserved ending.
Again, there is only one thing left that Morax can do.
Xiao merely nods when Morax asks if he wants to go out with a hand held out and a soft, “There is something I would like you to see.”
Morax tries not to think about how trusting the adeptus is, putting his own hand into Morax’s without hesitation, or how warm his touch is, life pulsing beneath soft, now healthy, skin. He does not bother with the door, and instead teleports them straight out of the domain, one moment in his house and elsewhere in the next.
Xiao stumbles as the ground vanishes from beneath his feet for a heartbeat, but it is back by the time he puts out a foot to try to catch himself. Morax’s hand snaps out to grab him by the waist, too, and he waits for the adeptus to gather his bearings.
Xiao murmurs a soft apology, looks up, and freezes.
The two of them stand in a forest, a massive forest with trees as old as time and lifeforms unknown to any that hail from beyond the treeline.
The kind that appears in books about myths and legends and times long gone.
It is a forest untouched by human hands.
Xiao immediately takes a step forward, then hesitantly glances back at Morax.
“Go on,” Morax says quietly.
Xiao smiles softly, then turns to take another step, then another, then another. He hesitates, then steps into a patch of sunlight peeking through from between the branches and reaches up with his hands like he means to catch something.
The sunlight shimmers as it touches Xiao’s skin, as though it is something sentient that cannot resist the urge to reach out.
And really, Morax understands. Here, beneath the sunlight, surrounded by trees and being caressed by the wind, Xiao looks like he belongs. He watches as Xiao slowly brings down his hands and peers at them.
“What are you trying to catch?” Morax asks, curious.
Xiao blinks. “I…do not know.” He is smiling, however.
The wind picks up. Morax hears a soft, tinkling sound, like the ringing of a chime being carried over a long distance by a breeze. Xiao’s head snaps up at the sound, his cupped hands falling away as his attention is dragged elsewhere.
Morax watches as wind spirits, mere whiffs of existence, float out of the trees to look curiously at Xiao. They make soft, chirping, chittering noises that sound somewhat like bird calls, but at the same time ring deep within Morax’s chest, almost like he is hearing the sound through more than just his ears.
Morax cannot understand them, but Xiao’s hesitation quickly fades at whatever he hears, and he holds out a hand for one of the spirits to land on his finger. What next leaves his mouth is a soft whistle that has the other wind spirits fluttering closer in excitement.
Enthralled by Xiao’s expressions as he is, Morax still notices the change in the air the moment it shifts. He refuses to turn around, eyes fixed on Xiao’s form as the adeptus interacts with the wind spirits. He pointedly ignores the new presence until he hears it dramatically sigh.
“I never thought I'd ever see the day when you became the one visiting me.”
Xiao spins around, a soft gasp escaping his lips.
Morax slowly turns, too, to finally acknowledge the presence sitting atop a tree branch just above them. “Barbados,” he greets.
“Morax,” Barbados replies in kind, though in his airy voice it sounds almost mocking.
“My Lord?” Xiao asks hesitantly.
He shuffles over nervously, and Morax places a reassuring hand on his shoulder before he gently nudges the wind spirit forward, towards Barbatos, whose eyes flicker from Morax to Xiao.
The shift in Barbatos’ gaze is obvious as he asks, “And who’s your friend?” There is a sudden, certain sharpness in his voice that Morax knows he is meant to hear.
A sharpness that reassures Morax all the more that this is the right decision.
Morax ignores Barbatos’ tone for the moment and instead asks, “Is he one of yours?”
Barbatos hops off his perch and approaches, a skip in his step that masks the cautious stiffness in his shoulders. He comes to a stop in front of Xiao, playfully bent forward in an attempt to emphasise that he means no threat. “He’s of the wind,” he confirms, after a moment. “They’re all mine.” He smiles kindly at Xiao, who had stiffened with each step Barbatos took towards him, before leaving his space.
Morax nods, then turns back to Xiao. “Barbatos can be trusted,” he tells him. “He may parade around like a fool, but he is dependable should the moment call for it.”
Xiao opens his mouth but closes it before any words can leave it. He dips his head and whispers, “Yes, My Lord.”
He sounds confused.
Barbatos looks vaguely annoyed, but he does not say anything, probably for Xiao’s sake. Instead, he plops down onto the grassy ground and plants his chin on his hands, blinking obnoxiously as he watches.
Fortunately, he is sitting behind Xiao, and the adepuit cannot see. Morax keeps a hand on his shoulder so that he can steer him in another direction if he does attempt to turn around.
The wind spirits, who had all been waiting rather impatiently for Barbatos to finish talking, immediately surround Xiao again. Xiao looks back at Morax, and when he receives an encouraging nod, allows them to guide him a little away, poking at leaves and inspecting flowers that they eagerly point out to him.
Morax pointedly ignores Barbato’s large eyes and wriggling eyebrows as he stiffly takes a seat near, but not next to, Barbatos. He watches as Xiao looks around, unsure of what to do with himself, but only for the first few moments. It is not long before he takes to his surroundings like he truly belongs.
It is all Morax needs to see to know.
Xiao and his spirit friends finally settle on a patch of flowers, and in moments, Xiao is curled up, asleep.
Morax has been carefully listening to Xiao’s breathing, and Barbatos must have been, too, because in the moment after Morax is sure Xiao is fully under, Barbatos speaks.
“So?” he prompts.
Perhaps Barbatos deserves to know, but it is also not Morax’s story to tell.
Not anymore.
Morax stands. “Take care of him,” he says.
Barbatos, who had spent the entire time staring at Morax staring at Xiao, sighs. “I’m not a nursery, you know,” he bemoans.
“He belongs here,” Morax says. “You saw how happy he was.”
“He could belong here,” Barbatos agrees. “And he may be happy here. But that doesn’t mean this is the only place he could find either of those things.”
Morax does not respond to that.
"I never took you for a liar." Despite his accusation, Barbatos is smiling.
Morax forces himself to turn away. “Take care of him.”
“Hm.” Barbatos climbs to his feet and pats down his trousers. “Well, why don’t you take your time with your goodbye?” he asks. “Seeing as you’re never going to see him again.”
The God of Wind is mocking him. Morax cannot get a retort, or a response, or anything out before he is gone in a particularly strong gust of wind that tugs tauntingly on his hair. He wants to stay frustrated, he really does, but he is painfully aware of the steady rise and fall of Xiao’s chest even from the corner of his eyes, and it all melts away.
Perhaps he will be allowed this one last act of selfishness.
The wind spirits, who had settled around Xiao’s sleeping form, flutter out of the way as Morax approaches, like they, too, are giving him space.
Morax crouches, feeling flowers being crushed beneath him as he kneels over the adeptus. “I never thought there would come a day when I would fear chaining down another,” he murmurs. “Stone is long-lasting; a solid, constant ground beneath one’s feet. Only, what you need is not the stability of the earth, but gusts of wind that can carry you beyond the land, far away from anything that wishes to hold you down.”
Around them, the wind spirits begin to hum, a sound somewhere between a tune and a breeze. Xiao sighs in content. He does not wake as Morax gently touches his cheek.
“Wind brushes stone, but it never stays. You were never meant to remain on the ground.”
He leans forward, brushing aside Xiao’s bangs with one hand as he holds himself up with the other. He presses his lips to his forehead.
“Be free,” he says. “Take flight. And may you find stable ground whenever you need a moment to rest your wings.”
Moran carefully tucks Xiao’s hair behind his ear, then draws himself up.
This is the right decision. This is the only decision. Xiao deserves to be free, to call home a place where he has kin, friends, can truly belong.
The song of the wind spirits almost sounds like a farewell on Xiao’s behalf. Barbatos does not reappear, even though Morax is sure he is watching from somewhere.
Morax does not look back as he walks away, but really, he does not have to, not when Xiao’s soft smile haunts his mind every time he closes his eyes to even blink.