Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ship was coming in to the harbor, and Prince Austin O’Brien could not be more stressed. 

He kept his face arranged neutrally, of course, as his father glanced at him to check that he was behaving. He had learned all his lessons well, and he would not embarrass his family on this day. But it grated at him, being so close to the sea. The fire beneath his skin wriggled with caution, his salamander soul clutching at his chest and making it hard to breathe. The faint spray of the sea, it’s salty smell, it was enough to make him sick. How his mother and father handled it, he didn’t know. Perhaps they were just excellent at hiding it.

He did not take the moment before the ship’s gangway was dropped to voice whether this was a good idea. He had already raised his objections, and his father and mother had both rejected each and every one of them. He would do as he was told.

Even if the idea of marrying the princess of the sea made the salamander heart within him cringe with ghostly pains.

He forced the flames within him to subside before his skin began to steam, before anyone could notice his distress. He was the prince of the eternal fire, and he would be a good example for his people. His marriage would bring an end to hundreds of years of active war interspersed with decades of seething tensions. By combining the kingdoms of fire and sea, they would create peace. It was the sort of sacrifice that the prince had always known he would undertake as the ruler of his people, and he would do so with the pride of a true prince.

So his rationalizations continued in his head, over and over, as the first delegates of the sea kingdom’s entourage began to march in rows down the gangway, their cool, silvery robes fluttering, with sleeves long enough to cover their hands folded together before them neatly. Austin tightened his grip on his wrist behind his back, squaring his shoulders.

The delegation spread out on either side of the gangway, first bowing to the waiting royal entourage of the fire kingdom, then turning to bow towards the gangway.

There was the faintest chiming of bells from one of the delegates as the princess approached the gangway. And as his eyes lifted to her, his tumbling rationalizations in his mind halted.

She was small, and slender, her robes flowing from her to look as though she carried the wave of waves behind her sliding against the ground in a train. Her wide sleeves were embroidered with images of seabirds and merfolk, and a sinuous white ribbon somehow seemed to float above her shoulders before twisting and tucking beneath her folded elbows, and spiraling to either side of her. Her hair, the color of the sea at dawn, had been twisted into delicate but intricate braids atop her head. Her fair skin bore just enough paint to accentuate the elegant curve of her cheekbones, the softness of her lips, and her cheeks were dusted with dew like glitter, bringing out the deep, sea-storm blue of her eyes.

And those eyes were what caught Austin, even from a distance. Shining, sharp, intelligent — and softening, as her face relaxed into a faint surprise as she, too, met his gaze.

He had never thought he could ever consider the sea as beautiful. But now it descended from the ship towards him, and all he could think, even his salamander heart relaxing at the sight of her, was that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in the world.

Princess Manami of the kingdom of the sea hesitated before she approached the gangway. Nerves and anxieties fought within her, making her stomach a tangle of nerves. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she could beg the ship to turn around, to flee back into the sea, away from this strange land full of strange peoples. Maybe she didn’t have to do this. Maybe this peace between kingdoms could be done without her marriage to a stranger.

What would he be like? She had wondered such throughout the entire two week long journey across the sea. Would he be constantly steaming with heat, drying up the moisture that beaded to her skin and causing her to shrivel to nothing? Her sea serpent heart coiled with distaste at the thought of heat and flame. She had to take deep breaths to prevent the moisture seeping through her skin from soaking her ceremonial dress.

“My lady. It is time to disembark.”

Manami closed her eyes, trying to summon up her courage. This was the only way. They were here now, and she had to complete her promises. For the sake of peace...she would have to go into the land of fire.

Swallowing and folding her hands into her sleeves, she approached the gangway. At first, she kept her eyes lowered, demure, looking at her delegation rather than at the fire people. But she couldn’t avoid their gazes forever. As she reached the gangway, she lifted her eyes.

And she paused, her breath catching, as her eyes fell upon the prince. Her fiance.

He looked up at her, his lips parted as well. He was dressed in the short, golden robes and shimmering jewelry of gold and red jewels of many fire nobles, but on him it seemed somehow even more beautiful. His short robe was embroidered with fire and salamanders in black thread, making him look as though he were ablaze with light. His warm skin was the deepest, most beautiful shade of brown she’d ever seen, his black hair cut short but entwined with golden thread into his braids. And his eyes...warm brown, set alight by the sunlight so that they seemed to glow like citrine.

Her sea serpent heart unknotted, and curiosity overrode her anxiety. She had never thought she could find a flame to be beautiful. But the man standing before her was, unequivocally, the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

She might be beautiful, but so was the sea. And the sea could drown and douse and kill even while it shimmered. He had to restrain himself, be cautious.

He sat straight in his chair at the banquet table, looking over a spread of foods both familiar and exotic. There were bowls of spicy curry to spoon over piping hot rice, spiced meats roasted in butter and herbs, steaming mugs of ale and cider, pots full of colorful, roasted vegetables. Dotted among the dishes he knew were fresh, cold salads decorated with shavings of brightly colored vegetables, bowls of cold, pale broths with some sea creature laid around the rims, creations of molded rice topped with cold, uncooked slices of fish. He had tried some sea kingdom dishes in the past as part of his education about the country, but there were still some here that confused him.

Directly across the table from him, Princess Manami of the sea kingdom delicately picked at her food. She had placed only the sea kingdom dishes on her plate, tiny potions of cold cuts of fish and beds of washed lettuce greens. To be fair, he’d only placed his own favorites onto his dish, a scoop of rice doused in curry, a thick slice of roasted meat tossed with thick chunks of roasted vegetables.

He glanced at her, and found that she was glancing at him. They quickly both dropped their eyes to their plates.

She was quiet, though the rest of the banquet was loud and conversations were happening on both sides of the table. Sea kingdom delegates spoke with sea kingdom delegates, fire kingdom delegates with fire kingdom delegates — but there were conversations happening across the table, as well, as one sea kingdom delegate leaned forward to speak animatedly with one of Austin’s honor guard, and at the head of the table, his father was deep in conversation with the sea kingdom queen, and his mother chatted with the queen’s consort.

Austin once more lifted his eyes up towards Manami. When her own eyes darted up to his, he didn’t look away this time. He had to be politer. This union was important. While he was wary of her beauty — and entranced by it — he had to at least make the effort to get to know her.

“How do you find the fire kingdom, my lady?” he asked, his voice coming out more stiffly than he would like.

The faintest of silvery blushes rose to her cheeks, in tiny dots of moisture like dew.

“It is...much different from home,” she said. “But it is beautiful. More than I thought.”

Her blush deepened, and water began to bead across her face and the backs of her hands.

“Not that I believed the kingdom would not be beautiful! It is only, I thought it might be different.”

She grimaced, and it was so ordinary a reaction that Austin felt something in him relax.

“How do you find it different? I admit I know very little about what the sea kingdom is like.”

She glanced up at him curiously, as though trying to gauge whether he was truly interested. When he didn’t speak further, she straightened her shoulders, and began to talk tentatively.

“Here, your cities are built into the rock,” she said. “It is beautiful, and ingenious. It fits your homes into the land itself, making it one. Back home, our lands are flat, so we must build our homes and buildings from clay and wood.”

Austin tried to imagine that. How could you shape wood in that way? He knew of wood carvings, as he had received several finely made trinkets in previous delegation exchanges, but he could not imagine a tree large enough to carve into a house, not the way you could cut into the cliffs of the fire kingdom.

“The light is different, as well,” she said, looking up. “You have these delicate contraptions hanging about that hold fire, giving everything a flickering look.”

She tilted her head curiously up at the chandelier.

“We don’t use fire for light in the sea kingdom. There are these plants that grow in the harbors, we call them jellyfish hearts. They glow in the dark, and divers collect them and put them into lanterns. They don’t flicker the way fire does; they pulse so gently you can barely see the difference in light.”

Now that was something Austin couldn’t wrap his mind around at all. To have to dive into the sea to find your lights? It made his salamander heart cringe, and yet, curiosity came with it. 

“I would like to see such a sight someday,” he said.

She blinked as she dropped her gaze back towards him, eyes wide with surprise. Then the smallest of smiles tugged at her lips, and it struck him once more with just how beautiful she was.

“I hope you can as well,” she said. “And I look forward to seeing more wonders in your kingdom in the future.”

His salamander heart twisted in a way that he could not describe. He felt heat rising to his skin, the faintest of steam wafting from the backs of his hands. Rather than hold her gaze, he dropped his eyes back to his food.

Manami’s sea serpent heart twisted with embarrassment. Oh, she was acting like a fool. Like a wide-eyed tourist. She ducked her eyes from Prince Austin’s, back to her food. The way he’d looked at her, though, as she’d described the kingdom of the sea...as though he truly found it fascinating. As though he truly wanted to see it. She wondered...would there be a time when the fire people could safely cross the sea, and could see her kingdom the way it was? Perhaps...with this union...they might be able to find a way, for the kingdoms of sea and fire to visit each other as easily as going to the market.

She lifted her eyes to the prince again, as he poked at his food, still steaming slightly. She thought of his eyes, of that gentle curiosity and sharp intelligence as he’d asked her questions. She glanced at her own plate.

“My lord, would you recommend a dish of your people for me to try?” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve never had the opportunity, and I don’t know what is what.”

He glanced up at her, briefly surprised. Then he glanced across the table, looking at each thing in turn.

“I will,” he said. “If you will recommend your favorite to me in return.”

She couldn’t help it. Her lips quirked, and when his did too, the first faint smile she’d seen on his lips since they’d met, she felt something very strange in her chest. Something a little like warmth.

“We have an accord, then,” she said, smiling. “What do you suggest?”

Austin once more glanced at the dishes, and then nodded to a dish full of large, colorful chunks of something, dusted with small black specks.

“The roasted vegetables are usually my favorite,” he said. “The spices aren’t too strong, and they pair well with most things.”

Oh, they were vegetables! They looked so different from the washed and chopped salads she was familiar with that she hadn’t realized.

“Very well, I’ll try it,” she said, reaching to scoop some onto her plate. “And for you...”

She looked around before settling on the sushi near her.

“I’ve always loved the sushi with salmon,” she said, nodding towards the plate. “It a pleasant coolness, accompanied by the salt in the rice.”

“We don’t eat much seafood here, but rice, I am familiar with,” he said, smiling just at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. I’ll give it a try.”

He plucked two sushi from the plate and considered them a moment. For a moment, they caught eyes.

“At once?” she suggested, holding up a forkful of the roasted vegetables.

He nodded. They both popped the food into their mouths at the same time.

Oh! Oh! She pressed a hand to her cheek, eyes widening with surprise. The flavors were not so burning as she had imagined from the smell, but the burn that was there was...not unpleasant! In fact, there was something satisfying about it. Roasting the vegetables had made them softer, too, changing the feel of them in her mouth. It blended the flavors of each vegetable together into a medley she’d never considered. And when she swallowed, the heat followed with it, settling strangely in her stomach, making her feel warm from the inside.

“Oh my,” she gasped. “That was — lovely!”

Austin looked surprised as well, picking up the second sushi and popping that one into his mouth as well.

“You were right about the salt,” he said. “It makes the whole taste more...full, somehow. I didn’t realize uncooked fish could taste so different.”

He smiled, and she smiled back, less tentative than before.

Perhaps...perhaps this union would work. Perhaps the kingdoms of sea and fire could be one, after all.

After the banquet, Prince Austin took the Princess Manami on a tour of the palace, their guards trailing politely a distance away from them.

Manami was an excellent guest, eyes glimmering with interest at even the things Austin considered the most mundane. And Austin was an excellent guide, answering all of Manami’s questions without tiring, and asking questions back of her of the sea kingdom palace.

Together, they compared the elegant rock gardens of the fire kingdom with the reef-inspired flower and mushroom gardens of the sea kingdom. The alabaster and ivory inlays of sea kingdom mosaics with the obsidian and glass of fire kingdom windows. Manami was in awe of how beautiful simple rock could be, beautifully painted by nature with layers of different colored stone, beautifully carved by human hands into elegant, abstract shapes. Austin’s mind was full of beautiful imaginations of silver water fountains, built to catch the rays of the moon perfectly at the right time of year.

Finally, they reached a small balcony, from which they could see the whole of the fire kingdom capital. Manami leaned over the edge, and Austin held his hand out, away from her skin, in case she tipped over.

“The sun seems to hit just right,” she said. “It’s as though you’ve painted the city with the daylight itself.”

Austin had never seen it that way before, but in Manami’s eyes, he could understand. His kingdom was built into the canyons and cliffs, which wound about in the patterns of long dried rivers. The sun dripped directly into the ridges where it hung, close to setting, and made the whole land look alight with flame.

“It’s more beautiful than I could have imagined,” she said. “I’m glad I came here, after all.”

She blushed, then, realizing how that sounded. But when she glanced up at Austin, he was studying the city, lips parted slightly.

“I’m glad you came, as well,” he said. “I had never seen this city the way you do. And the places you speak of...they fill me with curiosity that I never would have known.”

He turned his gaze towards her, and his salamander heart thumped in his chest.  She looked up at him, into his eyes, and her sea serpent heart tightened its claws into her chest.

“Princess Manami,” he said, his voice suddenly stiff, and formal. “I know that our union will not be officialized until this week hence, so I understand if this is forward. But may I...hold your hand, for a moment?”

Manami’s heart leaped, as though her inner sea serpent was doing flips. She clutched her hands at the insides of her sleeves.

Austin swallowed through a thick throat, regretting the question. But he wanted to know. After this day with this woman, after seeing her anxiety melt away, and feeling his own flicker down to embers, he wanted to know for certain if this could work. He wanted to believe that it could. That Manami could be his queen, his equal like his mother was to his father. That they could bring the two kingdoms together, and that one day, he would see things that awed him the same way that his kingdom awed Manami.

Manami swallowed, feeling cold and warm all at once. She wanted to know, too. She wanted to know that this stolid man, full of all his quiet softness, could be to her as her mother was to her mother. She wanted to know if fire and water could touch.

“You may,” she whispered, reaching out her hand.

For a moment, he hesitated. Even being this close to her, the moisture of her made him feel somewhat doused. What would it feel like to touch her hand?

For a moment, she hesitated. Even being this close to him, she felt hot, like she might evaporate. Would he burn to the touch?

Their hands hovered over each others for a breath, for two. 

Then, gently, Austin took her hand in his. 

He breathed out, surprised. Her hand was cool, yes, but it didn’t douse him, didn’t cause his skin to hiss or spit. In fact, it felt...comfortable. It felt right.

She sucked in a tiny breath, eyes widening. His hand did not burn at all, but it was warm. A warmth like the taste of fire kingdom food, gentle and caressing, comforting. It felt as though perhaps her hand always been meant to slide into his.

They looked up at each other, blue eyes to brown, and their hands, their fingers, twined together.

“Princess Manami,” he said. “Our parents arranged this union. But allow me to ask for myself. Would you do me the honor of joining hands with me, and bringing our kingdoms together as one?”

She smiled, and the gentle smile that flooded his eyes was enough to make her feel as though she might float.

“Yes, Prince Austin,” she said. “I would like nothing more.”

Chapter Text

“Leaving without saying goodbye?”

The voice is so quiet that it might have been the whisper of the trees, but Judai hears it. Yubel hears it, too, and they shift uneasily in his mind, drawing back. The voice unnerves them. They don’t want to face it. Judai isn’t sure he wants to, either.

Steeling himself, he turns.

Johan Andersen leans against a tree, barely visible in the night. Well, maybe to most people. Judai, though, can see with Yubel’s eyes, and to him, the night is no longer a secret. He can see every strand of Johan’s hair, every crease in his uniform jacket. He can see the imperceptible lift of a sad smile at the corner of Johan’s mouth, and it makes his heart squeeze.

“We — I figured I wouldn’t be a good party guest,” he says.

Johan’s lip curls into a more visible sad smile. He pushes from the tree and closes the distance between them.

“You don’t have to hide it, you know,” he says. “I know Yubel’s there. I wanted to see both of you, actually.”

Yubel flinches inside Judai. They burrow themselves down ever deeper, curling up into Judai’s chest.

I don’t want to talk to him, they say. I don’t want to hear what he has to say.

There’s an edge of fear, of guilt, of aching pain in Yubel that scrapes against Judai, making him wince. It feels like his own emotions for a moment, and it overwhelms him. It takes him a moment to extract himself from them, to find a barrier between his emotions and theirs.

“Sorry,” he says. “They’re a little...”

He doesn’t know what else to say. He trails off, looking past Johan and into the woods.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“What for?” Johan says, blinking.

It’s Judai’s turn to stare, and Yubel’s turn to squirm with confusion.

“What do you mean ‘what for’?” he says. “What is there that I don’t have to apologize for?”

Johan grimaces. He runs a hand through his hair, blowing out through his lips.

“I imagined this a lot differently,” he murmured. “Can we walk together? Both of you? Just for a minute.”

He nods towards the beach not far from the trees. The sea is black in the night, the stars glimmering overhead. Judai wants nothing more than to run, all at once. He wants to turn on his heels and flee — or is that Yubel? He shakes himself, once more untangling himself from Yubel’s confused emotions.

“Okay,” he says.

Johan smiles, and turns towards the beach. Judai trails after him.

For a moment, they just walk. They leave footprints in the sand behind them as they follow the edge of the water, listening to the lapping of the sea.

“Does the sea ever make you nostalgic?” Johan asks, suddenly breaking the silence.

“Nostalgic? About what?”

Johan shrugs. 

“I don’t know. About Academia. About anything.”

Judai looks out over the sea. He doesn’t feel much of anything looking at it, and neither does Yubel. The sea is just...the sea.

“Not really,” he says. “Do you?”

Johan kicks some sand with his shoe.

“Not particularly.”

“Then...why did you ask?”

Johan’s lips quirk up into a smile that Judai can’t quite read.

“The moment I first met you, Judai, I felt nostalgic,” he says. “Do you remember that?”

He does. He remembers when they first shook hands, their respective spirits sitting on their shoulders, and for the first time in his life Judai knew what it was like to feel like he’d come home.

“But something was missing back then, too,” Johan says, kicking sand again. “Do you remember that feeling?”

Strangely...Judai finds that he does. Like a hollowness. Like if he looked over his shoulder, someone was supposed to be there — but there never was.

“It took me a long time to figure out why,” Johan said. “I used to have these nightmares as a kid, you know? I barely remember them, but my great-uncle and my spirits would always wake me up from them. I’d always be screaming for someone, but I never knew who.”

He clasps his hands behind his back, wandering up to the edge of the water. After a beat, he crouches down next to it and trails a finger in the water as it flows up to the tips of his shoes, then ebbs away.

“I...I had nightmares, too,” Judai says. “As a kid. They were about Yubel, though.”

Yubel, suffering in space as the Light of Destruction ate away at them, warped them, twisted them, until they could barely remember who they had been. Yubel shies away from the memory. There’s a tumult, suddenly, of anger, of loneliness, of self-hate. Judai has to close his eyes against it.

It wasn’t... he starts to think at them, but he can’t finish the sentence. Yubel won’t let him.

It was, they snarl. It was my fault.

Their claws flex against Judai’s hands and his own hands claw briefly into fists before he can release them.

I hurt you. I wanted to hurt you. It was my fault.

He can’t deal with the self loathing twisting in his stomach. He crouches down, too, wrapping his arms around his knees and pressing his forehead to his arms.

“I don’t know what you want,” he mumbles. “Johan, I don’t know what you want. You don’t want me to apologize, so what...what do you want?”

Do you want me to suffer? Do you want us both to suffer for what we did to you? That would make sense. I would understand that.

He hears Johan’s shoes slip through the sand as he sands, as he walks towards Judai. He hears the movement of the air as Johan crouches in front of him.

“I just want to know if I’m crazy,” he says. “I want to know if I’m imagining things that aren’t there anymore.”

His throat sounds...tight. Judai lifts his eyes up in surprise, and finds that Johan’s eyes...they’re shimmering with unshed tears. Johan’s lips split into a wry smile and he rubs at his eyes with the back of his arm.

“I figured it out after Yubel possessed me,” he said. “Well, it took a while for it to settle after that. For me to wrap my head around it. But when they took my soul out and put it somewhere, else, I went to the same place they put everything they wanted to forget. I had the dreams again. I understood.”

“Johan...what are you saying?”

“I don’t want you to apologize,” Johan says. “I want —”

“Why not ?”

The words that rip out of his lips aren’t his. They’re Yubel’s. They are using his mouth to speak. They scramble up to their feet, taking a large step back from Johan, shaking. Johan looks up at them with concern.

“Why don’t you hate me?” Yubel spits. “Why don’t you rage against me for what I did? I hurt you. I wanted to hurt you, even more than I wanted to hurt Judai. I wanted you dead. I wanted you gone. I still hate you. I hate you! I hate you!”

Her voice twists at the inside of Judai’s throat as a keen rolls out of it, and they collapse to their knees, pressing their hands to their face as they try to figure out who’s body is whose, whose tumult of pain and agony is whose.

For a long moment, there is no sound except for Judai’s — Yubel’s — shaking, choking sobs.

Then there is Johan, kneeling in front of them again. He puts his hands on their shoulders and squeezes.

“I guess you still forgot,” he whispers. “I was...scared of that.”

Judai comes back to the front, lifting his tear blurred eyes to Johan.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “What...what do you really want, Johan?”

 There’s a pain in the smile Johan gives him.

“Now that I know things, I realize how long I was waiting,” he says, and his throat is choked with tears. “I was waiting so long. And I just — I just want you both to know that I’m not angry. I’m not mad I had to wait. But I was lonely. I missed you so much.”

“I don’t know...I don’t know what you’re saying,” Judai said.

Johan tugs on Judai’s hand, pulling him up. Judai can only follow, limp, like a doll, as Johan takes him to the water. Without even taking off their shoes, Johan leads them into the surf, walks them into the midnight black water until they’re ankle deep, until they can look down and see the hint of their reflections in the water.

“Meeting you again was nostalgic because we’d met before,” he says, a faint desperation in his voice. “It felt like something was missing because it was. I just — I can’t let you both leave me again, without knowing if — if it’s really over. If I need to stop waiting.”

Judai stares down into his reflection, and Johan’s. His eyes are glimmering, orange and green, letting him know that Yubel is watching, too.

And for a moment — just a breath — he thinks he sees what Johan sees.

He sees a boy, who looks something like him, but with a red cape slung from his shoulders, his hair cut shorter around his head. The boy, his preincarnation he’d seen in Yubel’s vision. Beside him, he sees Yubel, first in the shape of the human with the violet hair and bright green eyes they had been before the transformation, then shifting into the shape he knows now.

And then Johan. Johan has changed in his reflection too.

His hair is shorter, his skin more tanned as though he’s worked long hours in the sun. The hint of a scar against his right cheek, that makes his bright smile look mischievous.

It’s like an echo. Like something wafting from across the sea. He doesn’t remember. Not entirely. But when he looks up at Johan again, for the first time, for a moment, he sees that other boy. The name escapes him. But he knows him. They knew him.

Judai sucks in a deep breath.

“Oh my god,” he muttered. “We made you wait so long.”

The relief that bursts over Johan’s eyes is like a balm. Johan sags, clinging to Judai’s shoulders. Yubel’s agony peaks a moment, as they, too, remember something, as the guilt gnaws at them again. 

I hurt someone I love. I hurt someone I love again. I hurt you, I hurt you, I hurt you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“I just wanted you to remember, even a little,” Johan said, as though he could hear Yubel’s apologies. And maybe he could. Maybe Judai was letting them out of him as he shook, trembled, felt as though he would fall to pieces. “That’s all I wanted.”

“I’m sorry,” Judai and Yubel both said through the same lips. “I’m so sorry. Johan. We left you alone.”

Johan slid his arms around Judai and Yubel, and Judai and Yubel both clung back.

“You went through a lot,” he murmured. “I’m not mad. Please. I’m not mad at you. I just wanted...to know if...if either of you still wanted me as a part of this life.”

Judai and Yubel’s hands twisted into Johan’s shirt.

“Don’t be stupid,” Yubel gasped.

“Of course we want you,” Judai said.

They clung for a long time, water seeping into their shoes as the surf ebbed in and out, soaking the edges of their pants.

“I can’t stay,” Judai whispered. “I don’t want to leave, but...I can’t stay.”

“I know.”

“We have some things to figure out. We need to...find a way to settle.”

“I understand.”

“I still don’t remember much. It’s all...muted. We just remember how...important you were.”

“It’s fine. I don’t remember much, either. Just that.”

Johan pulled gently away, holding Judai’s and Yubel’s shoulders in his hands.

“I just couldn’t let you leave without making sure you understood,” he said.

“That we left you behind?” they asked.

Johan smiled and shook his head, exasperated.

“No, dummies,” he said. “That I love you.”

He held Judai and Yubel close again, and for the first time since their fusion, Judai’s and Yubel’s emotions aligned perfectly. They sank into Johan’s embrace, and they cried.

Chapter Text

Manjoume could not remember the last time he’d been sick. Much less this sick.

He could hardly breathe through his nose, and every breath he did manage came out like a thick foghorn. His head was so stuffed with cotton and haze that he couldn’t think, and his eyes were so dry that it was painful to keep them open.

“Hey, boss! You’re gonna miss school if you don’t get up!”

Ojama Yellow’s terrible, whiny voice sounded in Manjoume’s ears, and it sounded like an air horn to his terribly pulsing head.

“Get ‘way,” he groaned, flapping his hand uselessly against the top of his sheets. Fuck, he was so exhausted and sick that he couldn’t even muster up enough energy to smack at the the annoying little fly.

“You sick, boss? You don’t sound too good! You’re not sick on your birthday, are you?”

“Fuck off,” Manjoume grumbled.

He couldn’t get his eyes open, so he couldn’t see if Ojama Yellow was hovering inches from his face like normal, which was probably for the best, because if he saw that awful little face he’d probably start throwing up. He felt sick enough as it was.

He did hear the faint sounds of whispering, grating against his head, and he groaned and tried to burrow into his covers, trying to fall asleep.

He wasn’t sure what time it was when he woke up again. He still felt like absolute shit, but...there was something cool on his forehead. It made him feel just a little bit better.

He squinted, eyes still blurry from sleep. Was there someone in his room?

The door opened with a faint squeak, followed by the light clatter of a dish against a tray.

“Oh, so you’re awake. Rise and shine.”

Ugh. Manjoume closed his eyes again. Of all the voices he wanted to hear while he was sick in bed...

“What are you doing here?” he groaned.

He cracked his eyes open to see Shou setting down a tray on the nightstand, looking none too happy about being here, either.

“Well, when you didn’t show up to class, Chronos-sensei made me go check on you,” he said.

“Why you?” Manjoume said.

“How should I know? But you’re looking pretty bad.”

He grimaced as he pulled the wet cloth from Manjoume’s forehead.

“Geez, you like like crap,” he said.

“Nobody asked you,” Manjoume said. “God, why couldn’t it be Asuka taking care of me...”

He yelped when Shou smacked his forehead with a fresh wet cloth, with a bit more force than necessary.

“That’s exactly why I’m in charge today! So you can’t get any special attention from Asuka!”

“Fuck you, Marufuji,” Manjoume grumbled, but his voice was too hoarse to put any real force behind it.

Shou just gave him a triumphant smirk. He reached over for the bowl he’d brought and popped the lid off, letting out a bit of steam.

“Anyway, I told Tome-san you were sick, and she made you some rice porridge. Be grateful at least that I didn’t let her come and take care of you.”

“Anything’s better than you,” Manjoume grumbled, though he shivered somewhat internally at the thought of getting all mothered by Tome-san. She was a nice lady, but the last thing he wanted was for someone to get all motherly with him.

“Huh? What was that? You don’t want it after all?”

“Fuck you,” Manjoume said again. “I can eat it myself.”

“Suuure. Fine, go ahead. Give it a try.”

Shou leaned back in the chair and folded his arms, raising both eyebrows at him. Manjoume glared. With effort, he forced himself up onto his elbows, but he had to stop when his head started to spin. Far too stubborn to let Shou see him all weak, he wriggled himself to a seated position leaned against his headboard. He was already out of breath, and the wet cloth plopped into his lap off of his forehead. His cheeks felt so flushed.

Hands shaking slightly, he reached towards the bowl. His fingers couldn’t get a good grip on it, much less on the spoon, and it was too warm to the touch. He swore as he fumbled it, nearly tipping it over. Shou just put out a hand to catch it.

“Well? Think you can do it?”

“You’re a dick,” Manjoume said.

“Well you’ve been a dick to me since I started at Academia, so just consider this some due payback.”

“If you didn’t make yourself such an easy target, I wouldn’t have bothered with you,” Manjoume grumbled.

Shou rolled his eyes.

“Sure, sure. Just open your mouth.”

Manjoume jumped and gagged when Shou shoved a spoonful of the porridge between his lips. He gasped on the heat against his tongue and had to fumble to swallow before he choked on it.

“Jesus, Marufuji, are you trying to kill me?”

“If only it were that easy,” Shou said. “Do you want to eat something or not? Or do you want to be sick all week and die from malnutrition?”

Manjoume glowered at him, and Shou glowered right back. With Manjoume half leaning in his bed, it was about the first time he’d ever been at eye level with Shou, and it was a weird feeling. 

“God. Fine.”

Reluctantly, he let Shou help him eat the stupid porridge. At the very least, Shou didn’t seem to enjoy it much either, looking just as put-upon by the whole situation. And it could have been worse, Manjoume reasoned. Sure, it could have been Asuka taking care of him, but it also could have been Judai, with his absolutely awful bedside manner. At the very least, the ordeal didn’t take as long as he’d worried, and he felt a little better once the rice porridge was gone.

“I’m not going to say thank you or anything,” he grumbled.

“Good, because I’m not gonna say you’re welcome,” Shou said, rolling his eyes. “Man. You were so much cuter when you were quiet and asleep.”

Maybe it was just the fever, but for some reason, the words made Manjoume’s cheeks burst with heat. He spluttered.

“W-what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Shou’s eyes widened and his cheeks dusted with pink, as though he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Nothing! Forget it!” he said, shooting up to his feet. “Just — go back to sleep and rest! You don’t want to miss your birthday party!”

“My what ?”

“Shit,” Shou said, slapping himself in the face. “Forget that! Go back to sleep!”

He grabbed a pillow and shoved it onto Manjoume’s face, and Manjoume yelled, scrabbled at it.

“You are trying to kill me, you little shit! Get off!”

“Go! To! Sleep!”

Finally, even Shou got tired of wrestling, and he just backed off, letting Manjoume smack the pillow off of him. He was ready to swear some more, but Shou was already gone by the time he looked back up.

“What birthday party?” he said, sniffling. His eyes wandered over to the nightstand, but the tray and bowl were gone. In their place was a folded up note and...a Duel Monsters card. Frowning, he reached over to pick them up. 

The card was...a new Armed Dragon support card? And the note...

Written in a hasty scrawl, in Shou’s awful handwriting, was just the briefest message. Get some sleep and get better! Fubuki planned you a surprise party tomorrow night, but if anyone asks I DIDN’T TELL YOU. P.S. Yes, Asuka will be there. You’re welcome.

Manjoume snorted, lip curling.

“Who does he think he is,” he grumbled.

He looked over at the new Armed Dragon card though. Had Shou left this for him? He’d been opening packs from the shop for weeks trying to get it...when had the little runt gotten a hold of one?

Snorting again, Manjoume put both back down on the table, then rolled over to try and get some sleep. Well, at the very least...he was feeling a little bit better.

Chapter Text

He stands at the entrance to the cave, unarmed and unarmored, nothing but his ruffled white dress shirt and tall boots with breeches tucked into them. He’s left his horse and his lance at the bottom of the mountain, and his ungloved hands are scraped from climbing. His pure green eyes are bright and curious, and they are peering into the darkness, where the dragon coils, so surprised by his presence that they have yet to react.

“Wow,” he whispers into the silence. “You’re beautiful.”

The dragon rears back their long neck, as shocked as they might have been if they’d been stabbed in the eye in their sleep. As she does so, his eyes trace the lines of their sinuous scales, black and silver, layered in delicate, layered patterns, with bright white and obsidian black spines protruding down along their back, their tail tipped with a deadly black spike. The scales fade to purple along their belly. Black membranous wings are gently folded against their back. And their eyes glow in the dark, one a deep, swirling green, the other a bright, pulsing orange.

Those two colored eyes consider the prince on their doorstep. They had expected that they would meet this prince eventually. Later, perhaps, after they’d roasted a few knights inside their armor, after they’d stolen too many sheep to be ignored. But they’d expected it would happen somewhat differently, with the sound of an armored horse’s hooves clattering up the side of their mountain, giving them time to wind themselves around the peak and spread their wings wide, spewing fire as the prince charged in with lance at the ready, face covered with a visor.

Instead, he is here, and he is...marveling at them. They weren’t expecting this. Their tail lashes with a combination of confusion, agitation, and...curiosity.

“I could torch you right here, princeling,” they hiss. “You do know that, do you not? Or have you sought out a wizard, and donned fireproof magics against me?”

His lips split with a wide smile, and it takes them off guard once again.

“Not at all,” he says. “You certainly could kill me quite easily, I’m sure.”

They lash their tail even further, stretching their wings the short distance they can go inside the cave.

“Then what? Do you think to trick me? To steal some part of my hoard, or to best me in some game of wit? What brings you here, princeling, and why should I not eat you in one bite?”

The prince smiles again, and his eyes soften.

“I only wanted to see you,” he says. “I saw you, once, you know. While you were flying. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

He stretches a hand up as though to touch that imaginary shape of them in the sky. They don’t have expressions, the way a human might, but he can sense the flash of curiosity inside them.

“You mean to seduce me?” they scoff, blowing out a thin plume of smoke from their nostrils. “This is a strange means of slaying me, princeling, but you must know it won’t work.”

He can’t help but laugh. 

“It’s no trick,” he says. “I really, truly, just wanted to meet you.”

They eye him and he smiles back. He knows he ought to be afraid, but he can’t bring himself to be. He’s more in awe, than anything else, of being this close to such an ancient, mythical being.

They snort out more smoke.

“You ought to leave, before I get bored and eat you,” they say. “We shall meet on the battlefield soon enough.”

They nestle their head back down, and the prince knows that he would never be able to slay such a beautiful creature.

“I’ll leave you be, then,” he says. “My name is Johan. I hope I’ll meet you again.”

For a long moment, there is no response. Then a plume of smoke escapes their lips.

“You cannot pronounce my full name,” they say dismissively. “But you may call me Yubel.”

Somehow they are not surprised when they hear the scrabbling of human hands against the mountain, and see the head pop back up through the opening to their cave.

“You’re back again,” they say. “You must understand that this ploy is not going to work on me.”

He only laughs lightly, pulling himself over the edge. He still catches the edge of curiosity in their eyes, and knows that he’s starting to intrigue them. And that’s all he can ever ask for from a creature like them.

“It’s no ploy,” he says. “I truly just wanted to see you again.”

It has been many, many years since they have spoken to anyone, much less a human. They do not consider themselves good at ‘reading’ others.

But there is...something genuine about him. Something that confuses and intrigues them. They twist their head towards him, their nose inches from his face. He doesn’t flinch at the heat that exhales through their nostrils. Instead, his eyes alight with fascination, and carefully, slowly, he reaches one hand out. When it lays against their nose, they can feel the warmth of his hand. And it is not unpleasant.

“Very well,” they say. “You can visit then, I suppose.”

He comes almost every day. Sometimes they are not there when he clambers up the side to their mountaintop tunnel, and he waits at the lip until they soar back with a bloody deer or sheep in one claw. They never care if Johan watches while they tear into their meal, and even this gruesome sight fascinates Johan.

“You are a prince,” they sniff at him one day. “You ought to dole out punishments to poachers like me.”

“Everything has to eat,” he says. “You never overhunt.”

“Someday I will grow greedy. It is what dragons do.”

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” says Johan, shrugging. “Someday I will become a king. And everyone knows kings can only ever be benevolent and weak, or cruel and strong. It’s what princes do.”

They snort and shake their head.

“I cannot see you becoming weak or cruel,” they say.

“And I can’t see you becoming greedy. Maybe we’re more than the stories told about us.”

“Maybe,” they say, though they aren’t sure.

They grow used to having him nestled against her scales, telling stories from what he’s read in the palace library. He grows used to laying between their body and their tail, feeling it coil protectively over him, feeling the heat within them pulse against his skin.

They let him poke at their hoard, and he laughs at it. They are annoyed until he explains through tears the stories of dragon’s hoards full of gold and silver and treasures from across the ages, and that human treasure hunters would be disappointed to find their meticulously curated collection of rocks with striped patterns. They are briefly indignant that humans consider such treasures worthless, until Johan examines them all with his wide, fascinated eyes, and they decide it doesn’t matter what any human thinks, save for him.

Johan sits on the lip of the mountain cave and points out places in his kingdom, and they seem to listen with more interest than he’d expect. He’d never imagine a dragon to care about the baker and his sweet daughter who make the best strawberry buns, or the hill where he finds the most beautiful violet flowers that bloom nowhere else. 

“Does any of this matter to you?” he asks.

“I like to hear you talk,” they say, eyes half lidded. “It matters little about what.”

They’re a good listener, and he feels as though he takes advantage of them. They listen when he talks about his fears of ruling, about his concerns regarding the possibility of war with another country, about his loneliness as his parents rarely make time for him.

“I hear slaying a dragon is a good way to get attention as a prince,” they say.

He lets out a little gasp of surprised laughter.

“Yubel! Was that a joke?”

“I never joke about anything,” they say, stone-faced and monotone.

But their chest rumbles, shaking Johan against them, and they laugh again, realizing that this is a dragon’s laughter.

“Are you ever afraid of me?” they ask.

Johan takes a moment to answer.

“Well, you’re very big,” he says. “So, sometimes, maybe a bit wary. But afraid...? I don’t think I am.”

He leans back against them, and they move ever so carefully, their tail wrapping lightly over him.

“I wanted to see a dragon up close, at first,” he said. “That’s all. I thought I might find you sleeping. But then...you were more beautiful than I imagined.”

His knuckles run lightly over their scales, and they shudder in spite of themself.

“Yubel?” he says.

“Yes, princeling?”

For a long, long moment, Johan does not add on to his thought. At first, they think that perhaps he has fallen asleep nestled against them, as he often does. But then he speaks, and his voice is so quiet that were they anything other than a dragon, they wouldn’t have heard it.

“I think I may be in love with you.”

He bites onto his words, onto his lip, as he accidentally lets it slip. How foolish of him, he thinks. For a human, a prince, to fall in love with a dragon. They could never return such feelings. Even if they did, where would they go with them? It was a foolish thing to admit. It was a foolish thing to say.

Yubel does not respond for a long, long moment.

Then he feels a rumble against him — not a laugh. Something else. Something like a purr, maybe.

“I wonder if you know what you mean when you say that, princeling,” they say, as their neck twists around, their chin laying gently next to his legs. “But...I admit that it makes me happy, to hear it.”

It’s perhaps all he can expect from them, and it’s all he needs, now. He presses his hand to their forehead, and he whispers.

“Thank you.”

When Johan doesn’t return tomorrow, they assume he needs time to lick his wounds. They hadn’t exactly rejected them, but they hadn’t exactly accepted the feelings, either. Yubel is old, though not for a dragon, and they aren’t positive what ‘love’ means to them now. Is it the way they look forward to the sight of the human face popping up in the tunnel every day? Is it the way they feel warm, warmer than usual, when listening to Johan talk for hours?

Is it the feeling of growing anxiety as the days drag on, and Johan is nowhere to be seen?

When they fly out to hunt, they search the ground for some sign of Johan’s horse on the path through the forest. A few hunters look up and point, but none are Johan. They fly further than normal on their hunt, telling themself that it is to make sure they do not overhunt in one area — but they are looking for Johan. They fly over several places he has pointed out to them. The hill with the purple flowers. The town with the baker and his strawberry buns. They can see the people spilling out onto the streets, pointing and screaming from far away as they soar overhead, but they ignore them.

It’s when they swoop over the palace that they realize that something here is different. There is a tower here that was not there before. It makes them hesitate, makes them fly in a slow circle around the palace, even as the soldiers below yell and scream, begin to drag siege weaponry out onto the walls.

On their second pass around the palace, they see a face hanging out the window of the tower. Wide green eyes, a mop of blue hair, leaning as far out the window as he can manage. On their third pass, he is waving, yelling their name.

“Yubel! I’m here! Yubel!”

Hovering is not easy, but they come as close as they can manage, beating their wings in place.

“Where have you been?” they ask.

“They found out I’ve been meeting you,” he calls across the air, voice nearly stolen by the wind of their wings. “They think you’ve hypnotized me! They put me up here to keep me away from you.”

A faint rumble starts inside Yubel’s chest. Even from his tower, Johan can hear it. Can feel it in his bones. This is not the purr they let out at his awkward confession, or the rumble of laughter. This is something darker. Something angrier.

“I’m okay!” he shouts. “I’m all right, Yubel, I promise! I’ll find a way out!”

He’s not sure what else to say, what to do. Yubel continues to hover, the powerful beats of their wings rattling the stone of his tower.

Then a harpoon fires from the ballistas and tears through Yubel’s wing.

“No!” Johan screams. “No, don’t hurt them!”

Yubel shrieks, and it comes with a blaze of fire from their maw. Rage rumbles from their entire being, and they swoop at the offending weapon. Below, men scream as they either leap from the battlements themselves or are flung off, the wall crumbling under Yubel’s charge.

“Yubel, no!” he cries. “Yubel!”

More massive spikes fly through the air, several piercing Yubel’s scales. A rain of arrows follows, and Yubel’s shriek of pain and rage fills Johan with an aching horror and fear.

“Fly away, Yubel!” he screams. “Fly away!”

Either they don’t hear him, or they don’t care. They shriek and rage, claws crashing into the battlements. People are screaming down below. Johan staggers back from the window as his tower shakes. It will collapse if he doesn’t get out of here, if he doesn’t stop them.

He throws himself against the door, like he has every day since he was imprisoned here. Again. His shoulder aches with pain, but he continues, striking again and again and again.

Yubel shrieks, letting out a blaze of fire from their maw. The foolish humans scatter before them, leaving their horrid weapons ablaze. And yet, still they come, still they fire their weapons at them, still they hurt them and take from them —

With another scream of rage, they crash into the castle. Stones fall, people flee, soldiers continue to fire their arrows uselessly against their scales — some, however, strike true between the slits, overwhelming her with pain.

The door crashes open before Johan, finally, and there is no guard at his door. He stumbles down the spiral stairs. Smoke billows from somewhere before him, and he knows that the castle is on fire. He pulls his shirt over his mouth and nose and charges forward. Overhead, the tower sways. He hears the sound of stone beginning to crumble, to strike the ground. The stampede of feet as people flee the castle. He manages to stumble into a flaming room, the halls full of screaming servants and nobles alike as they all scramble for safety. It’s a testament to their fear and panic that none notice the prince among them, as they all make runs for the exits, or for the safety of the catacombs beneath the palace.

Johan, however, has thoughts only for Yubel. He has to get to them. He has to stop this, before they die, or before — 

The ceiling overhead creaks, and rock shatters. Flames billow through the windows, catching light to anything they can reach. Johan trips down a flight of stairs and he goes flying, crashing into the ground below. He’s only able to push himself up onto his hands and knees before he looks up to see the ceiling caving in above him.

Yubel writhes with pain and rage. They can’t think. They can’t think of anything but their anger, but their rage, but their — fear. 

The castle crumbles before them, without resistance. And yet, if dragons could cry, they think they would be. They land heavily into the shattered remains of a flaming castle, and before them, a man with armor and a sword faces them. King, prince, or knight, they don’t know. They only shriek. They scream with the pain of their wounds, of the pain of their heart — of the knowledge that despite it all, the story must always end this way. Dragons destroy castles. Knights kill dragons.

Dragons and princes do not have happy endings.

They always should have seen it coming. Someday, he would be taken from them, one way or another. They should have braced for it. They should have never — fallen in love.

The knight advances, sword and shield held high. Yubel lets loose the inferno in their chest, and it glances off the enchanted shield. The knight charges, and they rear back onto their hind legs to avoid the sword driving into their breast.

They will never see Johan again. They know this, coming out of their haze of pain and anger. He will have died in the rubble — and if he has not, then he can never see them again, not after what has happened.

Princes and dragons have only one story to tell.

The heat of agony rising up within them, Yubel shrieks as they bring their claws down on the knight. The knight’s sword glances off their scales, and it’s over in a heartbeat. His armor crushes beneath her talons, and after one small, helpless wriggle, he falls still beneath her claws.

Johan, dragging himself free of the rubble, is free just in time to watch his father dies beneath the claws of the only being he will ever love.

Overhead, smoke billows over the sky, and Yubel raises their head up, letting out a long, low keen. The glowing fire between their scales recedes, and they are all black and silver again.

Yubel startles at the sound of feet in the debris. Another enemy? Another knight?

Johan pulls himself out of the rubble, hugging his arm, sleeve torn and shoulder bloody. His eyes lift to Yubel’s, and Yubel’s fall to his.

Yubel doesn’t know what to feel. There is at first, a spike of joy. He is alive. Then a spike of panic. They have destroyed their entire home. Killed people they loved. He will hate them. Then the briefest dagger of possession. They want to scoop him up, and fly away from this place and never return, and never let him go.

But his eyes are unreadable, and the selfish desire fades.

They stand facing each other, in the smoke and debris. There is blood running down the side of his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Arrows still stick out of their scales, but they don’t seem to notice those, either.

“Do you hate me?” they ask.

Johan’s face is smudged with soot and ash as flecks of burning buildings float through the air like snow. He looks down at the crumpled form of his father, mangled inside his own armor. There is...sadness, and hurt, and a confusion mix of emotions for the man called his father, who had never once looked him in the eye, or acted as though he existed. Emotions that he will deal with later. But right now, there is Yubel. He lifts his eyes back to them.

“No,” he says, and it is the truth. For all that has happened, for all the destruction...he could never bring himself to hate them.

They lash their tail.

“I am only what I am,” they say, desperate. “I am only what I can be.”

“I know.”

He must hate them. He must lie. It makes the space in their chest ache as though it were struck true by an arrow.

“You were wrong,” they say. “The stories do not change. They can’t.”

Johan smiles at them, and there are tears blurring his eyes, making it hard to see her.

“They still can,” he says. “Look.”

He holds out his hands, to show that they are empty.

“I’m no dragonslayer,” he whispers. “Our story can end differently.”

They lift their head to the sky and let out a low, throaty keen. It’s so full of sadness, of sorrow, that Johan nearly stumbles on it. It chokes him from the inside, and he clutches at his chest as it threatens to stop.

Because whether he meant to or not, he’s said the truth. Their story might end different, but it will end. And it is ending now.

And so Yubel keens the sorrow of that ending to the sky, and Johan cries with them.

“I don’t regret it,” he gasps. “Not a moment of it.”

He steps forward. Even in the backdrop of destruction, they are still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Automatically, they drop their head down to meet his outstretched hands, and he cups their chin, pressing his forehead to their nose. Their hot breath, crackling like the flames that consumed the world around him, rushes against his face, but he does not pull away.

“We were never meant,” they say. 

Meant? Meant for what? He wants to ask, but he knows that it was a full sentence. He understands, and it aches.

“I know,” he says. “But...I will miss you.”

They press their nose a moment longer to him. 

“I was wrong, before,” they say. “I know that you knew what you were saying to me. And I wanted to say it back.”

Then they step away, and his hands, and his heart, are left empty. He watches as their wings spread wide, and smoke stained sun shines through the violet membrane.

“I...will keep you in my heart,” they say. “I do not know if that is a blessing.”

“I’ll keep you in mine,” he says. “That is a blessing.”

For one moment more, they hold each other’s gazes. For one moment more, they remain in each other’s sight, in each other’s lives, sharing all the things they could not say aloud.

Then their wings beat, once, twice, powerfully sending up spirals of smoke and ash, and he must raise his arms to his face to shield it from the buffeting. When he is able to see clearly again, they are so high in the sky that he can only just make out their shape. And then a cloud passes before them, and they are gone.

Tears bubble to his eyes, and it’s not from the smoke. He sways, and he falls to his knees, left alone in the debris. The tears make tracks in his stained face, but he doesn’t wipe them away. He lets them fall. He lets himself feel it, every moment of it.

The sound of boots, of scrabbling, of shouts looking for survivors, reaches his ears.

But he does not move. He hangs, instead, onto the memories, for as long as his human mind will allow him. He hangs onto Yubel as long as he can.

Chapter Text

“Why won’t you ever rely on me?”

The way Edo flinches as soon as the words leave his lips tells Takuma that this was not what he meant to be the first thing he said. Takuma looks away, down at the starched white sheets of the now all-too-familiar hospital bed, at his nearly as white hands laying against them.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Edo’s hands shaking at his sides, but he doesn’t say anything else. He’s committing to the question, waiting for an answer. Waiting for an answer that Takuma isn’t sure he has. He opens and closes his hands and opens them again, laying palm up against his lap. The smell of the hospital is so sterile, so lifeless, and the artificial lights are sapping away what little color the sun through the window can give him.

“I’m sorry,” Takuma whispers after a long, long silence.

He sees Edo’s hands curl into fists, squeeze, and release. Edo pulls a chair close to the bed and drops into it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Takuma still can’t bring himself to look at him.

“That’s not what I want to hear,” Edo says. “I don’t need your apologies, Saiou.”

What do you need, then? Takuma wants to, but doesn’t, ask.

A breeze ruffles the curtains, causes the flowers in the vase Mizuchi brought him to rustle.

“Why won’t you ever talk to me?” Edo says, and his voice cracks. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”

He sucks in a ragged breath, and when Takuma manages to send him a brief glance, he watches as Edo’s eyes screw up, as his jaw clenches. His chest aches. 

“I...” he starts, but he can’t figure out how to say it. I used you for too long. I can’t keep doing that to you. I don’t deserve you. You deserve to be free of me. They’re all true, but none of them feel like enough to express the pain in his chest. To explain how crushing the knowledge of how much he’s hurt Edo throughout his life has weighed on him. Does Edo even understand the extent of all Takuma has done to him? If he did, could he keep coming back?

His thoughts slow as Edo grabs his hand. It’s not a question; he grabs hold of Takuma’s hand and wraps his fingers around tightly, not letting him squirm away. Takuma finally drags his gaze up to meet Edo’s.

“You’re doing it again,” Edo says, eyes narrowing.

“Doing what?”

“I can see it in the way you just...withdraw. You’re blaming yourself for everything.”

Edo’s jaw tightens, and so does his grip. Takuma’s heart tightens too.

“Why do you keep coming back to me?” he says, and his voice cracks. “I only hurt you.”

He doesn’t expect the sadness to flicker in Edo’s eyes. His fingers slide so that they intertwine with his.

“Haven’t you figured that out already?” he says. “It’s because I love you, Saiou.”

He says it so simply, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. As though it were something that doesn’t rock Saiou’s entire soul. His eyes widen and his breath catches.

“That...how can you...say something like that so easily?” he says. “After all I’ve done...”

“You were there for me in the rain that day,” Edo says.

“Only because I thought you could save me. I used your loss for my own benefit.”

“Even as the Light took you over, you were always, always trying to reach out to me.”

“Because — because I was using you.”

Takuma’s eyes are full of tears, he can hardly see Edo anymore. Edo leans forward, closer, so that their foreheads are nearly touching.

“You think I wasn’t using you, too?” he says, and his voice is thick, as though he’s holding back tears of his own. “Isn’t that what people do? We use each other. Only, most of the time, we call it asking for help , you idiot.”

His voice breaks into a thin chuckle at the last word, and it makes Takuma want to cry even more.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says. “I don’t — I don’t rely on you because I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“I’ll decide who deserves me, thanks,” Edo says, pressing his forehead to Takuma’s. He reaches up and runs his fingers through Takuma’s hair, working gently through some of the tangles. “Saiou...Takuma. You can’t honestly make me think you never knew.”

Maybe he had. Maybe he’d always known that Edo loved him, and he’d just been too afraid to see it. Too afraid to admit that...he loved Edo.

“Is it truly all right?” he says, twisting his fingers into Edo’s. “It’s all right...to be with you?”

“You idiot,” Edo whispers. “Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you all this time?”

His lips are so soft, and he smells faintly of cologne, and for just a moment, Takuma lets himself believe. At least for this moment...maybe he can pretend he deserves this. Maybe he can keep pretending until it’s real. And maybe that’s enough.

Chapter Text

Jim had had the sense that something was amiss the moment he’d walked out onto the beach, but it wasn’t until Karen started nosing and nipping at something at the edge of the surf that he was able to track exactly what.

“What’s that you’ve got there, girl?” he called as he made his way across the slippery sand.

Karen growled, shoving again at something with her nose. Her tail lashed slowly back and forth, curious and agitated all at once. Jim glanced both ways down the length of beach. Except for the two of them, it was empty. Not a soul in sight, which was normally how he preferred it. This wasn’t the kind of beach that attracted gape-jawed tourists, so far out of the way and closed off by the coves on either side that it was impossible to get through unless you were the sort to want to go trekking through the bush for a few days and nights. A perfect place, he’d thought, for he and Karen to kick back and run loose for a while.

As he reached the surf, lapping gently at the shore, he nearly had to revise that assumption.

The girl laid face down half out of the ocean, her fair, sunkissed skin coated with a thin sheen of ocean water. He immediately flushed as his eye flicked across her soaked hair tangled down her back and he realized that she was topless. He looked quickly up, away from her.

“Hey, are you all right?” he called, trying to preserve her modesty.

Karen growled, and after a beat of silence, he decided that her safety was probably more important than her modesty. He looked back down — and it was then that he realized there was one more piece of the image he hadn’t yet noted.

Because she was half in the surf, he hadn’t realized at first. Her bottom half was obscured, somewhat, by the ocean waves lapping up against her waist. But the water wasn’t deep enough to completely conceal her, and as the water rushed out, the sunlight glimmered across her scales. Her...scales. She had scales.

There were no legs attached to her body — instead, her torso faded from soft, pale skin, almost imperceptibly into tiny, and then larger scales. They started a soft pink at her waist, almost perfectly blending into her skin, before deepening to a vibrant blue where the long, somewhat flat and sinuous tail flared out into two huge triangular dorsal fins on either side of what was probably her hips, like an angelshark — though far more colorful than any angelshark he’d ever seen. As the water receded, he could just catch the glimpse of delicate, bright yellow frills along the edges of her tail, near her equally vibrant yellow fluke.

She...was a mermaid.

As he began to process this information, a thin, gasping groan escaped her. Her fingers twitched against the sand, and he watched as thin flaps underneath her rib area opened and flared, like gills. She let out a thick, choked sound, almost a gasp.

Immediately, Jim leaped into action. He’d put a few beached sharks back into the blue in his day, and he couldn’t imagine this could be much different. She clearly needed to get back into the water, and fast. 

He sloshed into the surf, giving her some space as he moved — he didn’t know anything about mermaids, but he couldn’t imagine she’d take kindly to a stranger trying to drag her back into the ocean. Sharks could take a nice chunk out of you when they were frightened. He assumed mermaids weren’t too much different.

Sloshing around to her back end, he threw one leg over each side of her tail, leaning down to reach for those big flared dorsal fins to get a grip on her. Karen lashed her tail, huffing through her nose as she watched the proceedings, but she didn’t seem overly agitated. Her eyes were fixed on the mermaid, perhaps checking to make sure she didn’t lash out.

As Jim gently took hold of her fins, however, he felt something warm, and it wasn’t the ocean. He pulled back one hand to find a bright red smear looking back at him. He swore. She wasn’t just beached, she was injured.

Moving to her other side, he carefully leaned down to check the damage. Water soaked into his pant legs as he carefully pushed at her dorsal fins. 

It was bad. A long, nasty gash ran down her side from beneath her arm all the way down past her hips. It was bleeding profusely, staining the water on this side of her body as the blood trickled out with the waves. Dammit. This was much, much worse. He couldn’t put her back into the water like this.

The mermaid made a gasping sound again, gills flaring. He didn’t know anything about mermaid physiology — whether they were mammals, or fish, if they had lungs or just gills. He wasn’t sure if her gasping was from a lack of oxygen or from pain. Hell, he hadn’t even considered mermaids were real until this moment.

But if there was one thing Jim Crocodile Cook was not gonna do, it was letting a creature die while he had a chance to save it.

First things first — he had to get water on her gills. He went back for his discarded backpack, retrieving the small pot he used for boiling water. He chucked his shoes off and rolled up his pants, then sloshed back into the water. Scooping water with his pot, he dumped it alongside her gills.

She let out a faint hiss, but only where the salt water fell against her gash. Still, her gasping seemed to recede. Good. That meant she just needed some water to absorb alongside her gills. He’d have to make sure she retained that moisture as much as possible.

He turned the pot to the sand, using it to dig a shallow trench, just enough to let some water flood in and stay there. Every now and then he moved back to pour more water over her gills. Once his trench was complete, he went back to his backpack, rigging up part of his lean-to tent pieces to make a sort of shade. He set it up like an awning over the trench. That should help keep her cool, and retain her moisture for longer.

Then, carefully, he took hold of her fins again, getting ready to move her into the water trench.

It was then that her eyes flew open.

A scream escaped her throat, and her tail began to thrash. She grasped at the sand. Her head flung upwards, eyes flying wide open. When those eyes caught onto Jim, he froze — they were more human than he had expected, and yet less so. They were a little too big for her face, but the irises of her hazel eyes were otherwise human in form rather than fish-like.

As her eyes met his, her teeth flashed and he caught sight of rows of sharp, shark-like teeth. She lunged. Jim jerked back. 

Karen rumbled with rage. She, too, leaped forward, gnashing her teeth protectively. 

“Whoa!” he said, throwing a hand out at both Karen and the mermaid. “Whoa! Let’s keep it calm, here!”

The mermaid had drawn back at the motion from Karen, and now her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Her face was... so human. He hesitated to ascribe the same emotions to her that he would to another human being, not yet at any rate, but he could swear he watched her calculating, as her eyes flicked back and forth between Jim and Karen. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly with something akin to confusion.

Then pain seemed to overtake her again, and she groaned, her arms tensing up where they propped her against the stand. Her fluke splashed helplessly in the surf as she reached with one hand to touch the gash against her side.

“I just want to help,” Jim said, as soothingly as he could. He doubted she could understand him. But talking to animals in a calm voice usually helped, so maybe it would help her.

The sound, at any rate, caught her attention, as she turned her gaze towards him again. Her chest heaved, and her soaked, tangled hair fell over her face. She watched him carefully, a guarded look in her eyes.

“I really just want to help you,” Jim said, holding his hands out. “I was just trying to move you over here, so you would stay damp while I worked on your wound.”

He gestured to the trench behind him, and he watched her eyes flicker up to it, brow furrow briefly with something akin to confusion and curiosity at his set up, then back to him. Her eyes met his with the kind of head on gaze he expected from humans, not from animals. Maybe he couldn’t classify her as either.

Then she let her head fall down a little bit, making that gasping sound again. She stretched one hand out, and pulled herself inch by inch through the sand, towards the trench.

“Can I help?” he asked. “Is it all right for me to help you?”

He wasn’t sure if there was a way for him to understand if she could respond one way or another. Her eyes darted at him. It was clear that the exertion of even this little bit was almost too much for her. When she finally let her muscles relax ever so slightly, he moved a little closer. She didn’t move. She just watched him, nearly unblinking, as he carefully moved towards her, as he slipped his hands beneath her body and began to shimmy her slowly along the beach.

Once she was nestled in the water trench, he stepped back and gave her space again, keeping his hands up again.

“Thank you,” he said. “Can I look at your wound?”

She laid still for a moment, eyes fixed on him. Her gaze darted up to his makeshift shade, and she touched the edges of the hastily dug trench with one hand. Then her eyes flicked up to  him again. Silently, she turned over. She winced as she moved, but she shifted herself onto her side so that the gash was facing up, and at least half of her gills were still in the water. He took that as a sign that it was all right to come closer.

“You stay there, Karen,” he said.

Karen huffed at him with irritation, but she did as she was asked. She kept her eyes fixed on the mermaid, though, as though daring her to try lunging again.

The mermaid watched him as he approached, as he knelt down beside her to check the damage. The cut was long and wider than he’d like to see, but as he gently pressed his fingers to either side of it, he saw that it wasn’t as deep as he’d feared. A couple of stitches would deal with this without a problem — that is, if she let him do it.

“I’m going to try to close the wound,” he said. “I have some numbing ointment, but it will probably still hurt. Is that okay?”

He still had no idea if she could understand a word he said. She watched him carefully, though, as he spoke, as though she was tracing the shapes his lips made. She didn’t respond in any visible way, so he carefully backed up and headed back to his pack. Grabbing his first aid kit, he headed back, moving slowly so as not to startle her.

He was surprised to find that Karen had inched closer in the seconds he’d been gone.

“Karen,” he said warningly.

She lashed her tail, clearly unbothered. The mermaid was watching Karen, but not with anything that looked like agitation or aggression. The pair simply stared each other down.

As Jim got close enough, he suddenly thought he understood why. It was low, extremely quiet — if he wasn’t used to listening to Karen’s barely perceptible rumbles, he wouldn’t have heard it. But he could just barely catch the sound of Karen rumbling deep in her throat...and the mermaid responding .

Were they...talking to each other?

Jim watched, fascinated. The pair never took their eyes off each other, barely moved, the only sound the barely perceptible rumbling. Karen would make a rumbling sound and pause. The mermaid would seemingly repeat the exact same sound, from deep in her chest. Karen would make another sound, and the mermaid would repeat.

Then the mermaid winced again, and put her head down against the sand and water. Jim startled out of his staring and stepped forward, first aid kit in hand.

“I’ll talk you through it, all right?” Jim said. “I’m going to put the numbing cream on first.”

The mermaid’s eyes flickered towards him, from where her head rested on her arm. Her eyes flicked to Karen again, who rumbled. Up this close to her, Jim could see the faint vibration of her skin as she once again responded with the same low rumble.

Moving slowly, Jim stepped into the trench beside the mermaid. He took out the numbing ointment. Her gaze slid over to his hands, watching him carefully.

“See? This is the ointment,” he said, showing it to her. “I’ll put some on your skin. It will make it hurt less.”

The mermaid just watched him, but she also didn’t move. He took that as the okay to continue. He hoped that this stuff wouldn’t give her an allergic reaction or anything...

She hissed softly as he began to smear the ointment against her skin, but other than a faint flinch of surprise, she held still. She closed her eyes, screwing up her face.

“You’re doing great,” he said. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?”

Her eyes half opened, considering him. 

Then her lips parted, and she said, in an exact mimicry of his voice: “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?”

Jim nearly fell over backwards. 

Now, spending most of his time in the bush, he’d met a creature or two that could mimic sounds. He’d met a couple of ravens that could mimic the sound of human laughter so convincingly that he’d half thought he was going mad during one hike. But this was so much...different. Hearing his own voice come out of the mouth of something human, and yet not — it made his skin crawl. It also made him want to lean a little closer, his heart pounding with fascination.

“That’s right,” he said. “That’s what I said.”

“That’s right,” she repeated. “That’s what I said.”

There was a certain expression to her as she repeated the words. Like she was tasting the sounds, really rolling them around, savoring them. 

“I’d love to continue this conversation, sea girl, but we ought to patch you up,” Jim said. “That all right with you?”

She seemed to consider him for a moment, eyes half closing. Then, slowly, as though she were figuring it out one sound at a time, she spoke — not as a mimicry, not in repetition. But actually spoke .

“That’s all right,” she said slowly. It still sounded like his voice, but it had gone softer, a little bit higher, as though perhaps her own voice were coming through behind it. Had she — in just a few seconds, had she learned how to speak to him?

There was time to consider the implications of that later. He really needed to help her before she bled out. Threading his needle, he took a deep breath, placing one hand against her side.

“This might still hurt,” he said.

“All right,” she murmured, sounding less and less like him as she closed her eyes, bracing herself.

She tensed and hissed through her teeth when he slid the first thread through her skin. She screwed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw, her fingers digging hard into the sand. It was such a human reaction that it made Jim pause a moment before continuing his work. It was hard for his brain to figure out how to react to her. Injured animal? Sentient humanoid creature who understood what he was doing? Something of both? This wasn’t anything he’d ever come across before, and it was making most of his idea of what to do obsolete. Normally, he’d try to remain quiet for an injured animal so as not to startle it anymore into hurting itself further. For an injured human, on the rare occasion that he ran into one, he’d try talking to keep their mind off of what he was doing. He wasn’t sure what would work beside for her.

“You must be from pretty far away,” Jim said, starting to talk in spite of himself. “You’ve got the coloration of a tropics dweller, but it seems like your tail’s got quite a bit of blubber. Oh, not that I’m calling you thick. Just that you seem used to colder waters than the ones out here.”

The mermaid’s eyes cracked open, and she watched him between her eyelashes as he continued to slowly sew up her wound.

“Never met anyone like you before. Can’t say I’ve heard of anyone like you before, either. But I suppose the world’s full of mysteries, isn’t it? You probably hadn’t met anyone like me until now, either.”

“I have.”

Her voice was quiet, and no longer anything like his at all. It was soft, and feminine, but with curiosity coloring it, as though she were just as intrigued by the sounds coming out of her mouth as he was. He managed to keep his hands steady despite this newest surprise.

“You have? Do you...understand what I’m saying?”

“I do.”

“But...where’d you learn?”

“Right here. From you.”

Jim paused, glancing at her. She continued to stare back at him, without the abashment of a human or the caution of an animal. She watched him so steadily that he wondered if she ever needed to blink.

“I’ve hardly said enough words to you for that,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t take me long. Once I understand the sounds, I can feel out the rest. I was only confused for a bit because your sounds are different than the ones I’ve heard your kind using before.”

Her eyes flickered briefly to Karen, and he once again heard that low rumbling coming from her chest. It was met with a rumble from Karen, who seemed to have relaxed, lowering herself into the sand to watch contentedly.

“Are you...talking to Karen, too?”

“She was easier. Her sounds are more like ones I’ve heard before.”

Her eyes moved back to stare at Jim.

“She likes you. I decided to trust you because she said I could.”

Jim couldn’t help but smile. He paused a moment to reach back and give Karen a scritch between the eyes.

“Well, we’ve been together for a long time.”

The mermaid continued to watch, and he returned to his work. He was nearly done. He was glad of the task, though. It was keeping his mind from racing and tumbling over itself, over all the new things he was learning.

“So you can just...listen to a few sounds, and get how to talk to someone?”

“Yes. Can you not?”

“Not really. Humans have got to work pretty hard to learn another’s language. And we can’t even make the same sounds as animals can.”

“Humans cannot understand each other?”

This seemed to intrigue her, and she tilted her head slightly.

“Nope. Not without working for it, at least.”

“How interesting. Perhaps that is why I see them fight so often.”

“You used to seeing fights?”

“From afar. With sounds I do not understand.”

She flapped her fluke gently against the surf where it rushed in against her scales.

“Most humans who get near me throw things. So I stay away.”

“Is that what happened here?” Jim asked, as he pulled the last thread gently.

“Yes. From a ship. It was sharp. I pulled it out. Perhaps I should not have.”

“It’s usually best to keep things that stab you inside of you, so you don’t bleed out. But...well, it’s always different, depending on the scenario.”

He could hardly believe he was having a conversation with her. And she understood everything he was saying — she used words that he’d never used in front of her, as though she really could just feel the edges of the language, like it was some tangible thing that she could simply grasp from a few sounds.

“I suppose it’s gonna be hard to swim without pulling that open again, but you’ll want to take it easy,” Jim said. “Maybe stick around this cove for a bit. There’s plenty of fish, if that’s what you eat.”

She didn’t answer, simply turning her head towards the sewn up wound to examine it. She poked at some of the threads curiously.

Then her eyes lifted back up to him, watching him with those strange, too-human, too-inhuman eyes.

“There are some sounds I don’t know simply by hearing them. Which one is yours?”

“What?” Jim said, frowning.

“Your sound,” she said again, patiently, as though talking to a child. “My sound is Asuka. You say that your friend’s sound is Karen.”

Her sound? His? Oh...did she mean his name?

“I’m Jim,” he said. “Jim Cook. Asuka, was it?”

He couldn’t help but crack a smile. Despite all the strangeness of this encounter, when he was sitting in front of her like this, listening to her, he felt that twinge of excitement he only got when he was adventuring. It was like she herself was the adventure. Her eyes were a brand new vista to explore, a new story to hear.

“Beautiful name,” he said. “It suits you.”

She tilted her head at him, curious. Then a slow, very human smile spread over her lips.

“Thank you, Jim,” she said. She flapped her fluke against the surf again. “Should I remain here in this cove to recover...will you be nearby?”

“D’you want me to be?”

Asuka’s smile grew a little bit wider.

“I believe...I would. I would like to hear more of your sounds.”

Jim couldn’t help but smile back.

“I think I’d love to hear more of yours, too.”

Chapter Text

“Oh! There is someone up here!”

The voice startles them. They stir for what feels like the first time in centuries — as though they are more stone than flesh, and they have forgotten how to be alive. Are they alive? Everything seems so, so fuzzy.

The world begins to pencil itself in around them, the edges, first, filling in at the periphery. A range of mountains, so far away that they are stained pale with distance. A rolling green field spreading out towards the dark clouds of trees. A blue sky.

A little face, poking up from the edge of a cliff, only inches away. They can only see the top half of the fair, sun-kissed face — the girl’s bright, shiny green eyes, and her massive, poofy tufts of blond bangs, stuffed beneath the brim of a ridiculous hat.

As their eyes fall on the face, the girl pulls herself up enough to reveal the wide, dazzling smile on her lips.

“Hi!” she says. “How are you?”

They stare at her, still slowly processing the concept of speech, of hearing. They look away from her, and to the scenery again. Where...are they? Everything is coming back so slowly. How long have they been here? There is a drop off of a cliff just inches away from where they sit, as though they took a rest to look at the scenery before drifting off into a years long sleep. Because...it has been years, hasn’t it?

They’ve been...waiting.

The girl doesn’t seem perturbed by their ignoring her. She hefts herself over the lip of the cliff with both hands. For a moment, she balances, as though she’s struggling to get up the last bit. Then she giggles, and floats up off the ground as easily as breathing. A thin staff swooshes around her once before landing in her hand, and she alights on the edge of the cliff on both feet. They watch with a faint interest, more out of curiosity and confusion than anything else.

“I always thought I saw someone up here, but everyone always says not to go to this cliff! So I had to sneak away to check it out. And I was right! I could see you from alllllll the way over there.”

She waves a hand off into the distance, and they look automatically. Their eyes alight on what appears to be a tall, white spire emerging from a dark circle of a forest. It glimmers slightly in the sunlight, though it’s much too far away for them to make out any details.

The girl crouches down in front of them, leaning her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands.

“So, what’s your name? And what are you doing up here all by yourself?”

Their lips part. They hesitate. Do they remember how to speak? Do they remember their name?

But as their lips begin to shift, it’s as though the sounds come naturally.

“...Yubel,” they say. “I’m...Yubel.”

The girl’s smile fades to an o of surprise for a moment, eyes widening. Then she’s all smiles again.

“Yubel!” she says. “What a nice name!”

She rocks on her feet a moment, still holding her head in her hands.

“Oh! Sorry, I should introduce myself, too! They call me the Dark Magician Girl back at home. But you can call me...um...Dawn! I think that’s a nice name.”

She stops rocking, leaning forward to smile brightly at Yubel. Yubel finds themself leaning back ever so slightly, taken somewhat aback. Their memories are slow to stir, but they thiks that perhaps, they’re not used to being greeted so warmly.

“...Dawn,” they say, testing the shape of the name.

“Yeah! That’s me!”

She bounces up onto her feet and briefly hovers in the air with delight, before plopping down again, this time sitting next to Yubel.

“Wowwww!” she says, shading her eyes with one hand. “What a view! I can see why you like it up here so much!”

Yubel looks out at the view again, themself. Nothing about it stirs any memories. Why are they here? All they know is that...they’re waiting...for someone...

“So, is it okay to ask again what you’re doing up here?” Dawn asks, leaning back on her hands. “Not too much up here, ‘cept the view. And these ruins, I guess. I couldn’t see them from down there.”

Ruins? Yubel’s body is stiff, and it responds slowly as they try to turn over their shoulder, to see what Dawn is referring to. 

They catch just the briefest of glimpses, the broken edges of long crumbled stone walls, the piles that may have once been towers, the moss and weeds that are reclaiming the fallen palace. The...palace.

“Oh,” Yubel gasps. “My...my king.”

And then the agony comes over them again. The low, long keen that has been hibernating in their chest along with them, unfolding from their throat. Hot tears they had forgotten they could cry.

Dawn asks no more questions. But as Yubel continues to keen and cry, calling out for a king who is no longer among the land of the living, she places a hand gently onto Yubel’s, and when Yubel can cry no longer, they find that their head rests against Dawn, as she runs her fingers through their hair and hums a soft, soothing song.

Held so, Yubel is too tired to think any further. She drifts back once more into that unending sleep.

“I brought some snaaaaacks!”

Dawn launches herself over the cliff edge, startling Yubel awake once more. They blink, confused. But their memories have not faded, not this time. They haven’t been asleep long enough for that. They instead look up, surprised, at Dawn hovering over them, with a sack cradled in her arms.

She is beaming, all light and smiles. She has to do a couple of twirls in the air, her staff zooming around her like an overexcited cat before she can alight on the ground.

“Look, look! I brought the good stuff!”

She dumps her prizes out on the ground before Yubel. Bright red apples, luscious looking cherries, vibrant strawberries, dew-moistened raspberries.

“It’s all....so....” Yubel starts, picking up a raspberry. “...red.”

“It’s my favorite color!”

Yubel glances at her, looking her blue and pink outfit up and down.

“Oh, I didn’t get to design this. It’s the uniform .”

She says it with such exaggerated exasperation. Yubel can’t help but find the faintest quirk of their lips in response. 

“I don’t need to eat,” they say, still examining the raspberry. “Not...anymore.”

Not since the pain and agony of that cold stone table in the bowels of the palace, as their soul was sundered and reformed, as their body was torn apart and sewn back together. Not since they became a monster.

“Neither do I,” Dawn says, grabbing an apple and taking a large, crunchy bite. “No Shadow has to. But it’s still yummy!”

She picks up a strawberry and waves it in Yubel’s face. 

“Come on! I know you want it!”

She wiggles the strawberry at Yubel’s lips. Yubel raises both eyebrows. Then they let out the faintest sigh. They pluck the strawberry from Dawn’s fingers and place it on their tongue.

“Yay!” Dawn cheers, throwing her hands into the air. How ridiculous.

Still...

The sweetness...it hasn’t changed. Yubel had thought, somehow, that their transformation would have caused them to lose their sense of human taste as well as their sense of touch. After they’d stopped feeling hunger pangs, they’d had no reason to test it. 

But no. In fact, perhaps it tastes even sweeter than they remember it. Or maybe that’s just the long expanse of time between now and the last bite they’d ever taken. They find themself closing their eyes, savoring the juice that spills between their teeth, at the feeling of the pulp against their tongue. It’s...transcendent. In a way they’d thought nothing ever would again.

“Seeeee?” Dawn says, when they open their eyes and reach for a raspberry.

“Conceded,” Yubel mumbles through a mouthful of berries.

Dawn no longer asks questions, at least, not about why Yubel remains here, on this plateau in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but a ruin like a graveyard. Yubel thinks, sometimes, about the surprise Dawn had shown when Yubel had said their name, and wonders if Dawn knows something about them. About their king.

They are too cowardly to ask.

Instead, they find themselves waiting again — but not just for their king, whom they know will return to them again, in one form or another. For Dawn. For the Dark Magician Girl, and her bags of sweet fruit. For the sparkling miniature fireworks she creates at nightfall, and the flowers she causes to bloom among the ruins, granting Yubel’s home a sweet, soft scent.

“Why do you keep coming here?” Yubel asks one day, between a pile of yet more red fruits (and a few purple ones, requested by Yubel). “Surely you have more...interesting things to be doing.”

They have somehow managed to learn very little about their new companion. They know that Dawn is a magician, and their distant memories, still so amorphous and misted sometimes, tell her what she needs to know about that. All spellcaster Shadow Folk have magic in ways that many other Shadows do not, but magicians have always been the elites. They are reclusive, rarely interacting with other Shadows, or humanity. Yubel does not remember ever meeting one back in the time they became a Shadow themselves. There were no magicians among the king’s court, only warriors, and Yubel.

In short, what they remember of magicians flies in the face of what Dawn is.

“Nah, not at all. It’s soooo boring,” Dawn says, waving a hand dismissively. “All everyone ever does in Endymion is study, study, study. ‘Don’t do so much magic, Dark Magician Girl! You’re making a mess! Think before you cast!’ Blah blah blah.”

She pops a cherry into her mouth and rocks back and forth as she takes her time enjoying it. Yubel selects a plum and begins to use their claws to section it into neat slices.

“Anyway, as long as I’m back for dinner, Mahad never scolds me too much. So it’s all okay!”

She lifts both her hands in a thumb’s up gesture, one that Yubel has begun to understand means something good. They chew their plum thoughtfully.

“Anyway, I keep coming because we’re friends, aren’t we?” Dawn says.

Yubel nearly chokes on their plum. They quickly turn away to hide the unsightly reaction.

“Yubel? You okay?”

Yubel clears their throat, glancing at Dawn again. Once more they wonder: does Dawn know? How much of their past lingers on in the worlds of Shadows and humans? How long has it been, at any rate?

She can’t possibly know. If she knew what Yubel was, what they were capable of — they would not so easily call Yubel a friend.

“That sounds like the sort of answer you would give,” they say, taking another slice of plum.

“Hey, what does that mean? Are you saying we’re not friends? Hey!! Yubel!! Answer me!!”

Dawn leans over their pile of fruit, half floating into the air.

“Don’t ignore meee! Aren’t we friends? Come ooon!”

She grabs Yubel’s shoulders to shake her playfully, and Yubel allows themself to be shaken while they continue to chew their plum unfazed. Unfazed, at least, until Dawn loses her balance.

“W-hoa!”

One might think that someone who can fly as easily as walk, the way Dawn can, would not “lose their balance.” Yubel, however, had learned that Dawn could be quite clumsy when she wanted to be. So they aren’t completely surprised when one of Dawn’s hands slips from Yubel’s shoulder, and the other grabs hold of the other tighter in response, and as she slips forward, she drags Yubel with her. The pair of them go tumbling roughly onto the ground, not in the least because of Dawn’s flailing as she tries not to land on the fruit. Her knee accidentally kicks out, striking Yubel against the chest, and Dawn lets out a little gasp of pain as she hit the ground.

“Ooowww,” Dawn groans. “Oops! I’m sorry, Yubel! Are you okay?”

Yubel lays half underneath Dawn, wholly unharmed. 

“Oh, gosh, I got my knee right in your chest!! I’m so sorry!”

Yubel glances up. They hadn’t even realized that Dawn’s knee is still dug into them, as Dawn scrambles back up and into the air to get off of Yubel. Dawn, however, looks a bit pained, clutching her stomach as though she’d been the one who was kneed.

Which...Yubel knows she had.

“Are you all right?” Dawn asks again. “Man that was a tumble. I must have hit myself on something...”

“I’m fine,” Yubel says, sitting back up. “I didn’t feel it.”

“What?? I got you to land right on those rocks! It’s a wonder I didn’t break the skin...I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Yubel says again. “You’re not all right, though, are you?”

Dawn hovers back towards the ground, landing on her knees next to Yubel. She rubs her stomach, wincing.

“I must have hit against your knee, or something. But I’m fine! It was my fault!”

She pouts at Yubel then, folding her arms.

“But don’t try to be nice! Did I hurt you or not? You can tell me! I can heal it if you got hurt.”

“I’m fine .”

The sentence comes out a little harsher than Yubel intended, and they see Dawn’s eyes twitch with surprise. 

“Yubel?” she asks softly.

Yubel stares at the fruit, rather than meet Dawn’s eyes. Dawn can’t possibly know. Can she? If she did...she wouldn’t be so confused...but...

“I can’t feel anything,” Yubel says softly.

Dawn tilts her head in the corner of Yubel’s vision.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I can’t feel anything . Not pain. Not injury. Not anything.”

Not the dirt they sit on, or the grass they assume brush against their skin. Not the skin of a plum, or the texture of a raspberry. Nothing but the weight that comes with having Dawn fall against them. Not the softness of her skin or the brush of her breath against their neck. Their skin is like stone. It feels nothing.

“You really mean...nothing at all? Not even...not even this?”

Yubel has to look to see what Dawn is talking about. Dawn has put her hand on their arm, but Yubel didn’t know. Not until she saw it.

“Not even that,” Yubel says softly.

They feel broken again. The same way they’d felt when they’d first seen their new visage in the mirror, and knew that their king could never see them again. They don’t want to see that pity or worse, disgust in Dawn.

“What about this?”

Yubel frowns, looking back at Dawn. Dawn has begun to squeeze Yubel’s arm, a look of deep thought in her eyes. After a few moments of squeezing, Yubel does feel the pressure, if not the heat of Dawn’s hand.

“I can feel pressure, and weight,” Yubel says. “But things like heat, or soft touch, or texture...I can’t feel any of that.”

They’re a little confused by Dawn’s reaction. They’d expected...maybe pity, or even horror, or sadness. Dawn, however, just looks...curious.

“Well...I’m sorry,” Dawn says. “That must suck a little.”

She folds her arms, tilting her head again. Then she looks up at Yubel, and smiles.

“But hey,” she says. “You can still taste, right?”

She picks up a strawberry, and holds it up to Yubel’s lips. Yubel blinks, lips parting.

Something...soft rises up within them. Something they’d thought was gone forever, beneath their stone skin and their stone heart, the monstrous warrior body they’d accepted in order to protect their beloved. But the way Dawn looks at them...it reminds them of the way their king had once looked at them. Without fear. Without horror. With simple, gentle, soft love.

Their eyes soften. They take the strawberry. They can't feel its cool skin against their hand, but they can smell its rich freshness. And when they bite into it, they can taste the sweetness.

“You’re right,” they say softly. “I haven’t lost it all.”

Dawn hugs her knees to her chest, tilts her head, and smiles.

Yubel doesn’t want to ask. They need to ask. 

In the times between Dawn’s visits, they have walked up and down the edge of the cliff, circled the entire plateau, looked far and wide. Their memories still come and go, but they remember enough. They know that once, when this place behind them was a palace, there were cities here. Bustling villages around the base of the plateau. They can’t all have disappeared completely. Where are all the people? All they can see of any signs of life is the tower of Endymion in the distance, where Dawn lives. On occasion they see something rise up from the mountains, something that may be a dragon, but it’s always so far away. Other than that, nothing seems to go near this plateau. It’s been left alone, abandoned, for what must be centuries, at least. How are there no ruins below, though? What happened to the cities? To the people? They don’t even see plumes of smoke in the distance that might indicate people.

How much has changed in the years upon years that they have been asleep, waiting for their beloved to return to life?

They are afraid of the answers. But they need the answers.

“Dawn,” Yubel whispers in the dark, as Dawn creates more fireworks displays for the two of them. “Where are all of the people?”

Dawn pauses as she finishes making a sparkly pair of cherries in the sky, letting the sparks cascade down towards the ground where they become like fireflies that blink and dart away.

“The people?” she asks.

“The...I remember cities,” they say. “All around this place. But there are no ruins. No signs that anyone was here, save for this place.”

They look back at the ruins, which are covered in the flowers that Dawn has grown for them. This is all they have. They are too afraid to leave this place and search, afraid they will never make it back. That they’ll miss his return.

Dawn’s lips part. Then her eyebrows draw together, and she shifts from foot to foot.

“Dawn,” Yubel says again. “Please. Tell me.”

Dawn bites her lip. She looks down at her feet, and then at the sky.

“There...aren’t any people here anymore,” she says. “I mean, there aren’t any humans. Humans left this world a long time ago.”

For the first time in years, Yubel remembers what it feels like to be punched in the gut. They sway, taking a step back.

“I mean, don’t freak out!!” Dawn says quickly, waving her hands up and down. “Humans still exist! They just...they left. They don’t live on this plane anymore. They only live in the Realm of Souls.”

“The...Realm of Souls?”

“That’s right.”

Yubel sways again, trying to keep sense of this.

“There’s always a king,” they mumble. “Is there still a king?”

A deep, aching sadness washes over Dawn’s face. She crouches down, hugging her knees.

“There...there was,” she said. “Me and my human partner, Mana...we tried to protect him. But...”

Dawn stares at the ground.

“There’s no king anymore. At least, not right now. The line was...broken.”

Yubel feels as though they want to scream to the heavens. If the line is broken — what does that mean? What does that mean for her beloved?

“He...he promised he’d come back,” Yubel mumbles. “He promised. He promised.”

“He will!”

Dawn shoots to her feet again. The moonlight catches in her wide eyes, as she reaches forward and grabs Yubel’s hands.

“I know he will! He’ll come back! Humans — they can be silly, or forgetful, but their souls always remember! Even if it takes him a really long time, and even if there isn’t a king anymore, he’ll find his way back to you! I know it!”

Yubel tenses in spite of themself. Dawn’s words...she’s so kind, so hopeful. It makes Yubel want to cry. But it also makes them tense, because...the way Dawn talks...it’s almost as though she...

“Dawn,” Yubel says. “You know who I am, don’t you.”

This is a question they’ve feared asking. But it’s not a question, either.

Dawn’s face softens. She squeezes Yubel’s hands until Yubel can feel the pressure.

“I always knew,” Dawn says. “I mean...there’s so many stories. And there’s a reason they told us to never come over here. No one knew if you were still...here.”

Yubel wants to pull away from Dawn’s hands. They never want to let go.

“Then why...if you know what kind of monster I am —”

“I always read the story a lot differently, you know,” Dawn said softly. “There’s a lot of mean things said about the king when he began to call himself Supreme, and of the dragon warrior he kept at his side. But there’s a lot of things the stories forget, too.”

Dawn’s face softens, and she reaches up with one hand, cupping it against Yubel’s cheek.

“I always thought it was sweet,” Dawn says. “How much you loved him. How much you wanted to protect him. Even if not everyone thinks he was right...you wanted to stay with him. No matter what. I wanted to know what kind of person you were.”

Dawn tilts her head with a soft, kind smile.

“And I found out. You’re kind, Yubel.”

“I’m a monster,” Yubel whispers.

“You love sweet things, and you step carefully to avoid flowers. You cry when you remember that the person you love isn’t here. You wait, and wait, and wait forever, because you love him so much.”

Yubel begins to shake. Tears begin to roll down their cheeks.

“You wouldn’t think that of me if you knew all the things I’ve done,” Yubel says. “Of all that I am capable of. You wouldn’t think that of me.”

“We’re all capable of all sorts of things,” Dawn says. “But we try our best to do better every day, don’t we?”

Yubel sags down to their knees, and Dawn follows.

“I just miss....” Yubel cries, soft, choked.

“What do you miss?” Dawn whispers.

There are all sorts of things Yubel could say that would be true. They miss their king, their beloved. They miss their old body, and being able to feel things with their own two hands. They miss their past, their world when things made sense.

“I miss knowing what to do,” they whisper.

Dawn presses her fingers into the back of Yubel’s neck enough for her to feel the calming, soothing pressure.

“You don’t have to know,” she says. “Sometimes, you can just guess.”

Yubel lifts their eyes back up to Dawn’s, watching them glitter in the starlight with unshed tears. Dawn smiles at them.

“So...don’t think about what to do in the future,” Dawn said. “What do you want to do right now?”

Dawn has been their only constant. Their constant companion, helping them while away the hours, helping them pretend not to be afraid. Letting them believe that they are not a monster — but someone worthy of being looked at with such softness.

“What...do you want to do?” Yubel finds themself asking.

Dawn’s hand slides back up against Yubel’s face. Yubel can’t feel it, but they can taste it, briefly, as Dawn runs her thumb against their lips.

“I think....I think I might want to kiss you,” Dawn says. “But I wouldn’t want to...I mean. You’re waiting for someone else.”

Even in the dark, Yubel can see Dawn’s cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink.

“Me?” Yubel asks, shocked. But they...they realize they want it too.

They’ve been waiting for him, their beloved for so long. Is it a betrayal to his memory if they give into this one desire? What would he think?

For a moment, Yubel closes their eyes. They try to remember him, in a way that they haven’t tried in so long, afraid of what they will remember. If all they will be able to remember is the cold, calculating person he’d become at the end, when he’d begun to speak coldly to her and to everyone.

But they don’t remember that part. Instead, they remember the softness. They remember the smile in his eyes. The kindness. And they can almost imagine, almost as though his soul is right next to them, as though perhaps it had been there all this time.

“You don’t have to wait forever. I’ll love you no matter what.”

They don’t know if it’s true. They don’t know if its just a rationalization. And they know that even after this, they will continue to wait. They’ll always wait for him.

But right now, in this moment...Yubel thinks they might be allowed to fall a little bit in love with a second person.

Yubel presses her lips to Dawn’s thumb. Her finger tastes slightly sweet, like the cherries they’d been eating before.

“I’m always going to wait for him,” Yubel whispers. “I can’t...love you completely.”

“I don’t mind,” Dawn says. “We Shadows...we live so long.”

She smiles as she wraps her hands around Yubel’s shoulders.

“I’ve loved a lot of people, and I’ve gotten used to goodbyes,” she says. “But it’s not the lasting that makes love sweet. It’s that it happens at all.”

Yubel can barely feel Dawn’s lips against theirs, but they can taste them. It’s as though Dawn took a whole mouthful of strawberries before kissing them, so that Yubel would be able to experience something from the moment.

“I’m sorry,” Yubel mumbles when they break apart. “I can’t...I can’t really feel you. I don’t know what...”

“It’s okay,” Dawn whispers. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

Dawn leans forward, and Yubel gasps as they hear rather than feel the sound of Dawn kissing their ear. A soft shudder runs through them as Dawn begins to trace her other finger around Yubel’s other ear, creating a soft, soothing sound. Yubel groans, their breath catching as they tighten their grip on Dawn’s waist.

Dawn lets out a little breath near Yubel’s ear, and Yubel relaxes their grip.

“No, no, you’re fine,” Dawn says. “You can hold onto me.”

“I won’t notice when I’m holding too tightly,” Yubel says.

“You’re not gonna break me,” Dawn says with a quiet laugh. She kisses Yubel again, and this time she tastes like raspberries. Is she using her magic to do that? It’s so sweet, Yubel can’t help but flick her tongue into Dawn’s mouth, against her teeth. Dawn makes a sweet groaning sound, and matches Yubel’s passion as her own tongue briefly slides against Yubel’s.

“Dawn,” Yubel gasps.

“Yes, Yubel?”

The sound of their name on Dawn’s lips somehow feels like a drug, and Yubel has to resist the urge to moan.

“Thank you,” they whisper.

It’s all they can think to say. And as Dawn smiles at her, and presses another fruit-scented kiss to Yubel’s lips, the stars twinkle down over them. And Yubel thinks that perhaps, waiting may not be so bad.