Chapter Text
Six doesn't remember falling asleep, but he wakes from a nightmare to a knock on his cabin door, and he clenches his fists into the sheets to keep them from shaking. The curtains are open, and the sun is above the horizon, but the air is not yet hot. He must have been too tired to bother with anything more than falling into bed, even though Siete left him to rest while he steered the ship.
His shirt clings to his skin, damp with sweat. He struggles to control his breathing. "'M awake," he mumbles, rubbing the heels of his palm against his eyes.
Stars burst against his closed eyelids as Esser's voice comes through the door. "We're here, Six. Siete's finished making breakfast." She sounds submerged to Six's ringing ears, and he takes another shuddering breath until he feels steady enough to respond. Her calming cadence tempts him into sleeping again, but the creeping darkness lingers at the edge of his mind.
They don't have time for more of his weakness, and he can't continue making them wait for him. He shakes his head.
Since he started sharing a bed with Siete, he takes longer to become alert, expecting a pair of arms around his waist and a sleepy plea for him to stay for five minutes more. He rubs the goosebumps on his arm and clings to the memory of Siete's warmth to chase away the old doubts surfacing from that nightmare, a boundless and indescribable heat, eyes watching from everywhere, nails dragging across his skin—"Was he allowed to leave the helm to cook?" He sounds tinny to his own ears.
Esser, however, sounds closer now. He focuses on her presence, on her words, on the idea of Siete keeping them afloat. "Our ship is in proper condition, but hurry, lest he cause a scene before we invite the others."
"He'd look for any excuse to cause a scene," he mumbles more to himself. For a moment, free of the heaviness blanketing his thoughts, his fondness finds a home in every syllable. Stifling another yawn, he stretches, equips his weapons, and finds the outermost parts of his uniform that he discarded for his nap.
In a stroke of inspiration, Siete designed new uniforms for the Eternals late last year. Although Six accepted them with much less debate than the original from the time of recruit, he isn't grounded enough in the present world to find solace in marking himself as an Eternal, and he stares at the door of his cabin instead of the mirror as he changes.
He didn't want to give his nightmare form in the waking world through his thoughts, but this cape weighs too heavy on his shoulders; his and Siete's first anniversary is in one week, and still, he catapults each day between basking in this fleeting happiness and discarding all of his names to free Siete from the imposter he is. The cape drags behind him when he exits his room, but sunshine reflects off it and against the ship's halls, shimmering, and he straightens his cape so it sits as Siete intended on his shoulders.
Now with his back straight to support the weight of the cape, holding his head high follows naturally. The smell of breakfast drifts through the halls, and his heart lightens by the time he arrives at the cozy dining area of their ship, sighing to expel the last of the doubts cast by his impromptu nap as he settles beside Siete.
Without missing a beat, Siete frees a hand to curl around Six's waist, bringing him in to kiss the back of his ear. Six's shoulders slacken, and he leans into the action, rubbing his cheek against Siete's shoulder. Maybe the only thing he missed was the warmth after waking, no Siete beside him to bother him and drown him in love.
"Morning, sunshine." Siete sounds chipper, and with each second that passes by his side, his uncertainty from the vague horrors fade. "I'll finish up here, you two wanna bring Gran over here and see why he called us?"
Six hums in agreement. "Keep breakfast warm." From beside Siete, he grabs one apple for himself and one for Vyrn as a necessary sacrifice to keep his mask intact.
"Hey, don't get full before we eat," Siete whines, taking one from him. Six takes the opportunity when Siete leans over him to plant a kiss along his jaw before escaping from his grasp. While looking him in the eye, he splits the apple in half with defiance, leaving behind the other half.
Siete docked the Eternals' ship beside the Grandcypher, the sheer size of which never failed to strike awe into observers. Its side entrance opens for Six and Esser as they exit.
Gran and Lyria wait on the uppermost deck, their nervous energy unsettling against the nonstop flurry of activity that is their crew. "Uno sends his regrets that he couldn't come," Six starts. He searches for Vyrn, and when he doesn't find him, he bites into the half of the apple he's carrying to keep himself awake. "The one among us most versed in business, and he could not attend."
"It's fine," Gran says, his smile straining. "Arawo's been dealing with more than messed-up trade routes, anyway."
With the lull in conversation, Six can sense their tension. Behind him, Lyria peers over the railing's edge. On a regular day, a visit from the Eternals would fill her with energy, but she's too lost in thought to greet them today. Gran follows Esser and Six's gazes to Lyria, and he calls for her. She hums with acknowledgment without looking at him, and after long seconds pass, she turns with a grin more forced than Gran's.
"Oh!" Clouds obscure her sunny demeanour, and she glances once at Gran before running to give them both hugs. Her arms around Six squeeze tighter than usual, seeking something secure.
"Siete's prepared breakfast, so please, if it's not too much trouble," Esser says, gesturing toward the Eternals' ship.
Tension drains from their faces at the invitation; Siete's cooking has that effect on most, and they follow Six and Esser to their airship. However, not even the promise of a full meal allays the graveness that settles over them once they return. Lyria is clinging to Gran closer than she has in recent years, and her responses to Esser are stilted.
Siete greets them with open arms in the kitchen, but Lyria doesn't run to accept the invitation for a hug. "Lyria," he says, tilting his head. "What's got ya so down?"
She plays with the fabric of her skirt, scrunching her hands until they leave wrinkles. "It's okay if I tell them?" she asks in a quiet voice, looking up to Gran.
He smiles at her, putting an arm around her shoulders, and she musters a smile in return. "Let's sit and eat first," he reassures.
They settle in their seats, but everyone is waiting for Lyria, who only stares at her pancakes in between small bites. Siete tries to start a conversation by saying, "I'm surprised you guys wanted to meet at the island next to the problem one. Is it that bad over at Arawo?"
Lyria nods, taking the opportunity. "There's something wrong with the primal there," she says. "When we come near Arawo, I get sick, but it's like… I've been sick for a very long time. I don't know how to explain. And it's coming from the friends we pick up there, too." Esser holds out her hand for Lyria to hold, and she takes it, squeezing.
Gran continues for her. "Yeah, whenever we pick people up from there, they've been… odd, too. They forget we're coming for them or what day it is if they've been there too long. We poked around for a bit before Lyria got too overwhelmed, but the running theory until we sent people in was that trade routes involving Arawo at any point were being sabotaged. But when we showed up to investigate, everyone from townspeople to merchants had memory issues."
"And then," Lyria says, holding Esser's hand tighter, "when we came back with the crew members we picked up, we were late, too, but I swear we were on time!"
Siete makes a noise of contemplation. "And the Eternals could help?"
"Wouldn't've called you over if we didn't think you guys could give some insight." Gran sighs. "With how Lyria's reacting, it's definitely a primal beast. It'd be nice to get all the help we can. You're a resilient bunch."
"Proud as I am of us," Siete says, "you've got quite the crew at your arsenal."
"Captain to captain, then? I'll pass you everything I know from our end, and we stay in touch." Gran rubs the back of his head. "It's like there's more to this problem than even we can handle."
"Let's check the capital ourselves, then. Lyria, are you okay to come with us?"
Though her discomfort is obvious, she nods.
"I can stay with you here," Esser offers upon seeing her apprehension. "If the plan is only a cursory investigation of the capital, there should be no danger if Lyria stays here while the ship orbits the island."
"No," Lyria says, her jaw set when she lifts her chin. "I want to help. It's important."
Gran takes a bite of toast and leans back in his chair. "We should take the Grandcypher there. If we tell the crew what we're doing, those that've been to Arawo before are gonna try to check up on us."
The members of Gran’s crew that have experienced Arawo's errant primal beast send them off before their investigation, placated by the knowledge that they'll start early. The effects of temporary memory loss accelerate after the sun goes down, so they remain vigilant in their timekeeping to ensure that they have enough hours in the day.
Six notices nothing out of the ordinary when they dock at the capital—ships exchanging cargo, townspeople going about their daily errands—but those initial impressions must be related to why their supposed problem has gone undetected for so long. Lyria clings to Esser when her feet touch the soil and makes constant chatter for peace of mind. The pair walks behind Gran and Siete, leading the way; Six guards the rear alone and gives himself more room to observe.
There may be a primal beast, but its effects don't seem pronounced on the townspeople. Pauai has only become Arawo's centre of business within the past few decades as the most accessible port city of the largest island in this archipelago, but Six has only heard little outside of what Siero mentions at her shop.
A crowd murmuring in the town square interrupts their investigation plans. Six counts eight soldiers, disoriented beyond recognition, as the source of the commotion. Their sustained injuries pierce through their thick armour, their faces doused in blood, and they cannot tell those questioning them with certainty what happened.
Six stays with the rest at the edge of town square. The Eternals and Gran are dressed down for the day, but with their unlikely group and their serious expressions, the citizens recognize them for who they are.
From the crowd, a decorated man approaches them in a uniform of dappled green beside their own bronze. "The Eternals are here? Is it really that much of a problem?" he whispers to them.
Siete glances back at them, and then says, "We're just investigating a few personal reports. Nothing official."
The general's voice is weary. "It may soon be official. We sent troops to investigate a primal beast outside of our borders. The only reason I know that our investigations were unsuccessful is because we have fewer men to send in each time we try." He sighs before attempting a grin. "We here at Arawo have always been timely people… It's a long-running joke among the population. We make and own the least clocks here than anywhere else in the skydom. Maybe that's why it took us so long to realize anything was happening."
Gran frowns, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene. "How many have you sent?"
The grin that the general can put together doesn't reach his eyes. "You'd think it funny if I said I didn't remember. At least it's not as bad as it used to be. The first set of soldiers that we ever sent returned barely remembering their early teenage lives. These men"—he tilts his head toward the group in town square—"only lost a few years, but compared to previous losses, it may be an improvement. We have too many in clinics that don't know how they got there."
After a moment of consideration, he urges them to follow his lead, away from the central part of Pauai. Outside earshot of the townspeople, he tells the group what he can of previous expeditions.
Despite being its capital, it's smaller than those of more established islands in the skydom. The decay seeps from the edge of the city into Six's skin the closer they get, and by the time he can see the emerald green of the forests still untouched by civilization, Lyria has gone silent, clinging tighter to Esser. The general leads them past the few soldiers positioned by a main road in and out of the border, and she stops when they try to go further.
In the middle of explaining the reports he's received from Pauai, the general notices their paused advance, then looks to Lyria. "Does she have a gift?"
"Of sorts," Gran mutters. His eyes are faraway, looking into the forest. It's now late afternoon, and the sun sets over the west to kiss the mountaintops. It shouldn't be this low. The warning to not stay longer than nightfall rings in their minds.
Crouching down to meet Lyria at eye level, the general says, "I'm sorry for bringing you here."
Lyria shakes her head as if she were in pain herself. "The primal beast suffers. Without me, no one would believe just how much."
Siete breathes out, and his next words take on a more authoritative tone. "We've seen enough. If Lyria's feeling sick, then we should return." He may not have the same powers, but he must sense the disturbance the way the others do. Even though everything seems in place, something fundamental is broken on this island.
Six turns to the setting sun again. The leaves rustling in the emerald forest resonates with the uncertainty from which he'd awoken this morning, a whisper of doubt reviving in his unconscious mind.
"That might be best." The general watches the same sun he does. "If you return, ask for Aquino—but I can't promise that I'll remember that you've visited at all."
It shouldn't take longer than an hour to return to the docks, enough time for the sun to watch over their journey. Instead, what greets them is the bright lights of the Grandcypher, flickering with anxiety against a late dusk sky. As soon as they're on board, the ship embarks on a rocky departure in its haste, and the worried crew members swarm them.
Six's comrades in battle test him on details during their time together, their combat history, and his status with the Eternals; Narmaya gestures to the ring finger of her own left hand, and he nods, mirroring the action to touch his ring hidden beneath his glove. He would find the line of questioning intrusive if not for the relief on their faces, but their satisfaction doesn't quell the doubts' resurgence in his mind.
Siete promises to keep in contact with Gran after bringing the problem back to base, and for their return trip, he remains quiet with reflection. Six stands next to him, pressing their shoulders together while gazing into the night sky.
He turns to Siete's profile, helplessness overcoming him with the resonating doubt to pave its way. Six's words have flown with greater ease over the years of their relationship, but he still struggles to offer comfort when Siete is slipping away from him. Alongside the anxiety of bringing this investigation to the Eternals, he is powerless to protect Siete from the dangers of this mission, short of resolving this mission by himself.
He takes Siete's hand in his, and Siete grasps back like it's his only lifeline. Without a care for the Grandcypher's crew still around them, he pulls Six into his arms. "Can I be selfish for a moment?" he mutters between Six's ears, burying his face in the crown of his head.
"Will anything I say stop you?"
Siete doesn't answer for a long time, resisting the easy banter. The wind rustles through their hair and wraps Siete's cape around him. "You know I'd give the world for you, right, Six?"
Dread joins his doubt and anxiety until he forgets how to breathe. Regardless of whether it was Siete's intention, these are words intended for either new beginnings or absolute ends. "That's the opposite of selfish," he says.
"Maybe saying that right now was. I worried you, didn't I?"
"You always do things that make a sane man worry." He settles against Siete, closing his eyes.
"Oh, I know. But Six, I'd give my world for you. Just in case you've forgotten." Siete says it with a joking tone to placate him, but his thoughts are coloured by a rapid decline of faith of his own merit. Where he was looking forward to celebrating a year of marriage, he feels nothing but the cursed unrest from coming into proximity of the primal beast's territory.
Siete stays quiet for the rest of the trip back to the base, but if it's because he can sense the discord within Six and leaves him alone, he isn't sure.
At the base, he announces an emergency meeting tomorrow after sunrise before evading the company of the curious Eternals, citing a need to consolidate what they witnessed today. But when he talks with Esser and Six about the investigation, the leader of the Eternals falls away to become Siete, his concerned frown furrowing deeper as they struggle to put their dissonance into words.
Esser leaves them alone when she's offered her piece, and Siete slumps against Six. Like habit, their hands find each other's to hold. "Not great, huh? No one has any idea what's going on, and no one remembers what's happening."
Six doesn't know what he needs or wants to hear, and it magnifies the guilt on his shoulders. "At least we have guesswork pointing toward a potential source."
"God, yeah," Siete mumbles. "I don't want this to go on any longer for Arawo. I can't imagine how devastating it is. And even if it is a primal beast, what are we supposed to do to prevent memory loss? Use the power of love and friendship?" He snorts, but the joke falls flat, because Siete, of all people, forgot to inject humour into it.
He sighs, and Six rubs circles into the back of his palm.
"I'm just… worried. Not only for the island, but for us when we go."
"I know." Six pauses. "I as well. But we can discuss the Eternals' limitations tomorrow. With the others, we will have a plan." He tries to remind himself that Siete trusts him by admitting these troubles to him, but he fails. He thinks about how the distance halfway between them has grown.
"You're right," Siete says, weary. "I love you."
Six kisses him instead of saying those words back, trying to fight down the thought that he hasn't done enough.
When they sleep that night, he holds Siete close as his anchor. He tangles their fingers together and brushes his lips across their linked hands, and he mouths an apology against Siete's skin. He only receives a steady heartbeat in response. Siete is already fast asleep.
Some things never change. Siete shows up late to the meeting that he planned, with bags under his eyes and a tiredness that persists as he nods at everyone. Six would have woken him earlier, but unlike most times when Siete tried to convince him to stay in bed five more minutes just to cuddle, Six let him have those five minutes this morning. He needed the extra sleep.
Sarasa squints at him as he walks in late, crossing her arms. "If you hate early meetings so much, why don'tcha just make these things later?" Like her personality, her sleep schedule could never be tamed, and judging by the messier-than-usual tornado that is her hair, she must be here after a sleepless night.
"Habit," he mumbles into the top of Six's head before dropping into the empty seat beside him. The Eternals watched their relationship progress, so the affectionate action elicits no reaction from them, yet Six's ears still twitch with self-consciousness.
He fights down his embarrassment to wrap his ankle around Siete's beneath the table. Offering this basic comfort is the least he can do.
Siete's tense demeanour escapes no one. Although he's emphasized the importance of this mission by calling an emergency meeting, they don't rush him to start. He takes a deep breath, and they wait.
"We have something of greatest priority," he starts. His foot fidgets against Six's, heel bouncing off the ground. "Unfortunately, we lack information in critical places, so bear with me."
"Nine years and he finally thinks to ask if we can bear with him," Quatre ribs. The sharp grin Quatre offers is just as much habit as Siete walking in late or as Sarasa's incomprehensible sleeping schedule.
Siete's fidgeting slows as he prepares the observations he, Six, and Esser wrote, Gran and the Grandcypher's experiences, and the few words that Aquino offered.
"Let's get to it.
"A little archipelago right in the middle of the skydom named Arawo has been reporting acute memory loss with no discernible source. I know, you're thinking, 'How can they report it when they have memory loss'? As far as we know, it's centralized within Pauai, its capital. But Gran and his crew members reported temporary problems from visits alone.
"We exchanged words with a general, and it turns out that they've been sending soldiers to fight a primal beast. Yeah, it's one of those missions," he says, trying to lighten the mood, but it sounds facetious. No one comments. "Fighting the beast triggers memory loss to an extent, but its methods are not yet known, nor whether the effects are permanent. We…" He hesitates. "saw results."
Unease fills Six again, and he looks over to Siete and Esser, finding the same difficult look on their faces.
While Siete describes the scene at town square, Six adds another physical anchor point by moving a hand to rest on his thigh. The Eternals steel themselves as Six and Esser interject with their own observations, each of them pausing over the descriptions of the townspeople's terror, the blood-stained soldiers and their vacant eyes.
Silence falls after they finish, allowing the images to settle over their minds. Siete opens his mouth, but a slow exhale comes out first to break the tension before continuing with renewed determination. "There is a glimmer of hope for its resolution, although the price for Arawo's blessing might be the curse of whoever undertakes it. Aquino told us that with each soldier sent to battle, the returning group loses less of their own past. With a balanced team, I believe that we'd be able to defeat, if not at least restrain, the primal beast on its own terms."
"We cannot disregard 'a few years'," Uno interrupts, breaking the enraptured silence that fell over the Eternals. "It may be a significant improvement with context, but we are unaffected by that magic. Our losses would be great."
His concern has basis. This mission has the chance of debilitating them as both individuals and as a group for the amount of unknowns involved. Siete frowns as he says, "I understand that this is a risk beyond what we've known, especially considering my next point—that I want five of us to investigate.
"But I also have faith. Should disaster befall any of the Eternals, we're now more than capable of supporting each other, and that includes any memory loss from this primal beast."
It's rare for over three of them to undertake the same assignment; if ever it happened, it was coincidence. "I know I'm asking a lot by requesting that five people put themselves in a difficult position for a mission that may not succeed." Siete lowers his voice, but keeps his confidence. He searches the Eternals' faces before anchoring himself with Six and continues. "Five is a large number to ask for uncharted territory, but I want to take extra precaution. There have already been severe injuries in the face of the primal beast's aggression. As the one who proposed this impossible task to begin with, I volunteer—"
"I will go." Uno raises his voice, interrupting Siete's next words. As he protests, Uno speaks over him—it's so unheard of that all the Eternals can do is watch. "Should the mission go awry, our main leader should guide the rest while the other is compromised. Additionally, I possess the highest defensive capabilities among the ten of us. It would be a mistake to reject my offer."
Siete opens his mouth to argue, but he bites his lip, unable to come up with a rebuttal in time before the next person speaks. "Then I'm going, too," Funf says. She holds her chin high with defiance.
"No, fuck that." Quatre snarls. He must hate the idea if he doesn't stop himself from swearing at her. "I'm going. Don't even try it."
"Why not me? I'm the only one that can heal! I'm the only one that can do revival magic!"
"Yeah, on one other person if you prepare the spell ahead of time," Quatre retorts. It's because he treats her as an equal in power that he verbalizes his concern. "You still can't bring everyone back. You're just a kid—"
"I'm almost as old as you were when you joined the Eternals."
"Three years," Quatre says over her, "you have three years until you're the age I joined—"
"I'm not just some kid anymore!" She says it with so much conviction that it stops even Quatre's protests. The room falls silent but for her own indignant breathing. She holds the sun in her palms and the stars in her eyes as she did when she was young, but she's no longer in danger of being consumed by it, using it at her command instead. Quatre turns to Okto, seeking guidance.
The paint masks his emotions, but not his brow furrowing, concern reflecting in his frown. "She is correct. She is no mere child, as she has spent most of her life training alongside us, and she has truly become the greatest mage of her generation, if not the one before her. Although our paths were similar at that age, I do not hold as much pride in my youth as I do in Funf's.
"Her status as my daughter makes me apprehensive. However, we cannot ignore her equal status as a mage."
"Fine. I'm going," Quatre snarls, making his disagreement with Okto obvious.
With concern, Esser starts, "Quatre—"
"Sis, the problem's already bad enough to affect what, the capital city of an archipelago? Maybe the entire thing? Who knows if we can contain it? Stardust Town hardly needs both of us. Whatever's left, you, Gran, and the older kids can handle it." To her, his tone softens, but it holds the same stubbornness as Funf had toward him.
With that decided, Nio speaks up before anyone else can. "I'll go." To this day, it's rare that she'll undertake an aggressive mission of her own volition. "Memories are full of emotions. The situation makes me uneasy, as do the melodies that Six, Siete, and Esser carried with them from Arawo. I can hear them now," she says, looking at each of them. "However, I am the best equipped to monitor our states, should unknown magic affect us."
The team they've formed is well-rounded, but they lack a dedicated offense. Any of the remaining Eternals would be fit to take the role, but the thought of anyone else claiming it makes a protest rise within Six.
The light of the meeting room reflects on the red ring chained around Quatre's neck. Without thinking, Six's eyes wander to Song, searching for the silver band around her ring finger. Six closes his left hand into a fist as a reminder of his own promise to love Siete even when it feels impossible.
It has always been easy to love him, but hard to admit to himself. If what Nio says about their melodies is true, then this might be the primal beast speaking to him, resonating with doubts that should no longer exist with unconditional love to fill the void, occupy a space.
But even if his powers could be used to their full potential without destruction, he could never give enough to Siete, who has done so much for him every day by loving him. Siete's increased openness with the Eternals is a detriment only with Six, who fails to support him during times like these, where the only certainty about their future is that they will not return unscathed. Even when he admits weakness, Six cannot be the armour that he needs. He is too clumsy with his words, tripping over intent and delivery.
Despite that, he knows that these doubts of his should never leave his thoughts. This is Six's problem alone; Siete did what he could, but a monster can never change, only be buried beneath the earth for its bones to rise by thoughtless hands. He loves Siete, and for this, he wants to prove his dedication by righting the primal beast by his own wretched power and create a world for those he loves, even if it meant being cast away.
"I will be our fifth member and our main attacker," he announces over the conversation in the room, keeping his words steady but firm. "Everything I have to lose is sitting in this room. Half of them are already going."
"Six," Siete chokes out, a shocked breath given a name. Until now, both of them maintained professionalism over their romantic involvement. For the first time in front of the Eternals, Siete falls apart not as their leader, but as the man tied to Six's side.
"I'll go," Six says, heartbeat drumming in his ears. He nudges Siete's foot. "That's final."
He will return victorious, or he will not return at all. He tells himself this for Siete's sake and for that of the Eternals.
Siete swallows. His hand moves to hold Six's, tangling their fingers. "That makes five." His voice commands the room as it did during the summary of their investigation, but he doesn't hide his nervous tic, the thumb of his left hand running over the golden band of his ring finger. "I ask that everyone stays here during the debrief, so we all know what the plan is. Since we have no idea how long these problems persisted—only the scale is recent, not the problem itself—I'd like you five to operate as soon as possible.
"If anyone has objections, raise them now."
When Six looks around, he can see that all of them have objections, yet none word them. In the face of adversity, they know that the assembled team stands the best chance of surviving.
Siete takes a map of Arawo's main island and lays it against the table, marking Pauai's location and beginning the debrief. They concoct a bare-bones plan, but this mission forces them to operate blind, with only warnings to guide their actions.
Six, Siete, and Esser share their experiences in greater detail to prepare the others, passing their written notes around the room. However, like the night before, none of them can put to words the unease that settled over their hearts, thrumming through their bodies until they jitter with anxiety. Six takes it upon himself to describe the group of soldiers in the main city square, and the horror of the mission he's accepted sinks in. Even when it should be safe during the day, the primal beast warped their own perception of time without meeting it themselves.
And yet—the potential to free the Eternals from him strengthens his resolve until he knows that he's made the right decision. Succeed or fail, Six will prove the same thing.
Once they confirm that there are no lasting effects on those from the initial investigation, Siete plans the mission for a few days from the meeting. He sends a message to Gran, who offers to station members of the Grandcypher, but the group declines.
The others trust in their own safe return, but as the only one of them that's seen firsthand the consequences of facing the primal beast, Six can't meet their level of optimism. They place more emphasis on mental preparation than physical; knowing nothing of the primal beast's attacks, they prepare their best armour and sharpen their weapons, keeping faith in their forged steel.
Six cannot remove from his mind the image of the disoriented soldiers, each with deep incisions in their thick armour.
This mission is close to their anniversary, and he considers giving Siete his present beforehand, but that very action means accepting that the worst outcome will take place. (He pauses. How much of his resolve for this venture is his own, and how much has the primal beast's imbalance ensnared, turning him inside out? Even before meeting the primal beast in battle, it has already affected him, jumbling his thoughts until he doesn't know which are his anymore.)
He's ready for the possibility of failing. He's ready for Siete to see him as he is, a man too lost to deserve the unconditional love he has received. He's ready, but a part of him cannot allow it. He cannot fail to prove that he can use his strength to protect the most important thing in his life.
Every night until the mission, Six commits how Siete's arms rest around his waist to memory. He counts Siete's breaths, a constant even during his fitful attempts to sleep beside him. He keeps a metronome in his heart synced to the rise and fall of his chest like clockwork, and he prepares to move forward.
Six wakes up to an empty bed and a dark sky; in his panic, he reaches beside him. The sheets are still warm, and when he startles into alertness, sitting straight up, Siete walks through the door. "Sorry, did I wake you?"
Instead of answering, he draws his legs up to his chest and rests his forehead on his knees.
Siete sits beside him, the mattress dipping with his weight, and holds him close. For a long time, they're silent, and Six aligns their hearts until the thundering in his chest subsides. Siete disappearing from his side for the night to swallow him is one of his few, persisting nightmares.
He doesn't know how long it's been until Siete speaks again. "Wanna help me make breakfast?" he asks, keeping his voice low.
Still unable to form words, Six lifts his head, puts a hand behind Siete's neck, and pulls him closer for a kiss.
"Morning breath," Siete mumbles, smiling against his lips. He cups Six's face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. "Didn't know breakfast could get you so turned on."
He opens his eyes to see Siete wiggling his eyebrows. "Shut up," he growls. Siete's always had the uncanny ability of removing him from his thoughts to incite the complete opposite mood in him, and even with the world sounding alarm bells in his mind, he follows Siete's whims to forget his worries.
"You gonna give me a li'l sugar before you leave for the mission today, then?" He jokes, but Six's anxiety finds a mirror in Siete's own, becoming more obvious with each word he says.
The easiest way to get Siete to shut up is by giving him a reason to do so. Siete's already dressed for the day, and his complaints about his outfit getting dishevelled go unheard as Six pushes him down and straddles him.
The sunrise paints strokes of orange against Siete's smile while Six loves every inch of him, and when they finish, Six holds him and doesn't let go. "You're clingy this morning," Siete mumbles into the crown of Six's head, his voice still breathy.
Six wants to suspend time for this, lying in bed with him, skin flush and hearing their hearts beat as one. Siete traces his spine with his fingers, and Six is content to stay here and forgo preparation until the mission. For once, Six wants to be selfish.
But as the sky grows lighter with the sun, the anxiety returns once more. He pulls away from Siete, but not before his stomach rumbles.
The noise makes Siete chuckle. "Okay, now come join me to make breakfast, since we've worked up an appetite."
"Go downstairs like this?" Six says, gesturing toward their state of undress and the hickies against his collarbones, almost too high to hide.
"After making ourselves decent, but I think we get a pass for today, no?" Siete's voice softens with acknowledging the inevitable, and Six tries to keep his heart under control.
This time, when Six arrives at Pauai with the other four, they don full uniforms and are recognizable at first glance. They meet with Aquino amidst the commotion, who escorts them toward the border once more.
Hushed whispers from the townspeople, like leaves rustling in a deadened grove, follow them out of the capital. The Eternals are here, they titter. It must be serious. We're doomed. "They threw in the towel quick," Quatre complains, lifting his head higher.
"They're playing an odd fugue," Nio mutters. She spends too long looking at every person they pass, unnatural for someone that makes a habit of avoiding people's gazes. "Towns will normally have a guiding harmony present on which an individual's song plays, but here, everyone is out of tune."
"Hang in there, Nio," Funf says. "If we do well here, it'll be over soon."
"I wonder."
No one joins them past the border of Pauai. They embark alone, with the rest of the soldiers keeping watch behind them. Their surroundings fall to decay within steps after the boundaries of the city expire, the vast green landscape rusting against the tree bark.
When Nio falters, the group pauses with her. She materializes her harp underneath her fingertips, but she doesn't play, fingers quivering. "This place wasn't always like this. The primal beast's magic has left her mark."
The thick forest is full of life, chattering at them in the same way the townspeople's whispers clung to their minds. They docked in Pauai early in the morning, but already, the sky has lost its bright blue, the coming night bleeding above their heads. The sun fades from their grasp, and the mountains in the west swallow it whole. The night traps them, caging them among the stardust as if they were one and the same, but none express the desire to turn back.
Time is an undercurrent that dictates every living thing in the skies, but mortal rules define its measurement. Now, when they must fight to regain control over the fleeting and temporary, time shows its face as ancient, never-ending, amoral. The forest grows louder with the inky darkness of night, and with no choice given from the light of the moon, they press onward with their gut feeling.
He doesn't know how long they've been wandering among the deep forests that border Pauai. They must be walking in circles, but each step they take differs from the one before. The foliage shifts before their eyes, and the nightlife sings distinct songs of mockery.
When the dawn breaks, it steals their breaths for the chilly morning air. The confines of the night and the dark forest part like waters to reveal a clearing, their entrance angled to face the new day.
A silhouette mars the light. This is the primal beast, he knows; as sure as he is that the sun is rising and that time is dragging forwards, he knows the one before them now is responsible for . The primal beast takes the form of a woman, suspended upside down and tangled in her own long, black hair. Underneath the restraints are tatters of what must have once been an ornate white dress with gold decorations, and the state of disrepair that makes his subconscious thoughts sing with recognition. Her eyes burn bright red, and a cracked golden headpiece at the same angle as the sun's rays lays in perfect balance atop her inverted head.
She lets out a roar, and Six's eyes close with the force of her shockwave. When they open again, the sun has returned beneath the horizon so it can rise once more.
From the start of this battle, they were at a disadvantage. Their mental resources dwindled during the journey to the sun's edge, and they cannot sustain the adrenaline of a new fight long enough to deliver defeat. With their weapons at the ready, Funf casts her light's blessing to prevent ailments, and Uno prepares his shield.
Funf's spell negates the poison from feeding on their physical resources, but it cannot prevent the flow of time from warping and bending. Before the sun can rise, it resets below the horizon, so dark that the beast's silhouette blends into the sky.
The fight begins again, and again, and again. Binds pulled as taut as steel cage her, and their window to retaliate is too short to land a blow. What few strands they hack loose attack them in return with a vicious sting, slicing through their armour to tense around their bone. She drains their magical reserves faster than they can hope to replenish them; escaping the battle is impossible when the sunrise places them back in the centre of the clearing with every reset.
"We have to retreat," Quatre grits out after Funf heals his wounds. He staggers to stand, abandoning all pretense of being steady on his feet. "We weren't—we aren't prepared enough, how the hell were we supposed to know she'd do this shit—"
"We can't," Nio wheezes out, more air than sound. Her fingers are flying across the strings to keep their spirits and their mental strength in shape, but she slumps over her harp, her eyes squeezing shut with pain. "We can't retreat. If we try to escape her while she's focused, she'll take everything we have from us—not just our energy."
The sun rising again cuts off any retort Quatre prepares, forcing them into their initial positions behind a shield that Uno cannot maintain. Another roar from the primal beast crashes into them again, constricting them with her voice.
This is not a cry of anger. This is a cry of desperation, the same ice-cold anxiety that rises in Six's veins, latent from the last time he visited Arawo.
They take too long to learn a pattern, but they are nothing if tenacious. Once they formulate a plan to decrease the resets' unpredictability, adrenaline courses through Six's veins. They know it's foolish to hinge everything on a single attack. Their emotions and their conscious mind are compromised, and their physical reserves are diminishing.
Behind her, lances form into fatal points from the sun's rays to launch through their bodies, once again piercing holes in their short-term memory. This is their only chance before they switch priorities to retreating. But despite Nio's warnings, the primal beast must have already taken too much from their spirits. The sun has risen without setting enough for months to have passed; regardless of whether the same amount of time has passed outside of their battle, the equivalent months of weariness cause Uno's precise defense to falter, Quatre's poisons to miss, Funf's veil to decline, Nio's concerto to find false notes.
Chaos as old as the skies rumbles through each of their hearts, and when the sun rises again, Six blinks. Uno can't prepare his safeguard for them before the beast roars again. Her despair becomes more concentrated, anger not at her attackers but at something beyond their comprehension, and it sets in their bones with each sunrise she forces upon them.
Six can't recall on whom Funf casts her magic torrent. It should be on herself or on Nio as their most vulnerable members, but he doesn't have the liberty of time to ask her. Not when spears the colour of the golden sun itself manifest behind the primal beast, now with one individual target.
He can still receive and neutralize one lethal hit. His training as a child ingrained in him the instinct to push himself to his limits until he breaks, remaining stitched to his soul until he had no qualms with enduring any blow with the faith that he would remain whole. But he never learnt how to do so for others until he taught himself by considering the Eternals as his friends.
He didn't know how strong the urge would be to receive pain in place of someone else until he loved the Eternals, loved Siete, and then it had done nothing but consume him.
This urge of his is irrational. The Eternals are more than capable of taking care of themselves, but some of them needed more protection, and the primal beast must know that Nio is one of them, too open to receiving the enemy's anguish so she can translate it for the group. Nio's shield springs to life, but the glassy blue disintegrates before it can form, leaving her with no defense against the primal beast's plea for freedom.
The final moment before the barrage of spears pierces Nio's body, he makes contact with her.
Something is wrong.
Six notices a discrepancy between the time he can perceive and the true time it takes for him to sprint to Nio, toss her behind Uno's fading shield, and take her place.
Something is wrong.
The first spear strikes a straight course through his chest to pin him to the soil, holding him by his heart, and he thinks: ah. The spear isn't physical. No mortal could forge this by their hands. Neither natural elements nor alloys could form this spear, aimed at his perfect centre. The spear is made with the same ether that the sunrise itself consists of, the same ether of spirit swords. The spear of sunlight glides through his corporeal form as one of metal with no resistance until it becomes a part of him. A part of the earth beneath him.
Something is wrong.
When did he last take damage? Had he shattered his mirror image? He should have had time to dodge, but time is their enemy here. He had no time to prevent his own death, but he has nothing but time as he watches himself die. Time is a stream. Time is the warm trickle of blood out of his chest. Time is the invisible flow around him, an enclosed room filling with water, lapping at his feet and begging to drown him.
More spears skewer his limbs, but they are decorative. The damage has been done. The pain keeps him alive without mercy. He knows he is still alive because of this: the barbed spears, with square teeth like gears, twist his flesh from his bone. Time slows to an excruciating speed, forcing him to experience every degree of rotation.
He falls to his knees (was he standing all this time? Staggering, stumbling), and the spear through his heart keeps him upright in the farce of prayer. His head lolls to face the other four, blood pouring out of his lips, burning like lava where words should be.
Whatever part of him that is conscious recognizes the absurdity of the single, coherent thought he next has of having a headache.
Everything in the past, present, and what little future remains for him now exists to cause him pain. But when every nerve in his body is ablaze, he learns to focus on the most basic things. For example, focusing on his headache. For example, focusing on the blood that wets his lip. For example, instead of focusing on the group as a whole, he tries to meet their eyes before his final demise.
He sees Nio first, sprawled across the ground but looking up at him. She looks like she's screaming. Her mouth is open, tears streaking through her dirty cheeks. For example, he mouths an apology (for the concerts he missed, because he remembers the happiness in her eyes when the nine of them attended a concert of hers for the first time; for the patience she had to adopt when she'd tried to teach him and the Eternals how to play an instrument, because he remembers the off-key tunes he would produce; for hearing her singing when she thought she had no audience, because he cannot remember her gentle smile through her screams). He has to mouth his apology. He no longer has a voice.
He looks, with his fading capacity, to Funf (Sarasa behind her, cornering him in what should have been an empty room of the ship but wasn't; painting his nails when no one else was around; greeting him in the gardens at the crack of dawn while she practiced her own magic), to Quatre (sharing a quiet meal with him while Gran was in the med bay; his guarded tone when Six asked him and his sister for their blessing; sparring the day before this mission and never commenting on Siete watching them in the doorway), to Uno (his blue eyes alight with amusement as Six complained about Siete's old habits; teaching him to meditate during their days off; adjusting the cuffs of his outfit for the wedding).
His vision is permanently blurred, a vignette creeping inwards to his personal event horizon as he slides down to the ground saturated with his blood. The golden spears protruding from his body have the same colour as Siete's hair, his brilliance, the larger-than-life aura.
Oh, god, Siete. Siete, Oh, god, he thinks. Every utterance of Siete's name makes the spear in his heart twist tighter, and he lets out a howl so desperate he doesn't recognize it as his own. He thought himself past the point of vocalization, but that visceral cry came from the most ancient survival instincts of his being, superseding his body's surrender. The agony curls his fingers to make him scratch at the dirt until it goes so far under the beds of his nails that they sting. Bleed. The earth is too damp, and he curls into himself. It hurts to look away from the other four. It feels like he's admitting defeat.
Siete—he thinks again, and the tension of the barbs pulling his heartstrings increases until they tangle and snap. How long has it been since he'd pushed Nio out of the way? How long must he force them to watch him die—how long have they been fighting?
The sun is rising again. He knows this because the rays envelop him in a warm light, beckoning him through the pain to accept endless peace as his last bastion. He closes his eyes, his being almost non-existent, but a light still persists. In a spark of infinite pain and torture, he succumbs to the darkness calling for him, the only light of his memories fading until the nothingness of death greets him with open arms and a knowing grin.
He punctuates his last conscious thought with a laugh, wet and bloody and desperate, the last thing he can offer with his life, and it is this: he wanted divine retribution for so many years, and now that it arrives to him in honourable circumstances, he wants to fight it, to return to the Eternals—his friends, to return to his friends, to return to—
Siete—
Six wants to suspend time. If he claimed each moment he rejected Siete's request for five more minutes here, he would have an eternity to spend with him instead of dying now. He would feel the warmth of their skin flush against each other instead of the blood pouring out of his body igniting him to become the sun's surface. Their hearts would beat as one to fill his ears instead of everyone's screams resounding through his body, their parting gift for his dying senses. For once, Six wants to be selfish.
But as the sky grows lighter with the sun, his own life grows dim.
With an apology and Siete's name on his lips, everything fades to a single point, a rhythm echoing in his ears that embraces his body without form; not his own heartbeat becoming one with the shadows, but the memory of Siete's heartbeat against his skin as he falls somewhere beyond time and space.