Chapter Text
“So, about Patton…”
Virgil looks up from his work, hands outstretched over the captains jagged wound that pulses with the venom of a monster. Healing magic was never his forte; in the beginning, it always came out wrong, twisted. like the taste of tea that’s been sitting out for a week, it left a sickeningly sweet and moldy taste in his mouth. But now, after hours and hours of practice healing his own wounds, he could ignore the sharp wrongness of it.
“Yes,” he sighed, looking back at his glowing hands. “Where to start… how much do you know about elementals?”
The captain hums in thought. “Not much, to be honest. I know there’s four elements, earth, than air, water, and finally, fire.”
Virgil nodded, shifting to begin the healing needed on the captains leg. “Well, that’s the beginning. Elementals are being made purely of the essence of a certain element. Their very being is made of power, they can do unimaginable things. But long ago, they all died off.”
“How?” The other man asks, looking at Virgil with wide eyes.
“No one knows. There’s little evidence of how they existed, only that they did. But anyways, back to the point: before they died out, they, well… experiment, you could say. Some left parts of their being to be fused with the land, creating a sirt if holy ground. Others found the insignificant species know as humans and decided to… mate, with them. That’s what Patton is; the distant descendent of a being only one step down from one of the gods.”
“Unbelievable,” The captain said. “To thin, my closest friend held such a powerful secret. It must have been a great burden on him.” For a second, his large brown eyes seemed to wander, but than they focused upon Virgil again. “How did you realize patton was a, Whatever you called him?”
“A sylphid,” Virgil corrected, standing up and stretching before moving on to the largest wound, the shoulder. “And it was pretty obvious, actually. The glowing marks on his arms, his affinity for healing magic, though he should be pretty good at all magic- well, let’s just say it was obvious.”
“But that still doesn’to explain how the two of the could survive,” Roman pointed out. Virgil nodded.
“The most famous thing that makes sylphids recognizable is a manifestation of their essence that sprouts directly from the heart and continues if of their shoulder blades. In simpler terms? They have wings. Legends say one string sylphid could carry and entire family in their arms.”
Finally, he was done, every life-threatening wound on the captain and him was healed. “Now, any more questions, or should we get going before another monster decides we look like dinner and dessert?”
____
After the two of them have made some distance, only after the rest when they healed their wounds, that Virgil’s mind has switched off of “immediate danger” mode and into “oh god we almost died” mode. It’s nearly an hour later, the danger has passed and he knows it , but suddenly his heart is beating out of his chest and his head is buzzing. The world starts to darken with the familiar haze of panic, but he pushes on. Your safe he chides himself, stumbling over a rock, nothing is after you your fine.
But his heart is racing and he feels like he drowning and he just can't take it anymore, and plops down onto a fallen log to try and quell the creeping panic that has latched its bony hands around his heart, trailing sharp fingernails down his spine.
“Are you alright?”
He’d almost forgotten the captain in his panic-induced haze, but now the man is kneeling in front of him, eyes filled with equal parts suspicion and concern. He opens his mouth to shoo him away, but no words come out.
The captain continues, peering closer at him. “Are you still injured? Have you been poisoned? Is there any way can offer my assistance?”
“I- it’s n-nothing, I just-“ Virgil starts, but a wave of nausea cuts him off, and he can only wrap his arms around himself and fight off the tears that prickle at the corners of his eyes. “Bad. Scared. Panicking.” He chokes out. His throat feels like it’s closing up, and he can’to breathe he can't breath-
A pair of strong hands clasp his shoulders, and Virgil’s head shoots up in surprise. The captain has him by the shoulders, grip firm, but his eyes are soft and understanding.
“Listen, you need to breathe, alright?” He says, his eyes full of genuine concern. “I know it’s hard, but try to slow down your breaths to a steady rhythm. Here, follow my lead.”
He starts taking big, deep breaths, and Virgil follows suite, trying to fill his lungs with the air they crave. Slowly but surely panics grip on him loosens, brittle fingers losing third purchase in his rib cage and crumbling to dust as his heart slows to a steady pace and the buzzing in his mind fades away.
The captain is still there, the hands on his shoulders like a they get to the earth. Once Virgil was done panicking, he realized how pathetic he must seem. Poor, weak little Virgil, having a goddamn fit in the middle of nowhere.
“Are you-“
“I’m fine!” Virgil snaps, cutting off the calling and standing to his feet. He’s still wobbly, and his chest aches, but he can't stand to stay still any longer. He takes the lead, plunging back into the forest to continue on their trail.
A few hours pass in silence, only interrupted by the captains occasional directions of “start heading south” or “cross that river.” Eventually they make it to the base of the cliffs, and decide to make camp for the night. It’s incredibly easy to start a fire, just a flick of his wrist and a small pile of logs is set alight with an ashy purple flame, much like the colour of his eyes. A little more effort makes a fairly nourishing meal appear, though it’s nothing fancy, just a simple soup of potato and ham. The captain seems impressed with his work, and they settle into silence. But Virgil can as the look on his face, stealing glances and inquisitive peeks at him. Finally, he can take it no longer.
“What!?” He snaps, shoving his empty bowl aside. It disappears as soon as it hits the forest floor.
The captain looks like a guilty child, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I was just wondering if you were alright, that’s all.”
“I’m perfectly fine, Princey ,” Virgil sneers our the mocking nickname he had coined just a day ago. “Is it any of your business how I feel?”
“I’m still taking that as a compliment!” The captain exclaims, than softens. “I was just concerned, that’s all. Even with your, er, prickly exterior I’d be quite the shoddy traveling partner if I simply let you suffer in silence.”
Virgil rolls his eyes. “I’m fine. No need to worry that pretty little head of yours about me.”
“I’m just saying, I’ve had experience with things like that!” The captain continues. “Many of the men newer to the sea would find themselves overwhelmed by certain things. There’s no shame in admitting it!”
“Just. Drop it.” Virgil seethes, crossing his arms defensively. They grow quiet for a few minutes, the lavender fire crackling, still glowing bright and warm.
“When I was just a boy, I got a job as a deckhand,” The captain begins, from nowhere. “My first day on a ship I was so terrified I heaved over the side and nearly shook myself out of my boots. I was still so new to the grown world, young and fresh, inexperienced. It was incredibly daunting.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Virgil asked, looking at the captain. His gaze was elsewhere, staring deep into the fire, a half smile playing at his lips.
“Because I’m not ashamed of the fear I felt.” He said. “I still get absolutely terrified at the prospects of some things. But I’ve learned not to let it consume me. Fear is powerful, and sometimes we fall prey to it, but sometimes just admitting you’re scared is enough to drive it back to where it came from.”
“This is different, though.” Virgil objects, quietly. “I have no control over it. It’s irrational, stupid and I don't know why it happens. I know it’s okay, I know it’s all in my head but that doesn't stop it.”
“Sometimes the dragon isn't one that can be slain rightaway. Sometimes you just need to let the fire burn until the storm passes. Soon enough what seemed like a mighty foe will burn itself out, and become dust under your feet.”
“Thanks, princey.” Virgil whispers.
“You know you can just call me roman, right? I was never one for nicknames.” The captain says. Virgil shakes his head and chuckles.
“Nope, I think I like princey better.” He quips, and the captain fake scowls, before an inquisitive look flashed onto his face.
“You know, I never quite caught your name.” He said, looking at Virgil expectantly.
“I didn't throw it.” He replies, a small smirk turning the corners of his mouth. The captain groans.
“You know that’s not what I meant!” He says, throwing up his arms. “never mind, just- what shall I call you?”
Virgil turns it over in his mind. Obviously he’s not going to tell him his real name. He’s no fool. Names are powerful to the right people. And back home, people never really called him by his name, just sir, or lord , or esteemed one. Stupid titles and such. Finally he decided, something simple a nickname from a kinder time of life .
“Anx,” he said, “you can call me Anx.”
“Anx?” The captain asked. Virgil nodded. “Well then, Anx it is. Now, shall we get some sleep? I’ll take first watch.”
“I’m not tired, I’ll take first watch. Besides, I may have healed you, but you must still be exhausted from the fight. Get some rest, I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
The captain waved him off, standing up and stretching out his arms. “No no, I insist. I’m fine, anyways. You go ahead.”
Oh, this was definitely suspicious. Virgil peers at the other man, taking in the drooping eyes and sallow expression, but also the odd quirks of his brow, and the way his focus jumps from point to point.
“You know, I can't kill you.” He sighed after a few seconds. He captain startles, as if Virgil knew just what he was thinking. “You want first watch so I’ll fall asleep first, then you can make sure I don't stab you in the back. What were you planning to do when you needed to sleep, huh? Leave us unguarded?”
“No, that’s not- I don't mean to imply that you-“ The captain stuttered. Virgil rolled his eyes at his pathetic attempts at defending himself. “Wait, what do you mean you can't kill me?”
“Seriously? Do you know nothing of magic oaths?” Virgil asked. “I swore on my essence I wouldn't kill you, so now I can’t. Like, I physically can’t.” He explained, rather annoyed. “So you can rest easy, knowing you won't wake up with my sword in your gut. Now, go to bed before I cast a sleeping spell on you.”
The captain grumbled a quiet “This is absurd!” Under his breath, before finally settling himself under a tree. His eyes dipped closed almost immediately, long lashes fluttering gently before his head drooped onto his shoulder and his breathing slowed. Finally. Now Virgil could get to work.
His stupid oath keeps him from killing the captain, but not hurting him. A quick rune drawn charcoal black in the night air made sure the captain would stays asleep through the… mild discomfort that his magic could cause. There was something strange about this man, something Virgil couldn’t place. He’d felt it on the ship, when he’d attacked them. Something powerful radiated from him, and Virgil intended to find out what it was.
Carefully, Virgil placed a finger against the captains forehead. Where their skin met a dull, ashy glow began to seep like ink across the captains forehead. His eyes fluttered in his sleep just slightly, but Virgil knew his spell would hold. The captain would simply wake up with a bad headache in the morning, and they’d be on their merry way. Virgil pressed the pad of his finger down firmly on the other man’s forehead, and braced himself.
His eyes flew open, but he couldn't see a thing. For just a second he was blind, lost in a white haze. But just as quickly as his sight had fled, it returned. He was no longer kneeling by the captain in the full glow of the fire. Now, he stood surrounded by the memories of the captain.
They all floated in an eternal stretch of black, on and on as far as they eye could see. Closest to Virgil was the most recent memories; their little spat just minutes before, Virgil’s embarrassing moment of weakness, the fight from earlier. Than even farther back, memories of the burning town, of the fight between their two crews, of the captain standing on a high crows nest. Virgil began to skim the memories, looking for anything suspicious. But there was nothing, nothing that told him of any secret powers or new, volatile magic. Just years and years of the ocean, of ships and docks and cities and battles, some won and some lost. There was funerals at sea, datrng escapes from captivity, moments of complete despair. But nothing magical. This man was just ordinary, regular, not a drop of enchantment in his blood.
Finally Virgil came to the childhood memories. At first, it was nothing special, just a young man’s adventure through adolescents. But than, right where the captain would be about three, the memories just… stopped. Like his life had began with him playing on a shore, making castles of sand and shells. There should be more, blurry memories of first steps and first words, of toys rattled in front of faces and lullabies sung quietly. But there was just nothing.
Virgil delved deeper where he memories ended, pushing against the invisible barrier that marked the starting point of the captains life. There had be more, and maybe that more would be just what he’s looking for. As he pushed against the darkness that signaled the abrupt beginning of memories, he felt it bend, just slightly, giving way to his attempt. A crack formed, infinitesimal, but just enough for him to see a sliver of memory. He grasped onto it, but just as he was able to make it out-
Eyes flew open as Virgil’s back slammed into a tree. His lungs screamed, his chest ached, and his head felt as if it was splitting open from the inside. All he could manage were shallow pants, gasping for breathe through the pain. His vision was fading fast, and as darkness overtook him he swore he felt a hand caress his cheek.
The next morning he wakes up with aching ribs, an angry captain, and no recollection of the moments after the captain had fallen asleep.
_____
Roman is displeased, to say the least. The prisoner- Anx, he reminds himself, fell asleep on watch, leaving than vulnerable the entire night. And for some reason, he woke up with an absolutely killer headache, which has no part in improving his sour mood.
Sunlight hasn’t even began to crest the horizon, and the air is still still and empty of birdsong. If Roman has been forging their path correctly, he and Anx should arrive at the bottom of the cliff where Patton and Logan should have landed. The thought of Patton being so rare and magical was still very strange to Roman; Patton was talented, and kind, and incredibly smart, but him being a powerful descendant of an almost-god was just… strange. A strange thought.
“Well,” Roman says, surveying the river that ran from the imposing cliff, “this is where they would have been. What now?”
The river is large, it’s surface an angry maelstrom of madly churning water. There’s a large pool at the base of the cliffs, a basin where the waterfall has worn away over the years, until the ground bent under its fury. There’s a large tree, roots upturned, half submerged in the angry waters. In it's branches, there’s a flutter of color that draws romans eye, and when he focuses- yes, it the familiar blue of logan's tie, the one he wore without fail everyday.
“Hey, uh,” Anx says from behind him, “is this… the tall ones?” In his hands he holds a shattered pair of wire frames, bent into a shape quite unlike glasses.
Roman reached out to take the ruined glasses from Anx’s hand, holding them gently before tucking them into his pocket. “Yes, which means they were definitely here. But which direction would they have gone…”
“Look,” Anx said, pointing over the tall tree tops. In the distance, a small plume of smoke could be seen wafting into the sky. “That could be a campfire, or even smoke from a chimney. They probably went that way.”
Roman nodded. “Good eye. That looks to be only a few miles, if we make a good pace than it shouldn't take more than an hour or so to get there.”
Together the two of them trekked through the trees towards the plume of smoke. Roman was correct; within an hour they had arrived at the source of the smoke, and found it to be a pleasant looking cottage nestled within a clearing and surrounded by a small river.
“This must be it,” Roman announced, surveying the quaint little house. “Hopefully Patton and Logan will have found their way here. If not, perhaps we can get some help here.”
With Anx standing behind him, Roman knocks, loud and firm, against the heavy wooden door. Within seconds it opens, revealing a small person who takes one look at him and gasps, stepping backwards in shock. From somewhere inside, a loud clatter can be heard, the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Before he can speak, the person in front of him takes a shuddering breath, gripping the doorframe as if it was their last hope.
“I- h-how are you here?” They ask, their voice thin and on the verge of breaking. “Thomas, I thought- I thought you were dead?”