Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It all starts at the end. It’s not a nice satisfying end, built up over a long and happy story. It's not a happy end, gentle and warm. It’s not an ending forethought, earned and fought for. It's a quick and abrupt ending, one that you don’t see coming until it hits, but still one that leaves you screaming, crying, begging for more time, with snot and tears and blood pouring down your face.

Tommy cries for mercy. A hand curls in his hair and slams his head against the wall once, twice, and then…

Then there’s darkness.

It doesn’t happen all at once. Tommy's head gets slammed into obsidian walls a third time and something gives this time. It feels as though he tumbles forward, out and into nothing, as though cast into the sea and left to drift to the bottom. He's weightless and floating, or perhaps sinking. There is no light, no sun overhead, no lava down below, no stars in between. It’s all-consuming, wrapping its hands around Tommy's throat and stealing the stale air from his lungs.

Only, Tommy isn’t breathing, no matter how much he wheezes. There is no sensation following his desperate gasps, and no sound reaching his ears. When he reaches up to claw at his chest, he finds nothing, feels nothing. Because that’s all there is left of him, it seems. That's all that’s left of anything. Suffocating silence, drowning numbness.

And then Tommy does feel something. A hand, gentle and warm, brushes over the side of his face, wiping away the blood and tears. And suddenly, like ripples over a pond, sensation comes back to tommy. It’s still dark, but it’s not the nothingness of before. Mostly because there’s now a face in Tommy's line of sight.

Hiccuping sobs escape his throat, tears streaming down his face anew. There comes a voice, low and mournful. Another hand rises to the other side of Tommy's face, cradling his head in a hold far gentler than any touch Tommy has felt in months. It only serves to make Tommy bawl harder.

“Oh, my son, what have they done to you?” Kristin asks, anguish plain as day behind her eyes. “Dearest, what has happened?”

Tommy cannot form words, cannot draw in enough air to do anything other than keen in pain and fright. Instead, he reaches out with shaky hands, still covered in grime and blood. The hands holding him move and Tommy is tugged into an embrace. He screams over Kristin's shoulder, hysteric beyond articulation. All the while, those same soft hands run over his back, curl over the nape of his neck, keep him safe and steady.

“I- I’m- I died ,” Tommy gasps out between cries, “he k- he- he killed me!”

“I'm so sorry, little spark,” Kristin murmurs beside his ear, “that wasn’t- you weren’t meant for this death. You were supposed to have more time. I'm… I'm sorry, my son.”

Apologies mean nothing. Tommy is dead. Tommy is dead, he’s been killed, he can never go back.

“I’m never gonna see them again,” Tommy wheezes out, “I’m never gonna see Phil or Tech or-” Tommy cuts himself off with the suddenness of his revelation, “-Wil. Wil’s here, right? Can I see him?” Tommy pulls back enough to look the woman in the eyes, but he is still only met with sadness.

“Wilbur is… not here,” she explains sadly, “he is in limbo, the space between life and death. You… you’ve passed on fully.”

And just like that, Tommy's flickering flame of hope is snuffed out once more. Before he can fall back into hysterics, Kristin's hands bring his face back up to look her in the eyes.

“I can fix this,” she says, “you’re my son. If I can't bend the rules for you, at least…” she trails off before shaking herself. “Time acts strangely in this place. I could send you back- just… it’s… inexact. I might- I don't know when you’ll end up.”

“Please,” Tommy begs, grabbing Kristin’s arms, “please I don’t- I can’t- please, I don’t want to be dead- please -”

“Alright,” Kristin murmurs, pressing a kiss to Tommy's head, “it will change you in ways you might not expect. It did to my love as well. I hope that even if you’re lost to time that you find whatever you’re looking for.”

She lets Tommy go, and for one horrible terrifying second, Tommy drifts back into the nothingness. And then everything snaps back into place and Tommy…

Falls down.

He cries out, wind rushing past his ears for a few long moments before he crashes into the water. It’s enough to shock him back into himself and he kicks and flails for a little bit. When he pulls himself above the waves, he finds he’s in the ocean, only a short way from the shore. When he drags himself onto land and looks around, he feels rocked with deja vu.

He knows this land. He hasn’t seen it barren and untouched in a long time, but he knows it. I don't know when you’ll end up. Oh no.

Tommy's in the middle of an awful horrible realization and then he looks over his shoulder and finds something else to panic about.

Tommy was born with talons of dark glittering garnet, mottled red and gold scales crawling up his limbs like he’d dipped his hands into a sunset. He had no wings or a tail, but it was clear to anyone who looked at him where such features had come from. It was rare to meet a person of draconic descent these days, since all the dragons had retreated to hidden sanctuaries.

True hybrids were unheard of, but here and there you’d find a person with a dragon a ways back in their lineage. Tommy was one such person. He didn’t know that for a long time, only piecing together things from villagers calling him a salamander and Wilbur calling him a little drake. By the time he learned the truth of his bloodline, he’d been orphaned for a long time.

Tommy didn’t know the warmth of fiery wings, didn’t need the comfort of a golden hoard. He had no powers beyond the added ability of sharpened claws, but no instincts either. For all intents and purposes, he was human. Throughout most of his time in the lands of Esempi, Tommy wore gloves over his hands, long sleeves and tall boots to hide his scales.

Even when people started to see them, it didn’t change anything. Tommy couldn’t spew fire from his lungs, couldn’t fly into the skies alongside his father. He was a human with claws, and little else. Painfully normal.

Or, rather, he was painfully normal. Not anymore. Never again.

—

Everyone who was anyone knew about the Timeless Man.

He’d been around for as long as the town had been standing, and if old stories were anything to go by, a lot longer than that. A strange creature neither mortal nor man, something ancient and powerful. With dark horns curling up from his head and massive wings that were twice as long as he was tall and colored in brilliant reds and golds, he was a sight to behold, demonic and angelic in turns.

The elders said their elders had known him since they were children, that he hadn’t aged a day in centuries. It was rumored that even the dragons called him the ancient one.

And despite the air of mystery surrounding him and his origins, despite his almost revered status, he was still kind and cordial. He came down from his home in the mountains every few years on the back of a creature made of fungus and fur to distribute strange elixirs that could heal the worst of wounds, and everyone who’d ever spoken to him claimed him to be a sweet man, if a vulgar one, and nothing like the immortal spirit they expected him to be.

The first time Philippos met him, he was eight and far too skittish to actually approach the man who was a good head or three taller than even his father and had sharp teeth and claws and— supposedly— quite the temper. He’d watched from behind the safety of building corners or his parents’ legs as the Timeless Man walked the streets, chatting with the people and handing off little bottles of shimmering red and pink liquids.

One of the other boys, much braver and much more stupid than he, had run forward and latched on to the Timeless Man’s spiny tail. Amidst the incredulous gasps of onlookers, the Timeless Man simply lifted his tail, dragging the boy— Akakios— into the air. He dangled there for a moment and the Timeless Man peered down at him, a grin on his face. Akakios was slowly lowered back to the ground and despite the smile on his face, there was a quiver to his limbs.

Still, he boasted to Philippos and the other boys about his bravery. Leon said that it was only by the Timeless Man’s mercy that Akakios still lived, but he was likely just trying to save face. He'd also been too frightened by the monster of a man to dare approach him, let alone grab on to his tail.

It’s another five years before Philippos meets the Timeless Man again.

He's thirteen— gangly and long-limbed and still too soft and smooth to be anything other than a child. He's also on the brink of death, the taste of iron crawling up his throat as he desperately tries to hold his insides in. Blood spills across the undergrowth, as though a container of paint was tipped over a careful drawing. It's sticky and warm and Philippos wishes he were at least dying among family.

He doesn’t really see or hear anything for the next few moments, but he does feel when a hand curls under his jaw, tilting his head back until he’s looking up into a vermillion gaze. The eyes are those of a predator’s, slitted and too bright, yet Philippos still finds them soft and warm. The face attached to it moves, speaking to him, but Philippos can’t hear a word over the rushing sound in his ears. Something is pressed to his lips, and Philippos tilts his head back and drinks. At least if it turns out to be poison, he will be dead sooner instead of later.

But instead of bitter, liquid death, the tonic he consumes sends a pleasant warmth spreading over Philippos’s entire body. A soft embrace with a current of burning heat traveling alongside it, chasing away the cold that had seeped into his being. Beneath his slick and sticky fingers, he can feel his abdomen sealing itself shut, as though unseen hands were stitching it closed. Philippos gets the sweet aftertaste of fruit on the back of his tongue before his world fades away.

The first time Tommy meets Phil, he doesn’t know who the boy is yet. He's a poor soul who’s been mugged out in the middle of the woods, gutted and left to rot among the roots and weeds for only the forest and its fauna to find. Tommy was going to visit the town at the base of the mountain anyway, a selection of potions already tucked away in one of Henrik's pouches.

Tommy doesn’t know the boy is Phil when he finds him. He doesn’t know the boy is Phil when he carries him home. He doesn’t know the boy is Phil until much later.

Philippos awakes with soft mumbles and a hazy mind. How he’s fallen asleep in the middle of the day doesn’t particularly matter, but what does matter is that it was probably the worst mistake of his life. Philippos hates sleeping while the sun is up. It makes him feel too hot and thirsty and achy when he wakes up.

Because of his disorientation, Philippos takes a long time trying to remember when, how, and why he fell asleep. And he certainly remembers. Paralyzing fear, bone deep despair, the knowledge that he wouldn’t wake and wouldn’t be found. Philippos’s eyes snap open, his body jerking upright. His head knocks against something hard, causing Philippos to lean back over with a hiss, reaching up to cradle the sore spot.

“Yeowch, that probably hurt,” a voice says, “you alright there, kid?”

Philippos rubs a little bit more at the back of his head before looking up. And freezing. What greets him are crimson eyes, a face framed by golden hair and garnet horns. Philippos is looking at the Timeless Man. He’s sitting in front of the Timeless Man, and beside them both is a truly massive cow-creature with spotted mushrooms growing out of its fur. Philippos just bonked his head on a tree in front of the Timeless Man and his plant-beast.

“You’re-”

“Save the hero worship for later,” the Timeless Man says, waving a hand at Philippos, “preferably when I'm not around to deal with it.”

Philippos sits in dumbfounded silence, watching as the Timeless Man pulls himself up off of the ground, bumping his knuckles against the plant-beast until it starts to stand as well.

“You alright there, kid? Need help getting up?” The Timeless Man asks, leaning down and holding out a hand. Philippos, unsure of what else to do, reaches up and takes it. Glittering red-black talons practically engulf his hand, the Timeless Man’s being much bigger than his. The dragon man seems to exert no effort as he pulls Philippos to his feet, but the movement still jostles him and sends a bolt of pain through his midsection.

The Timeless Man sees him wince and grimaces, “ah, shit, sorry kid. Yeah, you might wanna take it easy for a while, potion or not.”

Philippos stands on too-wobbly legs for a few moments, before the Timeless Man seems to decide it’d be easier to just pick him up. Philippos squeaks in surprise as he’s then placed on to the back of the Timeless Man’s plant-beast.

“Ah, um, s-sir, you don’t-”

“It's fine, kid, you’re the injured one,” the Timeless Man reassures. He doesn’t bother mounting the beast, simply making a clicking noise and guiding it forward.

“Er- what about you?” Philippos asks, tangling his fingers in the beast’s fur as it begins to move.

“I've got long legs,” the Timeless Man quips, “besides, I could probably use the exercise.”

And they begin to walk.

Philippos sits in dumbfounded silence, watching as the fungus-covered cow ambles ever forward. He doesn’t know what to say, and the Timeless Man is not starting up any conversations either. After a lot of internal kicking of the self, Philippos clears his throat. The Timeless Man tilts his head back, making a soft inquiring noise.

“Th-thank you. for saving me.” The words feel paltry in comparison to the gratitude Philippos feels, but how could he articulate such a thing? The only thing that comes to mind is getting on his hands and knees and groveling, perhaps offering up his firstborn in thanks while he did. He’s not sure if he’d be allowed to do such a thing, nor if he even could— the groveling, that is— given the ever present ache in his stomach.

“Don’t even worry about it,” the Timeless Man says like he’s said it a thousand times— which he very well may have— “it’s not like I was just gonna let a kid bleed out in the woods.”

Philippos feels a little bit like crying, actually. It’s slowly sinking in that he almost died out there. He’d like to think that someone would piece things together if he wasn’t found, but his family might have assumed that he’d run off to one of the cities, like many of the other boys his age. He'd never abandon his Mama and Papa, but would they know that?

“Thank you,” Philippos repeats, his voice cracking awfully this time around. The Timeless Man hums, accepting the gratitude with silence.

Eventually, the trail they wander becomes familiar, even from the heightened perspective, and Philippos can start to see the distant silhouettes of buildings through the thinning foliage.

“I can- uh, get off here, if it’s easier,” Philippos offers, but the Timeless Man shoots him a look.

“I am not forcing a ten-year-old to walk home after getting fucking stabbed,” the Timeless Man practically growls, “just tell me where your house is and I’ll get you there.”

By the gods, Philippos was about to be the talk of the town, being brought in on the back of the Timeless Man’s beast, guided along by the immortal himself.

“I'm not ten,” Philippos weakly mumbles. The Timeless Man gives a bark of laughter.

“At least kids never change,” the man says, a slight edge to his voice.

The cow trudges into the streets, and they are probably a sight to see. Philippos can already hear the shocked murmurs at the sight of him, but he tries to hold his head high. He murmurs out the location of his home and is brought there, his mother and father standing at the doorstep, slack jawed.

The Timeless Man holds out his arms so Philippos can fall into them. Dismounting sends a bolt of pain through his body, but it would probably have been much worse if he’d tried to get down himself. The Timeless Man gently ushers him towards his parents, pressing a bottle of shimmering pink liquid into his hands, telling him to take it if he ever got hurt that bad again.

And then the Timeless Man is off again to do trade as he always does. And Philippos is left with a story that, eventually, everyone he’s ever known wrestles out of him.

—

It does not take another five years for Philippos to meet the Timeless Man again, but only because about two years after he’s saved from his death, Philippos tires of waiting and gives in to the curiosity that burns within all of them. He’s not the first to attempt to climb the mountain, but he tells himself that he will be the first to actually succeed in finding the Timeless Man’s hidden home.

The thing was, walking up a mountain was not exactly an easy task, and Philippos was regretting being a good person and refusing to steal— er, borrow one of the horses that Gaiane’s family kept. He was also regretting not bringing along some water or something similar. He's tired, thirsty, and his muscles are aching from effort. And he’s not sure if he’s even halfway up the mountain!

This also means that if he wants to go back down, it’s going to take just as much out of him. Philippos could call it quits here and now, turn tail and hope the hike down is easier than the hike up… or… he could just… tough it out? Worst case scenario, he could simply climb a tree and sleep in it if nightfall came before he found the Timeless Man’s home.

Or, third option: Philippos could get so tired of hiking up the mountain that he could trip on a root, brain himself against a rock, and pass out in the dirt. A wonderful plan.

When Philippos opens his eyes, he’s rolled over so he’s looking up at the starry sky. And, barely visible in the darkness, a black creature peers down at him. Philippos, ever the brave hero, does the smartest thing he can think of at the moment.

Which is, of course, shrieking and scrambling backwards. The creature looking down at him puffs up and screams back, and once Philippos has regained his bearings, he realizes it wasn’t some demon of the night, but a simple crow who was now hopping in place, fluffing up its wings and cawing at Philippos.

The boy gives a deep sigh, placing a hand over his pounding heart, and then looks back down at the crow, now silently staring at him.

“Sorry, mate,” Philippos murmurs, “you just spooked me a little, heh.” The crow tilts its head and hops closer, making a much softer cawing noise. Philippos shifts so his feet are under him and leans forward. Curiously, he stretches a hand out, waiting to see what the crow will do. It ducks forward, allowing Philippos to run his hand over its head. It’s actually… sort of soft.

Philippos smiles down in wonder at the interaction. “I don’t suppose you know where the Timeless Man lives, eh?” Philippos jokes, giving the bird a good scritch to the back of its head. Abruptly, it ducks out from beneath his hand and hops up into the air, wings flapping so it’s carried up to a nearby branch. Philippos startles slightly, staring up at the bird. It caws down at him and jumps to a nearby try, a little bit further.

Against all reason or logic, Philippos pushes himself to his feet, aching in every limb but still standing despite. Then, he begins to follow the crow as it hops from tree to tree, and then as it just begins flying forward. The pace continuously ramps up, eventually forcing Philippos to run if he wants to keep up with the crow. He's not even sure why exactly he’s doing it, but… well, he feels like it’s important.

Finally, he breaks through the treeline into a clearing, and he bends at the waist, hands on his knees, gasping for air. When he looks up for the crow, he watches its feathers catch the light of torches and lanterns as it flies overhead to land on a windowsill. Belonging to a house. In the middle of the woods on a mountain that the Timeless Man supposedly lives on.

Philippos stares at the structure, dumbfounded. Either he’s done the impossible, what nobody in generations could ever accomplish, or he’s found the home of some crow hermit. And then the door to the house creaks open and Philippos stumbles backward as the Timeless Man steps out, in all his scaled, winged glory. And he looks around before the crow swoops down to land on his shoulder.

The Timeless Man smiles and says something to the bird, but Philippos can’t hear it over the rushing sound in his own ears. He feels lightheaded. Should he feel this lightheaded? He doesn't think so. The Timeless Man looks over the clearing before his eyes catch on Philippos. his wings flare out briefly, and Philippos laughs because they look just like the crow’s had earlier. And then Philippos's legs buckle beneath him and he’s on the ground again.

Philippos takes a moment to admire how the stars look from here. They feel brighter. Maybe it’s the mountain air, or something. Then the Timeless Man leans over him, reaching down to pull him up off of the ground.

“Gods, kid, what the fuck happened to you? Your face is covered in blood.”

Oh, is that what that is? Philippos thought it was just sweat or something. The Timeless Man snorts and Philippos realizes belatedly he’d spoken that thought aloud.

“You know,” Philippos says, “we gotta stop meeting like this.”

The Timeless Man stares blankly at Philippos, and for a moment he thinks the Timeless Man saves so many kids that Philippos just wasn’t standout enough to recall. But then recognition lights the Timeless Man’s eyes.

“You’re that kid that got stabbed a few years back! What the fuck are you doing up here? Also, wow, you got tall.” The last statement— which feels almost demeaning from the Timeless Man who stands nearly a full two heads taller than Philippos and much of the village— is said as the Timeless Man drags Philippos to his feet, guiding him towards the house in the center of the clearing.

“I’unno,” Philippos mumbles, “wanted to talk, I guess? Followed a bird to get here. That bird.” Philippos waves at the crow still perched on the Timeless Man’s shoulder.

“Okay, I think you’re either concussed or suffering the effects of blood loss,” the Timeless Man says, a quirk to his lips. “C’mon, I'll get you fixed up.”

Between one blink and the next, Philippos suddenly finds himself sitting in possibly the softest chair he’s ever sat in, cradling a half-empty bottle of glittering pink liquid.

“Hey, you gotta drink all of it for the effects to stick,” the Timeless Man’s voice chides from another room. Philippos grimaces at the taste in his mouth.

“Why is it salty?” He asks, glancing down into the bottle.

“Yeah, just don’t think about what goes into those. It’s better for both of us.”

Despite the rather potent flavor, Philippos still knocks back the rest of the potion, shuddering as he swallows it. Moments later, the Timeless Man is entering the room again with a little box of… less magical remedies. A damp towel is wiped over Philippos’s face and he resists the urge to flinch back as the Timeless Man cleans blood off of his face before wrapping bandages around his head.

The Timeless Man sits back on his haunches, giving Philippos an exasperated look that would be more at home on his mother’s face than on that of a living legend. “Gods, kid, why didn’t you bring the potion I gave you? Or one of the ones I hand out around town every few years?”

Philippos sputters. “The potion is for emergencies! What if Mama fell while fixing someone’s roof? Or what if Papa accidentally sliced his thumb off while carving?”

“And what if you took a nasty tumble and broke your head open?”

“Yeah, but I'm not even technically supposed to be up here,” Philippos grumbles. The Timeless Man squints at him.

“What, did you run away from home or some shit?”

“Wh- no! No, no, no, I just. I mean it’s not forbidden to climb the mountain to look for you, but… well, no one’s ever succeeded, so it’s usually just a way for people to get lost in the woods and die. So…”

“So you decided to get lost in the woods for clout?”

“For what?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” the Timeless Man says, a little bit too quickly, “well, can’t blame a man for trying to be cool.”

“I wasn't trying to be cool,” Philippos protests, “I just- I wanted to talk to you!”

“Well. I'm here. You’re here. We are in fact currently talking. So?” The Timeless Man raises an eyebrow, and suddenly Philippos feels very stupid.

“I- I don’t… I didn't really think I'd get this far.”

“Okay, well since you’re apparently awful at conversation-ing, I suppose I’ll do you a solid and teach you some common decency,” the Timeless Man says, dragging a chair closer to Philippos, “here’s how a normal conversation might go: Hi, hello, it’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, what’s your name?”

“Oh, er, um. I'm Philippos, the youngest son of the crafters.”

For a very brief second, the Timeless Man’s casual smile goes rigid before he smooths himself back out, his face a little bit softer. When he speaks, his tone is a bit less teasing as well. “Heh, you remind me of an old man I used to know.”

“Wow, someone you consider old?” Philippos says. He regrets it a moment later, blanching in horror at his instinctual quip. The Timeless Man goes bug-eyed, a laugh wrenching itself out of his mouth.

“Oh my gods, that was-” the Timeless Man devolves into peals of laughter, leaning over with the force of it until he eventually chokes on his own laughter and begins coughing.

“I'm so, so sorry,” Philippos mumbles, hiding his face in his hands.

“No, no,” the Timeless Man says, still wheezing a little, “I've just never been on the other end of that joke! Shit’s crazy, mate.”

The Timeless Man straightens, collecting himself somewhat and continuing, “The guy I knew was sort of my predecessor. I knew him when I was still mortal.”

That’s an interesting bite of information.

“Y’know he also had a way with the crows,” the Timeless Man says, holding out a hand so a bird can come swooping in to land on his scaled arm. Philippos stares for a long moment before looking around and realizing that fucking hell there were a lot of crows inside this house.

“Oh my gods, you are a crow hermit,” he whispers to himself. The Timeless Man cackles. The crow on his arm leaps into the air before landing on Philippos’s own shoulder. He flinches away before regaining his bearings. Like with the last one, Philippos offers a hand. And, like with the last one, this crow also bumps its head against his palm like a barn cat would.

“That's Fitz,” the Timeless Man says, “they’re the one who guided you here.” Ah. Same overly friendly crow, then.

“Ah, um, m-mister… Timeless Man… sir?” Philippos asks, turning back to the immortal sitting across from him, now with a cat in his lap, a crow sitting on one of his horns, and a wolf curling up by his feet. The Timeless Man hums softly. “If it’s not… too presumptuous… uh, you asked for my name. Could I… ask for yours…?”

The Timeless Man’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Wow. You’re the first person in, like, eighty years to actually ask me for my name.”

Philippos blinks. Really? Has no one thought of doing that? For almost a century?

“Tommy,” the Timeless Man says.

“To-mi?” Philippos tries to say, stumbling over the name.

“Thomas,” the Timeless Man offers.

“To-mas.”

“Tom.”

“Tohm.”

“Wow, you’re kind of bad at this,” the Timeless Man chuckles.

“You’re kind of bad at- at having a normal name.”

“Sick burn, kid,” the Timeless Man says, cackling again and causing the crow perched on his horn to bob up and down with the force of it.

“I don’t- even-” Philippos is cut off by a long yawn that causes something to pop in his jaw.

“Ah, ‘s pretty late, innit? You can stay the night, I've got a guest room that’s probably not too dusty. I'll take you back down in the morning or something.” And then the Timeless Man— Thomas — is pulling him out of his seat and gently ushering him down a hallway and into a simple room.

The- Thomas bids him good night, and then Philippos is left alone in- in the guest room of the Tim- of Thomas's house. It’s sort of dusty, actually. And there’s something sad in that. When was the last time this room was actually tidied up in preparation for guests? When was the last time Thomas had a joking conversation with another person? Philippos was apparently the first person to ask for his name in eighty years. Is he the first person to speak it in a similar amount of time?

Philippos flops backward onto the absurdly soft bed and feels his eyelids grow heavy. Before sleep overcomes him, Philippos makes a promise to himself— if the Timeless Man is as lonely as his house implies, then Philippos will try his best to give Thomas a friend.

Waking up the next morning is an interesting experience, because at first Philippos doesn’t actually remember where he is, just that he’s the most comfortable he’s ever been. When he does finally manage to drag himself out of bed, he glances out the window to find a crow pecking at the glass. And it hits him again all at once. He’s in the Timeless Man’s house, and he knows the Timeless Man’s fucking name.

Philippos gets up and fiddles with the window until he figures out how to open it. The crow hops inside and gives a soft caw. Philippos reaches up a hesitant hand to give it some scritches. “Fitz?” He tries. The crow caws again… happily? Philippos is going to go with happily.

“Er… want to join me?” He offers an arm to the bird and then he’s carrying a crow. It’s (they’re?) careful not to dig its talons into his skin, which is more courteous than most of the fowl that people in town keep, so Fitz is now Philippos’s favorite bird.

When he ventures out of his room and nervously ventures down the hallway, he’s not sure what he’s expecting. An empty room… isn’t exactly it. Philippos goes to walk down a different hallway when Fitz caws from where they’re perched on his arm, gently tugging on his sleeve. Philippos blinks down at them.

“… Not this way?” he guesses. The bird bobs their head up and down in some approximation of a nod. Philippos proceeds to play a game of hot and cold until he’s guided to the entrance of the house. When he exits the building, Fitz flies up from his arm, flapping in the air for a moment before shooting off around the house. With a sigh, Philippos begins chasing after the crow once more.

It's a much shorter run than last night’s, and it takes no time at all to find where Fitz is leading him to. A little ways behind the house, the Timeless Man is elbow deep inside a chicken coop, digging out eggs as he goes. Fitz lands on top of the coop and caws loudly, causing the Timeless Man and several of the chickens to startle. The Timeless Man knocks his head against something and is rubbing the spot as he ducks back out.

He catches sight of Philippos and seems to go through several emotions very quickly.

“Uh. Huh. Y’know, not gonna lie,” the Timeless Man says, “I kind of thought I'd dreamt up last night.”

Philippos just kind of shrugs. The Timeless Man ambles over, carrying a basket of eggs.

“Well, I kind of have some shit to do before we can head out. Wanna help me? Two pairs of hands are better than one an’ all that.”

Well. What’s Philippos gonna do? Say no? That would not be conducive to his plan to make the Timeless Man less lonely.

“Sure,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. The Timeless Man gives him a smile.

“See, I knew you were a good kid, Phil.”

Philippos blinks. “Phil?”

“That's you.”

… Well.

“Alright… Thomas.”

Something… complicated flashes across the Timeless Man’s face before his smile softens some.

“Come along, then, young crafter!”

The Timeless Man… Thomas lives a surprisingly mundane life. He has a truly absurd amount of animals living in and around his house. After the Timeless Man feeds him a breakfast of eggs and toasted bread with butter on it, the first thing they do is begin feeding all of these animals. There are the chickens out back that Thomas has already gotten to, the crows have a designated feeding area, there are sheep and cows and pigs, a massive black horse with ruby red eyes that makes Philippos more than a little nervous.

Then there’s the plant-beast— Henrik, apparently— and the pack of wolves that Thomas has tamed alongside the many, many cats that wandered the property. “This is too many animals,” Philippos mumbles when they get around to feeding the cats.

“No amount of animals is ‘too many’,” Thomas shoots back almost immediately.

Once all of that is done, Thomas guides Philippos back to the truly terrifying horse and begins to saddle the thing up. When Thomas sees Philippos’s fright, he cackles at him again.

“Aw, man up Phil! Despite her name, Maneater doesn’t actually eat men.”

Philippos blanches. “Its name is Maneater !?”

“ Her name is Maneater. Respect pronouns, Philz- uh, Phil.”

Ignoring the strange stutter over his name, philippos allows himself to be pulled up onto the back of Maneater despite what logic dictates he should do about this situation— that being run the fuck away. It's only once Thomas has begun steering the horse down an almost invisible path down the mountain that Philippos thinks to ask, “why not take, uh, Henrik?”

“I love my mooshroom as much as the next guy,” Thomas explains, “but Henrik is kind of slow as fuck. He’s great if you want to take the scenic route, but if you want to be home before midnight, well…”

“Maneater’s my best bet?” philippos guesses.

“You catch on quick crafter boy!” With that, Thomas urges his horse into a much faster pace, one that has Philippos clinging to the man in front of him. The easiest things to grab onto are the wings and it’s a very strange experience to do that. The scales aren’t like the lizards or snakes that Philippos used to catch as a boy but— well, this might be blasphemous, but— much more like a chicken’s scaly legs.

Resisting the urge to ask if the Timeless Man was secretly a weird chicken man, Philippos spends the ride in silence, trying his best to commit the path to memory. In what felt like no time at all, they leave the woods to merge with the main road, and it’s there that Thomas brings his horse to a halt.

“I've got no business in town this time around,” Thomas says over his shoulder, “and I don't really want to deal with the gawking if I don't have to, so…”

“So this is where we split up,” Philippos finishes, tentatively trying to slide off of the horse. Ultimately, Thomas simply grabs the collar of his shirt and gently lowers him to the ground.

“You gonna be alright getting back on your own?” Thomas asks.

“Yeah. I probably won’t get stabbed on the road a second time.”

Thomas grimaces and then pauses, seeming to mull something over in his head.

“Look, kid, because you already know where it is and because you’re funny, feel free to come visit my house whenever you’re up there.”

“What?”

Philippos had to do a doubletake to make sure he’d heard correctly.

“What? Maybe I get lonely.”

“Wouldn’t you just visit more often, then?”

“What and listen to people call me their immortal savior, the eternal spirit of the mountains with wisdom beyond their years? Please, I get enough of that from the dragons.”

There’s a bitter edge to Thomas's voice when he says this, one that’s very… human.

“Just… if you want to.” Thomas holds an arm out to the side and a familiar crow lands on it. “And since this fellow decided to follow us, you can use them to find your way back if you want to.” Fitz caws at Thomas, hopping briefly onto Maneater’s head and playing with her mane before the horse shakes them off. Then, Fitz lands again on Philippos’s shoulder. He smiles at them and then back up at Thomas.

“I hope to see you soon, then, Thomas,” Philippos says. The Timeless Man chortles, as though laughing at some joke.

“I look forward to it, Philippos,” he says. Then, he turns his horse around and disappears back into the woods.

Philippos stares for a long moment until Fitz makes a soft noise from his shoulder. He brings a hand up and gives them a scratch.

“Quiet you. We’ll go home now. Ugh, what will I tell Mama and Papa? You know, they might not even let me keep you.”

Fitz gives a smug little caw, and Philippos can almost imagine them saying something like, ‘I'd like to see them try to get rid of me.’

What a strange world Philippos has found himself in.

—

Philippos, once again, becomes the talk of the town. He doesn’t exactly spread the story around, but, well, he had to tell his parents, right? And his parents had talked about the truly baffling experience, which meant that the townsfolk had a story to pass along to the next person.

The next thing Philippos knew, his friends were grilling him for information. Only this time Philippos was a bit more tight-lipped about his adventure. This was… well, it was personal. He'd been the one to seek out the Timeless Man and he’d been the one to succeed.

It was Philippos who’d gotten a name out of the immortal, and he wasn’t going to just go spreading it around. The other boys his age aren’t too pleased with him because of it, but Philippos finds he doesn’t actually care that much about their opinions, especially when their focus almost immediately shifts off of Philippos after Nikandros tells them he’s leaving for the Capital.

There are opinions Philippos does care about— namely those of his parents. They’re… nervous, mostly, for reasons Philippos can’t fathom.

“What you’re doing is dangerous, Phili,” Papa tells him, “the Timeless Man is kind, but… immortals tend to draw in tragedy. I just… I don't want you getting hurt.”

“I know what I'm doing, Papa,” Philippos assures, “I'll be fine.”

Inevitably, Philippos climbs the mountain again. He's better prepared this time and has an actual guide telling him where to go, so there’s a lot less stumbling around blindly.

Fitz flies overhead and Philippos runs to keep up with them. At the very least, he’s getting a lot of exercise from going up and down the mountain all the time. As he runs, a few collared wolves trot up beside him, panting and barking as he chases after Fitz. He only trips three times his entire trip, and he doesn’t even actually fall over once. A triumph indeed.

This time, when Philippos arrives at the clearing that the Timeless Man’s home lay within, the immortal is already outside, with a huge sheet laid out in front of him and several buckets beside that. As Philippos approaches, he realizes that spread out atop the sheet were various teeth, claws, and bones. Ignoring the fear that wells up inside of him, Philippos allows curiosity to draw him closer.

Thomas looks up at his approach and gives him a slightly strained smile. “Hey kid, sorry for the… bones n’ shit. You’re lucky you showed up after cleaning was already done.” Philippos shivers at the implications of that statement and goes to sit beside the Timeless Man.

“What’s this… from? Or for?” He asks, watching as Fitz begins to pick over the pearly teeth.

“I go monster hunting sometimes,” Thomas explains, “it’s a good way to keep myself up and active. It also makes good sacrifice.”

“S-sacrifice?” Philippos leans back, looking up at Thomas. The Timeless Man points over and Philippos looks back at the various bones. Fitz was still picking through them, joined now by some other crows. Eventually, one of the other crows flies off, carrying a dark and glassy claw. Rather than fly off into the treeline, the crow seems to just… disappear.

“What… the fuck?” Philippos asks.

“For the crows, and their lady.”

“What?” Philippos asks again. Thomas cackles at him.

“Just because the crows don’t have mushrooms growing in between their feathers doesn’t mean they’re not magic,” Thomas says cryptically.

The two of them are interrupted as Fitz finally picks out a tooth, and instead of flying up into the ether, they simply hop over until they’re perched on Philippos’s knee. They hold up the glittering fang, and drop it into the palm of Philippos’s hand when he offers it. Fitz then caws and Philippos has a strange sensation as a voice echoes in the back of his skull.

For you!

“… What? ” Philippos whispers one final time.

“Huh. Been a while since they handed tribute to someone else,” Thomas mumbles, an odd look on his face. A little ways away, one of the crows caws at Fitz and, almost affronted, they hop down to go posture aggressively at the other crow.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why all the crows?” Philippos asks, doing his best to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary just occured.

There’s an almost wistful look on Thomas's face when he replies. “I'm… watching them for someone.”

“Who?”

“Nice try crafter boy,” Thomas says, ruffling Philippos’s hair, “you’re not getting that out of me just yet.”

Eventually the crows start to swarm the sheet and Thomas leaves them to their pickings, dragging Philippos inside his house.

“Tea?” he offers. Philippos just sort of shrugs, and Thomas apparently takes it as a yes. Philippos is sat down into the absurdly squishy chair with a cup of warm tea to sip at while Thomas begins to ramble on about the monster he’d fought and killed to get all those bones. Philippos pays as much attention as he can, listening as Thomas describes an impossible beast, but Philippos is startled out of his concentration by a cat suddenly hopping up into his lap.

He holds the cup of tea away from him and watches with wide eyes as the cat settles and begins purring up a storm. When he reaches down to run a hand over its rumbling flank, Philippos is hit with a realization.

“You’re immortal,” he says, interrupting the Timeless Man’s ranting on attack patterns or some shit, “the elders say that their elders knew you as children. A human’s lifespan is short compared to yours, but… a cat…?”

Thomas hums, suddenly appearing much tired.

“Well. Just because they don’t last long doesn’t mean I can’t give them all the love they deserve while they’re still around. I'd be awfully lonely if I just left behind everyone who’ll die before me.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“… Yes. But… Well, you know Henrik?” Thomas says, suddenly switching gears. Philippos blinks.

“The… moo-mushroom?”

“Mooshroom. Yeah, he’s actually almost as old as I am.”

Philippos goggles at the idea. Thomas cackles at him.

“I can grant a few of my closest immortality as potent as mine. Nothing can kill them like that— age, sickness, injury. They could spend the rest of eternity at my side.”

“Have you ever made a human immortal?” Philippos asks without really thinking about it. Thomas's eyes narrow as he looks at Philippos.

“Not yet.”

Philippos realizes what such a question sounds like. Going a little bit red, he changes the subject as quickly as he can. “So, the monster tried to pounce on you. What happened then?”

The day dwindles into night and Philippos ends up staying in the same room as last time, now significantly less dusty. Philippos sets the tooth Fitz had brought him on the windowsill and almost forgets to take it with him when he heads home the next day.

Like last time, Thomas rides him home on the back of Maneater. Philippos asks if she’s immortal as well.

“Well, sure, but I didn't have to do that,” Thomas says flippantly, “nightmares don’t really die in any meaningful way.”

Philippos… doesn’t really know what to do with that information. He resolves to only ever treat the horse with the utmost respect and courtesy so that she doesn’t harvest his soul or something.

Unlike last time, Thomas actually rides him into town, too caught up in regaling him with the grand finale of his monster hunt that Philippos is becoming convinced is mostly fake to notice that they’re within gawking distance. Philippos knows that Thomas looks majestic on the back of his black mare, like death incarnate come to town. Philippos himself probably just looks a little comedic, too small compared to Maneater to appear anything but a little silly in her saddle.

Thomas helps him ease his way off of the huge horse and bids him farewell. Fitz flies down from where they were circling overhead to land on philippos’s shoulder. Philippos has quite a few people staring at him when he ducks into his house.

After that, they start calling him the Timeless Man’s son, which is frankly an insult to both of his parents for all they find the situation rather amusing. Philippos doesn’t really see it, even when the similarities are pointed out to him. They both have blonde hair, the same eyes even with the different colors, and while Philippos is nowhere near as tall as the Timeless Man, he’s still taller than most of his friends and even his father.

“You kind of talk the same, too,” Leon points out.

“That is pure coincidence and even if I got it from him or something, that doesn’t make him my dad.”

“Hey, don’t talk about your father that way,” Akakios says with a wry grin. Philippos feels no shame in cuffing him over the head.

There are several points in Philippos’s life that could mark the end of his childhood and the beginning of his transition into adulthood. Perhaps that very first time he was stabbed in the middle of the woods by a bandit. Perhaps the time he’d walked in on Akakios halfway into a girl’s underclothes. Perhaps when Papa let him start taking on jobs on his own.

But if Philippos had to pick any moment to definitely say that he stopped being a child then and there, he knows exactly what he’d say.

Winter rolls over their little town and brings with it a chill like none other before. Philippos doesn’t bother trying to head up into the mountains, not exactly intent on catching his death of cold. Snow piles up and while the younger kids delight in the wonder of it, there’s a thread of tension throughout most of the town. With winter comes sickness. Philippos and his family have been careful and lucky before, but eventually that luck runs out.

Philippos’s mother gets sick. They do their best to keep her warm and healthy, but the sickness settles in, making its home in her lungs until she can’t do much of anything without losing her breath. The elixirs that Thomas brews can do little more than soothe the aches and pains, and both of Philippos’s parents seem to know what’s coming. They’ve both begun to accept it.

Philippos can’t, not so easily.

Climbing the mountain is no easy feat on its own for all that Philippos has started to get used to it, but it’s far more treacherous when its covered in a thick layer of snow and wracked by winds that make Philippos feel like his fingers and nose will fall off. He nearly breaks down into tears at several points climbing the mountain, but he toughs it out regardless.

He doesn't make it to Thomas's house. The Timeless Man meets him in the middle, and Philippos is shown a true display of the immortal’s draconic lineage.

The Timeless Man isn’t bundled into layers like Philippos is. He's wearing what he normally does, just with a cape slung over his shoulders, maybe some taller boots. There's a strange light emanating from his chest and every one of his breaths hisses as it meets the air, hot steam wafting from him. Thomas's face is solemn when he picks Philippos out of the snow. The sudden warmth of the man’s body is almost startling, but Philippos leans against it with all of his might.

Thomas carries Philippos back down the mountain like a child half his age. Nobody’s out to stare at them, and when he ducks into Philippos’s house, his parents are too busy fussing over him to worry over the immortal under their roof. His mother scolds him between fits of coughing, and Philippos recalls why he made such a stupid decision. When his parents leave him curled up underneath several blankets and sat beside the hearth, Philippos calls out to the Timeless Man.

“T-Thomas,” he says, teeth still chattering against each other, “my- my mother. She’s s-sick. The- the potions won’t heal her. Please, can you help her?”

The Timeless Man frowns, and there’s a distant look in his eyes.

“It's far too late for me to do much of anything. I could give her enough potions to last a lifetime, and perhaps she’d live as long as she would’ve before this, but she’d be stuck in bed all day, wasting away into nothing. That’s not a life. Sometimes… sometimes it’s better to let go.”

“You can make people immortal, can’t you? Wouldn’t that heal her? Please-” before Philippos can even finish his hysteric plea, Thomas is bristling, wings flaring out and tail lashing behind him. Smoke and steam escape his jaws, a frightening light rising alongside a growl at the back of the man’s throat.

“You think she’d be happy, being immortal?” Thomas questions, rising as he does, “that she’d be alright with growing old and watching her husband and son die? Watching as her grandchildren’s grandchildren forgot who she was? Looking on as everything she knew faded away, and the people she once called her fellows began seeing her only as an immortal spirit? Do you think anyone would want that, Philza?”

The strange name— both his and not— sounds heavy on Thomas's tongue, like a title or some sort of true name. It rattles Philippos and he goes quiet. Thomas pauses and then all the fight drains out of him.

“Death is the natural end to all things. No matter whether you’re ready for it or not. Sometimes it’s better to let things run their course. I won't make your mother immortal.” With that, Thomas turns tail and leaves Philippos behind with thoughts swirling in his mind.

When he talks to his mother about what’s coming instead of avoiding the topic like the plague, she has a remarkably similar outlook.

“This isn’t living, Phili,” she tells him, “we did all we could and it wasn’t enough. I've made my peace with that. I just hope that you can find yours as well.”

Philippos’s mother dies in spring. The world thaws around them, the animals wake up from their long slumbers, the sun begins to hang longer in the sky. And Philippos's mother breathes her last breath, Philippos’s hand in her left, and his father’s in her right. There is no funeral, neither Philippos or his father want to prolong this pain any more.

The day after Philippos’s mother passes away, he treks up the familiar path, Fitz sitting on his shoulder. The Timeless Man stands at his doorway and when Philippos runs to him, his arms fall open. Thomas catches the sobbing boy in his arms and holds him close, allowing Philippos to break apart in the safety and comfort of the immortal’s embrace.

“Will it ever stop hurting?” Philippos asks, clinging to Thomas's shirt. Clawed hands gently rub over his back.

“I'll let you know whenever I find out, kid.”

It’s a painfully honest answer, exactly what Philippos knew and expected and needed to hear, but it still aches.

—

The world keeps turning, life doesn’t stop with Philippos’s mother. Years go by and Philippos spends much of his time up in the mountains with the immortal man who becomes a sort of second father to him. His first father starts to go gray and Philippos takes on much of the work he used to do. More crows begin to linger around town, following Philippos and Fitz, but the townsfolk become more and more numb to the strange shenanigans of their immortal and his not-son.

When Philippos is twenty-five, a woman comes to town— and she is perhaps the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on. He's not the only one who thinks it, given the playful ribbing between Philippos’s generation of young men. However, by some stroke of luck, he ends up being the one that she pays the most attention to. She goes on walks with him and sits with him while he works, regardless of how much dust ends up going everywhere.

“You’re funny,” she tells him one day, “and I like listening to you talk.” It makes Philippos feel sort of soft and squishy inside.

And she likes the crows! And the crows love her. They hop around her and gift her little trinkets and she graciously accepts their offerings every time. She coos over them and their antics and Philippos can’t help the stupid smile he gets whenever he watches this.

Her name is Kristin and Philippos falls very quickly and deeply in love with her. He tells her one day beneath the olive tree and she smiles at him and drags him down into a kiss. For all of spring and summer they stick together like glue. Philippos finds he wants nothing more than to marry her. But when autumn rolls around, Kristin tells him that she must return home, that she likely won’t be able to see him again for a long time.

It… hurts. A lot. But Philippos finds that his love for her is stronger than this pain. “I can wait,” he tells her before she leaves, “I'd wait forever for you if I had to.”

“You most certainly won’t have to,” Kristin tells him. She gives him a parting kiss and takes a bit of his heart with her as she leaves.

For the rest of the harvest season, Philippos is distant. He spends more and more time with Thomas and refuses to explain much of anything because the only person he’d be less inclined to discuss his romantic life with would be his other father. Still, Thomas is indulgent and fills the silence between them with wild tales that Philippos still isn’t sure about the validity of.

Winter comes early this year, and Thomas and Philippos end up snowed inside the mountain house. Philippos isn’t particularly bothered by it, he’s never been upset by the idea of spending more time with the Timeless Man. He’s funny and fun to be around. Philippos feels safe and warm around him.

Several days go by and Philippos lingers even after the snow thaws. He leaves Thomas behind and trods down a well worn path. He slips a couple of times on his way down, and Fitz caws at him like the little shit they are. Philippos doesn’t even notice they’ve flown ahead of him until they suddenly come rocketing back.

He laughs when the crow nearly smacks against his chest in its urgency. “What, did you lose me for a bit?” he says with a laugh. Fitz caws at him, but Philippos finds that it’s not playful or teasing, just… sort of frantic. Philippos is… unsettled. And then the smell hits him. It’s… faint, but…

Philippos can smell smoke.

He starts to run.

He breaks the treeline and even before he makes it to town, he’s already filled with something like horror. It’s not… it’s not a pretty sight.

Philippos stumbles to a stop as he finds the main road. He can’t get closer. He's afraid of what he’ll find.

The town is ransacked. Buildings torn down, fences and roads torn up, everything set aflame and already burned out. And… and people. Faces he knows, faces he’s seen light up with joy, fall in sadness, each and every one eternally locked in horror as their corpses lay gutted in the streets. There's a flag staked into the center of town, the symbol of the capital on its banner.

Standing before it is a man. One that Philippos knows.

“… Nikandros? Is that you?” Philippos asks. His old friend startles at that, whirling around with a hand clenched over the hilt of a sheathed sword. He squints and some spark of recognition fires behind his eyes.

“Philippos?”

“What are you- do- do you know what happened here? Is- is anyone-?” Philippos doesn’t dare finish the question, something tight and painful in his chest.

There’s an odd look in Nikandros’s eyes, something almost like shock. Something almost like fear. Philippos thinks maybe he wasn’t the only one to stumble upon the ruins of their home.

“The capital came,” Nikandros says, a strange calm in his tone, “they burned the place to the ground. I don’t- I don't know if anyone got out.”

Philippos doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he would say.

“Philippos,” Nikandros starts slowly, “you know where the Timeless Man lives, yes?”

“Y- … Yes?”

“Can you take me to him?”

“… Why? Nikandros, the town-”

“This is- this is important. It could… help. Please, Philippos,” Nikandros asks.

Philippos doesn’t know what to say. Philippos doesn’t know what to do. But he does know one man who might.

He doesn’t speak the entire journey back up the mountain. Fitz flies overhead, making lazy circles as the two take their time. Philippos is… numb, perhaps. Every time he blinks he sees the dead bodies of the people who helped raise him. Every time he breathes, he can taste the heavy weight of smoke on his tongue. Even as he leaves the place behind, the sensations linger.

They reach Thomas's house and after some insistent cawing, the man steps out of his house, looking confused.

“Phil? Why are you- what’s wrong?” The man goes from a soft confusion to bewildered concern at the sight of Philippos. He wonders what his face looks like to have Thomas so easily recognize the despair filing up his body.

“Thomas, I-” Philippos wants to run forward, bury himself in the man’s arms and cry for a while like a little boy would. Nikandros’s hand landing on his shoulder stops him.

“That's him?” Nikandros asks, his voice quivering, “that’s the Timeless Man?” Philippos looks back at Nikandros and nods.

His old friend pushes past him, closing the distance between himself and Thomas. Philippos gets a confused glance from the man, but he still looks down at Nikandros. Both of them are tense, Thomas would clearly rather push the man away and Nikandros looks ready to bolt or perhaps buckle at the knees.

It's only when Nikandros unsheathes his sword that Philippos realizes his mistake. There’s blood on the blade, old and crusted over the thing, a dark off-brown color. Philippos starts forward, and Thomas lurches backward. Neither of it is enough.

Nikandros’s sword moves in a clean arc. It doesn’t behead Thomas, but the deed is still done. Thomas's head tips back horrifically and unnaturally, and he falls to the ground, twitching for a few seconds and then going still.

Philippos screams.

Like a hurricane rising from the trees, the crows burst into the air with all the abruptness of a thunderclap. Nikandros turns around and levels his sword at Philippos.

Philippos is anguished. Philippos is angry. Philippos lunges forward, arms outstretched to do— something, anything, anything at all.

He gets a sword to the stomach.

It all starts at the end. It’s not a clean end, one delicately put into place by a careful hand. It’s not a particularly meaningful end, with some message between the pages. It’s not the ending that people will speak of for ages to come. It's a sudden end that comes in the feeling of cold steel sliding out of your stomach, of the world tumbling around you as you slide to your knees.

Philippos watches with blurry vision as one of the wolves pounces on Nikandros, as the crows begin to swarm down upon him, picking at his flesh, pecking at his eyes. Philippos topples to the ground and feels blood pooling beneath him, soaking the cold ground. It’s familiar, actually. But this time, there are no clawed hands to lift his head and press an elixir of life to his lips.

This time, Philippos closes his eyes and begins to sink into the shadows.

When Tommy's skin finishes sewing itself back together, when he jolts back to consciousness, he’s met with a brief confusion. It's been a long time since he last didn’t-die. And then there’s remembering and then there’s panic. Tommy stumbles to his feet, wings flaring out behind him for balance. Before him are the wolves and the crows, many stained with blood and gore. And there are two bodies.

One is torn apart, ripped to shreds and then some. That's the boy who tried to kill him. That's the boy with the symbol of the capital sewn into his shirt. That body is one he can quickly pass over.

The other body… is Phil's.

Tommy gasps and falls to his knees, gathering the boy into his arms. There’s only one wound on him— a clean stab through the chest, just like-

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, sobbing over the already cooling corpse. He lifts his head to the sky above. All around him, perched in every branch of every tree are hundreds of thousands of crows.

“Please,” he begs, “bring him back to me. You brought me back— do it for him. I don't care if he’s cursed with eternal life, he’s- he was my father. He's my son.”

One of the crows caws mournfully. Tommy keens, curling over the dead man.

Philippos opens his eyes, but there is no light beyond them. There is no feeling when he tries to blink, no response when he tries to move. There is simply nothing. Philippos drifts in the abyss, staring out into the eternal night. He wishes… he wishes. For something. For death to be more than just darkness, for there to be something to prove that he exists right now, that he ever existed.

A hand presses to his cheek and Philippos’s eyes flutter shut. He leans into the touch, because it’s one he knows, and there’s a bone deep relief in that. When he opens his eyes again, there is still darkness, but he finds a face among it all, one warm and kind and loving.

“Oh, love, what are you doing here so soon? I thought you said you’d wait for me.” There's a sad smile on Kristin's face, and Philippos wants to do little more than kiss it away.

“I'm sorry, beloved,” he murmurs, “but it seems that winter has come early for both of us.”

Kristin heaves a long sigh. “It's too soon for all of this… but I suppose that all things must come around eventually.” Kristin pulls him forward and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “You will be changed, but in ways that you will come to welcome. And I will always be with you. Never again will you be alone.”

She lets Philippos go with the parting words, “wake up, Philza,” and for a single long moment, the darkness returns. And then the world wrenches itself back into place and Philippos…

Philippos shoots up, a gasp on his tongue, something pressing uncomfortably to his back. He coughs and wheezes a bit and hears what sounds like another’s voice soothing him. When he looks up, it’s to find Thomas. The man has tears streaking down his face, but he’s smiling.

“You’re- you’re alive.”

Philippos is tugged into an embrace and feels something flail behind him. Above them both, the crows caw in triumph.

“Thomas? I- you- you were-”

“I'm immortal, idiot,” Thomas says, pulling back, “you think a light beheading could do me in?”

“And I'm…”

“Immortal too, now, likely,” Thomas says, sobering slightly. “Sorry.”

“It feels…”

“No different, yeah? You’re in for a long ride, I hope you know,” Thomas says, wiping away his tears, “eternal life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I think I’ll be alright,” Philippos croaks, “I've got you to spend it with, after all.”