Chapter Text
A scarlet flash of hellish lightning ripped through the little room, blinding and deafening all within. An acrid cloud rimmed with fire breached open upon the ceiling, a deathly scream let loose and wailed into silence, and then, with a hard thudding sound, the madness ceased as if it had never started.
Sounds rang in Asra’s ears, and his breath choked in him as the cloud cleared. He coughed, afterimages dancing like mirages in his stunned mind. He could not recall where he was, or what had been happening. Magic hung thick in the air, tickling in static waves across his skin and through his hair. He tried to speak, but he could only cough as he fell forwards across something hard.
Fingers reaching blindly through the mist clattered against something metallic, and it fell with a slosh that soaked his hand. The smell of Lapsang souchong wafted into his nostrils and immediately the mist cleared from his eyes with a sudden jolt of realization.
Spread before him was an ornately gilded banquet table, and slouched before golden platters heaped high with delicacies were seven figures, unmoving and seemingly asleep. Unbidden, Asra’s heart leapt into his throat, his pulse hammering in his ears. He could not remember the fullness of what had lead to this moment, but the magical signature in the air was his and he realized then what he had done.
He gasped and reeled, for there was a naked figure curled upon the ruined banquet in the mockery of a main dish, wet with the effluvium of birth. Asra scrambled across the platters, hands flying to his arms. Panic had him crying, for he could not believe in his heart that his love truly existed. Is he alive?! Is he alive?!
“Tytos! Tytos!” He wept as gently he unculred him. He was limp, eyes closed and mouth parted, and the appearance of death shook through Asra until he could hardly breathe. He had left Tytos to die alone--was this his punishment then? To finally have him back, and to hold him in his arms once more, but only in death? “Tytos, please…”
A spasm shook through the other man’s body and then a ragged, choking gasp as breath filled lungs that had been ash for nearly a year. Tytos jerked, hunching away from Asra and onto his hands and knees as he retched up pale fluid from deep within. He panted, gasping, and his weakened body gave way beneath him. He collapsed back to the table, shivering.
Brown eyes opened, comprehending nothing but dim shadow and a reddish light. He could not name nor understand the objects that surrounded him, could not form words to voice his confusion--could not even understand the concept of confusion. All was new and strange, a world of sensation and sound. His chest moved, expanding, and the feeling of air entering his body was both frightening and pleasing. His chest contracted, and stunned, the exhalation ghosted from his nostrils. It was cold. He wanted to touch the coolness that bloomed about his nostrils and mouth, and the impulse left his mind, flowed through a leadened limb and lifted a hand that he did not comprehend as his.
The panic of Being sent his heart into a gallop, wide eyes darting about a space he could not understand. But then a new sound entered his ears.
“Tytos...it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s okay, it’s okay,”
The soothing sounds flowed like water, devoid of meaning and yet beyond meaning. The voice went to the heart of him and his breath came easier. Hands moved across his back, pulling him close, cradling him and he looked up into the source of the voice. Brown eyes met amethyst, and a world of peace and of safety wrapped about him. He stared. Nothing made sense. Nothing but those eyes. He watched them, hypnotized and calm, as if a glittering sea had flowed about him, carrying him and supporting him.
For a long time he simply stared as a newborn might, committing every detail of those eyes, that face, and that voice effortlessly to his new and expanding memory. And then his eyelids drooped, for the process of birth had left him mortally exhausted.
Asra stroked across his forehead, fingers soothing back through damp hair in joy and disbelief. The thought I have to take him home went numbly through his mind, and only then did he wonder how he would accomplish such a thing, for Tytos was taller than him and in no state to walk. They were in the Palace, that much he knew, though he could not remember coming to it, or what he had been doing prior to this. A ritual, of course, but how it had been deigned and why it involved so many was beyond him. Names fell into place for some of the guests, as did relationships. There was Nadia, her lovely maroon hair spilled about her like blood across the tablecloth. There was Muriel, his best friend, lying face down and dangerously close to a knife; and there was Ilya, his unconscious hand still curled about the handle of his coffee mug.
Are they asleep? Asra gulped, holding Tytos protectively against him. “Hello?” He asked plaintively to the room. He felt ominously alone and exposed. There were no answering sounds, only a heaviness to the air, as if a storm had passed. He glanced back down at Tytos, as if to assure himself that he still lived; Tytos's eyes had nearly closed, and a hand curled upon his chest just over Asra’s heart. At that touch Asra’s skin lit up in a circular rune through Tytos’s fingers, like sunlight seen between dark branches. Asra knew what that rune meant; it was the sign of a bargain struck, a deal made in realms beyond those of flesh and blood, or the waking mind. Bile swam in his mouth, fingers tightening against Tytos’s back as he studied his friends anew.
What have I done? “Muriel?” He gasped. “Nadi? Ilya?” Tears filled his eyes.
Searching tendrils of magic went out from him and in response to his unspoken question, runes lit up upon each of them in turn; Nadia’s glowed upon her forehead like a third eye; Muriel’s shown dully beneath the deerskin that swathed his broad back; Ilya’s lit from his throat, over his Adam’s apple. After a moment’s shimmering brightness, each faded away like clouds over moonlight. What did we do?
“Muriel!” He scooted towards the edge of the table and found that his knees had given out. “Muriel, wake up!”
His fear echoed into Tytos who absorbed it fully, having no emotional defenses of his own yet. A shaking breath left his lips.
“I’m sorry, Tytos.” Asra whispered into his hair and then he looked up, had nearly called Muriel’s name again when the gigantic man groaned and moved an arm as thick as a tree trunk to prop himself up. “Muriel!” Asra gasped.
Muriel blinked slowly, his lank dark hair hanging before tired eyes. “Did it...work?” He mumbled as if to himself.
“Muriel, are you alright?”
“Asra?” He sat up fully, clearly confused and dizzy. He studied the white-haired person sitting upon the table, cradling another to his chest. He pinched between his brows and shook his head as if ridding himself of biting flies. Slowly, he reopened his eyes and peered about. If he was as shaken as Asra, he did not show it on his stoic face. He remembered his friend. He remembered the ritual. He remembered the bastard that had forced them into this ritual of dark magic, though he thankfully seemed to have vanished. He inhaled and Asra’s familiar magic tickled about his nose--the other man had clearly unleashed a dangerous amount of power. Studying Asra’s tear-streaked face, his eyes slid next to the form clutched within in his arms. He cocked his head. It almost looked like…
He stiffened, a wary jolt crackling like electricity up his spine. “Asra...that’s Tytos.”
Asra's mouth worked, but he could find nothing to say.
“What did you do?!” Muriel stood with a roar in his voice and superstitious anger flashing in his eyes, his chair falling backwards to the floor.
“I-I had to, Muriel, I had to,”
“Traveling to that depth-- what did you give up?!”
Asra choked, tears rolling down his cheeks as he stroked through Tytos’s hair. “M...my heart. Part of my heart.”
Pain cracked through Muriel’s anger, and his face crumpled. He hung his head. “Asra…”
“...I had to…”
“You don’t know what you’ve done to yourself!” He said in a voice of agony. “You trespassed in the deepest realm of spirit! That--that thing might not even be him! Nature doesn’t allow it, Asra! ”
Asra shook, dropping his nose into Tytos’s hair. He squeezed his eyes shut. “He is him...he has to be. ” He sniffed and met Muriel’s face.
Muriel closed his eyes in weary resignation and acceptance. “It’s done then.”
Another groan sounded, and Asra turned towards a strange, pale old man dressed in robes of black silk. Wiry grey hair curled from beneath a magistrate’s cap. He could not remember him, not yet; he knew only that he could not bear to be here in this room a second longer. The feeling of his own spent magic hanging in the air made him want to pass out.
“Muriel, please…I can’t carry him. I have to take him h-home.” His shining, plaintive eyes left Muriel no room for argument.
It was plain that Muriel did not want to touch Tytos; indeed, that he wanted nothing to do with this being pulled unnaturally from the realm of death. But in deference to long friendship and unable to stand seeing Asra in pain, he relented, scooping Tytos from the table as if he were no more than a toddler. Asra shrugged off his brightly colored wrap and handed it to Muriel, and it was draped over Tytos so that he would not have to be carried naked through Vesuvia. Asra stepped down to the floor and staggered, catching himself against a high-backed chair of cushioned scarlet. Muriel watched him carefully, a heavy brow arched.
“Are you alright?”
Asra nodded wordlessly. He stared at Nadia and Ilya, and his breath tightened in his chest. “What about them?”
Muriel turned away, unconcerned. “They’re breathing.”
“But...what if something went wrong? We can’t just leave them here.”
Muriel sighed. “I’ll come back later and make sure they’re alright.”
Gratitude welled like a spring in Asra so that he could hardly speak. “Th-thank you, Muriel.”
They left up a narrow stair that emptied out into a room reeking of fire and burned flesh. Asra coughed as greasy flakes of ash drifted through the air like snow. “What in the world?”
“We need to leave quickly.” Muriel growled, and without another word he strode past a charred, ruined bed and out into the hallway. In the distance, Asra could hear raucous laughter, feverishly paced music, and cheers. The sounds seemed utterly alien to his stunned mind. The Masquerade, he realized dully. They squeezed past a throng of masked revelers as they descended the marble stairs that led to Lucio’s wing. Asra kept closely behind Muriel, following in the other man’s wake as he parted an easy path through the crowd, striding head and shoulders above everyone else.
“Looks like he had too much to drink, eh?” One reveler laughed upon seeing Tytos’s limp, half-naked body, and Asra bristled. In a matter of a few quick strides, Muriel had led them from the nexus of the crowd and out into the sparkling night. Asra reveled up at the moonless sky, at the stars glittering in a net of diamonds far above. Hope dared to flutter within his chest. Tytos is okay. We’re going to be alright.
A shout went up from within the palace. “The Count! Something’s happened to Count Lucio!”
“Fire! A fire in the Count’s bedroom!”
“Guards! Guards, quick!”
Muriel shifted Tytos in his arms as he aimed towards the hedge maze and the dark topiaries and statues within. They disappeared within it just as the heavily shod boots of guards racing past met their ears. The shouts of the crowd were left far behind, and soon there was only the whisper of the wind through the leaves and the rasp of katydids. “There’s an old gate in here--it leads out into the woods.”
“I hope Nadia’s okay…” Asra murmured.
“I told you I’ll go back and check.”
“But...people saw us leaving Lucio’s wing. If something happened to him...they might suspect us.”
“They won’t.”
Brow furrowed, Asra peered up at his friend’s hulking back. “How can you be so sure?”
“They won’t remember me. That was my bargain.”
“What do you mean they won’t remember you?” He hurried his stride to match Muriel's, and worriedly he stroked through Tytos’s hair.
“Like a forgetfulness spell, but stronger." Muriel carried on, "more potent. No one will remember me now. I’ll finally have peace.”
“Muriel…” Asra began sadly, “what did you sacrifice for it?”
“In order to be forgotten, I can never forget. A small price to pay.”
They walked on in silence, each of them conjuring up a light within their palms to guide their way through the pitch black of the forest. “...will I forget you?” Asra asked.
Muriel glanced over his shoulder at him, the light from their orbs casting him in icy slivers and hooding his eyes in shadow. Even so, a reluctant smile played about Muriel’s mouth. “No.” He said simply.
Asra wanted to berate him for such a choice, for in his mind being forgotten by humanity seemed no less than a curse. But he watched Tytos’s sleeping face, and swallowed down his complaints. Everyone has something or someone they’d do anything for. They reached the outstreets of Vesuvia after a half hours walk. It was empty and silent as a ghost-town, for nearly all the populace had joined the Masquerade. Asra was grateful for this; many of their neighbors had known that Tytos had died of the plague, had even given Asra their condolences. He did not know how on earth he could explain to them that Tytos was now here, alive and whole. A shiver wound up his spine as Muriel’s voice echoed through his mind, that might not even be him. He forced the thought down. This was absolutely Tytos. He would have known his eyes anywhere. But will he be himself? What if something’s gone wrong and he--he’s just a shadow of himself? What if I retrieved his body, but his soul is empty? He gulped, eyes welling. He dragged his hand across them and then nearly smacked into Muriel.
The Shop loomed before them, and a strange hesitancy shivered like ice through Asra’s heart. This had been home, and it had been his workshop throughout his obsessive quest to discover some way to bring Tytos back. And now here he was. He could lay him down in their bed. But would it be the same as it had been, a year ago? What did death and retrieval do to the mortal mind? Could the shop trigger memories or emotions in Tytos that he could not yet processes? He placed a hand upon the solid oak door and undid the wards he’d placed upon it. The lock clicked open and he stepped over the threshold. Muriel ducked beneath the frame, still holding Tytos to his chest. It was silent and expectant within, as if all of Tytos’s old belongings were resonating at his sudden presence, and this gave Asra some hope; objects identified strongly with their owner, and did not respond to the touch of a stranger. So this really is Tytos then--our home knows it.
He led Muriel past the shop’s display counter and through the curtain that blocked the restroom and stairs to the upper level from view. Muriel creaked up the narrow flight, hardly able to squeeze his shoulders between the earthen walls.
Upon entering their living quarters, Asra sent his orb of light into the room’s overhead lantern and it danced like a flame within it. Muriel had never been here; he had found it too agonizingly personal a space to enter, to see the lives that Asra and Tytos had shared. It was small and homey, cluttered with books and scrolls, plants, sacred stones, and lanterns of patterned glass in a rainbow of colors. A bed covered in a patchwork quilt and multiple pillows sat beneath the furthest window and Muriel carefully lay Tytos upon it. Asra rushed to Tytos’s side, one hand upon his shoulder, and the other lightly tracing the face that he had missed so desperately.
Muriel stood and awkwardly straightened, averting his eyes from such intimacy. It was clear that he did not want to spend any more time near this person who had been Tytos. “I’ll go back now and check on the others,” he announced and in the same breath he turned and headed for the door.
“Muriel, thank you. Be careful.” Asra called softly at his retreating back.
Muriel paused, looked back at him and said in a warning, “you be careful too, Asra.”
Asra listened to his retreating footsteps and the closing of the front door, and turned his attention back to Tytos. His face softened as he studied him. He was just as he remembered; a slightly long face, heavy lidded eyes, arched brows as if he were always on the verge of telling a secret, even in his sleep. I wonder if…?
He slowly drew Tytos’s left arm out from beneath his wrap. It took only seconds for him to find the thin beige scar that he’d gotten from a broken specimen jar some five years ago. His heart leapt. That had not changed. He pulled the wrap carefully away from his chest. There were was the small dark mole just above Tytos’s right nipple; the one they’d always joked was actually a secret third nipple. Asra breathed a laugh through his nose, tears welling in his eyes as he shook his head, beaming. “It r-really is you.” He cried as softly as he could, in gratitude and wonder. Then he removed his wrap from him and hung it up, carefully pulled the blankets out from under him, and tucked him in.
Normally he would have joined him, but it felt too strange, too invasive to do such a thing now; though his body was clearly the same, he had no idea if the Tytos who would awaken would be the same man who had loved him.
I’ll just have to keep hoping.
He lay out upon the quilts, dimming his orb of light until only the barest curves of Tytos’s face could be seen. He stroked his face, smiling sadly to himself. “No matter what happens from here, Tytos, I love you. I’ll always love you.”