Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The silence is stifling in the ceaseless abyss they hang suspended in, smothering them in its suffocating embrace. Pneuma has tried to find a way out, sifting through black and grey and murky brown for an exit, pressing and tapping and hammering on her lifeless core crystal hoping desperately for even the tiniest of reactions, but all she finds is more emptiness, and all the abuse earns is no change in the crystal’s dull grey shade.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering,” her companion had drawled. “We’re stuck here now. For all eternity.”

The most Pneuma had graced him with was a sharp glare before returning to her task with equal vigour.

Malos, for his part, had barely moved since she’d awoken beside him with the taste of fire on her tongue, the smell of ash on her skin and the vivid sensation of being torn apart from within searing her memories. He’d twisted, at some point since she last looked his way, to lie with his arms behind his head as if reclining on a bed. She’d say he was facing upwards, if she had the faintest idea which way was up.

She shifts her own body to face him. “Are you going to help at all, or do you plan on floating there forever?”

He somehow manages a shrug while maintaining his relaxed pose. “It’s not like I have anyone to get back to.”

Pneuma considers turning her back to him, continuing to fight her way to an escape, but the futility of her attempts seems to suddenly slap her in the face. Instead she slumps into a sitting position with a huff - although it is rather hard to sit while hovering in mid-air. “Right, let’s have a heart-to-heart.”

That startles a laugh out of Malos. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Heart-to-heart. Right here, right now. Let’s make up for all the sibling bonding we probably should have done at some point these past five hundred years.”

“You are joking.”

Pneuma crosses her arms and bores a hole in the side of his head with the intensity of her stare. “Nope. Come on, ask me something you’ve always wanted to ask. Go for it.”

He lets his head tilt slightly askew, locking eyes with her. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. What else are we gonna do while we wait?” Pneuma says.

“Sit in beautiful, blissful silence, with only the gentle sound of our faint breaths to lull us to sleep?”

“No. Ask me something.”

Malos sighs deeply, as if regretting all the life choices that led to him being trapped in the endless chasm of death with his archenemy. After a quiet moment that seems to stretch, lasting far longer than it has any right to, he mutters, “I guess you never answered my question.”

Pneuma can feel her face light up with glee. “Aww, you’re co-operating!”

“It’s not like there’s anything better to do in here!” Malos snaps. “Anyway, now it’s your turn. Answer the damn question.”

She thinks he might be blushing a little. Pneuma is surprised at how good it feels to one-up Malos in such a stupid, simple way. Perhaps her earlier label of ‘siblings’ wasn’t too far off the mark - she’d read something about siblings having that kind of combative relationship (and not her and Malos’ typical definition of ‘combative’) in one of the many books she’d devoured while travelling with Rex. “You’ve asked me a lot of questions over the years; you’ll have to be more specific.”

“How was it, being alive?”

Pneuma jolts at the words, because oh, she didn’t just imagine that, okay.

How was life? It was a loaded question, one that required more than a simple it was good , or pretty sucky, one Pneuma wasn’t entirely sure she could fully respond to. She had lived two lives: Addam and Rex, Mythra and Pyra, Aegis and anonymous person. How did she even begin to condense all of her thoughts and feelings?

She supposes she has a long time to get it all out. They’re not going anywhere, after all.

She takes a deep breath, sorting through her thoughts to dig out the most satisfying, honest response she can manage, and begins to speak.

“My first life - as just Mythra, bonded to Addam, in Torna with my first group of friends - it was hard. It felt like all anyone ever said to me was an insult of some kind: Mythra, you’re such a simpleton, you’re so unrefined, Mythra, you’re a terrible person, Mythra.” She chokes on a bitter laugh. “I can’t deny the truth of their words - I was rather crude back then. But Addam-” she smiles- “Addam was good to me. Honest about my shortcomings, but he helped me start to grow past them.

“It truly was difficult, though, being born into a world ruled by war, where my only purpose in life was to stop it. A life with such heavy responsibility is not an easy one - thanks for that, by the way, you really made things easier for me.” She shoots Malos a glare, and he responds with a shrug and a wry grin, as if apologising placatingly.

Shaking her head with a long-suffering sigh, she returns to her story. “My inexperience, the pressure, my poor attitude - it all added up. I did some terrible things in my grief and rage. You-” she chokes on the words, vision blurring at the edges- “you killed someone very dear to me, when you fired on Auresco. I won’t ever forgive you for that, but I can’t entirely blame you for my following loss of control. My reaction was extreme, unnecessary. I should have- should have kept my cool, taken you out in a way that minimised casualties, like Addam tried to teach me. You killed someone dear to me, and in response I killed someone dear to him.

“Did you know that Pyra was made to be everything Mythra wasn’t?” Pneuma asks suddenly.

“I could see that,” Malos says. “Although I couldn’t say I knew it was intentionally done.”

Nodding, Pneuma confirms, “It was. Every insult I received during that first life - rude, narrow-minded, terrible at cooking, I could go on a while, it was a long list - I remembered them as I stared out at the destruction I had caused, and I created a persona to counter them all.

“I left that life with a lot of regrets,” she says, with an air of finality. “A lot of guilt, and pain.”

Malos crosses his arms, leaning his weight back as if to appraise her. “What about the second?”

Pneuma cannot remember Malos ever listening this well before. He always had to say his piece, but now he is listening carefully, attention solely on her (not that there’s anything else to focus on in this abyss they’re trapped in). It’s strange. “The second was also hard, fighting so desperately just so that I could die. Along the way, though, I found a reason to live. Many reasons, in fact.” She cannot restrain a laugh as she adds, “So much so that now I’ve got my wish, I really don’t want it anymore.”

“Cruel irony,” Malos notes.

“Life sucks,” Pneuma concurs, “but that makes the good bits so worth it. My second life was hard, but I formed true bonds in that time, bonds I never want to let go of. I found Rex in that life.

“To answer your question, being alive was equal parts awful and incredible, agonising and rewarding, and I want to keep living so damn much it hurts.”

Malos has remained mostly silent as Pneuma spoke, listening respectfully as she spilled her mind while offering only the occasional interjection. Once she finishes he unfurls himself from his reclined position, spinning to face her. “Very poetic.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” Pneuma replies, folding one hand over the other. “But there’s your answer.”

They watch each other, picking up the slightest motions and shifts in position. Pneuma has never seen Malos so at ease - he was always coiled like a stray, malnourished cat, ready to fight back at all times, never relaxing no matter how calm he pretended to be. Seeing him now, talking so openly with him… it’s enlightening, and surreal.

“Jin told me something once,” Pneuma says abruptly into the silence, “the night before I destroyed Torna.”

The admission of guilt still hurts, the words a brutal reminder of the horrors she’d wrought.

Malos hums noncommittally. “Oh?”

Pneuma nods. “He said my true affinity lay in the future.” After a moment’s pause, she adds, “He was right.”

Her companion in the abyss doesn’t reply, so she continues, “I loved Addam dearly, but he wasn’t my true Driver. Rex is. I think-” she hesitates, rolling a thumb over the back of her knuckles- “I think the same is true for you.”

That grabs Malos’ interest, and he lifts his head with curiosity dancing in his eyes. “Really, now? How’d you figure that one?”

“Amalthus was a dick,” Pneuma states, and Malos barks a shocked laugh at her bluntness. “Addam and Rex were very much not. At first you were stuck with Amalthus; back in Torna you had no-one but yourself.”

“Are you saying I had no friends?” Malos asks incredulously.

“Am I wrong?” Pneuma counters.

Malos splays his hands. “I guess not. Proceed.”

She smiles - a genuine smile in reaction to Malos, she must be going mad - and says, “Your true affinity, your equivalent of my Rex, is Jin, and the rest of Torna are to you what the rest of my friends are to me.”

Malos frowns. “Jin wasn’t my Driver.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Pneuma dismisses. “It’s the same principle. He humanised you, dragged you out of the crippling depression and self-hatred you’d thrust yourself into, gave you a reason to want to live.”

For a moment Malos says nothing, tension thickening between them and spreading as if the butter on the blade of a knife. Finally, he says, “And Rex did that for you.”

He doesn’t debate the accuracy of her words. Pneuma understands - he’s chosen not to bother arguing when they both know she already sees the truth.

Pneuma nods. “We really are similar, aren’t we?”

His hand curls over his cracked, colourless core crystal - an action Pneuma has performed herself countless times in the past, one she recognises intimately. “Too similar,” he agrees, a resentful smile warping his features.

The hand clenches into a fist, trembling visibly. “I cared for them,” he says, surprising Pneuma into silence. “Mikhail, Akhos, Patroka.” A pause. “Jin. I didn’t like to admit it, but I truly cared.”

“I think they cared for you, too,” Pneuma says softly, “if it helps.”

“It doesn’t,” Malos laughs harshly. “It really doesn’t. They’re all dead now. You- you have friends you want to return to, a life you want to live. My first life - the freewheeling, chaotic, destructive force, feared throughout Alrest for my power and rage, feared and hated even by my own Driver - it was fun . My second, with Jin and the others, plotting to take down that same man and ruin the world that had ruined us - that life was painful, and hard, and damn did it hurt at times, but, despite all of that…”

His eyes rise to meet hers, and Pneuma can see the centuries of torment that are expressed within. “I loved that life. I loved Mikhail and Akhos and Patroka. I loved Jin. They made that life worthwhile.

“I also loved fucking with Amalthus,” he adds after a second, a grin spreading on his face. “Can’t deny how fun that was.”

“I can’t blame you,” Pneuma says with another genuine smile. “Like I said, he was a dick.”

His temporarily-jovial mood turns sombre once more. “But they’re gone now. They’ll be forgotten soon, lost to time. They’re gone, and I have nothing. And you...”

“And I have everything,” Pneuma finishes for him.

“Everything I want,” Malos agrees grimly.

They sit in silence, facing each other with the weight of five hundred years of bad memories and disagreement and uncertainty warping the air between them. Pneuma watches Malos, seeing him in a new light as he rubs two fingers over the gaping crack in his core crystal (over the damage she helped to inflict) and, all of a sudden, she wants more than anything to put things right between them.

“For what it’s worth,” Pneuma says after an age, acting on that impulse, “I’m sorry. For everything. For fighting so hard to take away the only things keeping you going. For never seeing how much pain you were in. For ever trusting Amalthus. You deserved a better Driver.”

Malos grimaces. “We both deserved better.” After a moment, he continues, “I’m- I’m sorry too. For our fights, for my destruction, for your friend in Auresco. Hell, for Torna. I’m sorry.”

Silence stretches out once more, reverberating in the emptiness of the void they’re floating in, before Pneuma jumps out of her cross-legged pose and reaches out a hand. “New start?”

“We’re dead,” Malos points out, voice bland with disbelief.

“Better late than never?” Pneuma waves the hand in front of his face.

Grumbling, he takes it. “Fine, whatever. You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Pneuma tilts her head and grins down at him. “I try.”

Malos opens his mouth to retort, but the words die before they can be formed when, out of nowhere, Pneuma’s core crystal flares a bright, brilliant green.

“Oh,” she says eloquently. “Oh!”

Malos swallows, then tries again. “Would you look at that,” he drawls. “Congrats, sis. Looks like you’re going back to your friends.”

She jerks her gaze back up from the crystal to Malos, and his own decidedly-not-purple crystal. “But, you-”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, dismissing her distress with a careless wave of his hand. “If you can come back from death, I’d wager I will too eventually, as much as I’d rather not.”

Pneuma tries to protest, but he cuts her off again. “Look, Pneuma, go. Enjoy your life. And-” he drops his gaze briefly- “thanks. For the company, and the talk. It- damn, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but - it helped.”

The green light is constantly expanding, and Pneuma can barely see Malos through its glow. “Thank you, too,” she returns, blinking through the blinding light. “This helped me as well.”

“Tell the brats I said hi,” Malos says through a soft laugh.

Pneuma lets her eyes fall closed, and Pyra and Mythra wake up.

Chapter Text

When the chaos of life calms once more, when the excitement of their revival dies down and the shock and awe of their new home (“Elysium,” Rex had called it - they’re inclined to agree) has faded, Pyra and Mythra settle away from the main group and pull out the cracked core crystal.

“Do you think it has healed at all?” Pyra asks, tracing a finger along the edge of the rift.

Mythra studies it intently. “I couldn’t say for sure. We didn’t get a good look at it when we scooped it up, after all.”

The crystal had lain on the floor before Aion, a disturbingly dull grey, the chasm running through its centre lit up with the glow of Aion’s ether. It hadn’t felt right to leave it there to be blown apart - although it’s not as though it was any safer cradled in Pneuma’s hands as she herself faced the explosion.

Pyra supposed it had made them feel less isolated, at the time. Death was a horrible thing to face alone.

Neither she nor Mythra were sure how it had survived, reappearing in the depths of Mythra’s travel pack after their awakening. They decided it wasn’t worth questioning, instead choosing to be grateful for the miracle.

Another miracle was their own existences, in separate bodies and separate minds. Pyra had, on numerous occasions in the short time since their rebirth, attempted to speak to Mythra mentally, only to be greeted with resounding silence.

Adjustment was necessary, but it was an adjustment Pyra was all too happy to make if it meant she and Mythra could live side by side.

“I think it has,” Mythra continues, taking the crystal from Pyra’s grasp to closer inspect it. “If only a little.”

“I hope so,” breathes Pyra, watching her twist the crystal with a sorrowful gaze. “He deserves a second chance.”

Mythra lowers her hands, shooting Pyra a harsh look. “He had his second chance.”

Pyra shrugs. “Third chance? Technically, this is our third as well.”

“I want to say it’s not the same,” Mythra laughs, bitter expression painted on her features, “but I can’t say it and mean it, not after that .”

She doesn’t expand on that , but she doesn’t have to. Pyra understands her perfectly. The conversation they had with Malos in the void of death was intimate and revealing, and it changed their opinion on the man they’d always instinctively hated.

Shifting such violent hatred to care and understanding was a big leap to make, one both Pyra and Mythra were struggling with, to different degrees. Mythra seemed to want to care for Malos, but five hundred years of despising the man made the change difficult for her.

“Malos did wrong,” Pyra says, “but he was wronged, too. We’ve all been wronged.”

“He wanted us to kill him.” Mythra’s tone is grim. “He wanted to die.”

Pyra twists her hands into a tight ball in her lap and squeezes, seeking a comfort the simple action cannot bring. “He’d lost everything. If we lost Rex and the others… I’m not sure we’d react any better.”

The core crystal is cold in Mythra’s grip, coated in a faint green sheen from the emanating light from her own crystal. “I was worse than Malos,” she says, “after Milton. He got exactly the outcome he wanted following his friends’ deaths, while I achieved the exact opposite of my desires. And that was only after one person I loved.”

“Imagine what we’d do if we lost them all,” Pyra murmurs, and a sombre silence stretches between them as they contemplate the concept.

Losing Milton had hurt. It had blinded them, brought out the worst of their power in a terrifying light show that had sunk a titan and taken down countless innocents with it.

And yet…

Pyra loves the world. She has seen all it has to offer: terror and despair, love and hope. She has seen it all, and she continues to love. She wants to use her power to protect the world, never again to destroy it, and she knows Mythra feels the same.

“I don’t think we’d be as bad,” Pyra states, surprising herself with how sure she is.

“Oh? How so?”

Pyra entwines her fingers. “We’ve seen what happens when we lose control. Neither of us wants that to ever happen again; it’s why you sealed yourself away. And so we won’t let it.”

“How can you trust yourself?” Mythra whispers, failing to meet Pyra’s eyes.

“I can’t explain it,” Pyra replies with a smile. “I just know we’ll do better if it ever came to it.”

They fall silent, staring down at the core crystal lying in Mythra’s lap. Pyra believes what she’s saying, believes it with all her heart, and only hopes she’s pushing her positivity through to Mythra, despite their new lack of a mental link.

Mythra brushes a thumb over the crystal’s crack. “I hope he comes back one day. He does deserve that third chance.”

Reaching over and wrapping Mythra’s hands in her own, Pyra smiles. “He will. I’m sure of that, too.”

“Does this seem a bit purple to you?”

Mythra turns as Pyra’s voice floats from behind her. Immediately, Malos’ core crystal is thrust forward, blocking out most of her vision, and she has to grab Pyra’s wrist and yank it away. “I can’t tell if you’re gonna shove it right up in my face.”

“Come on, look!” Pyra whines, face the perfect mirror of a kicked puppy seeking an apology pat as she holds the crystal out in invitation. Grumbling, Mythra takes it, holding it up to the light to get a good look.

Pyra pushes her arms back down. “You can’t tell if you hold it in the light, you have to keep it in the shade!”

Mythra glares at her but does as she says, twisting her body to block out the light and tucking the crystal as far into the shadows as she can. She studies it for a moment, taking in the slight fissure running down its middle, the fissure that had shrunk from a chasm over the slowest trickling of time, and says, “Nope.”

“Oh, come on, Mythra!”

“Not at all,” Mythra grins. “It’s deathly black. Couldn’t be less purple if it tried. In fact-” she peers down at the crystal in an exaggerated motion- “I think this crack has actually grown.”

Turning away with an indignant huff, Pyra says, “Don’t be mean.”

Mythra cannot help but laugh. “Okay, fine, it does look a tiny bit purple.”

Pyra immediately pivots back around. “Really?” she gasps, eyes alight with pure hope .

“Only a tiny bit!” Mythra rushes to add, but she isn’t lying - she can definitely see the faintest tinges of a purple aura emanating from the crystal’s edge. The area around the crevice is still a solid black, but the further afield you looked, the more colourful the core turned.

Mythra can’t deny the own spark of hope that ignites in her.

Rex is chatting to a Leftherian child when they find him, wide grin etched permanently on his face as he gestures animatedly. The child is nodding with vigour, jumping up and down as Rex talks.

“Maybe we should come back another time,” Mythra says.

Pyra hits her shoulder. “He’s waited long enough; we’re doing this now.”

She stalks off towards their Driver, and Mythra begrudgingly follows.

“Oh, Pyra!” Rex calls as he notices her approach, then looks past her and sees his other Aegis. “Mythra!”

He excuses himself from the Leftherian child, who smiles and bounds away, just in time for Pyra to grab his hand. Mythra offers him a wave from the respectful distance she keeps.

“We have something to ask you,” Pyra says, wasting no time in jumping straight to the point. Mythra isn’t sure whether she should be grateful or annoyed. “Something serious.”

Concern flashes across Rex’s face as he immediately jumps to the worst conclusions. “Oh, Architect, what’s wrong? Are you guys okay? What-”

“Whoa, calm down,” Mythra interjects before he can get too worked up. “It’s not that serious.”

“It is pretty serious though,” Pyra argues.

“Not in the way Rex was expecting,” Mythra says, and, thinking what the hell, let’s get it over with , draws the radiant purple core crystal out into the light.

Rex yelps, jerking back as his eyes flash in recognition. “Is that-”

“Malos’ core crystal,” Pyra confirms. “We may have… kept it, all this time.”

“It’s been repairing itself, slowly, since our battle,” Mythra adds. “It’s ready to resonate now.”

Rex stares at it, mesmerised. Mythra can take a few fair stabs at his thoughts: maybe are they insane? or what the hell, that’s Malos! or even I hope he stays dead.

Or, to stay true to Rex’s character, something more along the lines of he can get a second chance.

She has to restrain herself from correcting the imagined thought process to third chance .

“So,” Rex eventually breaks the stunned silence, “I guess one of you plan on resonating with him?”

Mythra barks a startled laugh. “Oh, wow, no, I think he’d rather kill himself.”

“I hate to admit it, but she’s right, he would,” Pyra says. “Besides, I don’t think we could be what he needs.”

Both Pyra and Mythra carry the weight of years of guilt and self-hate. They want to pull Malos out of that mindset, not drag him further into the abyss of despair.

Rex frowns. “Then… who?”

Holy hell. Mythra loves Rex, she truly does, but damn can he be thick at times. “You, dumbass.”

“What- me?!”

“Amalthus was an awful man, and an awful Driver,” Pyra states. “Malos deserves better. You are better.”

“We’re not messing around here,” Mythra adds, seeing the disbelief welling in Rex’s golden eyes. “We trusted you with us, and now we’re entrusting him to you, too.”

Malos has always stood opposed to Pyra and Mythra, the Aegises forced apart by fate and their perceived notions of duty. Perhaps this is the opportunity to finally stand together, in harmony instead of in battle, and to utilise their power for peace, laying their long-fought war to rest.

Mythra hopes so, at least.

“I’m not sure he’d feel the same,” Rex says honestly, face wrenched in hesitance and fear.

Pyra squeezes his hand in hers, gentle and warm. “He told us to say hi to you, before we came back.”

Mythra lights up in remembrance. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that!”

Poor Rex seems even more confused than he was at the start of this conversation. “He- what? You’ve spoken to him?”

“Oh, we hung out in the eternity of death for a while, no biggie,” Mythra dismisses, concealing a grin as Rex’s confusion deepens.

Taking pity on him, Pyra elaborates, “We talked for a bit, while our core crystal healed. It got... emotional. He seemed legitimately sorry for everything.”

“I believed him,” Mythra says, “and you know I would only trust in him if I felt I had good reason to.”

Pyra points to Mythra as if to say see? That’s what I’m saying! and Rex’s eyes follow her gesture. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” he asks, acceptance already evident in his eyes.

“Absolutely.”

“We do.”

“Please,” Pyra adds.

Mythra takes a step forward, holding the core crystal out in offering. “We wouldn’t ask if we weren’t sure.”

Rex looks from one Aegis to the other, searching their expressions for any sign of uncertainty and, seeing none, he nods, takes a deep breath, and closes his hand around the crystal.

The purple blaze that erupts from it grows brighter and brighter, and they are forced to shut their eyes and shield from the glare.

When they are able to see again, there’s a man standing in front of Rex.

Malos surveys the scene and blinks, once, twice, then says, “What the fuck.”

It’s surprisingly good to see him again, standing tall and fully intact, core crystal a whole shining purple. It’s a relief, a comfort, to have him free from the void he’s been trapped in, alone since Mythra and Pyra awakened (and Mythra cannot imagine being alone in there. It was bad enough with company - even when they weren’t conversing, it helped to know that Malos was there . Being completely alone would have driven her insane). It’s good to have him back where he belongs.

At their side, Mythra cannot help but think. The Aegises belong together, as a unit, co-operating to free the world of strife.

They have been robbed of this chance by Amalthus’ greed and hatred for too long.

Mere seconds later, Pyra is throwing herself at Malos, enveloping him in a tight hug. “You’re actually back!”

“What the fuck,” Malos says again, giving her a consolatory pat on the head. “Why the shit is the brat my Driver now.”

“Are you seriously complaining?” Mythra asks. “You can’t honestly expect him to be any worse than Amalthus.”

Malos contemplates this for a moment. “No, you know what? Good point. I’m sure I’ll cope.”

He doesn’t seem entirely sure of his words, brows furrowing into a frown that betrays his concern, and Mythra is reminded of his words from their bonding session:

“If you can come back from death, I’d wager I will too eventually, as much as I’d rather not.”

Does he even want this new chance? Probably not.

In this third life he’s been gifted, Malos doesn’t have his old friends to help him through. Mythra knows that feeling all too well - her second life involved waking to a world where her friends were long dead, and the few survivors didn’t even remember her. Barely anyone remembered those she’d loved, and the one that was idolised, Addam, was a figure twisted beyond recognition by the pages of history.

But.

She’d gained new friends. Friends that meant the world to her. She would never forget those she had lost, keeping them tucked away in her heart in the spot reserved just for them, but they were accompanied by the others she loved just as much.

Malos had lost his old friends, but he too could find new ones in Rex and his group.

Maybe even find a new family.

Rex is already grinning up at Malos. He hasn’t spoken yet, allowing the Aegises their reunion, but Mythra knows he is waiting for his chance to jump in and insist upon how happy he is to see his enemy reborn.

She knows he will mean it, too.

So Mythra steps forward and reaches out her hand once more, letting the past fall fully to the wayside, and she says, with no hidden insults or malice, “I’m glad you’re back.”

Malos, one arm wrapped around Pyra, who has refused to release him, takes the hand and smiles. “So am I,” he says. “So am I.”

Chapter Text

It is Nia they go to first, hoping her past with Torna will make her more welcoming towards the newest addition to Rex’s ever-growing roster of Blades. Their hopes go unfounded when she throws herself upright away from her slumped position against Dromarch’s side, hands edging towards her twin rings. Dromarch, too, lurches to his feet, stepping forward to place himself between Nia and the approaching group.

“Uh, hey Nia!” Rex says with an injected lightheartedness. “Funny story-”

“Rex, what the hell.”

Plopping a defensive hand on Malos’ arm - Mythra thinks he’d have gone for the shoulder if Malos didn’t tower over him by quite so much - Rex says, “He’s nice now!” After a brief pause, he adds, “I think.”

“Eh,” Malos shrugs, “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Nia crosses her arms, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Yeah, that doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, pal.”

Mythra has to admit that the strength of Nia’s reaction has both surprised and disappointed her. She cannot blame Nia for that, of course, but she’d truly hoped that Nia would still have a shred of positive feelings left for her former ally. Clearly, Mythra was wrong.

“He has a nice driver now,” Pyra says in an attempt to soothe, moving away from Malos’ side to get closer to Nia. “He doesn’t have Amalthus’ hatred and rage seeping into his subconscious anymore.”

“Oh, mother of- Rex, don’t tell me you’re his driver!”

Rex laughs nervously and rubs the back of his head. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

Groaning, Nia throws her hands in the air in exasperation. “There are so many points I want to raise about this and I don’t know where to start.”

“Perhaps, my lady,” Dromarch speaks up for the first time, relaxing his coiled stance as he does so (although Mythra notes he keeps himself firmly between Nia and Malos), “we should hear him out.”

Nia lets Dromarch know what she thinks of that idea by turning her glare on him. He withers beneath it. “Perhaps not. As you wish, my lady.”

All Mythra knows of Nia’s time spent with Torna is that she cared most for Jin. She has no idea how often Nia interacted with the others, or how close she grew to them.

She has no idea how Nia and Malos felt about each other before Nia’s betrayal.

All she has to go on is their brief interaction following Pyra’s awakening back on that abandoned ship - a lot of yelling, arguing, and Malos attacking Nia - and her intense focus and lack of hesitation during their fights against him.

Mythra had also heard something about Nia utterly destroying Malos with her powers back when they were traversing the Cliffs of Morytha to rescue Pyra and Mythra, although she’d only got that story in hurried, undetailed bursts, and she was pretty sure Rex had embellished it somewhat. She was annoyed she’d missed it, though - it sounded badass.

So, maybe her belief that Nia still might care for Malos was completely unfounded. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. Oops.

“Nia,” she says, finally joining the conversation, “we can trust him. I promise you.”

“Oh, well that makes me feel so much better, thanks, Mythra!”

Nia’s hands have moved away from her weapons. That’s something, and Mythra doesn’t have many somethings to cling to right now.

“Come on, Nia,” Malos drawls, head tilted back in a cocky manner that really isn’t helping. Mythra bores a hole into the back of his head to try and get that point across, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “We had some fun, back before you ditched us for your new buddies.”

“I walked in on you telling Jin that you didn’t need any more attention-seeking, whiny brats on board,” Nia responds, tone flat. “That you should just throw me overboard while I slept.”

Oh wow had they misjudged this. It was becoming more and more clear that Nia was the last person they should have told about Malos.

Pyra shoots a glance at Malos, her eyes screaming seriously?! “I’m… sure he didn’t mean that.”

“Oh I did,” Malos says immediately.

“He did,” Nia deadpans.

“He definitely did,” says Mythra, because why not, Malos really isn’t making this any easier for them. “But he doesn’t anymore!”

“I kinda do,” Malos counters with a cocky grin - the bastard is enjoying this, Mythra realises with a surge of annoyance. “Just a bit.”

Nia scowls, sends one final death glare in Malos’ direction, and storms off with a yell of “I’ll scream more about this later, I’m too angry for this right now, you bloody idiots!”

Watching his driver walk away, Dromarch mutters a quick apology and leaves to chase her down. The others stand in silence, following their retreat with mournful (and, in Malos’ case, slightly gleeful) discouragement.

“That went well,” Malos pipes up after a moment. “Hey, are we gonna have to do this with all of your friends, or can we just call it quits here?”

Mythra groans and lets her head fall into her hands. “I forgot about them. We have to watch you wreck your chances multiple times over; I don’t think my sanity can handle it.”

“I’m sure it won’t go so badly next time,” Rex says, his boundless optimism shining forth once more. “And Nia will come around… eventually.”

“Wasn’t she supposed to be the easiest to convince? Whose great idea was that ?”

Ignoring Malos’ question, Pyra steps in front of him, placing her hands authoritatively on her hips. “Malos, I know you want them to care, but you have to actually try to get results.”

Crossing his arms, Malos replies, “Hey, I am trying! I’m just… not very good at it.”

“That’s an understatement for the ages,” Mythra mumbles under her breath, frustration rising. She’d really wanted this to go well. Maybe she’d put too much faith in Nia- no, in Malos , it wasn’t fair to blame Nia for this.

Maybe she was a fool for thinking this could work.

Watching as Pyra grabs Malos’ arm, dragging him back the way they’d come from while saying something about some shops she’d seen back then, reaching with her other hand for Rex as she passed him, seeing the faint smile grace Malos’ face as he let himself be manhandled with minimal complaint, Mythra scolded herself for the negative thoughts.

No matter how much Malos tried to convince them otherwise, his instinctive expressions and actions gave him away: he did want to change. He just needed Mythra and Pyra and Rex to keep believing he could.

Change doesn’t come easy, after all. The years he’d spent tainted by Amalthus’ influence wouldn’t fade overnight. Malos needed time, and Mythra needed patience.

Patience had never been her forte, but she’d try. For him.

“Mythra, you coming?” Rex calls, reaching back for her. Malos and Pyra have also stopped, waiting for her with scarily-similar expressions

She smiles, answers in the affirmative, and runs up to join them.

They can make this work. Mythra is sure of it.

Pyra watches, later that night, as Malos sneaks away from the fire in the direction Nia disappeared in. Excusing herself with terrible reasoning that has even gullible Rex narrowing his eyes, she follows.

“It’s rare to see you without your loyal guard dog,” Malos is saying, positioning himself at a respectful distance just behind and to the side of his former companion. Unfortunately, his words are anything but respectful, and Pyra cringes from her hiding spot crouched behind a tree.

Already Nia is bristling, hands coiling into fists, and Pyra has to restrain herself from smacking her head into the bark of the tree. “He’s a tiger! That’s, like, the complete opposite of a dog!”

“Close enough,” Malos says with a dismissive wave, ignoring the incensed sputtering that acts as Nia’s response.

Any guilt Pyra feels for eavesdropping is overwhelmed by her curiosity - she wants Malos to be accepted, and she wants him to get along with her other friends. She wants, perhaps selfishly, to see it happen with her own eyes.

Besides, she thinks with no small amount of concern, there’s a fairly high chance of Nia and Malos killing each other if left alone with no damage control. By watching them, Pyra is keeping them all safe. It’s for the greater good, she convinces herself. For everyone’s sake. Especially after Malos’ incredibly insensitive opening because wow, does he want to earn her trust or not?

“You may not have much faith in me,” Malos says, launching back into speech as Nia calms down, cutting off the doubtless-scathing remark that had been on the tip of her tongue, “and I can’t pretend that’s unfounded, but - and don’t ask me why, because I can’t explain it - I do want this to work.”

Nia scoffs, trailing a finger over the blade of her weapon, and Pyra has to resist the urge to blow her cover and bat the hand away because that’s a sharp edge, Nia, you could hurt yourself! “You ordered me to murder a boatload of innocents. When I refused, I was pretty sure you were going to kill me after you did the job yourself. You tried to manipulate me through my past treatment at the hands of humans.” She laughs, bitter and cold, a fist curling over the fabric that conceals her twin-toned core crystal. “Experiences like that don’t just go away.”

Pyra had been barely conscious inside the glass casing that was her bed for five hundred years. She was just waking up, groggy and disconcerted, attempting to locate her new driver through their tenuous ether link, trying to figure out exactly what was happening around her. She remembered the tail end of the event Nia and Malos were discussing - Malos hissing I’ll handle it myself and Pyra, recognising that tone, knowing her fellow Aegis well enough to spot the danger, thinking the singular, violent thought: no, and letting her flames roar to life.

What Pyra hadn’t known, hadn’t put together through the fog clouding her thoughts, was that Malos had initially wanted Nia to do the deed instead. It seemed obvious now, with the benefit of hindsight and Nia helpfully spelling it out for her.

It had soon become clear to Pyra that Nia was a good person - her defence of Rex proved that, if nothing else. She had withstood demands from one of the few people that had accepted her while knowing of her Flesh Eater status, while he used that same knowledge against her, all because she knew it was morally wrong.

Her opinion of Nia went up, just a little.

“Hey, I was a bit of a bastard,” Malos says, “I’m not denying it. I’d like to attribute it all to Amalthus, but that’s only mostly fair. I let him drag me down to his level.”

Pyra would like to argue that - for all her and Mythra’s attempts to hate themselves and the world, Addam and Rex had forced them to think the opposite no matter how hard they resisted.

She cannot help but think, if their positions were reversed, if she and Mythra had been bound to Amalthus’ hatred and rage, they would have reacted just as catastrophically as Malos had.

And if Malos had resonated with Addam and Rex, he would have grown to love himself and the world in a way he was struggling to do now.

Whenever Pyra ponders this, she cannot see how she could ever have blamed Malos for actions that were never truly his.

The Aegises were all machines - ‘artificial intelligence’, their father had called them. Were any of their actions ever their own? Do they even have free will?

Yes, she wants to say, yes for all the experiences and choices she is sure are hers.

Yes for Torna, for what they committed despite Addam screaming at them to stop.

Sometimes, though, Pyra really isn’t sure.

“I can’t just forget what you’ve done,” Nia says, resolutely looking anywhere but at Malos.

“I’m not asking you to,” replies Malos. “I’m asking you to give me a chance to do better.”

“Gotta admit, I never expected to hear that coming from you,” Nia says with a rueful grin.

Malos leans his weight to one side a places a hand on his hip - an action Pyra has seen him do multiple times before, but where it always used to seem cocky, now it seems defensive. “I can’t honestly say I expected it either, but here I am.”

After a moment’s pause, he adds, “Having a good Driver definitely helps. My head feels a lot more clear and calm now that Amalthus isn’t in there fucking everything up.”

Pyra cannot pretend to know what it’s like to be burdened with the brutal desires of a man such as Amalthus, but she thinks she understands Malos’ point a least a little. At some of Rex’s lowest moments, the rare moments where he felt so useless and inadequate and weak that he’d nearly given up, Pyra’s own nihilism had reared its ugly head and had strangled her in it’s vicious grasp, and in those moments she had wanted nothing more than for it all to end.

She understands, in her own way. She knows Mythra would too, maybe moreso than Pyra does herself.

“Look,” Nia sighs, finally turning to face Malos. She folds her arms and glares, although her tone is not as harsh as it was earlier. “I don’t trust you, and I don’t think I ever will, but I don’t seem to have much say in this whole sorry affair. Pyra and Mythra are both on your side, and you’ve got Rex completely under your spell.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault the brat’s a naïve idiot,” Malos argues, and as much as she would rather not, Pyra is inclined to agree. Few people would have agreed to awaken Malos with as little persuasion as Rex took. Even so, Rex’s willingness to trust and his faith in others is what makes him Rex , and Pyra would never want him to change. “I didn’t ask for this, you know!”

Nia rolls her eyes. “Sure, whatever. Point is, you’re in now, whether I like it or not. Hell, whether you like it or not. There’s not much anyone can do to dissuade your little group of defenders.”

Shaking his head, Malos mutters, “I hate that group.” His tone holds no malice.

“Sure you do,” Nia says, patting Malos on the arm as she moves past him. Pyra shrinks further behind her tree. “Trust me, given enough time that trio can work their way into the hearts of anyone.”

Pyra thinks they may have already worked their way into Malos’ heart, and the look of faint horror on his face shows that he thinks the same.

“Good luck,” Nia calls into the cool night air, pausing to turn back to Malos. He, too, shifts to face her. “I hope this all works out for you. Me, though - I’d prefer it if you kept your distance.”

A flash of disappointment writhes its way through Pyra, but she pushes it away. She can’t blame Nia for that, not after everything she’s dealt with because of Malos.

She’s still sad, though.

Malos gives a mock salute. “Message received. Guess I’m doomed to a life stuck with the brat and my stupid sisters if I’m not welcome with the rest of you.”

“I guess you are,” Nia laughs, the tension only slightly diminished in her voice, and then she disappears into the night, the conversation over as quickly as it began.

Once she is gone Malos slumps, all the false posturing draining out of him at once. He turns away again, staring out into the depths of the trees.

“You can come out now, Pyra,” he says suddenly, and Pyra jolts, briefly considers fleeing, before realising the futility and emerging sheepishly from behind her tree.

“Hi,” she mumbles, waving weakly at Malos’ turned back.

“I tried,” he says sharply. “You saw. You happy now?”

Pyra frowns. “Is that why you didn’t call me out - because you wanted me to see you try?” When Malos doesn’t respond she continues, honestly, “I didn’t really expect you to put much effort in past what we forced you into, so I was pleasantly surprised when I saw you following Nia.”

“She didn’t seem too happy about it,” Malos laughs bitterly.

Pyra shrugs, despite knowing Malos isn’t looking. “You made an effort. I think she recognises that, and the fact that you actually care.”

“I don’t care,” is Malos’ too-quick response. Neither she nor him are convinced.

“I do,” she says, stepping forward to stand beside her brother. “And so do the others. She’ll come around. It may take a while,” and by a while, Pyra is thinking a couple of years, minimum, but she doesn’t bother voicing that, “but one day she’ll treat you like she treats us. I’m sure of it.”

Malos drops his head and avoids her gaze. “How do you stay so endlessly positive?”

“I don’t,” Pyra answers truthfully. “I really don’t. Rex, though - he helps. I just want the best for my friends, and that includes you.”

She twists so she is facing him directly and offers her hand. “The others will be wondering where we are. Ready for some fun Driver-Blade Bonding?”

Malos rolls his eyes, scoffs, looks away, and takes her hand. “Fucking brats.”

Pyra is pretty sure she can hear the faintest trace of fondness in his tone.

Chapter Text

They’ve been fighting for a good while now, dancing around each other in a chaotic whirl of swords and ether and energy. With narrowed eyes, Malos is carefully appraising their every move, reacting appropriately to counter with a terrifying efficiency.

Seeing an opening as Malos stumbles under the strength of her blow, Mythra pulls back and tosses her sword into the air. Rex returns Pyra’s sword to its owner and leaps to catch Mythra’s, bringing it down in an arc at Malos’ head.

He knocks Rex away with ease, immediately disengaging and rushing for the now-defenceless Mythra. Her instincts scream at her to dodge, to stop the flow of ether she’s been pushing towards Rex since her weapon left her hand, but she holds firm, waiting with a rare patience as Malos rushes closer, until-

Until Pyra is between them, flames swirling around her own sword as she blocks Malos’ swing. Mythra breathes, moving to position herself behind Rex as her driver runs at Malos from the side, taking advantage of his distraction.

Malos is able to twist in time, yanking his sword away from Pyra’s to lock with Rex’s. “You really think I’d fall for that?” he sneers, leaping away from Pyra’s next attack.

Mythra tightens her hand around her sword as Rex throws it back to her, darting to join Pyra as a ring of fire flares into existence around Malos. Surprise flashes across his face as he looks down at Pyra’s handiwork, and when he returns his gaze to his enemies Mythra is there, light bursting from her outstretched palm. Malos cries out, arm coming up to shield his eyes, as Rex lunges through the receding flames to press Pyra’s sword to Malos’ neck.

“We win,” he grins, waggling the sword slightly as Pyra laughs from behind him.

Malos scowls and bats the sword away. “You caught me off guard.”

Letting her own sword dissipate into ether as Rex returns Pyra’s to its place affixed to his lower back, Mythra says, “That was kinda the point.”

“Was it difficult?” Pyra asks, coming to join them as Malos’ weapon fades from his hands. At Malos’ confused glance, she elaborates, “Fighting against someone you’re in resonance with?”

Malos shrugs, blinking fast as if still a little blinded from Mythra’s attack. “I guess? Blocking was fine, but attacking felt weird. It was manageable, though.” He rubs at his eyes and says, “Have you ever tried it?”

“Oh no,” Pyra says, shaking her head. “And I don’t really want to try fighting Rex.”

“I don’t want to try either,” Rex says. “Pretty sure I’d lose.”

They launch into an argument, each defending the other’s ability, and Mythra turns to Malos. “With Addam, we always sparred with other people,” she says, “never me against him. It’s not something we ever considered doing; we needed to be able to fight together, after all, so it made sense to practice that.”

Malos’ response is a nod, and he turns back to their makeshift camp, kicking one of the crates they’re using as a stool closer to where their fire will be. He sits heavily, almost as if worn out, resting his arms on his knees.

“Speaking of practising,” Rex says as he and Pyra bound over to join Malos. Mythra follows at a slower pace, “we should try the other way around. Me and Malos against Pyra and Mythra.”

“That would help me and Mythra with our coordination,” Pyra says thoughtfully. “We’re improving - that session was great, and we’re definitely getting better at switching out from active fighter to supporter - but we’re still not used to having separate bodies, let alone fighting side by side.”

Mythra misses hearing Pyra in her head. It was a comfort, knowing she was always there. Losing that comfort was the only downside to their separation, as far as Mythra is concerned.

Malos is blinking again, having shifted in his seat to face them. This time, it seems to be out of surprise instead of blindness (and maybe Mythra went a little overboard with that light blast. Just a little). “Wait, you actually want me to do the whole Driver-Blade-Fighting thing?”

“Uh, yeah?” Mythra scoffs, slumping onto a log next to him. “You are Rex’s Blade, are you not? What did you expect?”

“To not have to do that?” They stare at him, and Malos scowls. “It’s not like I’ve ever done it before: I never fought alongside Amalthus. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Both Pyra and Rex seem stunned by that admission - Pyra’s eyes are wide and Rex’s mouth has fallen open - and even Mythra has to admit to her surprise. They’d never fought together, as driver and Blade? Never?! In Malos’ five hundred years of battle, not once had that been as a Blade strengthening their driver. She knew Minoth had rarely done it for Amalthus, either, but Mythra had expected Amalthus to jump at the chance to wield Malos’ power.

Swallowing her surprise, Mythra says, “‘Course you do. You’ve been the driver in the situation. You’ve just got to do what Sever did for you. You supply the ether instead of having it supplied to you. Besides,” she adds as an afterthought, “it’s instinctive. You’ll know what to do.”

“Let’s go now!” Pyra exclaims suddenly. “I’m excited to teach you!”

Malos now has one leg on either side of the crate, sitting with his upper half twisted to face them in a manner that really doesn’t look comfortable. He glares at Pyra as she makes her suggestion. “But we just got done training,” he points out. “We can have a go at this another day. We can just rest for a while now, can’t we?”

“If we leave it, you’ll have more time to weasel your way out of it,” Pyra says, determination bright in her eyes. “So yes, we’ll do it now. Right, guys?”

“Sure!” Rex says, Pyra’s sword already in his hand, and he returns it to its owner. “I’m up for more.”

They turn in unison to Mythra, who shrugs and forms her sword. “Let’s go.”

Groaning, Malos lumbers to his feet. “Fucking hell you kids are persistent.”

“We do it out of love,” Pyra sings, her sword fizzling out of existence as she wraps herself around Malos’ arm. He swats her away with a small smile. Mythra lets her own sword go, having brought it out mainly for effect, and pushes herself up from her seat.

“Okay, how do I do this?” Malos asks once they’d returned to their previous training ground, arms spread wide.

Rex rubs a hand on the back of his head. “I, uh, need your sword?”

Lowering his arms, Malos mutters, “Right, that makes sense.” He holds out a hand and the sword appears there, as ominously black and purple as ever. He reverses his grip and offers the hilt to Rex.

Taking the weapon, Rex immediately winces and tries a few swings. “The balance is weird,” he mumbles appraisingly to himself, “and the shape is a bit ineffective.”

“Excuse me?” Malos says indignantly. “Are you insulting my sword? When I’m right here ?”

Rex jerks his head up, nearly dropping the sword in surprise. Mythra thinks he may actually have forgotten Malos’ presence for a moment there - which is weird, really, given the imposing aura that screams off of Malos at all times. Maybe they’re accustomed to him by now. “Oh, no, it’s- it’s a lovely sword! Very… edge. Sharp. Cutty.” Malos continues to glare, and Rex falters beneath it. “Um, good sword, let’s practice now?”

Malos rolls his eyes and turns away to face Pyra, who is stifling a grin. Behind his back, Rex gestures to the curved edge of the sword and mouths, why?

Mythra resists the urge to laugh and shrugs. She sees Malos shoot another glare over his shoulder, but he doesn’t bother following it up, instead shifting his focus fully to Pyra. “So. Ether.”

“Ether,” Pyra replies. “Just push it through to Rex.”

“Right,” Malos says. After a long moment, one that seems to stretch out for an inordinate amount of time, he says, “Is it working?”

Rex glances down at the non-glowing weapon. “Um, no.”

“Hold out your hands,” Pyra says, guiding Malos into the correct position. “Keep them aimed at Rex. It makes the process a little easier.”

“How?” Malos asks, holding the stance while twisting his head to give Pyra a dull look. “How the everloving fuck does this help?”

Pyra blinks. “I- I don’t know, actually. It just does.”

“And you’ve gotta admit,” Mythra chips in, “it looks pretty badass when the ether link is up.”

“I’m sure it does,” Malos bites out through gritted teeth, “but it might help if we could get to that stage?”

“Oh no!” Rex suddenly exclaims, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “A deadly monster!”

He is pointing at a small bunnit that has meandered over while he waited for the Blades to get the ether link working. The bunnit sniffs at his feet, and Rex throws a hand to his forehead in an exaggerated manner.

Malos sighs. “Kid-”

“Deadly monster!” Rex cries again, jabbing a finger in the bunnit’s direction. “Oh dear, I am in so much danger! Terrible, terrible danger!”

The bunnit sits and stares up at Rex with a soft gaze. The tip of Malos’ sword is dangling right beside its head.

“Wow,” Mythra says quietly to herself. “Bunnits really don’t have any self-preservation instincts.”

“Save me, Malos!”

“I could do a better job rescuing you from that if I came over there and kicked it,” Malos deadpans.

Pyra gestures weakly in the direction of Rex and his aggressor. “Just pretend it’s a bit more of a threat, and- sorry, Rex, could you step away from the bunnit? I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“He is quite cute, isn’t he?” Rex says. “I wouldn’t want him to get hurt, either.” He shuffles away from the bunnit. The bunnit moves closer.

“So much for the terrifying threat,” Malos grumbles as Rex continues trying to evade the bunnit.

Mythra laughs. “Aw, Rex, you’ve got a friend!”

“A friend who’ll get his head chopped off if he doesn’t leave me alone!”

Malos is still dropped into a half-crouch, arms outstretched. “That’s only if we can get this damn thing to work.”

Taking a big step away from the bunnit, Rex hefted Malos’ sword into the air. “There, do it now.”

“I still haven’t figured out how!”

“Oh for the love of-” Mythra lunges forward, grabbing for Malos’ wrist. He startles, eyes jolting to her. “You know how to manipulate ether. Do that at Rex. That is literally it.”

Malos stares at her. She growls. “Do it!”

He jerks, returns his gaze to Rex (who is carefully balancing the sword upright), and Mythra feels him push.

A second later Pyra is between them, her shield barely taking the brunt of Malos’ destructive blow, the purple ether energy dissolving into nothingness with only the scorched earth beneath to show for it.

“Not like that!” Mythra yells, aghast, as Pyra staggers back to check on a stunned Rex. “ Non-physical ether!”

“How do you manipulate ether non-physically?!” Malos yells back, finally dropping his stance. “The whole point of ether is to manifest it! Physically!”

“I’m okay!” Rex calls from a distance. “Just in case you were wondering.”

Pyra crouches to the ground. “So is the bunnit!”

That bunnit finally sees sense and bumbles away. It seems even poor, dull woodland creatures know to fear the power of an Aegis.

“I don’t know how to do this, okay? I did what you said and we all saw how well that went!” Malos snarls, waving his arms for emphasis. “I could have just killed Rex! It’s- it’s better if I stick to fighting by myself.”

Pyra is suddenly at Malos’ side. She places a gentle hand on his arm. “Is that why you hesitated to try? Because you feared hurting Rex?”

“You know, I really am fine! No damage done, we can just try again!”

“No,” Malos hisses. “We’re done here.”

He rips away from Pyra, shoves past Mythra, and then stops. Looks down. Mythra follows his line of sight to see the bunnit staring up at the man that was almost its murderer. The bunnit tiptoes forward until it settles on Malos’ foot, rubbing its head against his leg.

“What is it doing,” Malos says blankly.

Pyra coos. “Look, he likes you!”

“Seems like he has more faith in you than you do in yourself,” Mythra says quietly.

Malos scowls at her, standing deathly still. “Shut up.”

“Malos,” Rex calls, and they all turn to look. He had let the sword fall to the ground, but now he hefts it back up to his chest. “I trust you,” he smiles. “Try again.”

“We’ll block it,” Mythra says, “if it goes wrong.”

Pyra places her hand back on his arm. “You’ve got this. Push the ether, softly.”

“I hate you all,” Malos informs them. Mythra and Rex nod. Pyra pats him knowingly on the arm. He sighs wearily. “Fine. Fuck it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He allows Pyra to guide him back into the right stance while Mythra gently removes the bunnit. Once the creature is safely out of the way she moves to join Rex, ready to throw up a shield if necessary.

Malos takes a deep breath, and then Mythra feels the faintest trace of ether curling around her.

“More,” Pyra says encouragingly, and a burst of purple explodes against Mythra’s shield. “Less than that.”

They continue in this manner for a while, going back and forth between too little and too much, until finally, finally, after Mythra has long since switched places with Pyra to avoid wearing herself out entirely, after Rex has dragged the crate over to sit on while he waits, finally the sword flares to life in a rush of purple, and the pale blue ether link blinks into existence.

Rex yelps and topples off the crate. “It worked!”

“You did it!” Pyra squeals, throwing herself at Malos.

The purple and blue instantly fade, and Malos slumps to the ground. “Fuck,” he says eloquently. “That was so much harder than it needed to be.”

“But you did it,” Mythra says.

Rex has scrambled to his feet and is dashing to join them. Mythra tilts her head to the side, attempting to convey her itch to say I told you so without actually speaking the words. Pyra is leaning on Malos’ back, head resting on his shoulder.

Malos grins up at them wearily. “I did it.”

Chapter Text

Pyra is soaked.

Rain spills from the heavens like water through a sieve, smothering the land in a sodden blanket. They’ve been trudging through the downpour for hours - the lack of shelter available in the unpopulated fields they’ve been wading through forces them to keep going - and they are all cold, wet, and utterly exhausted.

“I have never been more grateful to see civilisation in my life,” Mythra moans as the bright lights of a town rise in the distance.

Pyra shivers, having long given up on using her flames as a makeshift heater. She may not be weakened by water to the same extent as a typical fire Blade, but it still puts out the fire she creates. “Not much further now.”

“So is the plan to just dive for the inn?” Malos asks. He has the best protection from the weather, given that his armour covers almost his entire body, but the hair that usually sticks up is flat on his head, and water is sliding down his face like a river. It all comes together to create the impression of a rather grumpy housecat that’s undergoing an impromptu bathing session.

Rex, who has manipulated his salvager suit so that it’s almost fully on and has kept his arms wrapped around himself in a poor grasp for warmth, nods vigorously. “Please.”

They make quick time after that conversation, the promise of an escape from the relentless rain invigorating their steps and hastening their pace. Their first steps across the threshold of the town invite a sigh of relief, and they immediately set their sights on finding the inn.

Few are out in the rain, choosing the smart option of tucking themselves into the comfort and security of the indoors. Those that are insane enough to be outside are dashing from cover to cover, racing to be able to return to the warmth. Pyra cannot help but envy them for knowing where they are going and being able to race straight there.

Mythra brushes a hand through her sodden hair, pulling it away from where it’s firmly stuck to her face. “Any ideas on the inn?”

“How about we just…” Rex makes a weak gesture to their right, head bowed beneath the weight of the rain. “...walk that way and hope for the best?”

“Can’t be any worse than sticking around here to get drenched,” Malos mutters, already heading off in the indicated direction.

“We’re already drenched; it doesn’t make much difference at this point,” Mythra grumbles, jogging to catch up with him.

Pyra falls into step with Rex as they follow. Their companions are having a quiet conversation, the words whipped away by the wind before they can reach Pyra’s ears.

Hunching over to shield from the rain - despite the literal hours they’ve spent walking proving it an ineffective strategy - Rex says, “It’ll be good to get in from the rain.”

Pyra smiles at him. “It’ll be nice to sleep in an actual bed again.”

“That’s true,” Rex laughs, wiping a hand over his eyes as if to clear them of rain. He’s blinking through the water again almost instantly. “I’ve missed having a proper pillow. Oh, and a mattress that isn’t a rock.”

“We haven’t had good luck with our campsites, have we?” Pyra muses. Campsites was too kind, really - random, semi-flat areas of land was more appropriate. They hadn’t been able to find a pre-established camp for the past few nights, which had led to a lot of arguments and improvisation and an incredible amount of complaining. “At least tonight we-”

“I know you.”

The voice cuts sharp through both sets of conversations, surprising Pyra into silence. A man - Urayan, middle-aged, well-built, knife tucked into his belt -  stands stock-still as the rain assaults his unmoving form, staring wide-eyed at Mythra.

“That core crystal,” he says slowly. “You’re the Aegis.”

“You got a problem with that?” Mythra asks, attempting a hair flip that only succeeds in flinging its sodden contents at Malos’ face (Malos, for his part, barely blinks).

The man takes a step back. “You’re the Aegis.”

“Yes, we’ve established that,” Mythra says. “Anything new to add, or…?”

“You’re the Aegis,” the man says yet again, and Pyra notes his hand drifting to his weapon. She moves instinctively, even as she feels Rex tense beside her and murmur a warning.

“Why don’t we talk about this, instead of doing something rash?” she smiles through her discomfort, placing a steadying hand on Mythra’s arm - she can almost feel the intensity of her counterpart’s glare, and she definitely does not want this situation to escalate.

His eyes flicker down to Pyra’s own core crystal, and she has to fight the urge to curl a hand over it protectively. “I had heard there were more than one of you bastards,” he chokes through trembling lips as his fingers tighten on the hilt of his knife. “You destructive assholes, you- you murderous-”

“That’s enough.”

Before Pyra can blink, Malos is in front of her, looming threateningly over the Urayan. “Leave them alone.”

Mythra leans around Malos’ comparatively-larger frame. “What’s your problem with us?”

“They killed Vandham!”

Pyra recoils, stunned, and senses Mythra do the same beside her. “I’m sorry?” her other half exclaims, and the confusion in her tone is evident.

“But that wasn’t even them!” Rex cuts in, jerking forward to stand at Pyra’s side. “That was… oh.”

Oh, indeed. Pyra cannot help but shift her gaze to Malos, who still stands, unmoving, between them and the Urayan.

He smirks with what Pyra thinks is a tinge of sadness. “Oh, yeah, that was me.”

Solemnity wraps itself around them. Mythra ducks her head, arms snaking around her torso, and Pyra lets her own gaze drop. She knows what they are both thinking: that they are, at least, partially responsible for Vandham’s death. If Mythra hadn’t been so afraid - if Pyra hadn’t rushed ahead alone - if they’d been better -

No. They’ve been trying to think more positively since their death and subsequent rebirth. She can almost hear Rex chiding her for her thoughts. Pyra’s elbow finds its way into Mythra’s side in a poor attempt to convey positivity - although, based on the glare Mythra shoots her, it doesn’t seem to work.

“It wasn’t entirely Malos,” Rex tries to argue. “It was-”

“Nope,” Malos cuts across. “Completely me.”

“Does it matter?” the Urayan snarls, knife fully unsheathed and eyes darting from one Aegis to the next. “You Aegises are all the same!”

Malos sighs, deep and weary, and begins to lift his hand. “Okay, that’s it.”

The purple beginning to envelop that hand catches Pyra’s eye, and she says, “Malos, no.”

Malos hesitates, hand wavering in the air, and the purple fades. Pyra barely has time to sigh in relief before that same hand is securely wrapped around the Urayan’s neck.

“They had nothing to do with the death of your precious Vandham,” Malos growls. “It was all me. So leave my sisters out of this.”

Mythra moves as if to rejoin the conflict, already opening her mouth to fling out a stinging barb - consisting of what, exactly, Pyra isn’t so sure. She panics for the briefest of moments, then tightens her grip on Mythra’s arm.

“Don’t,” she says softly as Mythra shoots her an incredulous look.

“I can fight my own battles,” Mythra hisses. “We can fight our own battles. We don’t need Malos to fight for us.”

“I know,” Pyra says, “but trust me. Let him do this.” She wraps her free hand around Rex’s wrist for good measure, giving him a glance that she hopes conveys her desire for him, too, to not get involved. Rex seems distinctly uncomfortable, with both the situation and with the concept of doing nothing to resolve it, but he nods his understanding regardless.

Pyra is curious. Perhaps dangerously so, given that the Urayan is still clutching his knife, and that Malos free hand is curled into an angry ball at his side - she is pretty sure he is moments away from snapping. If that happens she will intervene, but for now, she is content to let Malos handle this.

He was defending them. That was a rare enough occurrence for Pyra to want to let him continue.

“You bastard,” the man spits. “You crazy fucking bastard.”

“That’s me,” Malos says, far too cheerfully. “Now I’m going to release you, and you’re going to walk away without saying another word.”

“Or what?”

Malos’ free hand snaps up, ripping the knife out of the Urayan’s grasp and flinging it away. “Or I may not be able to resist the urge to shove my sword through your chest.”

“Should we stop him?” Rex wonders quietly, making no move to intervene.

“Let him be,” Pyra responds. She’s relatively sure that Malos won’t go through with his threat.

Although the longer this goes on, the less sure she becomes.

At some point, Mythra had worked herself out of Pyra’s vice-grip and wandered over to the discarded knife. She’s returning now, studying the weapon as she walks. “Nice,” she judges as she reaches Pyra and Rex, and she tucks it into her belt.

“Mythra, no!” Pyra hisses under her breath, gaze flitting between Malos and Mythra, and she is hit with the sudden awareness that she is practically babysitting her fellow Aegises. Her only comfort is that Rex looks just as appalled as Pyra is.

Mythra waves a dismissive hand. “Eh, he won’t miss it.” She traces a finger along the edge of the hilt, eyes glazing as she disappears into her own thoughts, and Pyra realises: Mythra needs a distraction from her guilt.

Aegises had a nasty habit of blaming themselves for nearly everything, Pyra has learnt, regardless of how much guilt they actually deserved to bear.

She doesn’t comment further on the knife.

“So?” Malos hums, fingers digging further into the neck of his captive, intimidation and quiet fury rolling off him in waves. “You’ll leave them alone, yes?”

The man writhes in his iron grip. “You fucking-”

“What the hell is going on here.”

Five turn in perfect synchrony to face the newcomer. Mythra tenses beside Pyra, fingers tightening on the hilt of the knife as she recognises the newcomer.

Malos doesn’t relinquish his grip. “Hey there! Long time, no see. This one of yours?”

Minoth, the lines on his face somehow more pronounced than the last time they saw him, weariness painted clearly in his too-old eyes, grimaces. “You could say that. Hello, Malos. Mythra, Pyra, Rex.”

He nods to each of them in turn, and they respond with greetings ranging from an uncertain hi (Rex) to a weak wave (Pyra). Even the simple act of bobbing his head seems to wear the man out.

“S-sir!” the man croaks. “Vandham- he-”

“I know, kid,” Minoth sighs. “Malos, do you think you could find it within your cold, dead heart to release him?”

Malos tilts his head as if considering. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, “but for you, old man, I suppose.” With that, he finally lets go, leaving the man to stagger backwards, hand rushing protectively to his throat.

At this point, Pyra remembers her own grip on Rex and releases him. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Once he gets his breath back, the Urayan stumbles over to Minoth, placing himself defensively between the two former Blades of Amalthus. Minoth nudges him aside with a weak elbow. “Go home, kid. I can handle this.”

The man seems hesitant to leave, eyes darting between Malos and Minoth, but as the Flesh Eater gestures and gives him a look that clearly says just go already he submits, retreating into the rain like a phantom in the night, and he is gone as suddenly as he arrived.

Minoth fixes a glare at Malos. “I don’t appreciate you attacking him,” he says. Turning on Rex, Pyra and Mythra, he adds, “And I don’t appreciate you three not stopping him.”

“He threatened my sisters,” Malos says with a crack of his knuckles. “I wasn’t going to let that pass.”

Pyra smiles guiltily. “Malos isn’t easily stopped.”

Minoth seems to want to question Malos’ side of things, raising an eyebrow at the affectionate term, but he holds his tongue. “Whatever - it’s done now. I suppose you all should come with me.”

“We should?” Rex says, bemused.

“Would you rather stay out here in the rain?” Minoth responds, tilting his head back as if embracing the downpour. Pyra had begun to forget about the weather, but having it brought up again reminds her just how cold and wet she is, and she shivers morosely.

Moving forward, Mythra asks, “Isn’t is bad for your health to be out here?”

Clothes clinging tight to his frail form, hair flat against his soaked head, breaths coming harsh and unnatural, Minoth laughs. “Oh, absolutely. Iona’s going to kill me when I get back - if the rain doesn’t get me first, that is.”

He turns to leave, but only manages one step before stumbling. Pyra darts to his side to support him, and Rex quickly joins her. Minoth loops his arms over their shoulders with a bitter thanks.

“So,” Minoth drawls with the least possible amount of enthusiasm, “care to explain how you’re alive when I was reliably informed-” he shoots a glare at Rex- “that you were very, very dead?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” Malos laughs from beside them as he matches their speed. “Magically coming back to life seems to be the norm for me.”

“He has done it twice now,” Pyra concurs.

Mythra skips ahead of them, twisting to walk backwards. She gives that up as her back knocks into the post of a stall and nearly sends the structure toppling down. “To be fair, he didn’t actually die the first time. Just came close.”

“Well,” Minoth says, directing his glare at Malos, and that glare is not at all diminished by him needing Pyra and Rex’s support to walk. “As long as you don’t start threatening my granddaughter again, I suppose I can put up with you.”

“I can make no promises,” Malos says solemnly.

“He’ll leave her alone,” Rex translates. “How is Iona, anyway?”

Minoth’s expression screams he better not, but he doesn’t voice his concerns (or, more accurately, his threats). “Better,” he answers instead. “Still not right, but better. She’s smiling a lot more than she was, which is a start.”

Through the rain, Malos’ confused frown catches Pyra’s eye, and he mouths, what’s wrong with her?

Vandham, she mouths back. You, she refrains from adding.

“That’s good,” Rex is answering for them all. “Is she still helping out in the theatre?”

Minoth shakes his head, splashing both Pyra and Rex in the process. She supposes they’d be more annoyed if they weren’t already too soaked for it to matter. “Oh no, we left that behind when we moved out here.” At the assortment of surprised looks the statement earns him he continues, “Iona’s idea - there’s a better ether flow here, and no crazy driver to hide from anymore.”

Malos nods approvingly at that assessment of Amalthus. Minoth ignores him.

“A few of my troupe insisted on following and setting up a new theatre, but that’s still in progress. Some of Vandham’s lot declared I needed protection and help and all that crap and came along too, like the kid you ran into earlier.”

“You’ve got quite the loyal crew, haven’t you?” Mythra says thoughtfully. “You’re very popular.”

“A lot of people just need an escape from the brutality of the world,” Minoth says, sending a pointed glare at Malos.”I offered that.” Shuffling out of Pyra and Rex’s support, he adds, “This is it.”

He’s stopped in front of a small house, nondescript, blending neatly into the maze of identical buildings. Yanking the door open, Minoth gestures them inside, but concedes with a laugh as Mythra shoves him over the threshold first.

The interior is just as comfortable as the aura the exterior exudes. A tight corridor stretches from the doorway, branching off into various rooms that Pyra is sure are just as small. Warm wooden floors give the house a homely feel, although-

“We’re dripping on your floor,” Mythra notes as they squeeze in after Minoth.

“So am I,” he laughs, purposefully ignoring the way it trails into a cough. “I don’t think I have the  right to complain.”

“Grandpa!”

The five twist in the tight space to see a dry Iona (and yes, okay, Pyra is jealous) barreling down the corridor towards them. “Where have you been? I was so worried!”

“I’m fine, Iona,” Minoth laughs again, and this time the ensuing cough is more violent. He waves her concern off with a single hand - all his coughing fit can spare. “Just a bit wet, that’s all.”

“You’re soaked ,” she hisses, rushing to support him. “You’re supposed to be looking after yourself!”

Minoth gently pushes her away. “A bit of rain won’t kill me.”

“That’s not what you said earlier,” Mythra mutters to herself, clearly not intending to be overheard.

Iona’s head snaps up, and the haze of concern that had her ignoring the (very thankful to be out of the rain) quartet of guests falls away. “Oh! Hi Mr Rex, Miss Pyra, Miss Mythra, M-”

Oh dear. Her eyes go wide, mouth falling open as she jerks back.

Pyra races into her role of damage control. “Hi Iona, how have you been?” She steps in front of Malos, who, still maintaining his grumpy cat persona, is not helping the situation at all.

Iona tries to respond but all that comes out is a panicked squeak.

Groaning, Malos shunts Pyra aside and crouches down. “Hey, kid. I’m nice now, apparently, so you don’t have to worry about me killing any more of the people you care about.”

“Good to know I’m safe,” Minoth drawls, dropping a comforting hand on Iona’s shoulder. The girl looks up at him, clearly not happy but seemingly accepting defeat as she snatches up the hand and drags her grandfather into one of the side rooms.

“Good job, Malos,” Mythra says, glaring at her fellow Aegis. “You handled that perfectly.”

“Shut up,” Malos replies, returning the glare with equal ferocity. “I tried.”

Rex gestures in the direction Iona escaped in. “Should we follow?”

Shrugging helplessly, Pyra says, “Unless you want to drip on this one section of floor for the entire night, I’d say so.”

Rolling his eyes at their hesitance, Malos moves to follow their hosts. Mythra dives to grab him and yank him back, moving ahead to access the room first.

They enter to find Minoth on a sofa, encased in a swathe of blankets so snuggly wrapped around him that Pyra has to wonder if he can even breathe. Iona is perched on the arm of the sofa beside him.

“We don’t have any more blankets,” she says with minimal emotion. “Sorry.”

Mythra leans casually into Malos chest as if seeking warmth from him. Malos stares down at the top of her head, features twisted in slight perplexion. “That’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

Pyra steps forward and wraps herself around Malos’ arm. “We’ll be fine,” she agrees.

“Speak for yourself,” Malos grumbles under his breath, leaning into both Pyra and Mythra. “I’m freezing.”

The water they’ve been steadily depositing on the floor as they moved through the house is forming into a puddle at their feet. Soon enough it’ll flood the house, if it continues in this manner. Rex edges closer to his Blades. Taking pity on him, Pyra frees an arm and stretches it out, allowing flames to spring to life in her palm. Moaning in relief, her three companions all lean towards it. “There we go.”

“I was cooking,” Iona says suddenly, shifting to look down at her grandfather. “I should probably…”

“Go,” Minoth replies, the words muffled by the cloth covering his mouth. When Iona sends a panicked glance in Malos’ direction he adds, “I survived the walk back here without him killing me. I’ll be fine. Go, before the house gets burnt down.”

With one last look back, Iona disappears out the door, and the three Aegises and their driver are once again left alone with Minoth.

The old man shifts beneath his mountain of blankets. “Why don’t you go help her? She could do with the company.”

“Are you sure?” Rex asks,

“Yeah, sure- well, no, except you, Malos, I want to talk to you.” When they all hesitate, their shared concern painted evidently on their faces, he frees a hand from the blankets and pats the sofa. “Come. Sit.”

After a moment’s pause Malos wriggles his way out of Pyra’s grasp and pushes Mythra back upright, shooing them away as he settles beside Minoth. “Go on, follow the kid.”

Pyra is still hesitant, as, by the look on her face, is Mythra, but Rex makes the decision for them by linking his arms with theirs and pulling them out the room.

“Be good!” Mythra calls back as they leave.

“Still no promises!” is Malos’ helpful reply.

Iona barely raises her head from its lowered position over a pot she’s stirring as they come in. “Grandpa sent you away?”

“Told us you could do with the help,” Mythra confirms, joining her at the pot. “What’cha making?”

“No,” Rex says, pulling Mythra away. “You stay away from the food.” When Mythra sends him an injured look he defends himself by saying, “I’ve heard the stories.”

Pouting, Mythra relents and backs off. Pyra pats her on the shoulder sympathetically.

Iona giggles, finally lifting her head and taking them in, and she freezes mid-stir. “Is it just you three?”

“Yes, is that a problem?” Pyra asks, despite knowing that yes, of course it is.

“You left Grandpa alone with him?”

“He asked us to,” Mythra says casually, rooting through a cupboard - Pyra doesn’t want to imagine what for. “And Malos really is okay now.”

“That doesn’t justify what he did,” Rex hastens to add, “and we can’t ask you to forgive him or anything, but you can trust that he won’t hurt you or your grandfather.”

Pyra positions herself at the doorway. Just in case, she tells herself, but she does trust Malos, and the true reason is that she is a terrible person and wants to eavesdrop.

“I gotta admit,” Malos is saying, his voice drifting through the corridor to Pyra, “I’d have expected you to be in there doing the cooking.”

Minoth laughs dryly in response. “Do I look strong enough to cook? It got to the point where Iona was begging me to teach her how to do it instead.”

“She’s a good kid,” Malos admits. Pyra cannot deny her surprise to hear such a statement from Malos - Mr Notoriously-Terrible-With-All-People-Let-Alone-Children.

“A good, traumatised kid,” Minoth agrees, and Pyra can only imagine the glare he’s shooting Malos (and the way the blanket cocoon hardly weakens its intensity). “I think having a distraction helped.”

“I fucked her up, didn’t I.”

“You certainly did her no favours,” is Minoth’s damning agreement, and Pyra winces. “She was very fond of Vandham. She lived in Garfont, originally, before she came to live with me. Never forgot what Vandham did for her, though.”

Malos hums, clearly considering his words, and Pyra lets her focus shift to Iona. The girl is laughing as she bats Mythra away with her wooden spoon, but the tension has not left her. It is evident in the tightness of her shoulders, the trace of discomfort in her laughter, the quick glances she fires at the doorway in regular bursts.

It seems a little cruel, now that they’ve done it and cannot change their decisions, to have brought the man that hurt this child into her home, where she should be allowed to feel safe, not be stuck rotting in fear of losing another person dear to her.

The sound of Minoth hacking up a lung draws her attention back to the conversation happening down the hall.

“This Vandham seems like he was important to a lot of people,” Malos says once the coughing subsides.

“He was,” Minoth replies. “He did a lot of good. Decided to help Rex and his lot after knowing them for about five minutes, and ended up giving his life for them. He saved Architect-knows how many people and asked for nothing in return.

“You took a good man from the world,” he finishes, tone sombre, and they fall silent.

One of Pyra’s greatest regrets - and there are admittedly quite a few of those - is the loss of Vandham. In such a short span of time he had fallen so naturally into their little group, become someone dear to them, and his death had been a harsh blow to the already-struggling Pyra and Mythra and, of course, Rex.

He truly was a good man - one of a rare sort, that gave and gave and never asked for anything in return, who improved so many lives for the simple reason that he could.

Sometimes Pyra feels guilty for not thinking of him more when he sacrificed everything for them.

“Did you-” Malos interrupts the silence, but breaks off before he can get anywhere. “Amalthus - what was it like to be his Blade?”

Minoth scoffs, the singular sound conveying an eternity of disgust, anger and hate. “Ahh, Amalthus. Our dear shared friend. You know he’s the reason I have this, right?”

Pyra can only assume he’s referring to his core crystal, tainted red with the weight of Amalthus’ greed. Malos does not respond verbally.

“I couldn’t refuse,” Minoth says. “He was my driver, and I, merely his Blade. His tool, to do as he wished. I let him fuck me over, twist my body into something unrecognisable, ruin me. I agreed, and when he had no more use for me he tossed me aside to deal with my new condition on my own.”

“He didn’t keep you around to test the effects?” Malos asks, the surprise clear in his tone. “That’s what he did with Mikhail. I thought he’d have done the same with you.”

“Oh yes, Mikhail. I’m not sure whether to thank you or hit you for what you did to that kid,” Minoth replies. “But that’s beside the point. Amalthus did keep me around at first, but I grew angrier and less co-operative, and I guess he realised it was more effort than it was worth and released me into the world.”

Malos mutters, “Bastard,” and Minoth’s laughter serves as his agreement.

“Despite what he did to me,” the Flesh Eater continues, “I think it saved me, in the long run. It severed my ties to him, freed me from his destructive thoughts and controlling nature. I got to live.

“You’ve taken a lot from me.” Pyra can almost hear the centuries of suffering behind that simple sentence. “Friends, both in my life as Minoth and as Cole. Vandham, Milton, Hugo, and so many more-”

“Who the hell are they?”

“-but-” the glare Minoth is directing at Malos is almost tangible- “as much as I’d like to, I cannot fully blame you for them. I get what it’s like to be Amalthus’ Blade, in a way few others can. I understand how he can twist a person’s mind.

“I had an escape from him,” Minoth finishes. “You didn’t.”

“You can add this sofa to that list of things I’ve taken from you,” is Malos’ wholly inadequate response, and Pyra cannot help but roll her eyes. “I don’t think it’s salvageable, given that we’ve been sitting on it while soaking wet.”

The sofa squeaks as one or both of them shuffle their weight. “It wasn’t comfortable anyway. I think I can forgive you for that one.”

Another squeak. “Oh, yeah, one more thing,” Minoth persists. “Using Iona as bait? Bad. Fully blaming you and your friends for that one. Do not do that again.”

“I wasn’t planning to, but I’ll keep that in mind,” Malos sighs. After a long moment, long enough for Pyra to think the conversation is over, he adds a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

Minoth’s stunned “You what,” (that trails, inevitably, into a mass of coughs) sums up Pyra’s own reaction quite nicely.

She is not a gambler, but Pyra would bet money on Malos refusing to meet Minoth’s gaze at this moment. “For Vandham,” he expands. “Using your kid. For the others you mentioned, although I won’t pretend to remember them.”

“Damn,” Minoth murmurs in a low voice. “You have changed.”

“Thank Rex and my sisters,” Malos sighs in response. “They’re very determined to make me better than I am.”

Malos is already better than he believes, if you ask Pyra (and no-one has; she’s eavesdropping, she shouldn’t have an opinion). No-one prompted that apology. He gave it willingly. That, Pyra would say, is a sign that he doesn’t need Pyra or Mythra or Rex nagging him constantly. He just needs (and needed all along) a driver who isn’t a complete ass. Minoth, as she has just discovered, can relate.

“Hey, Pyra, what do you think?”

Pyra jolts, zoning out of her musings and back into the scene in front of her. Three sets of eyes are focused on her, awaiting an answer, and Pyra doesn’t even know the question. “Um, yes?” she tries, and is rewarded with three identical grins.

“Great!” Iona cheers. “Let’s take this through.”

She snatches at the food that, at some point, has transferred from the pot to a number of plates, and leaves through the door with it. Mythra and Rex follow suit,

“I have no idea what I just agreed to,” Pyra confesses to Rex as he passes her a plate. He only laughs and walks away without enlightening her.

When she returns to the living room Iona has flopped onto the sofa’s arm again, leaning possessively into her grandfather and glaring at Malos’ lap (distinctly refusing to meet his eyes, Pyra notes). Mythra settles herself between Amalthus’ former Blades while Rex makes do leaning on the back of the sofa behind Mythra. Pyra joins her driver, settling her free hand on Malos’ shoulder in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. She thinks Malos leans into the touch, just a little.

“Oh, we’re definitely going to need a new sofa after this,” Minoth grins as Iona tugs his blankets higher. “A new, dry sofa.”

Pyra still does not feel remotely dry, despite the sheer volume of rainwater she’s spilt into Minoth’s house, and yet she doesn’t feel too guilty about making the sofa worse.

On said sofa, Minoth writhes his way out of two of his blankets, ignoring Iona’s protests as he does so, and passes one back to Rex and the other to Mythra. “There, that should help you warm up a bit.” Before he retreats back into his blanket fort he darts out a hand and plucks the forgotten knife out of Mythra’s belt. “And I’ll return this to its rightful owner.”

Mythra grumbles but does not fight, pressing herself into Malos’ side and draping their blanket over them. Rex wraps the other over himself and Pyra, and Pyra gladly drags it tighter, leaning into the warmth her driver provides.

As Iona and Minoth fall into conversation (one punctuated by Iona’s uncomfortable glances in Malos’ direction, but a conversation nonetheless), Pyra looses an arm from her shared blanket and returns it to Malos’ shoulder. Bending to place her head next to his, she whispers, “You did well.”

“You have got to stop eavesdropping on me,” is the muttered reply, and Pyra can only laugh in return.

Chapter Text

“Tell me about him,” Malos says out of nowhere, settling himself beside Mythra on the edge of the small cliff she has perched on.

Mythra jolts out of her reverie at his arrival. “I’m sorry?”

“Your friend in Auresco,” he elaborates, fixating his gaze on the distant setting sun, its orange glow bathing him in a warm light. “The one I killed. Tell me about him.”

She almost snaps at him, asks how the hell do you know about him? before she remembers how she’d told him, back when they were spilling their souls to each other. Restraining the burst of anger and pain that rises each time she thinks of him , Mythra instead asks, “Why?”

Malos doesn’t look at her, staring so intently at the sun that it can’t be good for his eyes, regardless of his Aegis-ness. “You know all about my friends, and I know about most of yours. This one guy, though, I’m clueless on. I think Jin mentioned him once or twice,” he frowns, “but never in detail.”

“What makes you think I want to tell you?” Mythra chokes.

“You don’t have to,” he replies. “I won’t force you. But I’d like to know, if you’re willing.”

Mythra isn’t sure she can, doesn’t even know where to start, but Malos’ desire to be better makes her want to try. Besides: he deserves to be remembered, and if she’s the only one that can then she supposes she has to try.

The silence between them stretches out as she searches for the words, until Malos interrupts with a soft sigh and ducks his head. “That’s okay,” he says. “Do you want me to-”

“No,” she interrupts. “No, I want to tell you about him.” At the disbelieving look Malos shoots her she insists, “I do. I just…”

“Don’t know where to begin?”

Mythra nods, and Malos grimaces knowingly. “Yeah, I get like that whenever Rex starts bugging me about my dead friends. It doesn’t get easier.”

She lets her head hang, watching the amber light creep its way along the cliff edge. She twists one hand in the other, squeezes, and softly admits, “I’ve never talked about him.”

“Ah.” They sit, stewing in silence once again, before he adds, “Well, it can’t get any harder than the first time.”

“I should talk about him,” Mythra murmurs, and then, as if trying to convince herself, “I should. I want to. Why - why does it have to be so hard?”

“Well, I’d hazard that talking to me about him - me, the reason he’s dead - can’t be making it any easier for you.”

“Oh, thanks, I’d almost forgotten about that.” Mythra rolls her eyes, hitting Malos lightly on the arm. He grins back at her, but the faintest traces of guilt dance behind his facade on indifference.

She sighs, and the silence returns full force. It hangs between them like a canvas, thick and heavy and impossible to break through, but Mythra thinks, fuck it, and decides to try regardless.

She owes him that much.

“It hurts to remember him,” she admits in a quiet voice, not meeting Malos’ searching gaze. “Sometimes I go days, weeks, months not thinking about him, then it’ll suddenly hit me mid-battle or in the middle of the night or after hours of trekking that he’s gone, and has been for five damn centuries now, and it hurts.

“That doesn’t get any easier, either,” she directs specifically at Malos. “The grief. You’ll be mourning Jin and the others forever.”

“Good,” Malos says, with surprising resolve. “I don’t want to stop mourning them.”

Mythra smiles bleakly. “That only worsens the guilt you feel when they inevitably slip your mind.”

He lets his head drop, scratching at the rough stone they’re perched on in what Mythra thinks is an attempt at self-comfort, although it doesn’t seem to be helping. “I’m not sure I can ever stop thinking of them.”

She hums her understanding - and she does understand; back when Mythra first sealed herself away and Pyra had full control all that filled her dormant mind was thoughts of Torna and Hugo and Brighid and Aegaeon and Milton. She’d spent five hundred years thinking of them.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. They deserved life, but she’d ripped that away, so her remembrance was all she had to give and it wasn’t enough.

“They’re always there,” Malos continues, his voice taking on a slight shakiness that is foreign to Mythra’s ears. “When I close my eyes I see them. When I breathe it’s like they’re coiled in my gut, weighing me down. When I walk it’s like they’re walking beside me, but they’re not. They’re dead. They’re dead, and I’m alive when I have no right to be.”

Mythra has to resist the urge to laugh, or scoff, or cry - she knows that feeling intimately.

“If I could give my life to restore theirs,” he adds quietly, solemnly, painfully, “I would do it in a heartbeat. I never thought I could care about anyone that way, let alone four of the fuckers.”

“Hold on to those feelings,” Mythra says, because she doesn’t know how else to respond to such a crushingly fragile admission. “Keep them close. Remember. It’s all we can do.”

It wouldn’t ever be enough.

They sit, the weight of grief hanging thick in the air between them as they each dedicate a moment to the fallen loved ones of themselves and their partner (and that’s what they are, Mythra has long since decided: partners, siblings, fellow victims bound by a relentless fate that sucks them back into suffering each time they think they may have escaped).

“What was his name?” Malos asks suddenly, cutting into their meditation.

She hesitates, initially, but swallows her pain long enough to reply: “...Milton.”

Malos recoils, spinning to face her for the first time. “Milton?!”

Mythra, too, jerks around. “Wait, you know him?”

Her response is a shocked look, which morphs into laughter. “Damn,” Malos bites out through a laugh, “this kid must’ve really been something if I’ve got two people refusing to forgive me for his death.”

“...two?”

“Mikhail,” Malos explains. “Mikhail accepted me eventually, and was willing to work with me, but made it very clear that he would never forgive Milton’s death.”

Shit, Mikhail . Mythra had forgotten all about his own friendship with Milton. She feels awful about that; Mikhail may not have known him for as long as Mythra had, but even she, in all her useless-at-understanding-people glory, had been able to see how much the two children grew to care for each other in such a short span of time.

It had been hard not to love Milton, though. Where Mythra was useless at interacting with people, Milton just instinctively got them, able to leap his way from new acquaintance to close friend in a matter of weeks. It was how he got Mikhail to open up to him, after all - by seeing past the child’s cold exterior to the worn-down boy that lay beneath, scarred by the world’s cruelty and jaded by its abuse.

Malos’ laughter fades, replaced by a morbid grin. “Hey, I guess I was more successful in pissing you off than I first realised when I fired on Auresco.”

Mythra stares blankly at him. “You think that’s funny? Something to be proud of?”

“I’m a little proud,” Malos admits, grin still etched wide on his face. When her stare becomes a glare, he quickly adds, “Very tiny bit! I mostly feel bad now.”

“I loved that kid!” Mythra hisses at him through clenched teeth, and damn it she has a right to be pissed about this. “I loved him so much! I didn’t connect well with others back then - I was not a great person, honestly - but Milton? The other deaths hurt, don’t get me wrong - Hugo and Brighid and Aegaeon and all the innocents that fell with Torna broke my heart - but Milton tipped me over the edge. Milton is what pushed me to seal myself away!”

Malos recoils, genuine surprise etched on his face. “Him? Not Torna?”

She waves a hand at him. “Torna was a huge part of it, but seeing Milton, lifeless and-” and ugh, she hadn’t wanted to cry, but she has to choke back a sob and force out the words: “Milton made it so much more real.”

“He really meant that much to you,” Malos states, awed.

“Addam said we were like siblings,” Mythra grumbles in reply. “I didn’t get what he meant at the time, but… yeah. I loved Milton like a brother.”

They trail back into their eternal companion of silence, Mythra fighting back tears and Malos fighting for the words to reply.

It is only after an age that he speaks, the dark of the night washing over him in a sombre embrace and shielding his expression from sight. “I meant what I said, you know.” At Mythra’s confused glance, he elaborates, “When I apologised for killing him. I meant it.”

Mythra bites her lip, mulling over her potential responses, before she responds, quietly, “I know.” A deep breath. A sigh. “I know.”