Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CW: Idk if there’s any. Maybe a few slight hints at child abuse/neglect???

In Rorey’s life, warmth was wonderful — a lovely break in the frigid winter, but it was always, always temporary.

Warmth was a rare bliss for the Kingdom of Ruperta. Scarce were the days when the harsh cold loosened its frozen grasp, allowing the snow to slush and the blazing sun to peek out from the pine trees. Spring was a magnificent blessing to the kingdom, celebrating with cheers of glee and toasts to a new harvest. The once frigid air would be lively with the sweet smell of cherry blossoms, the frosty ground lush with grass, and the sky a wonderful shade of brilliant blue.

The bright sun glimmered high in the radiant void above, beaming its rosy glow down on the imposing, prepossessing palace below. Its towers of glittering white basalt shot into the clouds, walls enforced and stunningly beautiful. The evergreens and willows that encased the castle grounds were flourishing, branches bright with leaves of green and speckled with flowers of light pink, the birds’ lovely symphonies flowing through the soft breeze.

The second Prince of Ruperta hummed lowly under his breath in tune with the joyous chirps, a small smile tracing his lips as Rorey allowed himself to bask in a peaceful haze. He settled back in his rocking hair, sparkling green eyes gazing down at his Father’s Kingdom from the polished marble balcony he sat on. The gentle draft tousled his mocha curls, sunlight casting over his subtle freckles, circler glasses fogged from the slight chill.

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled his nose, and children shouting from the village below as they raced through the streets. The clacking of hooves and rattling of wagons mixed in with the merchants called out bids, the newly risen sun splaying its gorgeous rays of blessings pinks and sunflower yellows across the horizon.

For once, his mind was not plagued by crippling stress, shoulders relieved of the crushing weight of responsibility. The feeling of freedom was still all too unfamiliar to him, no matter how dearly he dreaded his duties. He jumped at every slight clatter, expecting his older brother to haul him off to another boring Staff meeting or perhaps his father hurrying down the grand halls in a fit of worry.

But no troubles came to be. The only sounds that rang off the palace walls was merry laughter or hearty teasings. It was a difficult change, switching from a lifestyle of uncontrolled chaos to one of harmony and tranquility.

An odd change, yes, but Rorey wouldn’t trade it for the world.

His long, leather coat of deep blue kept him shielded from the cold, lined with glamorized patterns of gold. His ruffled blouse and soft wool pants were made for the harsh cold — not letting a single shiver crawl up his spine. His tall, laced boots kept his feet especially snug, and long leather gloves traced with gold kept his fingertips warm as he unconsciously ran his long fingers down the back of the bundle of warmth tucked in his lap.

Rorey’s younger brother’s cheek pressed against his chest, eyelids fluttering as he snored sleepy puffs of air. Rien’s face scrunched up adorably, little fingers curling around the back of Rorey’s coat. His curls of gold shimmered hazel in the sunlight, his huge sapphire blue jacket all but swallowing his tiny form, his button nose tinged pink. Rorey cradled him close, soothing back his hairline with loving care.

Moments like these used to be so precious, kept close to Rorey’s heart in the midst of peril.

Rien grumbled, squirming in Rorey’s arms. Rorey chuckled, a mischievous grin curling upon his lips. He poked at Rien’s ribs, laughing when the boy flopped around and slapped at his hand. Rien scowled drowsily, huge blue eyes sluggishly blinking open. Rorey cooed, cupping Rien’s face and nuzzling his nose to the blonde’s forehead.

“Ro…” Rien grumbled, shoving his face in his brother’s stomach. “S’op. I’m tired.”

“Aw,” Rorey crooned sweetly, pulling Rien close and pressing a kiss to the furrow in his brow. He pouted, dropping his chin to rest on Rien’s head. “Can’t I cuddle with my baby brother?”

“No,” Rien mumbled with a shake of his head, even as he burrowed closer to Rorey’s warmth. “Don’ like you. You’re mean.”

Rorey gasped dramatically, jade eyes widening as he slapped a hand over his forehead in mock horror. “No,” He moaned, warmth sparking in his chest when Rien giggled. “My own brother — a traitor!”

Rien sniggered, wiggling free from Rorey’s arms and plopping down in his lap. Eyes as blue as the cloudless sky stared up at Rorey, the boy’s wide beam full of the wonderful happiness he deserved. It had taken so long for joy to finally crease his dimples, time dragging on before he could finally be embraced without freezing in shock.

“Do you really hate me?” Rorey sighed, sagging with defeat. He sniffed on fake tears, wiping at the concerns of his eyes.

“Yes,” Rien said seriously, nodding. “Wait! Wait,” He scrambled to add as Rorey clamped a hand on his mouth, breathless laughs cutting through his frantic words. He pulled away Rorey’s hand, shoulders shaking as adorable titters escaped his lips. He grinned, craning up his neck to meet Rorey’s forest-green eyes. “You could take me down to see the horses,” He all but begged, slumped against Rorey’s chest. “Then I promise I’ll love you forever. Please?”

Rorey chuckled nervously, twirling one of Rien’s golden curls between his fingers. “I don’t know,” He drawled out with a shrug of slim shoulders. Rien clambered out of his brother’s lap, grabbing the brunette’s hand and tugging.

“C’mon!” Rien pleaded, trudging on a futile march to the balcony doors. He huffed, crossing his arms and sticking out his bottom lip. “Please?”

Rorey bit his lip, setting his chin on his palm as he observed his little brother. He couldn’t even try to fight back the fond smile that spread across his lips, sighing softly. Lex was going to kill him, but how was he supposed to say no to those baby blue eyes?

“All right,” He decided on finally, making a show of rising to his feet as Rien cheered. He was hardly upright before Rien grasped his hand again and was yanking him along, stumbling with a yelp.

“Hurry up!” Rien yelled, jerking on Rorey’s arm. “Oh, wait, that’s right,” He smirked evilly. “You can’t run ‘cause you’re old.”

“What?” Rorey sputtered, too stunned to object as Rien pulled him along. “I-I’m not old!”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not!”

“I agreed with you.”

Rorey gaped at Rien’s smug expression, staggering through the magnificently lit palace halls and nearly tripping on the velvet carpet. Rorey hummed darkly, straightening up and arching an eyebrow. Rien’s face paled and he quickly took a step back, but there was no escape. Rorey lunged forward before he could even whip around, grabbing him by under the arms as the boy shrieked. Rorey laughed loudly and hauled Rien over his shoulder, before breaking off in a dash.

He raced through the grand halls, weaving between the towering quartz pillars and ducking through arching doorways. Rien’s playful screams and Rorey’s bubbling laughter filled the lavishing stairwells, the small boy tucked safely against the man’s chest as he spun in dizzying circles.

Gods, it felt so good to hear Rien happy.

Finally, Rorey stumbled to a stop when they reached the royal quarters. He leaned against the wall, a grin forever stretched across his cheeks. Rien sank into his arms, giggling himself silly as he clutched Rorey’s arm. Rorey ran a comforting hand down the boy’s back to calm him down, pushing up his glasses. “How was that for fast?” He panted, ruffling the kid’s hair.

Rien squeaked, ducking away from Rorey’s hand and batting at his wrist. “You’re mean,” He pouted, thunking his head against Rorey’s collarbone.

Rorey rolled his eyes and shifted his hold on his brother, settling the blonde on his hip and using his free hand to pound on one of the bedroom doors.

“Em!” Rorey yelled, hammering the wood with his knuckles. He flicked his chocolate curls behind his ear, huffing before all but slamming his fist against the door. “Come on. Don’t make me drag you out myself—“

He cried out in surprise as the door was suddenly flung open, revealing his utterly unamused, older brother.

Ermano was nothing like Rorey, yet in a lovely way. The man was tall — towering over Rorey, who was a few good inches above six feet himself. He was at least twice as wide, with a body that seemed to be made out of pure muscle, yet Rorey had been him move like a dancer on his heels. His long auburn hair was pulled into a messy bun atop his head, his steal armor that he wore over his simple white blouse glittered in the light of the crystal chandeliers, his heavy sword hanging from his hip. His flowing wine cape of indigo trailed behind him, whisking at his ankles as he stepped through the doorway. A silvery scar cut across his nose, golden hoops dangling from his ears as his stormy blue eyes stared down flatly at the two.

“Ya look like ya just lost a fistfight to a blizzard,” Ermano deadpanned in his husky, deep monotone, taking in Rorey’s disgruntled state.

“Oy!” Rorey protested, crossing his arms and throwing a glare. “Screw you, Pinkie.”

Ermano arched his eyebrows. “My hair is not pink,” He huffed, reaching over to lightly flick the younger’s forehead. Rorey squawked and scrambled back, kicking at the taller’s shins.

“Yeah!” Rien, the traitor, declared, shooting Ermano a toothy grin as he placed his hands on his hips. He wagged a finger at Rorey’s face, brows pinched in a scowl. “It’s not pink, it’s au-br-ead.” He corrected sternly.

“Ho-oh,” Rorey hummed. He caressed one of the boy’s rosy cheeks, stroking a wild blonde curl back down. “Is it now?”

“Yes!” Rien cried, little feet kicking. He turned desperately to Ermano. “Tell him, Em, tell him!”

Ermano’s eyes soften as he gazed down at his brother, lips up-turning in a rare smile. He reached out and gently scooped the small boy into his arms, tender with the same hands that had slain countless foes in battle. He riffled through Rien’s hair, blunt nails scratching at his scalp. Rien snuggled closer with a content hum, pressing his nose to Ermano’s neck.

Ermano snorted, dark blue eyes crinkled with rare kinds. “Morin’ to ya, too, kid,” He murmured. Rien opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a huge yawn. Ermano chuckled, patting the blonde’s head. “Are ya sure you’re ready to be outta bed?”

“No!” Rien whined, shaking his head as he struggled upright. He craned his neck to look up at Ermano’s hand, shoving away the soldier’s strands of ashy red locks. “I wanna see the horses.”

“Hmm,” Ermano tsk-ed, smacking his lips together as he tapped his chin, brow pinched as he thought deeply. He sighed sadly and shook his head, turning to Rien with mournful eyes. “I’m pretty sure Crocus told me that he’s plannin’ to sleep,” He whispered into Rien’s ear, glancing around as if telling a horrible secret. “For all of today.”

Rorey smirked. “Sounds like someone else I know,” He quipped innocently.

Ermano shot him a look.

“What?” Rien breathed, clear horror dawning on his face. “Is he really—“ He cut himself off at his brothers’ poorly stifled amusement, crying out in outrage, little fists hitting at Ermano’s chest. “You are a lair,” He seethed furiously. “A dirty, evil, no good liar.”

Ermano threw his head back with a bark of laughter. “Am I, now?”

Rien nodded seriously, golden curls bouncing. “Yes,” He declared seriously. “You are the worst.”

“Mhm,” Ermano stooped his head down, gently bumping his forehead against Rien’s. Rien giggled, nose scrunching up as the man’s hand cradled carefully through his unruly tangles. “Even if I take you to see the horses?” He prompted, stormy blue eyes creased with scarce, adoring warmth.

Rien gasped. “Really?”

Ermano had barely begun to nod before Rien was scrambling up his shoulders, feet digging into his ribs as he climbed up his older brother. Ermano grunted as Rien yanked on his hair, rolling his eyes fondly, settling a steadying hand on the boy’s back. Rien urged him on, legs kicking excitedly as a brilliant grin showed brightly on his face.

Rorey trailed alongside the two, wheezing out a laugh as Rien yelled at Ermano to go faster, jogging to keep up. Ermano winced when the boy would tug at his now horribly blowsy auburn locks, boots thundering on the perfectly polished floors. He staggered a bit as Rien’s foot collided with his jaw, nearly slamming into a poor guard on post nearby. They frantically apologized to her before hurrying on, smiles bright on each brother’s face as Rien’s delighted shouts.

Rien instantly wriggled to be let down as soon as they skitted into the stables, nearly falling off Ermano’s shoulders in his rush. Ermano grumbled curses under his breath as he set the boy on his feet. Rien wasted no time in taking off to Crocus’s stall, practically squealing with excitement.

Rorey laughed as Ermano struggled to regain what little dignity he had left, frantic to properly part his hair. The brunette sauntered over, sinking against the older’s side and twirling an auburn lock between his fingers. The teasing action would have earned many a sword sliced through the back, but instead, Ermano simply tucked a strong arm around the younger, keeping Rorey close and leaning back against a post.

“Don’t worry,” Rorey reassured him teasingly. “I won’t tell anyone you’re secretly a soft teddy bear instead that stone heart of yours.”

Ermano grunted. “Ya better not,” He said, tone playfully dangerous. He flashed a hint of a grin, gloved fingers tapping Rorey’s neck. “We wouldn’t want you to have to be hanged now, would we?”

Rorey gasped in shock, jaw dropping in fictional horror. “You wouldn’t.”

Ermano snorted, hand coming up to ruffle Rorey’s brown curls. “I wouldn’t,” He agreed with a huff. “Dad would kill me.”

“Em!” Rien called, padding over from Crocus’s stall and tugging on Ermano’s cape. “Can I feed him some apples? Please?”

Ermano rumbled a chuckle at the boy’s excitement. “Sure,” He shrugged. “But-“ He added sternly before the boy could begin to cheer. “No more than three. Last time you fed ‘im so many he got sick.”

Rien giggled, wrinkling his nose. “Ew.”

Ermano snorted. He went over to the food troth and grabbed a bucket, scooping up a handful of apples and dropping them in the pail with a dull clatter. “You’re not the one who had to clean up horse vomit,”

Rorey couldn’t help but smile as the boy skipped back to the beloved stallion, the sun that poured from the beautiful rustic windows flamed his hair like glittering gold, baby blue eyes brighter than he had ever seen them. The blonde yelped when Crocus leaned over the gate and planted a long, wet lick to his cheek.

“Crocus!” The boy cried, laughing as he frantically batted away the horse’s muzzle. “Noooo! Bad boy.”

“He just wants to give you a hug, Rien,” Rorey sang, waltzing over and giving Crocus’s main a pat. He couldn’t help but wince when the horse keened and ran his rough tongue over his hands, turning to Rien with a wicket grin and making grabby hands. “Like this.”

Rien shrieked, shaking his head furiously. “No!” He shouted. “I don’t want a hug from your gross slobbery hands!”

“But I just want to love on my baby bro—“

He yelped and stumbled back as Ermano sent an apple hurling to his shoulder his hair. He exclaimed loudly and clutched his arm, staggering. “You little brat!”

“Ha!” Ermano scoffed in victory, grinning wryly at the brunette. “Who’s the soft now?”

“How dare you betray me like this!” He yelled as Ermano hit him square in the jaw with an apple of his own, making the taller practically fall to the ground with laughter racking his body. Rorey huffed and dusted himself off, hands set on his hips as an evil smirk slowly curled on his lips. “I believe an execution is in order,” He said darkly, turning to Rien with a dangerous gleam in his jade eyes. “Don’t you agree?”

The brothers shared a look, grins spreading across each face.

“C’mon,” Ermano tried to bargain, voice steadily rising in fear. “Let’s talk about—“

“Attack!” Rien screeched, and that they did.

Rorey laughed and flung his apples at the man, who tried to bolt back to the house in a frantic attempt to escape his punishment. But it was no use, the two pelted him mercilessly — their laughter filling the stables with the joyful sounds ringing through the stables. Rien shrieked with glee, feet kicking with delight at Ermano’s half-hearted protests. Rorey fought dirty, dropping to the ground to avoid Ermano’s retaliating projectiles as he threw an apple into the soldier’s hair. Rorey couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this — breathless with laughter and cozily warm despite the spring chill.

“That’s it!” Rorey crowed, beaming as Rien stood loyally at his side. “Get him!”

“Rorey—“ Ermano yelped, rumbling a laugh as he tripped back. “No, don’t—“

He never got a chance to finish.

Rorey threw himself at Ermano’s chest with a cry of battle, Rien right behind him and he clung to Ermano’s leg. Ermano stumbled with a shout, staggering at the new weights hurled against him. Unable to balance himself, he fell to the ground with the clanking of armor, body heaving as he laughed. Rorey landed on his stomach, burrowing closer with a cheeky smile. Rien clambered on top of them both, giggling himself silly.

“Oh, Gods,” Ermano groaned. “I think my back just snapped in half.”

“Oh, shut up you big baby,” Rorey scoffed, yet he crawled to his knees and hurriedly poked at his brother’s shoulder. “It better not be,” He said with a nervous chuckle. “Dad’ll have my head.”

“And why is that?” An amused, soft voice asked.

Rorey scrambled to his feet, a grin plastered on his face as he stumbled upright. “Ah, your highness,” He proclaimed in a ridiculously sumptuous voice, straightening his classes and smoothing back his hair. He dipped into a bow with a flick of his hand, shooting Elwyn a wry smile. “Tell me, what would be the punishment for breaking your eldest son’s back?”

Elwyn chuckled, a sweet, tender sound that made warmth swell in Rorey’s chest.

Rorey’s father stood a few inches below average height, both having the same thin build, with a good-natured face that was built to uphold a smile. He wore kingly robes of flowing light blue over a simple white shirt and brown trousers. Locks of light brown, nearly blonde, hair were slightly bedraggled as they skimmed his neck, with charcoal-colored eyes that were forever crinkled with kindness.

“Dad!” Rien squealed, jumping to his feet and running over to the Emperor. He flung himself at Elwyn, small arms wrapping around the man’s upper legs.

Elwyn laughed warmly, scooping the small blonde into his arms and pressing a kiss to his hair. “Good morning, love,” He hummed, running a gentle finger over the shell of Rien’s ear. He flicked his soft gaze to Ermano, who rose to his feet with a poorly muffled groan. The man cracked a smile, giving Rien’s curls a ruffle. “Were you playing with your brothers?”

“Someone wanted to see the horses at the crack of dawn,” Ermano grumbled, sweeping his disgruntled auburn hair over a broad shoulder.

Elwyn raised a fond eyebrow. “Did you now?” He asked Rien teasingly.

Rien nodded rapidly. “Yes,” He breathed, big blue eyes wide. “But guess what! He slobbered all over me.”

“Oh, no,” Elwyn said sadly. “I guess that means I’ll have to give you extra pancakes, huh?”

Rien cheered and scrambled down from Elwyn’s arms, grabbing his hand and skipping back to the castle. Rorey laughed and rushed to follow the two, dragging Ermano along with him. Sunlight streamed through the towering windows on the sides of the hall, weaving through the rich branches of cheery blossom trees and shining through the needles of pine. The lovely smell of flowers floated through the air — although that could have been Ermano’s hair wash — and Rien’s giggling laughter rang in his ears.

“Gods,” Rorey muttered, slouching almost fully against Ermano as they walked, who held his weight without any reaction but a light glare. “I forgot that sleep was still important even when shutting your eyes doesn’t guaranty a knife to the back.”

“Mhm,” Elwyn gave his son a tired smile, flicking stray, tortilla-brown locks from his forehead. “Sometimes I wish that the Kingdom could run itself. It’d almost be worth a full night of sleep.” He said with a light chuckle.

It wasn’t uncommon for the family to quip around at their burden of crushing responsibility, in fact, Rorey had spent countless hours late into the night complaining with Ermano as they all but buried themselves in paperwork. Even Elwyn, who always did his very best for his subjects, would get annoyed at the continuous struggle that was lordship every once and again.

But there was something different about Elwyn’s posture — the tension plaguing his shoulders, soft eyes warily darting around the room, how he forced his breaths to remain even. His father looked horribly exhausted — worry lines creasing his forehead, hands beginning the regain the tremble they lost years ago. It felt wrong, pitting Rorey’s stomach into a void of worry.

“Can’t be doin’ that, old man,” Ermano rumbled. He stepped away from Rorey and walked over to Elwyn, dropping his chin to rest on the smaller’s head as he patted his shoulder. “Ya need rest, too.”

Elwyn leaned into his son’s chest with a small sigh, eyelids fluttering as if the effort to keep them pried open was too heavy, fingers curling into the soft fabric of Ermano’s cape with a grip that was just a bit too tight.

Rorey could feel a ball knotting in his chest, tangling into a cold ball that slowly seeped that sporadic joy into an all too familiar, dreadful cold.

“Are you tryin’ to drown your pancakes?” Ermano huffed from his chair beside Rorey, twirling his fork between his fingers as he raised an eyebrow at Rorey’s plate, which was all but swimming in the rich goodness that was maple syrup.

The four Ravens sat at their dining table, a grand crystal chandelier hanging over their heads, the tablecloth under his fingers lacy and smooth with silk. The walls were a peaceful shade of calming blue, windows shooting to the arching ceiling as the wonderful sunlight poured into the room.

Rorey crumpled up a napkin, chucking it at his brother’s head, who easily caught it without so much as a glance. Rorey rolled his eyes at Ermano’s smug smirk and kicked at his ankle, ramming into his side with a grunt. That was a poorly thought-out plan, of course, giving Ermano the perfect opportunity to simply slip a strong arm around his shoulder and pull him close with ease.

“Em,” Rorey whined, flopping uselessly in the gentle hold. He sagged against the older’s side, purposely digging his forehead into his ribcage. “Lemme go. I wanna eat.”

“Ya shoulda thought of thought before ya threw a napkin at me,” Ermano snorted, reaching over to give Rorey’s hair a ruffle. Rorey grumbled angrily, unable to squirm away from the touch and forced to endure the coddling.

Rien laughed from across the table, cheeks stuffed full of his beloved strawberries. He grabbed Elwyn’s sleeve, tugging on his father’s hand as he watched his two brothers with amusement. “Em and Ro are being silly,” He giggled.

Elwyn glanced down at his son, lips quirked in a soft smile. “Are they, now?” He asked, chuckling when Rien nodded and made grabby hands up at him. The man lifted the boy up and sat him in his lap, gently soothing back the blonde’s hairline as the boy snuggled closer. Elwyn’s weary aegean eyes crinkled with adoration, arms coming up to cradle his son close.

“Mhmmm,” Rien mumbled, burying his face in Elwyn’s robes.

Elwyn cupped Rien’s chubby face with warm, delicate hands, pressing a loving kiss to his forehead. “Is someone tired?” He hummed, amusement light in his tone.

Rien shook his head sluggishly, curling under his father’s arm with a sleepy mutter of protest. His lashes fluttered shut, head resting against Elwyn’s shoulder as his cheek smooshed against his cheek adorably.

Rorey let out a small sigh, dragging a hand down his face as he observed his little brother, a strange sorrow sparkling in his emerald eyes. “Gods, it’s so good to see him smile,” He whispered, heart squeezing at the look of utter peace that ease Rien’s face.

Two years.

Two long, dismaying, dragging years.

That was how long it had taken for his sweet little brother to become the carefree child he should be.

“It is,” Ermano grunted, stormy blue eyes gleaming with rare, fierce devotion that would send thousands of armies to their knees. “Kid deserves to be happy.”

Elwyn nodded in agreement, eyes locked on his face in the reflection of the spotlessly polished floor. His grip around Rien tightened, shoving the boy’s face into his chest and burying his nose in the boy’s golden curls. Rorey’s brow pinched, mouth opening to ask his father what was wrong, when — to his horror — Elwyn’s shoulders shook with a muffled, broken sob.

Both brothers were on their feet in an instant, Ermano gracefully rose and strode round the table, hand grasping his sword in an icy grip as Rorey rushed to clutch his father’s hand. Ermano was quick to kneel down, brow furrowed as he slipped his massive hands under Elwyn’s jaw and eased up his head to see the smaller’s face. Wet tear tracks raced down the tawny’s cheeks, breath hitching on an anguished hiccup.

“Dad?” Rorey breathed, jade eyes widening in revolting alarm. “Dad? What’s wrong?”

Elwyn sucked in a stuttering breath, chest heaving with barely contained sobs. “I—“ He struggled to gasp out the words, shuddering. Ermano gently wiped away his tears, running his thumb under the smaller’s eyes to catch the moister. Elwyn leaned into the touch, soaking in the warmth as he sniffed.

“I need to show you both something,” He murmured, pulling away to meet his sons’ eyes, his own misty gray swimming with heartbreaking sorrow. He dabbed at the corners of his eyes with a napkin, taking in a shaky deep breath. He swallowed hard, hand coming up to desperately clutch the back of Rien’s head.

“It’s about Nauvu.”

Those three words were a knife hurled at Rorey’s chest, stabbing into his heart and bleeding away at the cozy warmth settled comfortably inside.

Drip…

By…

Drip…

Chapter Text

(I’m too lazy to properly search up the order of army ranks, so I’ve made my own order.

From highest to lowest
General
Captain
Sargent
Admiral
Commander
Normal Soldiers)

CW: Slight mentions of sewerslide — it’s not heavy, just a few soldiers take poison to prevent the risk of spilling any secrets. Mild gore/blood (Em and Lex kind roughs up a guy, but you’ll hate him so it’s all fine). Mentions of child abuse/neglect. Panic attack ish? Basically Rien does not have a good time at the end—

The Chambers was easily one of Ermano’s favorite rooms in the palace.

It served as the Guards’ meeting room, buried dozens of feet under the ground of solid stone, the only possible entrance hidden well within the roots of the garden’s tallest willow tree. He had been there when it had been created, standing guard over his men all of those years ago, when the Ruperta Kingdom was hardly anything but evergreen trees and slushing snow.

The ceiling was tall and towering, the doming roof magically reflected outside’s sky instead of the slate surface above. Other than the Royal Family’s Quarters, it was undoubtedly one of the most protected places in all of the Kingdom. The walls of fortified rock were etched in countless of glowing runes of indigo, linked together in a glowing chain of sorcery, the complex spells adding more defense than his entire army combined. The roots from the willow tree above twisted from the cracks in the stone, curling into holders for the flicking handles illuminating the chamber. A large table took up most of the space, expertly carved and made only for the best.

Ermano sat in his place — the center chair, the seat of the General of the Rupertan Guard. His clammy hand clenched his sword, lungs threatening to collapse, shoulders tense as he tapped his gloved fingers on the table.

Ermano had Elwyn’s sweet temper, always able to remain calm in purging panic. While Rorey had their mother’s, easily angered and snappish.

But it took great effort for the soldier to stay calm now.

His stomach twisted in a knot of worry, horrid shivers crawling up his spine.

Damien Nauvu — the King of the Aquilo Kingdom and a ruthless, cold-hearted man. For the last five years he had haunted Ermano from across the battlefield, amusement glinting in those cruel silver eyes as he bathed the land in blood.

Ermano was awfully too used to those monsters of people. He had slaughtered countless of them by the heavy sword hanging from his hip, laughed at their pain — the fair justice for their terrible crimes.

But they all paled in comparison to that mutt of a human.

Nauvu was Rien’s biological father. Ermano clenched his jaw at that. Father. It made him want to chuckle — humorless and cold. Elwyn was a father — kind, gentle, loving, wonderful. Nauvu was anything but; he had treated Rien like a slave for over seven long, agonizing years. He had called a child a murderer, blaming Rien for the death of his wife and tending to him as such. When they had found Rien, the boy was so distant from any form of love that it was disgusting — expecting a harsh slap for mistakes as simple as tripping over his own feet, preparing to endlessly repay something as simple as a hug.

It made Ermano — who had ripped out hearts and crushed skulls with his bare hands — want to vomit.

And now, if the words that had traveled from the villages in the far south were true, Nauvu had risen his Kingdom back from its ashes.

All around him were familiar faces, brothers and sisters who had fought under his command with honor for years. Lex, Harlow, Rowan, Quin, Evens — his fellow soldiers who had followed him into battle without a second thought. Each wore the same uniform of the Rupertan Guard, armor a gleaming silver equipped with a furry, royal blue cloak clasped at the shoulders, each pauldron rippling with different patterns based on their rank.

“Thank you all for gathering at such short notice,” Elwyn cleared his throat, sitting up a bit in his place beside Ermano. Gods, his voice sounded wrecked — his soft eyes rimmed with red.

“Of course, your majesties,” Lex replied with a nod. Her eyes were ones of steel gray, the same glinting color of her armor that glittered in the afternoon sunlight dipping from the magical ceiling. A thick, ragged scar cut across her face, others of silver ripping from her jaw. Inky tattoos snaked up her shoulders and down her arms and back, each proud mark for every victorious battle. Her dark cape was settled over a shoulder, fiery red hair cut into a choppy pixie.

The man sitting on the end of the table sneered. His face was the only Ermano did not recognize — Governor Parch, who watched over the lands in the far south. “Your majesties,” He scoffed mockingly, eyes narrowing as he observed the three royals with seething hate. He laughed a laugh that was hollow and dry, devoid of any humor. “I’d rather have my fingers cut off than bow to cowards like you.”

The others were on their feet before Parch had finished. Swords were drawn, clinking from their sheathes as they were pointed at the man.

“Our King and Princes have brought nothing to our Kingdom but peace and prosperity,” Sergeant Harlow murmured lowly, amber eyes shining dangerously. “I would watch your tone, Governor.”

Captain Lex gripped the hilt of her axe, its dark metal blade brushing the soft skin under Parch’s chin. “This isn’t your land, Parch,” She spat. “Look around you, it would be wise to shut up before you say something you’ll regret.”

“You ask them for help yet you treat them like dirt?” Admiral Evens scoffed. “Pathetic.”

“Men,” Ermano barked sharply, rising to his feet and raising a calming hand. Each soldier sank back into their chair as those stormy blue eyes swept over the room, sheathing their weapons at the order — although bitterly. Ermano sucked in a deep breath, willing away his growing panic. He couldn’t afford to be afraid, not when every wasted second was yet another moment when Rien was in danger. He slowly sat back down, amber hair glowing like autumn leaves in the candle light.

“Say another word and you will lose those fingers,” Quin grumbled under her breath, her flaring yellow slits for eyes glaring daggers at Governor Parch as the man struggled to regain some dignity.

“Quin,” Ermano hissed, eyeing the soldier sternly.

Quin just struggled dismissively, going back to picking at her nails.

Ermano turned back to Governor Parch, mouth set in a thin line. “What is this information ya have on Nauvu?” He asked through gritted teeth. He felt a soft hand settle over his own scarred fingers under the table, squeezing warmth into his cold skin. Ermano clutched his father’s hand back, the simple touch grounding and firm.

Governor Parch fiddled with his satchel, removing it from over his neck with the shifting of garments. He took out a scroll and placed it on the table, smoothing out the wrinkled parchment. “Raid parties have been destroying the villages closest to the border,” He said, words sharp and bubbling like acid. “They’re ruining our crops, children are starving—“

“What does this have to do with Rien?” Rorey snapped, green eyes sparkling with anger as he slammed his fist down onto the table. His umber curls were in an unruly disarray, face pale, a horribly noticeable shake to his hands. Ermano knew him far well enough to see the pure panic poorly masked beneath his expression, as blindingly clear as the flame of rage obviously sparking inside his chest.

Ermano reached over and squeezed his brother’s knee, rubbing in what he hoped to be comforting circles into his skin.

“We’re getting there, your highness,” Harlow replied smoothly. He pointed to the map that covered the table, marked with everything from each Kingdom to every single village and tribe. “My men and I set up camp here,” He tapped the uppermost east side of the Aquilo border. “We waited until the next raid, before storming the party.”

“They weren’t too talkative,” Rowan huffed in his heavy Irish accent, scratching at his unshaved chin with a wicked grin, revealing glinting gold teeth. He chuckled, low and cold. “But we ‘ave our ways, ey?”

Lex smirked back, leaning against the table with crossed, burly arms. “A few of ‘em let a few things slip,” She explained. “Where their supplies are, their next planned attack, yada yada,” She gestured vaguely with her hand, face growing gruff, lips set in a thin line. She grabbed a folded up piece of parchment, carefully rolling it out. “But then one of ‘em gave us this.”

She gave it to Ermano, passing it from one scarred hand to another.

The paper was hinged yellow with age, wrinkled as if it had been hurriedly stuffed into one’s pocket. Etched on the faded writ was a symbol of glowing amethyst — a loosely done circle with a jagged cross cutting from its peak. Ermano held it out, allowing Elwyn and Rorey to see as they leaned in. It was clearly some spell of witchery, pulsing with flicking power.

Quin snapped her fingers, pointing a finger at the fragment of magic in Ermano’s hands. “That,” She announced with the click of her tongue. “Is what we’ve been calling Aquilo’s Mark.”

Ermano sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on the paper tightening. It all made sense now — the rumors about Nauvu, the raid parties stealing supplies, and now this.

“Yeah,” Evens muttered, as if reading his General’s thoughts. “The Aquilo Kingdom — Nauvu — it’s been rising again from the shadows, right under our noses.”

Rorey carefully took the paper from Ermano’s hands, brow furrowing as he held it into the light to examine it. “It’s a tracking rune,” He breathed shakily.

“Mhm,” Lex agreed, nodding at her protectee. “A few of the guards noticed that as well. As you can imagine, it sparked some tension,” Eyes of steel darkened dangerously, expression one of dour dread. “They have more attacks planned, Raven. Ones that have been thought out for years and others that will be insanely deadly. But that’s not all,” She let out a small sigh. “They offered a bargain. In exchange for calling off all the attacks, they want us to hand over Rien.”

Ermano felt sick, cold anger swelling in his chest along with rising bile.

“Did they say anything else?” Elwyn whispered, breath hitching.

Harlow shook his head. “No,” He replied grimly. “They had hidden poison pellets in their front pockets — they tore them open with their teeth and swallowed them before we could squeeze out any more information.”

Ermano rumbled a sigh. “Did any of ‘em survive?”

A grin curled upon Lex’s lips, broad and wicket. “One of them did.”

Ermano’s wine cape of midnight blew behind him in the light draft, the moist breeze airing through the gloomy hall as they approached the looming thorn of a gate before him. The metal was jagged and thick, guards posted on each side, spears gleaming and sharp. He lifted the lantern in his hand higher, illuminating the cold, stone passage with its rosy glow.

The guards nodded respectfully at the General, grabbing the handles of the gate and pushing them open with a grinding creak. Ermano and his fellow soldiers ducked into the winding halls.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Harlow murmured, icy blonde hair shining like freshly baked bread in the dim light. “I thought our days of blood and violence were behind us.”

“Nauvu is dragging a child in warfare,” Ermano countered swiftly, stormy blue eyes stiff and cold. “Our child. If this is what it takes to keep Rien safe, then this is justified enough for my gray morals.”

They strode through the halls that were lined with cells, paying no mind to the prisoners that stirred from their cots. The Kingdom of Ruperta was always humane to their prisoners, kept them fed and well treated. Yet those kept in the lower levels, where they were almost surrounded in pitch black and living alongside their brethren — the rats. From horrible assaulters to insane children surreal killers, they offered those cowards the mercy of allowed life and nothing more.

“I assume you kept them lucid?” He asked Lex, giving his friend a glance.

Lex shot him a twisted smile, the scar cutting through her lip stretching. “Of course,” She replied calmly. “Although not all of his bones are intact.”

Ermano grinned.

They marched down the flights of creaking stairs, and slowly the flames of the torches dimmed — leaving the only light the dull flicker of Ermano’s lantern. They were in utter silence — save for shuddering breathing from the shadowy fingers huddled inside the cells, the eerie dripping of water, and the skittering feet of rats.

Finally, Lex gestured to a cell — this one so heavily enforced that the bars were nearly as thick as Ermano’s wrist, chains hanging from the ceiling and dangling to the dirt floor. Harlow’s amber eyes flickered with uncertainty, but with one firm glance From Ermano he heaved a sigh and inserted a key into the door.

“Good luck,” The blonde elf muttered as he held the door wide for the two soldiers. “Nasty psycho, that one.”

Ermano grunted in reply, giving his officer a brief pat on the shoulder in thanks before slipping into the cramped space, Lex right at his side.

A trembling figure rose from the thin mat in the far corner, eyes gleaming in the lantern’s light. The man’s uniform was torn, stained with dark blood, breathing accompanied with a shuttering rattle. His expression was one of barely contorted pain, blood dripping from his mouth as he lifted his lips in a horrible smile.

“Your excellency,” The prisoner rasped, heaving his wobbling body into a sitting position. He observed Ermano and Lex carefully, his fear expertly tucked away. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Ermano hummed coldly, setting the lantern down before striding forward. The man frantically tried to scoot back, but the soldier easily bent down and grabbed him by the throat. He said nothing before slammed his fist across the worm’s face, a thrill of pride rushing under his skin as he felt his nose snap under his knuckles. Blood started pouring like an oozing waterfall, the familiar scent quirking a smirk to the auburnette’s face. He wrapped a massive hand around the prisoner’s neck and lifted him into the air, refusing to halt until the man was choking for breath, feet kicking feebly in the air.

“Tell us what we want to know,” Ermano hissed, breath fanning across the captive’s face. “Or I will rip your eyes from their sockets.”

“I-I can’t breathe!” The man gasped in agony.

“If you’re talking, you’re breathing,” Lex spat harshly, stalking over with nothing but cruelty shining in her steel eyes. “Which is something we need to fix.”

Ermano released him only when his lips had turned blue, sending him tumbling onto his back with a thump. He didn’t hesitate to rip the scroll from his satchel and bent down, stormy blue eyes glinting with rare fury as he yanked on the man’s hair, forcing up his head before shoving the paper in his face.

“What is this?” He snarled. “What is it trackin’?”

The man’s eyes widened in fear for a split second in the orchid hum of the rune, before snapping back to Ermano with a sneer. “Like I’d tell you.”

Lex stomped down on his hand with the heel of her boot, chuckling darkly as a gurgling, pained scream that tore itself from the prisoner’s throat. She dug the toe in with the sickening crunching of bones, leaving his hand a limp, black and blue mess before pulling back.

The man cradling his broken hand to his chest, breaths heaving as he stared at Lex with wide eyes.

Lex stepped over his chest, raising her boot over his other hand, the man flinching. “Care to answer again?” She asked cooly.

The prisoner shook his head frantically, shoulders shaking with hardly contained sobs. “Crazy…witch…” He babbled out.

Lex just laughed, harsh and brutal, sending a shudder down Ermano’s spine. “Don’t forget it,” She shot back with a grin.

Ermano hauled the man back up, slamming his back into the wall and startling out a choked yelp. He lifted a hand to settle under the man’s jaw, not squeezing or applying pressure, simply resting there with murderous intention. “If you value your life,” He murmured. “I would get talkin’.”

“Th-The boy,” The man all but whimpered, shying away from Ermano’s bruising grip. “I— he— it’s, it’s tracking the boy!”

Ermano felt his heart stop, a cold feeling hollowing out in his chest.

This rune, one that was obviously one of many, was tracking down his little brother in favor of the kid’s abuser. It made his breathing stutter, roughly dropping the prisoner as his grip went sickeningly slack. Shudders of dread creeped up his back, stormy blue eyes widening in realization.

These weren’t just random, desperate attacks.

They were calculated — a hunter’s strategy to draw the defense away from the prey.

Nauvu could be waiting outside of Rien’s bedroom door at any time. He could whisk the boy away while he was sweetly sleeping with nothing but the rustling of curtains. He knew where Rien was at all times, able to watch his every slight move, coiled like a snake ready to strike.

Ermano snarled, drawing back his hand and striking the man’s face roughly, sneering when his golden rings cut into waxy skin. The man cried out in surprise, flinching back with the rattling of chains. The soldier drew in a breath, gripping the collar of the man’s shirt as he shoved him against the hard stone wall.

“You disgust me,” Ermano practically growled, venom lacing his spat words. “Don’t you know what your so-called King did to his own son? To my brother?”

How could people be so blind or utterly evil where they would bring a child back to his abuser without question? It made him reel, bile rising in his throat. He dropped the captive with jerking force, not allowing him a moment to catch his breath before he stooped down and pressed his boot to his jugular, broad chest heaving with enraged breaths.

“How long has the rune been attached to Rien?” He demanded, digging in the heel of his foot threateningly.

The man gasped for air, grappling desperately at his throat with his shackled hands, fingers fumbling with panic. “Years!” He gasped out. “Y-Years. Nauvu implanted it when the brat first tried to run,” He whimpered shakily when Ermano shoved his foot against his jaw, teeth knocking together with a click and dribble of blood. “I-It was a precaution. He was planning to get the killer back for years! Bu-But he’s only returned his army to its prior strength as of r-recent—“

Ermano removed his foot roughly, stepping back with his cape swishing at his heels. He smiled, all teeth and gleam. “Thank you,” He hissed coldly. “You’ve been helpful.”

He heard Lex heave open the door behind him and turned, giving the Captain a nod of thanks. The two went to stride out of the cell as the prisoner struggled upright, their needed information gathered.

“You know…”

Ermano halted in his tracks at the prisoner’s drawl, jaw clenched as his hand grasped his sword in an icy grip. There was something about the man’s tone that made shivers crawl up his spine, such awful delight gleeing his voice, followed by a dark, gurgling laugh.

“I miss the days when that brat was in the castle,” The captive sighed heavily, settling back against his sleeping mat comfortably. “His little cupboard was right next to the guard’s quarters, I could always hear his pathetic sobs bleed through the walls,”

Ermano drew in a sharp breath, fists clenching. “Stop,” He ordered, a tremor fighting to rip through his words.

The man giggled, pitchingly high and deranged. “A few of us would bet on how loud he would scream. I always enjoyed when those pained sounds would tear from his little lungs.”

Ermano saw red. Blood roared in his ears, head pounding with uncountable rage that seemed to pulse through every vein and muscle. With shocking speed he whipped around, ashy red hair breezing in the damp underground draft of air. He lunged forward with a furious shout, tearing his sword from its scabbard as he leapt across the gloomily lit cell. He ignored Lex’s warning shout, heartlessly stabbing his blade into the rat’s shoulder with a sickening splurt of gushing red.

The raw scream of agony that tore through the air was music to his ears.

The dark, thick blood that coated his hands made stormy blue eyes glint with pride.

“Ermano!” Lex bellowed, storming over and grabbing Ermano’s shoulder. “We need him alive, General.”

Ermano snapped back to reality, letting out a breath as he noticed the crumpled form before him. He ripped out his sword roughly, earning a whimpering cry from the captive. He stepped back from the mess of gore, the black blood staining the rough walls, shinking his sword back into its sheath with a click.

“I want ‘im dead,” He ground out, turning to Lex and gritting his teeth.

Lex huffed, flicking a coppery strand of hair from her forehead. “We need him alive, Em,” She repeated calmly, arching an eyebrow. “I want the vermin gone, too, but think,” She gestured to the man, who shrank back under her steel gaze, hands slipping in a pool of his own blood. “What if we come across another problem? We gotta do what’s best for Rien, your highness.”

Ermano let out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair and tugging out the mangled knots. “Right,” He grunted, clearing his throat a bit. He jerked his chin at the limp prisoner, smoothing out the wrinkles in his blouse. “Rough ’im up a bit, will ya captain?” He asked. “Ain’t no harm in scarin’ ‘im a bit.”

Lex laughed. “It would be my pleasure.”

And with that Ermano stepped out of the cell, striding back through the grimy passageways as agonized shrieks rang off the walls.

Rien sat curled up against the wall, knees tucked to his chest. He sat huddled underneath his bed — an old habit that always made him feel safe. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching his plush bunny tightly in his arms as he stifled his terrified whimpers into the soft fabric. Dust tickled his lungs with each inhale, dancing through the air like little stars. Under the bed boards was always rather dirty, as Rien refused to allow any of the maids to clean it.

He hated it when anyone was under his bed — when people would invade the only place that had always meant safety.

He shoved his face into his bunny’s ears, sniffling on a small sob that crawled from his throat.

He could hear the muffled shouts from the hall, bouncing around his head like a horribly heavy hammer that hit at his brain. He had made out Ermano’s heavy footsteps as he stormed up the stairs from the dungeons, booming and horrifying. Rien flinched back, sending pin throbbing through his skull as he hit his head on the bed frame. Tears split from his fearful blue eyes without permission, hot as they tickled down his cheeks.

His chest was tight — sort of like the knot Rorey would use to tie his bootlaces. Everything was a blurry mess, as if he were staring through a foggy mirror. Ermano’s low murmurs and Rorey’s outraged yells were strangely muffled, dulled by the fuzz stuffed in his ears.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong. He had easily noticed the strain in his family’s smiles, the tension in their gestures of affection. He knew that they always said they would never hurt him, but he was so scared. He bit his bottom lip as his wobbled, the tangy taste of blood swarming his tongue. It was getting hard to breathe, lungs twisting in a self strangle. He couldn’t speak, the words refusing to leave his lips and releasing in a hoarse whine.

He wanted to be good.

He didn’t want to be bad! They were so nice, always giving him warm food and a cozy place to sleep. But he always messed everything up — he slipped at the worst of times and made everything tumble to dust. Despite their kind words and sweet touches, he couldn’t force his father’s cruel words from his head — couldn’t fathom the fact that they weren’t true.

He was a killer, one of cold blood and a hard heart.

No matter how far he ran, no matter how desperately he tried to escape Nauvu’s grasp, those sickening words were planted in his head. It didn’t matter how hard his family tried to pry him free from the words’ shackles, they were true.

It was only a matter of time before they realized that, too.

But it still hurt — just like it would to have a knife twisted into your heart with a warning beforehand.

He sobbed, chest heaving with stuttering gasps. He tried to force back the tears as they threatened to leak from his lashes, squeezing his eyes shut with a jarring tremor. He couldn’t cry. His pathetic tears and small whimpers always made his father furious — someone as horrible as Rien didn’t deserve to cry, and the boy knew this.

Some days, he would lie limp in bed as his awful thoughts fuzzed his mind. Days where he would yearn to be worthy of love, feeling horribly ashamed for stealing their kindness without anything to give in return. Storm clouds, Ermano would call them. Dark, swirling winds and rolling shadows that inked out his head.

They were impossible to escape — dragging him down in a raging hurricane of self hate.

He felt impossibly cold, shivers crawling up his prickling skin under his fluff bed clothes. He clung to his bunny, little fingers curling into the soft plush.

He knew he deserved this — the harsh words, the shoves that kept away, and so, so much more horrible things that were just.

But the boy wished he didn’t. Just because it was fair didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt — a deep ache that throbbed within his heart.

He was snapped back into reality when he realized he was crying. His body shook with loud, gut-wrenched sobs. He shoved his head into his quivering knees, arms covering his face as he curled into himself.

There was something wrong with him; something broken not working right in his brain, something broken. Because he couldn’t handle the fact that he deserved this hurt, this agony.

After all, what more came in store for someone who had killed their own mother?

He was getting lightheaded, the tears that streaked his deathly pale cheeks refusing to seize in their trickling race. He could only imagine his family’s disappointment. They had done nothing but show him unrelenting devotion, taking his frail and bruised body into their arms and nursing him back to health. And this was how he repaid them — by acting like a pathetic, beaten animal.

A sudden, loud knock rapped on his door.

Rien flinched so hard that he slammed into the back of the wall, a pained wail leaving his lips as his head pounded.

“Rien?” Came Elwyn’s worried call, his knocks becoming more frantic and rapid. “Rien? Sweetie, are you okay?”

Rien shook his head violently, chest heaving with gasping breaths. He tried to speak, tried to beg Elwyn to go away, but the words died on his tongue — coming out in a dull, broken whimper. Why did it have to be Elwyn? The man was so sweet and nothing but kind, to have him deliver the blows would chip away at his already shattered heart.

“Rien?” Elwyn repeated, breath hitching in panic. “Honey? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? What—“

Rien curled up tighter into a ball, trembling. “Please,” He begged desperately, voice wobbling and wet. “I-I don’t— I didn’t—“ He gasped, shuddering. “I’ll be— I be good. I p-pro-promise. Jus’ don’—“

He shoved himself back as the doorknob wiggled, sky blue eyes blown wide. He couldn’t breathe, lungs tied in a tangle that squeezed in his chest. He swallowed back bile, shoulders shaking with raw terror. He was frozen, unable to move as he stared at the door, mind a horribly blank sheet as tears trickled down his numb face.

He was nothing but prey, once again being ruthlessly hunted.

“Hey,” Elwyn murmured, all soft and adoring and sickeningly fake. “Are you okay, baby? Could you open the door?”

No! Rien wanted to scream, a distressed whine climbing up his throat and choking on his lips. He wanted to refuse, to sob and plead with the Emperor to have mercy.

But that was an order. Rien had to obey. Surely Elwyn had the key at the grasp of his fingertips, this had to be a test.

He forced himself to crawl from under the safety of darkness, little heart a stuttering flutter in his chest. His knees buckled dangerously, head swimming as he breath came in short, stammering inhales. He wrapped his arms around his middle in a weak attempt of a hug, nails scratching at his forearms. He staggered across the room, dizzy as the setting sunlight shined through the drapes and into his eyes. He swallowed hard, wrenching his eyes shut as he reached a quivering hand out to unlock the door.

The cold air of the hallway breezed against his tingling skin. He hunched his shoulders up to his ears, legs wobbling under his weight.

“Oh, little one,” Elwyn whispered. Rien flinched at the rustling of robes, forcing his limbs to lock in place. He heard Elwyn reach out and let out a small sob, expecting a harsh slap. Yet by some supernatural power above, instead his soft, delicate hands came up to cup his face. Rien nearly bursted into tears as Elwyn rubbed the moisture from his face, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Hi, sweetie,” Elwyn murmured. Rien couldn’t help but lean into the kind touch, uncaring if he was taking the bait. Elwyn just held him close, kneeling down and tucking Rien’s head under his chin. Rien sniffled, fingers curling around Elwyn’s kingly robes of blue as he buried his face in the nape of his dad’s neck.

Elwyn hummed raspily under his breath, sitting down and gently scooping Rien into his lap. Rien curled into his embrace, hurriedly angling his head so that he didn’t get Elwyn’s shirt wet. The man ran a hand through his golden curls, touch painstakingly tender.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Elwyn asked softly, running a soothing hand up and down the boy’s back. “Are you okay?”

Rien nodded immediately. “Yes, sir,” He croaked.

Rien jerked away as Elwyn adjusted him, a hand coming up to caress his cheek. “Hey, hey,” He chided. “None of that.”

“Sorry,” Rien whimpered, ducking his head down in shame. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. “I-I’m sorry,” He hiccuped. “I’ll- I-I be good, I-I promise,” He gripped a fistful of the King’s fancy white blouse, lip quivering as he tried to hold back his tears. He knew he shouldn’t be crying, he should have expected this day to slink around the corner, and should have stomped down the naive hope of ever thinking he could be loved.

He shivered at the thought, growing pale.

A stuttering sob choked out of his throat, blue eyes squeezing shut as he desperately attempted to hold it in. He tried to suck in shuddering breaths of air, lungs begging for oxygen. “I-I’m sorry,” He panted, salty, hot tears dripping down his cheeks sunken. “I-I’ll be good- I’ll be good I p-promise. Pl-please don-don’t make it hur-hurts-“

Rien didn’t realize it when he was carefully sat up, nor when Elwyn wrapped gentle hands around his shoulders, concern filling his kind features. Rien’s bright blue eyes peeked open a crack as Elwyn pressed a loving kiss to the crown of his head, heart still racing and breaths still ragged.

“Shh.”

Carefully, slowly, Elwyn reached out and pulled him closer.

“Come on, little one, breathe. Breathe.”

Rien listened to the exaggerated breathing coming from a tender voice. He tried to follow - he did, b-but-

“I-I c-can’t,” He gasped, rubbing rakishly at his damp eyes. “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He rocked back and forth, shaking his head furiously as frantic apologies stumbled from his lips, chest heaving. He couldn’t think — his head hurt, sending fiercer sobs tumbling free.

Elwyn’s eyes flashed with hurt, a horrible, brokenhearted expression creasing his face. “No, honey,” He breathed, shaking his head. “No, no, no. You didn’t do anything wrong,” He pulled his son close, wrapping his arms around the trembling boy and pressing a firm, adoring kiss to his temple. “You don’t need to be sorry, sunshine.”

Rien sniffled. “N-Not gunna hurts?” He dared to squeak out.

“No,” Elwyn said, so vehemently that Rien scooted back a bit. The man instantly softened, rubbing soothing circles to his back. “Never, darling,” He mumbled into his hair, fingers running through the locks of gold. “Gods, no.”

Rien hummed sleepily, lashes fluttering as his eyelids begged to sag shut. He rested his head against his dad’s shoulder, cuddling closer to his never-waving warmth.

“And if anyone ever does,” Elwyn murmured as he brushed Rien’s bangs from his forehead. He cracked a bit of a grin. “We’ll send Ermano after them, okay?”

Rien giggled, nodding.

Elwyn smiled and held him close, cupping his face between his hands and nuzzling their foreheads together. “I love you so much,” He sighed, warm hands cradling Rien’s cheek. “So much.”

Rien managed a droopy smile, nudging his nose into Elwyn’s cheek. “Love you, too,” He mumbled, and Elwyn squeezed him into an embrace filled with nothing but devoting, heart-stopping care.

But alas, love — whilst the most powerful, awe inspiring emotion the universe possessed — could only do so much.

Chapter Text

Because of Tally's amazing shoutout, I have decided to post this chapter a few days early :D

CW: Mentions of death and child abuse, panic attack

The sky was nothing but a cloudless shadow above Ruperta, a lovely twilight that rippled like a flowing veil with the glittering of the stars. The evergreens curled from the castle grounds, the countless shades of green blurring sliver in the argent light of the glowing three moons overhead. The cold nipped at Rorey’s fingertips, his peacoat of azure rippling in the wind of small icy stabs.

Rorey sat on the slanting roof, mocha curls shining like sweet syrup as he stared up at the wonderful night sky. He rested his chin on his knees, glasses sitting on the edge of his nose that was tinged pink in the cold. Shouts from the guards below crowed over the rooftops, the breeze twining through the tree branches with the rustling of leaves.

Rorey inhaled deeply, letting his jade eyes flutter shut as he breathed in the sharp scent of pine — tangy and fresh. The minty smell bit away at the growing headache that pounded under his cheeks. He dragged his fingers down his forearms, trying to brush away the lingering chill.

The roof had always been his spot — a place where he could go when the pressure of the Kingdom was too much or his head was messily cluttered. He rubbed at his temples, hands itching to slam into the tiles below his legs and smash them to pieces. His rage was a fiery spark in his chest, flaming over any logic that dared to bubble up. It was like a roaring forest fire, threatening to smoke out his mind and leave him in a wild fit of fury.

He clenched his jaw, hands coming up to grip his umber curls.

Ermano’s words still ricocheted through his ears, deafening in their grim proclamation.

His head was a slushing mess of confusion, dread crawling up his spine with horrid shivers.

Nauvu had implanted a rune somewhere on his little brother’s frail body, tracking his every move like the monster he was. It made Rorey want to be sick. Nauvu had branded his son like cattle, casting the rune to dig into the boy’s frighteningly delicate skin, uncaring about how awfully agonizing that terrible procedure would be.

Rorey could practically hear his baby brother’s wails, nearly see the horrible flow of tears that streamed down his anguished face. Had Nauvu just stood there unfazed? Watching in glee as his own son shrieked?

It made Rorey livid. He wanted to storm to Nauvu’s castle and rip him limb from limb, tear apart his muscles until the only thing that remained was oozing fibers of blood.

There was a sudden thump for footfall behind him. He turned to see Lex huff as she swung up from the window, eyebrows raised drily.

“You really make the job of a bodyguard difficult,” The soldier grumbled, sitting down heavily next to the Prince. She swept her dark cape over a burly shoulder. Her tawny locks of hair glinted in the silvery moonlight, like copper twinkling in the beams from the stars.

“Really?” Rorey quipped, straining to force some light-hearted banter into his grim tone. “Or is it just that you’re dirt at your job?”

Lex shot him a deadpan look. “You are sitting on a roof dozens of feet into the air in the freezing cold,” She pointed out gruffly. “With no shoes, mind you.”

Rorey felt his cheeks heat red, quickly tucking in his socked feet.

“All right,” Lex sighed after a moment, steel gray eyes flicking to meet Rorey’s emerald green. “Cut the crap, Ro.”

Rorey chews on his lip, casting his gaze down to stare at his hands. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” He mumbled. His voice came out horribly defeated, cracking a bit at the end. He winced.

Lex snorted, yet her face was not unkind. “You’ve got that look,” She replied, gesturing out with a hand. She cracked a bit of a smirk. “Your forehead gets all wrinkled and you stare at your nose. It makes you look like a frog.”

Rorey squawked in offense, batting at her hand with a glare. “Oy!” He yelled in protest. “I do not.”

Lex simply shrugged. “Whatever helps you sleep better at night.”

They were silent for a few moments. But it wasn't awkward, or tense; it was comfortable. Rorey could be comfortable around Lex, in a way he couldn't with anyone else. Now, his family loved him more than mere words could ever hope to express. To his father, he was his adored son who shined like the stars above his head. To Ermano, he was the younger brother who he gazed at with such rare, warm devotion. To Rien, he was his wonderful older brother who he looked at as if he had hung the sun in the sky. To his Kingdom, he was the Prince — someone with responsibilities and a sworn loyalty.

But to Lex, he was simply Rorey.

Lex had seen his blunders. She had seen every mistake, every error, every fumble. And yet, without the tie of being family, she stayed.

He was very suddenly and painfully aware that their hands were right next to each other. All he would have to do would be to move it over just a bit—

“It’s nothing,” He blurted out hurriedly, clenching his jaw with a square of slim shoulders. “Really, I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t. He was anything but. Fine was not the definition of dread clawing at your stomach, the fear of your younger brother’s death snaking around your neck like the rope that would hang you to death.

Lex’s hard gaze softened. “Ro…”

Rorey shot her a glare, yet it was heatless — too full of dismay to will up any hurt.

“Look,” Lex huffed, running a hand through her hair as she sat back. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’m here for you, yeah?”

Rorey felt something in his chest warm, emerald eyes regaining a bit of their past spark. Lex’s voice was uncharacteristically kind, lips up lifted into a slight smile. Her eased features made something inside of him flutter, heart thumping a bit in his chest.

“Okay,” He agreed quietly. “Thanks.”

And if the two’s hands inched a bit closer as they stared into each other’s eyes under the moonlight, neither of them mentioned it.

***

Elwyn was rushed through the halls, breathless as he ran, caramel hair still matted with sleep. He wore nothing but bedclothes, eyes clouded with panic as he stumbled across the slick tiled floors. His knees shook, pure terror gripping at his knotted chest, heart a panicking hammer of worry. His surroundings blurred together, all sounds were muffled, yet his ragged breaths were far too loud.

All around him was utter chaos. Guards boomed past him as they shouted orders, servants hurriedly ushering back to their rooms. Mops and pails of water were left discarded on the floors as the cleaners ran screaming.

That was how the King had been wakened in the dead of night to his subjects fleeing in terror.

Through the muddled riot, Elwyn was able to pick up bits and pieces, and it made his breath hitch in fear.

There was an attack on the palace — Nauvu’s forces were trying to breach the gates.

“Hurry!” The guard leading him yelled, her grip on his shoulder so tight that it was painful. Elwyn squirmed uselessly, tugging at his arm with a muttered curse.

“Not without my sons!” He retorted sharply. His harsh tone would have normally sent his men flinching in fear, yet his shouted words at no effect on the soldiers. They simply boxed around him in a protective shield of flesh and armor, swords raised as they carried their King to safety.

Elwyn felt a sob choke from his throat, horrid memories creeping into his mind like water dripping through cracks in stone. He struggled furiously, thrusting his elbow into the guard’s stomach as panic’s cold claws wrapped around his neck in its grip of iron. He dug his heels into the floor, desperate to attempt to slow their pace. But it was no use. The guards simply tightened their grasp, nudging him on at unrelenting speed.

Elwyn sagged in defeat, tears swimming in his soft eyes. His stomach pitted with dread; horrible and twisted with awful realization.

They weren’t stopping. His men led him coldly through the bedroom quarters, sparing his sons’ rooms not so much as a glance. Elwyn felt bile rise in his stomach, tanging his tongue with its bitter taste. He gasped, trembling as he stared up at the soldiers in shock. They were leaving his boys — out cold in their beds, obvious to the forces that crumbled their facades in their ceaseless pursuit.

“No,” He whispered, shaking his head frantically. A sob tore from his lips, shoulders shuddering. “No, no! Stop, stop, please!”

He couldn’t breathe, lungs tied in a nose of his own hysteria.

It was like that disquiet night all those dragging years ago. That one night when he had bolted up from slumber by the stench of smoke, eyes blown wide at his love’s frantic calls. Flames of unearthly height rose from the earth, tearing apart their precious home with its jaws of fire. He swallowed back stomach acid, legs trembling in his urged walk.

Not again.

No.

He was numb as a strong hand all but shoved him outside, bare feet padding through the freshly cut grass — each step damning, yet not for his own life.

He couldn’t breathe, smog mercilessly engulfing his lungs. His head was a haze of perturbation, heart a rapid pound in his chest. Each inhale was a strangled gasp, staggering as the guards pushed him along. He had to go back. He had to find his sons-

The slate that covered the emergency bunker grind and gritted as it was pulled out of the way. Leaves were brushed out of the way, dirt swept from stone. Elwyn wheezed for breath as he was forced forward, vision blurred with salty tears. The harsh wind tore at his simple nightgown, sending an icy chill up his spine. He could hear the sounds of battle from afar, screams of agony tearing through the night, and the sickeningly familiar scent of blood floating through the air.

And he could only pray to Fate that the blood that would soak the castle grounds in the morning wouldn’t belong to his sons.

He was ushered down into the dark room. One of the guards steadied him as he tripped down the latter and he wanted to laugh.

His feet hit cool concrete, wobbling knees nearly giving out under his weight. He slid down one smooth wall as the guards grunted overhead, heaving the slab back over the entrance. Elwyn opened his mouth to beg them to stop, plead with them to go get his sons and make sure they were safe. But all that came out was a choked, shuddering sob.

Then, with a deafening thud, he was swallowed in total darkness.

He sat there, staring blankly ahead at the shadows of nothingness. He felt dizzy, becoming faint as he struggled to suck in a single, measly inhale.

He buried his face in his hands, broken sobs spilling from his lips as his body shook with uncontrollable tremors. He gripped his tawny locks tightly, pulling at his scalp as his chest heaved. He couldn’t think — mind a rushing train of thought that raced in spinning circles. Tears streaked his cheeks, hot and trickling. A lump grew in his throat, painful and gagging his weeping.

He had failed.

First his wife — his true love who had burned in that wretched blaze.

And now his sons — who were going to be slaughtered silently in their sleep.

There was a sudden shuffle from the opposite corner, boomingly loud in the tight space. Elwyn yelped and scrambled back, eyes wide with fear. He fumbled to grab anything of use, wincing when his back slammed into what felt like a hard table—

But then—

“Dad?”

There was a crackling hiss of the striking of a match. Elwyn blinked as the flame ducked down and lit a candle, the small flicker of flame illuminating the dark space.

And it had to be some sort of blessing from Fate—

His three sons sat huddled on the thin mattress of a sleeping mat, faces washed with pure relief. Ermano leaned against the back wall, long auburn hair a bedraggled mess, hand grasping the candle holder high. Rorey poked out from his older brother’s side, glasses crooked from where he had quickly shoved them on. And Rien — small, precious Rien — was tucked securely to Ermano’s chest, his brother’s strong arms wrapped around him in a protective embrace.

Elwyn let out a breath, charcoal eyes widening in disbelief. He was almost untrusting of what he saw, a hand coming up to clamp over his mouth.

“Dad?” Ermano rushed to stand to his feet, gently sitting Rien in Rorey’s lap as he darted over to their father. He knelt down, stormy blue eyes gleaming with momentous concern in the dim candlelight. Warm hands curled around Elwyn’s shoulders, easing him up from the slouched position. Elwyn stared at his son, longing to reach out and throw himself at the man’s chest. Yet he couldn’t — his limbs were locked in place, frozen by some twisted shackles of fear.

Ermano, as always, seemed to understand. “Aw, Elwyn,” He murmured sadly with a quiet sigh. He retracted his hands and Elwyn had to force back tears — because of course, this wasn’t real, this was just some sick taunt of Fate — but suddenly he was pulled into strong arms. He couldn’t prevent the small sob that escaped him, utter alley flooding over this dread like a rolling ocean wave. Ermano simply hummed, the sound rumbling under Elwyn’s ear, and pressed his cheek to his chest, a steady hand tugging loose the tangles in his hair.

“Oh my Gods,” Elwyn wheezed, shoving his nose into Ermano’s collarbone. “I-I thought—“

“I know, I know,” Ermano soothed, running his hand down the brunette’s back. “You’re okay, old man. We’re all okay.”

Elwyn dragged in a heavy breath, nodding into his son’s shoulder. The taste of ash slowly dissolved from his tongue, frame sagging like a thousand pounds, leaning his weight onto Ermano. He let his eyes droop shut, the smell of smoke easing from his senses and being replaced by the flowery scent of Ermano’s hair wash. His pounding heart began to slow, the horrible shudders that racked his body ceasing.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, the flicking candle glowing through the inky shadows. The family was huddled in the small bunker, cramped between each tight wall of stone. Their ragged breath filled the silence, the room empty safe for a few cots and a handful of blankets. It was cold, the frosty air chilling his fingertips. He could just make out the muffled yells and rage of battle through the thick walls, the clashing of swords mixing with gurgling screams.

“Well,” Rorey huffed. “This is just dandy, innit?”

Ermano shot him a flat glare.

Their bantering was cut off as Rien let out a choked sob. Rorey immediately lifted him closer, hushing him gently with a light kiss pressed to his forehead. But Rien shook his head, cries escalating to terrified wails that sent a knife spiking at Elwyn’s heart. Fat tears streamed down his rosy cheeks, blue eyes blown with such gripping fear and swimming confusion. He squirmed in Rorey’s arms, little whimpers escaping him as he lifted trembling hands up to his father.

“Oh, baby,” Elwyn whispered. He sat up and held out his arms, scooping his boy into his lap. Rien sniffed and clung to his dad, fingers curling around his shirt. Elwyn cradled him close, rocking him back and forth as he murmured sweet nonsense into his ear.

“I bet this is all really scary, hm?” Elwyn asked softly.

Rien nodded, face hidden in Elwyn’s neck. Elwyn hummed and buried his nose in his son’s golden locks, patting his shoulder as he cried.

“Shhh,” He soothed. “It’s okay, honey. We’ll be okay.”

Rorey scooted forward, green eyes still clouded with sleep. “What’s going on?” He asked, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve.

“There’s an attack on the castle,” Ermano replied with a sigh, running a hand through his messy locks of ashy red. “Didn’t see much, but it ain’t great,” He sat back, leaning against the wall with a tired huff. “I don’t think we’ll be leavin’ anytime soon, that’s for sure.”

Rorey rubbed his temples, as if fighting off a fierce headache. “Gods,” He exhaled with a shake of his head. “They didn’t waste any time, did they?”

Ermano grunted in agreement. “Guess not.”

Rien shoved his face into Elwyn’s chest, small arms wrapping around his father in a desperate clutch. The poor boy hiccuped on a sob, hands launching to grip the thick, warm bedrobes the man wore, clenching them with desperate fingers in an intense hold. He shoved his face into his father’s shoulder, quivering with every sob that wrenched from his chest.

Elwyn shushed him quietly, his hand running through Rien’s curly hair and easing the boy closer in the swallowing darkness. “You’re okay, bud,” He murmured warmly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Shhh.”

He cupped Rien’s face with warm, kind hands. He tenderly rubbed away the blonde’s stream of tears, drying his cheeks delicately. “We’ve got you, darling,” He vowed softly. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Rien sniffed, baby blue eyes squeezing shut as he burrowed into Elwyn, as if his father could shield him from all of the dangers of the cruel world. “P-Promise?”

Elwyn smiled, ignoring the worry gnawing at his insides. “Yeah, baby,” He whispered. “I promise.”

***

Ermano leaned up the cold slate wall behind him, breath floating through the air in frozen puffs. His legs are numb from where he sat, eyes gazing out into the darkness. The dim candle light glazed over his stormy blue eyes, the wax dripping down from the twitching flames as they burned on. Lanterns and torches were too risky — the smoke easily perceivable by the trained nose. The darkness swallowed the four royals, their bodies mere shadows around him. The cold bit at Ermano’s skin, hairs standing on end as the icy stabs prickled up his spine.

His family was huddled close around the oldest Prince, as Ermano ran almost unnaturally warm. Rorey’s back was pressed against his leg, soft snores coming from his slumbering form. Elwyn was pushed to his side, head lulling against the soldier’s stomach. And Rien was snuggled securely to his chest, cradled in the man’s arms and wrapped snugly in blankets.

Ermano gazed down his his little brother, tucking those precious gold curls behind his ear with fond care. He could make out Rien’s face in the dim glow. The blonde’s cheek was smushed to the auburnette’s chest, brow furrowed adorably. Ermano couldn’t smother the small smile that tugged at his lips. He carefully shifted his hold, a hand settling on the back of the boy’s neck to rest his drooping head on a broad shoulder.

Ermano leaned his head back, exhaling softly as he gazed up at the ceiling.

Sleep was a mercy that wouldn’t come, dancing between his fingertips, just out of reach.

Slumber was rarely a blessing that the soldier was given, nights filled with the rustling of book pages and the slicing of swords instead of wondrous dreams. He didn’t mind it, mostly, but now he was grateful. He wanted to be fully awake and diligent, just to fight the odd that their bunker was found. He had no weapon, sword left forgot by his bedside as he had rushed to scoop a still sleeping Rien into his arms.

But he didn’t need a weapon to cause damage. He was more than perfectly capable of digging into flesh with his bare hands.

Elwyn stirred a bit in his sleep, lips thinning into a frown with a hitch of breath. Ermano quickly snapped to attention, concern creasing his brow. He slipped a hand to the back of Elwyn’s neck, thumbing comforting circles into his skin to ease away the tension. Ermano hummed, hand resting on the crown of the smaller’s head.

He hated seeing his loved ones like this — trapped in a reality he couldn’t save them from.

How dare those rats treat their King that way? Shoving him down the latter as if he were herded cattle. He admired their bravery, and their loyalty to bring their Emperor to safety. Yet he was tempted to bush logic aside in a rage of fury. But he could not — those men and women had families they provided for, people who they adored. He would only be multiplying the problem.

Yet it still made him reel in disgust. Elwyn’s choked sobs still rang in his ears, cracking with horrible sorrow. Ermano could only imagine the total terror that had raced through his veins as he was shoved along, forced to leave behind his adored sons. Flashes of fire much have danced before him, the odor of smoke strangling his lungs.

Just like it had all those years ago, but without the surprise loyalty of luck.

He carefully eased a blanket over his father’s curled figure, wishing that it could keep him safe as well as warm. Ermano sat back with a small sigh and strained his ears, pleading with Fate above that he could somehow hear the battle undoubtedly clashing above.

There was nothing but silence, safe for Rorey’s snores.

And Gods did he hate it. He loathed not knowing his surroundings, unrelenting dread grappling him as his mind raced with tense paranoia.

Rien twisted a bit in his arms, nuzzling his head to burrow into Ermano’s shirt, little chest puffing with a sleepy huff of breath. Ermano chuckled softly as the boy’s thumb found its way into his mouth, face lax in the haze of peace that was slumber. Making sure the kid didn’t mess up his teeth, he gently pried Rien’s fingers from his lips. He grumbled a bit when the boy reached up and grabbed his locks of auburn with one slobbery hand, an overwhelmed love swelling inside of him, despite his now damp hair.

Gods, this kid was making him soft.

He winced when the fingers in his hair suddenly gripped harshly, tugging at his scalp. He gently caught Rien’s small wrist, shifting his hand to support the back of the boy’s neck to tilt his face up into the gloomy candlelight.

Rien’s brow was pinched with fear far too vivid for such a young face, mouth twisted into a wobbling frown that made Ermano’s cold heart ache. He let out a small whimper, twisting in Ermano’s arms and shoving weakly at his chest, breath stuttering when Ermano quickly lifted a hand to steady him.

A nightmare.

Sadly, they weren’t uncommon for the poor boy, who often stirred at night from those troubled dreams. They had been terrible within the first few months, his wails crushing Ermano’s heart as the soldier struggled to decide whether to wake him up from his terrors or pray that it would pass.

Ermano carefully snaked his hands under Rien’s arms, pulling him from his cradled lay and setting him in his lap. Rien whined when he was jostled, twitching away fearfully in his muddled daze of horrid confusion.

“Sh, sh,” Ermano murmured softly, soothingly. He stroked the skin under Rien’s eye, a massive hand cupping his jaw. “It’s okay, kiddo. You’re safe, you’re safe.”

Rien hiccuped, his mouth falling open in a quiet whimper. His eyes were sagged closed with sleep, but Ermano could see where they darted beneath his eyelids, lashes fluttering. Ermano was quick the dry the tears that slipped down his cheeks, tucking the boy close to his chest, arms wrapped around him in a protective embrace. He shushed him quietly, fingers cradling through curls of blonde.

“Hey, bud,” Ermano rumbled. “You’re okay, little one.”

Rien sobbed, face hurried to shove into the crook of Ermano’s neck. Ermano wasted no time in wrapping him in a hug, placing his jaw atop the boy’s head as he rocked him back and forth.

“I know,” Ermano coaxed, pressing Rien close. “It’s not real, you’re all right. I gotcha.”

Rien trembled in his arms, small sobs hitched with pitiful hics. Ermano patted his back, blunt nails scratching at his scalp.

They stayed like that for a few long, quiet moments. Ermano simply held his brother, rubbing the soft skin between his shoulder blades to ease away the tension gripping his body. He nuzzled his nose to Rien’s forehead, warmth sparking in his chest at the small giggle that came from the boy. He hummed deep in his chest, his husky voice had always kept him from hitting notes as well as Rorey’s melodies. But it was worth it when Rien smiled, drooping baby blue eyes flickering up to meet ones of stormy in the rosy candlelight, cheek squished to his brother’s sternum.

“Ya okay?” Ermano asked, uncharacteristically soft voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Rien nodded drowsily. “Mhm,” He sighed, cutting himself off with a huge yawn. He reached up with sleepy hands, clumsily patting Ermano’s cheek. “Em here…safe.”

Ermano swallowed back the lump in his throat, lips lifting into a wet smile. He sniffed a bit, pressing Rien’s head to his chest as he forced back tears.

Rien was shivering, he noticed through the emotions choking him. He twirled a curl between his fingers, clicking his tongue thoughtfully.

He carefully adjusted his brother so that he was cradled to his chest, the boy humming happily as he was wrapped in a soft blanket, like a moth swaddled in a silky cocoon. Ermano chuckled when the blonde all but fell against him with a thump, his dozy mumbles muffled by Ermano’s shoulder. Ermano patted his head, touch light as a feather, and with a small coo, Rien’s eyes fluttered shut.

Ermano sat back with a fond sigh, ruffling the kid’s hair.

Rorey stirred, hand flopping blindly for his glasses and slapping Ermano’s knee. Ermano snorted and gave his arm a light shove, earning a grumbled curse from his half-asleep brother.

Rorey slouched upright, rubbing at his eyes as he struggled to blink the world into focus. “Wa’s wrong?” He asked, voice hoarse with slumber.

Ermano huffed a small laugh, reaching over to pat his brother’s back. “Rien just had a nightmare,” He explained with a shrug, careful not to jostle the sleeping boy in his arms. “He’s all right now.”

Rorey leaned forward with a grunt, all but throwing himself into Ermano’s open embrace with a soft sigh of contentment. Ermano rolled his eyes even as he looped an arm around the younger’s slim shoulders. Rorey reached down and cupped Rien’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks as he gazed at him with adoring jade eyes.

“Bad nightmare,” He muttered, as if scolding it would make them stop. He pressed a kiss to Rien’s pink nose, the boy’s brow furrowing when the brunette pulled back with a dramatic mawh! He placed his head on top of Rien’s, arms falling around his waist. “‘M brother. ‘M baby…”

Ermano snorted. “Sap.”

Rorey shot him a weak glare with half-lidded eyes, opening his mouth to protest when a guttural scream cut through the air like a slicing dagger, followed by the booming thunder of footfall. Rorey flinched and shrank to Ermano’s side, green eyes widening in fear. Ermano was quick to pull him close, resting a reassuring hand on his arm. Bits of dirt fell from the ceiling, scattering to the floor from the weight of the guards racing over their heads. He tucked Rorey’s head to his side, rubbing soothing circles to his cold skin.

“We’re all right,” He murmured, pressing his nose to Rorey’s mocha curls. “We’ll wait it out, and we’re gonna be fine.”

Rorey nodded into Ermano’s shoulder. The older carefully adjusted his stance, gathering his family close in the darkness. Hoping — praying to Fate above — that his vow would not shatter into a lie

Chapter Text

Rien groaned a bit as muffled orders were barked from above, teeth clattering as he sucked in a shuddery breath. Blue eyes blinked open, glassy with sleep as he stared up at the dirt ceiling above him, dazed mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. He lifted his head from Ermano’s chest, vision floating dizzily around the darkness. He tried to rise, movements fumbling along with his thumping heart.

An arm reached out to stop him, catching his waist and bringing him to rest up against something solid and warm. He whined as his face was pressed to a shoulder, each inhale dragging in his lungs with rattling force. He shivered, curling into whoever’s embrace, leaching from their body heat. A hand ran down his back, rubbing warmth into lax muscles.

“C’mon, kid,” Ermano’s husky voice rumbled, cold breath fanning over his hair. “We’re gettin’ outta here. Just hang on.”

Rien swallowed on a sore throat, a hacking cough ripping itself from his lungs. He let out a choked sob, shoving his freezing nose into his brother’s collar bone. His head was a slush of melted snow, lashes fluttering as they sagged, grappling to piece together his world of darkness. Voices shouted overhead, Ermano carefully pressing his ear to his shoulder when he yelled back a reply. Rien whined as he was jostled, hushed voices speaking out in comfort.

“I know, sweetheart. Just a little longer—“

Elwyn, his mind supplied.

“—open it slowly! The kid’s runnin’ low on oxygen, ll’need a medic—“

Ermano, the logical one.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, darling,” A kiss pressed to his brow, lips icily cold. “We’re gonna get you warmed up, I promise—“

Rorey, with his adoring croons.

Orders were barked from the surface, grunts gritted out, and light suddenly flooded the clawing shadows. Rien whimpered as the harsh beams stabbed at his eyes, a building pressure pounding under his temples. The sharp scent of pine and fresh air crashing over him like an ocean’s roaring waves, sputtering as his throat was left itchy with dust. He whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as the loud sounds of the world roared in his ears. Worried shouts, commands yelled, sobs piercing the frigid air—

“Your majesties!” Harlow cried from above. “Are you all right?”

“Yes!” Elwyn called back, voice a raspy croak. “We’re unharmed!”

Rien shivered as the bitter wind whipped around his prone figure, huddling deeper into Ermano’s warmth. Ermano shushed him gently, hand steady as he carded through grimy gold locks. Rien dragged open sagging eyes, blearily staring at the fuzzy world of blotchy colors. The cramped bunker was illuminated by the morning sunlight that poured in through the uncovered entrance, the tangy stench of blood landing atop his tongue. He ducked his head to hide in Ermano’s shirt, breath hitching at the horribly overwhelming perception.

Thin fingers cupped his face, sweet nonsense murmured in his ear as a cool thumb stroked over his eyelid. Rien slumped into the touch, head far too heavy to hold. “Ro?” He mumbled, staring up at a blur of brunette curls. He could vaguely make out muddled voices as Elwyn climbed up the ladder, his father seething breath between his teeth as he gazed at the ruined battlefield—

“Hey, sunshine,” Rorey cooed, sweeping sweat bangs from the blonde’s forehead. “You feeling all right?”

Rien reached out weakly, gripping Rorey’s jacket and shoving his face into the fabric. “Head ‘urts,” He whispered, bringing up his hands to clamp over his ears. “S’loud.”

Rorey hummed in understanding, sparkling emerald eyes meeting hazy blue. “I know, bud,” He sighed softly, thumbs rubbing soothing circles to Rien’s clammy cheek. “We’re gonna get you back to the castle, okay?” A ridiculously sappy kiss was pressed to the furrow of his brow, earning a few sheepish giggles from the boy. Rien was unable to catch the straining snag that wobbled Rorey’s sweet words, the hands clutching him wrenchingly tight with worry. “Then, I promise that I’ll stay with you for an entire day.”

Rien weakly lifted his head, eyes shining with wonder. “Really?” He croaked. “W-Will you sing?

Rorey laughed. “Oh, yes, dear. I’ll sing whatever you want.”

Arms wrapped around him again, gently pulling him from Rorey. Rien whined and blindly reached out with fumbling fingers. Ermano hushed him gently, a patting his back for his troubles. Rien blinked hazily as he was wrapped in something fluffy and warm, peering up foggily at Ermano as his lungs hitched

on a feeble breath. Ermano offered him a small smile, tugging his cloak firmly around Rien’s shaking shoulders to fend off the frigid cold. Strands of auburn tickled Rien’s neck as he was hauled up to rest on Ermano’s shoulder, gut rolling uncomfortably at the bobbing motion. Cool, fresh air washed over his face as he was lifted up, lashes fluttering when a different pair of hands caught his middle, hoisting him up the latter.

He whined, ears ringing as the sudden sounds blasted at full force. People were running, footfall shook the ground, wails of agony piercing the air as the horrible scent of blood shackled dread to the pit in his stomach. He thrashed, kicking out weakly, trying to call out frantically for his family—

Stocky arms caught him, pulling him close to an armored chest. Rien ceased his wilting when a recognizable, succinct voice spoke out calmly.

Rien slumped in Evens’s arms, shivering as he clung to the man’s sleeve. He tried to lift his head, head swimming as he gazed at the blurry world before him. He could hardly make out the cloudy sky before Evens pressed his head firmly to his neck, scratchy jaw sat atop his head.

“Don’t look, bud,” Evans muttered grimly. “A kid shouldn’t see this.”

And with that he tugged the hood of Rien’s cloak over his head, enveloping him in darkness. But not before Rien’s eyes caught sight of a fallen soldier, splayed across the wilting grass in a pool of dark blood, eyes rolling and blank as they stared up at the stars, stabbed through with a spear that ripped through their ribs.

***

Rorey waited impatiently, foot a rapid tap on the floor that echoed through the empty hall. His shoulders were tense, arched back as his heart hammered between his ribs. He kept his gaze locked on the ceiling, unable to force himself to gaze out the window and stare at the bloodshed below. Umber curls stuck up every which way, jade eyes heavy with exhaustion yet pinpricks as adrenaline beat through his veins like a drum in tune to his heart.

His hands shook, nerves jittering as his mind was tossed in panic’s sharp claws.

The night had been ruthless — families torn apart under the light of the three moons, blood spilled until the earth was forever stained an oozing red, dozens mercilessly slaughtered and countless injured. Those still alive had been rushed to the Medial Wing, their trails of blood still slipping along the tiles at Rorey’s boots.

It was nothing but a brutal, awful mess of gore inside the Wing. Rorey had tried to sit with the patients as he waited for Rien to be examined, heart squeezing for the women and men who weakly smiled up at him as their lungs rattled with dying rasps of breath. They were stripped of any scorn or mock, showing only fierce loyalty as they fell into Death’s awaiting arms. They showed him no shame for his cowardly actions, swelled with unthinkable bravery in their last moments.

And Rorey had just stood there, frozen with wide eyes as the heartbroken wails of friends and family tore through the halls.

He was too weak to lift his chin and hold his soldiers’ hands as they died, instead fleeing in a scrambling rush.

Mere minutes ago, Admiral Rowan and Sergeant Harlow had been limping through this very hallway, dark blood pouring from the gaping, oozing hole that was Rowan’s left eye, Harlow’s arm twisted at a horrible angle with his skin splattered awful blues and ugly purples. Rowan had been rushed to urgent care, nearly followed by a furious Harlow who nearly fought the healers when they wouldn’t let him stick to the other’s side. Harlow had collapsed next to Rorey with a fit of heavy pants, those sharp amber eyes dulled with burdening weariness.

Rorey had begged him for a report, tears burning behind his eyes as white-hot guilt churned his gut.

His reply would forever ring in his ears as a shackle of crushing shame.

One hundred and thirteen dead.

Three hundred and eight-seven wounded.

The words were a knife hurling to skewer his heart.

Yet alas, that was not the end of his troubles.

Every single enemy that had infiltrated the gates had that rune of Aquilo’s Mark, its purple glow making Rorey’s blood boil. Most had been struck down before they could enter the courtyard, yet a few prevailed and hacked their way through. Bloodied teeth set in mantic snarls, they had ruthlessly impaled guard after guard until their hearts of evil got what they desired.

Rien.

A pair of soldiers had nearly gotten into the bunker in the dead of night, eyes gleaming crazily in the light of the three moons.

After a terrible scuffle that left thick scars tearing through skin and screams ripping through the night, Lex and Evens had finally slain them. Yet, their footprints had been visible on the cover of the bunker.

They had nearly reached Rien, they had stood above where Rorey’s little brother lay in slumber, swords gripped in hand.

Swords that they would not have hesitated to pick the boy apart with.

Rorey’s gaze wandered over to one of the doors of the Medical Wing as its hinges creaked, far too numb to shake himself into straightening his slouch or raise his head. He winced as cries of anguish leaked through the open crack, clenching his jaw with a shuddering breath that hissed through his teeth. He curled in on himself, unable to meet the eyes of the healer that exited the Wing, too timid to take their sneering mockery.

“Keep sitting like that and you’ll ruin your back, dear.”

Rorey gasped, jolting upright and nearly sending his glasses flying across the floor. He caught them quickly, turning to the lady who had spoken.

Ms. Brown’s kind smile greeted him, those mossy eyes glancing up at him from the shadow of her soft red mushroom hat. Locks of dark hair split from her shoulders, long, pointed ears decorated with earrings of vining blossoms. Deer antlers curled from her forehead, a dress of simple fern green floating from her waist with fawn-like spots of white dotting her shoulders, like jabs of cream within rich nutmeg.

“Ms. Brown,” Rorey breathed, scrambling to stand before the old healer. Stress lines wrinkled her face, hands tightly clasped. Rorey smoothed back his curls, letting out a small sigh. “How is he?”

Ms. Brown fixed her hat, blowing its tassels from those eyes of olive green, endlessly wise with unimaginable age. “He’s fine, hon,” She reassured him softly, fondness dimpling her cheeks as she gazed at the Prince she had seen grow up, from his first steps to that day he began to reign by his father’s side. She laughed, the sound as pleasant as the breeze glistening through spring leaves. “He’s been asking for you majesties, although. The dear told me you promised to sing to him.”

Despite everything, Rorey felt a small smile lift itself on his lips. “Indeed I did,” He replied with a chuckle. “Would it be possible for me to see him?”

“Oh, yes,” Ms. Brown nodded. “Can’t let you break your promise, can we?” She briskly trotted to the door she had exited, gesturing for Rorey to follow.

She reached inside one of the many pouches that hung from her flowing press, pulling out a key that she fit to the lock that was rusty with age. “He’s resting in my office,” The healer bit her lip, sniffing with a wet swallow. “Didn’t want him to see…you know.”

She led him into the small room, the gentle light of the lanterns tinted green from the countless winding plants as they casted their glimmering glow. Antique shells of rich wood were pushed against the curving wall, filled with all sorts of nicknacks. From shimmering potion bottles to clipped, vividly colored flowers to Rutilans Bugs trapped in vials, scurrying around with their light buds flickering frantically. Books and notes were stacked upon a desk, yellow paper worn and wrinkled with age. A small cot was sat in the very back, and sat atop it was no one other than a rather woozy Rien.

“Do be careful with him, dear,” Ms. Brown chided lightly. “Poor thing’s still a bit out of it.”

Rorey stepped past her with a promise to do so. He crouched beside the cot, forcing on a smile for his little brother.

Rien was swaddled in thick, warm blankets, head resting on a pillow with his face relaxed, as if floating in a peaceful haze of bliss. Rorey cooed as those baby blue eyes sluggishly blinked up at him, the boy’s brow scrunching up adorably as he struggled to place the brunette’s face. Realization dawned on him like a wonderful morning sunrise, lips tugging into a lazy smile.

“Ro,” He giggled, squirming to sleepily reach up for his brother. Rorey laughed, obediently sinking onto the mattress and scooting to sit by Rien’s pillow. He lifted Rien’s head into his lap, chuckling fondly when the blonde snuggled into his arms.

“Hi, darling,” Rorey greeted, cupping Rien’s cheek gently. He ran his thumb over the shell of the boy’s ear, playing idly with those baby golden hairs. He let out an exhausted breath, slumping back against the cool sheets with heavy eyelids that threatened to drag close. Yet despite the lines of worry that plagued his face, sweet relief crashed over him at the familiar feeling of Rien sprawled across his lap. He gripped Rien’s hand in his own, he could feel fingers curl against his palm. They were so small, Rorey’s fingers completely folded over Rien’s, enough that Rorey knew if he squeezed Rien’s hand too hard, he would completely shatter it. Rien was so small and fragile, Rorey huge in comparison, yet here he was — unharmed and so happy.

“Ror?” Rien mumbled, gripping Rorey’s knee as he floundered to sit up, head thunking against Rorey’s shoulder. He gazed up at his brother, lip wobbling with worry. “Why you sad?”

Rorey sniffed, hurrying to wipe his teary eyes with his sleeve. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” He murmured. “Happy tears.”

Rien grabbed Rorey’s arm and pulled himself up, shaking from strain as he sat in Rorey’s lap. He clung to Rorey’s neck and pressed a clumsy kiss to the older’s nose. “There,” He sighed sleepily, nuzzling deeper in Rorey’s embrace. “Made it all better…”

Rorey blinked his burning eyes, gathering Rien firmly to his chest and shoving his face into those unruly curls of shimmering gold. He could feel his heart squeeze, its shield of cold stone thawing with the fierce warmth that swelled in his stomach that made him melt, sending tears to brim his eyes.

Ms. Brown smiled at the two, looking up from where she worked at her desk. She dropped a few oddly shaped leaves in a clay pot, carefully mashing them with a glowing rock. Out oozed bubbling liquid, dripping free as the veins were crushed. She poured the juice into a small bottle, sprinkling shining dust within the mixture.

“Here you are, dear,” She said kindly, giving Rien a small pat on the hand as she lifted the vial to the boy’s lips. “Drink up.”

Rien complied, parting his lips at the soft words and gulping down the potion. He hummed, lashes fluttering as he smacked his lips.

Rorey chuckled. “Is it tasty, bubba?”

Rien nodded. “S’good,” He mumbled, baby blue eyes peering up at Ms. Brown, lips lifting into a lazy smile. “Y’u ‘ould be a chef.”

Ms. Brown laughed, clasping the now empty bottle to her pocket with a light clink. “Thank you, dear,” She said, tenderly pinching the blonde’s cheek and earning a few adorable giggles. “But I’m afraid I’m quite a dreadful cook.”

Knocking sounded on the door, ringing throughout the cluttered room and sending the Rutilans Bugs scuttering wildly in their jars with panicked chirps. Ms. Brown huffed at the ruckus, brushing off her dress and planting her hands on her hips. She stepped over the piles of books and scrolls that littered the floor like a carpet of endless knowledge, hand securing her mushroom top as she swung open the door.

Ermano stood ducked in the low doorway, acknowledging the healer with a smile and nod, despite the crushing weariness that burdened his broad shoulders. His auburn hair was pulled back in a quick braid, dark eyes hardened with the horrors they had witnessed, jaw clenched and breaths forced seethes. His wine cape was ripped at the hem, blood ruby splatters on his dress shirt, a short cut flicked across his cheek.

“How’s he doin’?” Ermano asked, wiping sweat from his brow as he stooped inside. Ms. Brown beamed up at the man, truffles of brown curls bouncing on her shoulders.

“The darling is doing just fine,” She reassured the soldier. She flung the door open, making enough room for Ermano to squeeze through the frame. “Come, come! He’s just had his potion, so expect him to be a bit tired…” She rambled on as she led the auburnette through the clutter, tripping over a stray book and nearly toppling over, but Ermano was swift to catch her.

“Oh, thank you, dear,” She said breathlessly, smoothing out her dress. She led him over to the cot, tearing free a piece of paper that was stuck on her antlers. “Here he is.”

Storm eyes softened at the sight of their little brother peacefully curled into a small ball, the mattress creaking under Ermano’s weight as the man sat down. Rien stirred a bit, lifting his head from Rorey’s lap with a pinched brow. He gasped at the sight of Ermano, face lighting up in a joyous beam as he staggered upright.

“Em!” He cried, holding up sleepy grabby hands for his older brother. Ermano huffed a laugh and scooped up the boy, carefully setting him in his lap and steadying him to his chest. Rien giggled and snuggled close, little fingers curling to clutch the soldier's dress shirt as Ermano rushed to shift to prevent from smearing blood on his brother’s garments.

“Hey, kiddo,” Ermano murmured, brushing back the blonde’s curls, blunt nails gently scratching at his scalp. Rorey chuckled as Rien shoved into the touch, clinging to Ermano’s arm and burying his face into his abdomen. He scooted over, curling his knees to his middle and resting his head atop Ermano’s shoulder with a soft sigh. Ermano looped a hand to sink into mocha curls that glittered with sweet syrup in the lantern light, untangling the knots with scarred fingers.

“How is it?” He whispered, cold dread pooling down his back like icy water, its trickles as painful as the blinding lashes of a whip. Ermano stiffened, his grip on the two turning nearly bruisingly tight before relaxing as he let out a harsh breath.

“It ain’t pretty,” He admitted quietly. He cupped a massive hand to cover Rien’s ear, soothing thumbing laxing patterns to his cheek. He stared at the cracks winding through the wood floors, eyes unforced as they gazed into the Beyond, recalling terrors that Rorey could only begin to describe. That caused those countless hours of nightmares until Rorey’s brother had screamed himself hoarse, that had made Ermano’s hands start to shake unless he was grasping a sword safely at his side, whose lips curled in a snarl as he spilt blood at his feet.

Yet this, a battle out of the hundreds Ermano had victored, was nothing close to enough to send the soldier into a haze of the past.

Rorey grabbed Ermano’s hand, worry leaving him trembling. “Em?” He breathed. “What is—“

Ermano gripped his wrist, roughly hushing him and startling Rorey into silence. His breathing hitched, emerald eyes widening in fear as Ermano whipped his head around to shoot a glance at Ms. Brown, who had yet to look up from where she stacked papers upon her desk. He gritted his teeth, turning to Rorey with an expression of cold stone.

“Listen,” He hissed in Rorey’s ear, the smell of iron fanning over the brunette’s head. “The rune on Rien, Alastor wants to—“

The rest of his words were drowned out by abrupt shouting that raged from behind the door. For the first time in years, Rorey saw brief, raw fear flash across his brother’s features before the muffled voices rose in fury.

“I don’t care, Alastor! He’s a child, he’s my son—“

“Who will be dead by dawn if you do not snap out of your foolishness!”

“Watch your tone—“

The door was slammed open, the force making Ms. Brown jump and Rien stir in his sleep. Elwyn stood in its frame, those kind gray eyes gleaming with such livid, seething fury that it made Rorey’s heart skip a beat in fright. He was casting a smoldering glare at the man he stood across from, fists clenched at his sides, who panted as he rambled in a breathless rant.

“The kid will be fine,” April Alastor nearly snarled, her robes of shining red and gold swishing at her ankles as she strode forward a threatening step. She had overgrown brown hair and a cruelly curled brow, hand clasped hard around the glowing staff held. Dark eyes were narrowed at Elwyn, storming with swirling rage. “But if we don’t do this? He will be savagely slaughtered along with half our men!” She towered a good head over the King, yet her height was plummeted by the pure authority Elwyn radiated — head held impossibly high, shoulders set back firmly. Everything about his stone posture was so cold, so un-Elwyn like, that it sent chills crawling down Rorey’s back.

“If you dare harm a hair on his head,” Elwyn hissed. “I swear to Fate—“

“Your Majesty!” Ms. Brown cried, eyes wide at the argument. She dipped into a bow, curtsying respectfully. “May I ask what on earth all this commotion is?”

Elwyn turned to the healer, face briefly softening at the elf as he tucked a stray tawny lock behind his ear. “No need for such formality, old friend,” He greeted with a tight smile. “We were just…” He casted a smoldering glare at Alastor, drawing a sharp breath through his nose. “Discussing matters.”

Alastor gritted her teeth. “You know fully well that—“

“Enough.”

Alastor shut her jaw with a click, shrinking back a bit as Ermano rose from the cot. The man towered in the small space, hand gripping the hilt of his heavy steel sword with murderous intentions as he stalked forward, stormy blue eyes narrowed as they swelled with rare, merciless wrath. “I would be careful how ya speak to your King, wizard,” He drawled out, twisting a loose strand of auburn between his fingers — a gesture that did not string with the rolling rage Rorey could clearly see sparking inside of him.

Alastor gazed up at the soldier, hands shaking with fear that she hid remarkably well with one harsh scowl. “The King’s judgment is clouded,” She insisted. “The Eye, it has spoken to me! If we do not remove the rune from your brother—“

Rorey tightened his hold on the boy, shushing him gently when he whined at the jostle. He soothing back the blonde’s hairline, pressing a kiss to his brow with jade eyes never daring to unlock from Alastor’s face.

“These attacks will only continue,” The wizard shouted, throwing her hands into the air. “How many men can we lose, General? How many losses can we take until our enemies storm in and chop off that boy’s head?”

“April,” Ms. Brown gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. “We do not speak of such things!”

“We do when it could mean the ending of our Kingdom! This boy could endanger us all—“

“No!” Rorey shrieked, yanking Rien close to his chest and shooting to his feet without a thought of logic. He flounced to that dreadful wizard, eyes of blazing emerald roaring with loathing hate as he kicked a stack of worn books out of his path. He lunged forward and grabbed the wizard by the collar, shoving her back against the wall as her breath came in harsh gasps.

“You will not harm him,” He spat, shaking the wizard roughly and feeling a pleasing sense of pride at the pained yelp that tore from Alastor’s throat. Rien whimpered, shoving his nose into Rorey’s collarbone as those huge, panicked blue eyes danced frantically around the room. Rorey pressed his head to his shoulder, running a comforting hand down the boy’s spine when he squirmed.

“We could have you trailed for these words of treason,” The Prince sneered, digging his knuckles into Alastor’s gulping throat. “Your magic won’t stop you from being hanged—“

“Rorey.”

Rorey flicked his gaze over his shoulder at his father’s words, worry a tangled knot in his stomach. His tone contained no anger, no disappointment nor rebuke. Simply utter, crushing defeat that wrenched at Rorey’s heart.

“He’s right.”

Rorey hitched on a breath. “What?”

“I…” Elwyn sank into the chair that Ms. Brown had leapt from in a hurry, burying his face in his hands and gripping his locks of tawny until his knuckles were as white as the blood stained snow that coated the castle grounds. He sucked in a shaky breath. “I-I hate it, too, I know but…”

Suddenly, those eyes of misty gray held all of the anguish and absolute misery they had seen within all of his dragging, countless years. “They will keep coming,” He shuddered, rubbing at the wrinkles that burdened his face. “We have to remove the rune. I-I don’t want to but—“

“It’s better than him being dead.” Ermano finished in a low mutter.

Elwyn did nothing but nod dreadfully.

Rorey’s blood went cold, dismay washing over him like the stabs of shards of ice that sliced through his veins. His fingers became numb, sliding from where they clutched Alastor’s cloak collar, knees wobbling. His chest heaved, sinking to the ground with torpidity that chilled his bones, arms coming up to pull Rien to his chest in an endlessly tight grip. His mind swirled, looping in dizzying circles that made nausea cramp his gut.

The removing of a rune — a form of inhuman torture that sent the strongest men and women to their knees as screams ripped from their lungs. Such a complex, unimaginably difficult deed that the greatest witches and wizards had failed in a flurry of explosions and ashes.

Rien whined drowsily, shoving at Rorey’s chest with his face scrunched with confusion. “Ro?” He slurred out, eyelids struggling open. “Wha’s wrong?”

And Rorey wept.

***

Rien sat with his legs crossed, the stone of the table cold beneath him, swaying dangerously without any support to his back. His head was stuffed with cotton, all fuzzy yet featherly-faint, as if his mind was floating alongside the clouds of fluff above. His eyes were heavy, the effort to peel them open leaving him drained and quivering. His arms were a weight sagging down his shoulders, but he somehow felt so light. It was lovely —  hanging on the edge of sleep where the horrors of the world couldn’t quite grasp him.

He wanted to lay down, to cuddle up against his brothers and sail like this forever. He tried to slouch, but hands suddenly snaked under his arms and jerked up back upright. Rien whined, squirming uncomfortably as he struggled to blink the blurry world into focus. Chilly tingles prickled beneath his skin, the mush in his head sloshing at the yanking movement.

From what snips of memories he could grasp, he had been woken by shouting, soon scooped up and rushed up dozens of flights of stairs. Now, he sat on a carved slate of rock in the wizard’s tower. Massive bookshelves shot up the winding walls, the mid-morning light from the windows pouring in with their bright beams. Old portraits of countless witches and wizards hung on the walls, floating tables covered in spellbooks whose pages glowed from immense power. He could see the blobby forms of guards stationed by each door, the smell of magic whiffing through the air with the scent of fresh parchment and burnt ashes.

He didn’t understand what was going on, his thoughts were a river that trailed off into a trickling creek. He stared around blearily, uncaring of the muffled, anxious voices murmured from the people crowded around him.

“Hey,” Elwyn’s face hovered over him, a forced smile strained on his lips with those soft gray eyes pooled with pitting defeat. Rien whimpered, hunching his shoulders as his tummy flipped with gnawing anxiety. He reached out for his father, arms wavering with effort’s toll. Elwyn’s face cracked, breaking with such horrible heartbreak that Rien felt fear squeeze his heart.

“Da’?” Rien mumbled, fumbling hands reaching up to pat at the man’s wet cheeks. The words slurred on the tongue, syllables unable to probably fit together, like broken puzzle pieces. “Wha’s…why sad?”

Delicate hands cupped his cheeks, worn thumbs stroking over his cheeks as Elwyn choked out a hiccup. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart,” He whispered, pressing a shaky kiss to Rien’s forehead. “I-I love you, okay? S-So much.”

He trailed off into a guttural sob, his head falling to thunk against Rien’s curls, chest heaving with wobbly breaths as he sniffled and shivered. Rien’s huge eyes of sky blue widened with fear, tensing under his father’s weight, heart beginning to pound as his head started on a staggering race of confusion. He clung to Elwyn’s robes, tears welling up in his eyes. Dull terror rose through the cloud of peace that had settled over his brain, sending him into a fit of panic yet his body was unable to react.

“D-Dad?” He stammered through the lump that had risen in his throat. “What’s h’ppenin’?

Elwyn held him close, running a calming hand down the boy’s back. “I know, baby,” He breathed through his weeps. “I didn’t— if—“ He sobbed, shoving his face into Rien’s hair as tears streaked down his face. He shook like a leaf in winter’s wind, gripping Rien so tightly that it hurt.

Ermano stooped down, gently setting his hands on Elwyn’s shoulders and easing him away from the poor boy. “Hey,” He murmured quietly, rubbing at the shorter’s upper arm in a soothing pattern. “You’re freakin’ ‘im out, old man,” Carefully, he eased Elwyn to his feet, steadying him when his legs trembled. He helped him to a cozy red armchair, patting his back and passing him a handkerchief he had pulled from the tawny’s front pocket.

Rien sniffled, bottom lip wobbling as he stared up at his older brother. “E-Emmy?” He hicced, terrified eyes of baby blue pouring into a sorrowful, fierce navy. He choked on a sob as the soldier knelt down, shushing him tenderly as he was pulled to a broad chest. Rien slumped forward uncertaintily, nearly flinching away but melted into the soft cotton of Ermano’s shirt, trembling beneath his arms.

“Wh-What’s goin’ on?” Rien choked out. “I-I…di’ I—“

“Sh. Sh,” Ermano rumbled, a warm hand stroking back Rien’s hair. Scarred knuckles skimmed over the boy’s forehead, the warrior a fuzzy blur of auburn and steel above Rien. “You’re okay, kiddo. S’gonna be just fine, yeah?”

His words would have been reassuring — a strong rock for Rien to cling to — yet they sent a chill of unease down Rien’s spine. He knew his family would never lay a finger on him, but alas Ermano’s expression sent his gut rolling. Those eyes of pitching midnight glinted with such rare, piercing regret that it made Rien’s fluttering heart skip a beat. Rien’s hazed mind floundered to grapple with what was happening, the links too bewildering and just out of reach.

“—we’re counting on you, Alastor. If this goes poorly—“

“Oh, trust me, your Majesty. I am aware.”

The two stiff voices drifted through the wool stuffed in Rien’s ears as two foggy figures stepped through the door. Rien squinted, raising his head to try and peer at them, but Ermano quietly hushed him. Hands slipped under his shoulders, forcing him to sit straight up. Rien whined, lashes fluttering as he struggled weakly, but his brother’s grip was one of stern iron.

“Is he ready?” Alastor’s cold voice asked from above. Rien wiggled, panic pounding his heart. He stammered out questioning babbles, chest heaving as his breaths began to quicken. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but the icy words sent stabs of fear racing down his spine. He kicked out weakly, vision beginning to spin—

“Hey,” Warm hands caught his own, twining their fingers together with steady care. Sparkling eyes of green met tearful blue, a tender smile lifting his lips. But it was all wrong — horribly, utterly wrong. Rorey’s face was as pale as a ghost’s, hands shaking where they grasped Rien, silent sorrow a poundage of weight that hampered his expression, sending Rien’s hopes crumbling.

It was all so wrong.

Elwyn’s tears of defeat, Ermano’s crushing regret, and now Rorey’s burdening suffrage.

Rorey caressed his cheek, thumb rubbing over the delicate skin of the boy’s drooping eyelids. “You’re gonna be okay, baby,” He promised him softly. He sniffed, lifting his hand to dab at his nose. “J-Just keep your eyes on me, darling. Keep your eyes on me.”

Rien shook his head frantically, gasps gagging from his throat, pushing away the man in hysteria. No! He wanted to scream. No, no, no, no. He wanted to thrash, wanted to beg and plead. Memories were rushing back like a roaring wave of wild chaos, water filling his lungs and shoving him under until he was drowning in a pool of his own raw panic. Ermano’s hands were gripping his shoulders in a tight, shackling grasp, but they were useless. He wouldn’t have been able to move if he tried, frozen like prey would under the jaws of a predator.

Alastor’s boots clacked on the floor as she stalked before Rien, dark eyes hard and frigid as he gazed at the boy down his nose. Rien’s breathing hitched when she bent down, reaching to yank on Rien’s chin in a harsh grip. Rien whimpered, terrified blue eyes spilling with hot tears. Alastor roughly tilted up his head, tugging painfully at Rien’s blonde locks. Rien gasped, shying away as with a shaky sob.

Ermano caught the wizard’s wrist, lips curled back in a snarl. “Gentle,” He growled.

Alastor recoiled his hand with a glower and huff, shoulders rolled back. “He’s ready,” She replied coolly.

Ermano rumbled a heavy sigh. Suddenly, Rien was jostled — his head forced down so that he was staring blankly at his lap. The soldier’s strong arm was wrapped tightly around his middle, pinning his arms to his sides, his hold not squeezing yet firm. A choked, broken whimper pried itself from the boy’s throat.

Alastor walked back around the table, and Rien felt her knobby hands stretch out the skin at the back of his neck. Rien clenched his teeth, hand hurrying to grab Rorey’s sleeve.

A kiss was pressed to his forehead, sweet murmurs breathed in his ear.

“Are we ready?”

Ermano gritted his teeth at Alastor’s words. “Yes.”

Rien didn’t have a mere second to comprehend what the men meant. Blinding blue light flooded the room, swooping around the bookshelves and curling up the walls in a towering stream of magic, Alastor’s blazing voice shouting chants of ancient spells. A vile sense of dread had just settled in his stomach, when all he knew was pain.

It was an all consuming, boiling rake that sliced up his skin, sending bile to his tongue and tears flooding his cheeks. He screamed as the magic shot within him, the awful cry tearing from his throat with a merciless rip. He thrashed, trembling with sobs as agony raced up his neck in waves of fire. He shoved at Ermano’s chest, wailing as he fought for freedom.

“N-No!” He shrieked, little fists hitting at his oldest brother. “St-Stop! P-Please—“

He cried out as anguish wrenched his back, like knives stabbing into his shoulder blades and peeling them off. He couldn’t breathe, lungs tied in a tangle of horror, unable to suck in oxygen even as he drily heaved. He couldn’t think, mind a melt mess of confusion. What had he done wrong? Why was he being punished — hadn’t he been good? It didn’t make sense. He didn’t understand and everything hurt! It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt—

“I know, baby,” Rorey was all but yelling, voice shaking as he wept. A frantic hand was combing through Rien’s hair, trembling. “I know. Shhh. It’ll be okay.”

Rien just shook his head, breath hitching off into a retching sob. He tried to fight, weakly tried to push from Ermano’s hold, but it was futile. He screamed until his throat was a dry sandscape, til his cries were nothing but hoarse whines. He mumbled weakly, tears streaking his face as agony scraped under his skin. He writhed, muscles tensing against his will and ceasing his body in a fist of shackling iron. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, the tangy taste of blood flooding his mouth.

“Just hang on, kid,” Ermano murmured, thumb rubbing his cheek from where he held Rien’s head. “Ain’t got much longer.”

Rien leaned into the touch with a frail snivel, thoughts gusting like a whirlwind, yet far too tired to fit together in any sort of lucid reasoning. The edges of his vision edged with black, ears ringing, hot tears trickling down his nose as dizziness gnawed at him. He was floating once again, fingertips brushing the corners of reality but never able to grasp it. Rorey was crying, shoulders shaking silently while Ermano’s jaw was clenched, stormy eyes hardened. Alastor was panting, the burning in Rien’s neck scorching up flames with every breath.

Rien sobbed, clinging to Ermano’s cape with a choking hiccup. “I-I’m sorry,” He stuttered. “I-I don’t— I— please—“

“Oh, darling,” Rorey breathed. “No, don’t apologize, honey. Th—This isn’t punishment.”

Hands reached for his face but he jerked back, shaking his head rapidly as his chest rose and fell with short breaths. Rorey’s face flashed with hurt, but Rien couldn’t find himself to care through his jabbing panic. He wrenched his eyes shut, shoulders hunching up to his ears as acid churned in his gut. He stammered a wail, trying to pull away from the pain but Ermano wouldn’t let him and nothing made sense—

“How much longer?” Ermano was yelling, his breath huffing over Rien’s curls. Rien shrank back at the anger spat with the words, teeth sinking into his wobbling lip.

“It’s in deep,” Alastor muttered. “One last surge should do it, but it’ll be strong.”

“…Do it.”

Rien drew in a shaking breath, blue eyes blown wide with hysteria as his little legs kicked out wildly. They were swiftly pinned to the table, head forced down once again with scarred hands that were heavy with regret. He opened his mouth to beg for the end, to plead for the pain to stop, but it was worthless. He had barely managed to gag out a whine before the sorcery wrapped around his neck in a ring of light, humming under his chin with unimaginable power before knotting together and squeezing.

He gasped, or tried to, doing nothing but failing horribly as the nose of wizardry began to strangle. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe! He grappled at his neck, nails clawing at his throat in a desperate attempt to free his lungs. White spots danced before him in floundering circles, his body begging for the oxygen he couldn’t provide—

But then, by some sweet mercy of Fate, it stopped. He sucked in ragged breaths that just weren’t enough, the world spinning, face paling as he tipped to the side with a faint head.

Slender arms caught him, holding him securely to a thin chest. Rien shoved his face into the wool of Rorey’s jacket, choking and shivering. He balled his fists into the fabric, clinging to Rorey as the man shushed him through his own sobs.

“Ro,” Rien wailed, expression a broken mess of tears and pain. “H-Hurts…”

“I know, sunshine,” Rorey whispered into the boy’s hair, soothing back the golden curls. “All done, okay?”

Rien shivered, curling into his brother’s lap. “N-No more hu-hurts?”

Rorey cradled him close, shaking his head firmly. “No,” He swore, cupping Rien’s cheeks and planting a loving kiss to his head. “Never, baby. I…” His expression crumbled, tears sliding down his pale face. He lunged forward and buried his nose in Rien’s hair, shaking like a leaf in autumn’s wind. “It’s over now, okay?”

Rien sniffled, huddling deeper into his brother’s embrace with a hiccup. “M-M’kay…”

But he knew it wasn’t. It never was, not until he had learned his lesson. Dread curled in his stomach, storm clouds settling over his head. His heart was being picked apart by a hammer, each swing sending chips shattering. He had been bad. He couldn’t be bad, he had to be good. The Ravens were so nice, he could take this if it meant staying with them, he just had to be good.

“I-I’m sorry,” Rien slurred, eyelids impossibly heavy as he lifted a sagging head up to weakly meet Rorey’s emerald eyes. “D-Don’ know wha’ I did, but…”

He cut himself off with a fierce cough, lungs aching with every retching hack. He slammed his eyes shut, dull pain racing up his ribs. There was shuffling, then a familiar warm hand settled on his shoulder, gently patting his back until his airway was cleared.

Rien couldn’t find it within himself to flinch away from Ermano, going limp as he was comfortably settled into his brother’s side. Something heavy and cozy was settled over him, Ermano tucking him in a nest of soft blankets. Rien clung to the man’s sleeve, a desperate whine leaving his lips when the soldier began to scoot away. Immediately, Rien jerked back, hurriedly drawing his hands back — wanting to scoff at the mere thought that he deserved comfort.

“Oh, kiddo.”

He was pulled into strong arms, cheek pressed to a broad chest with fingers carding rhythmically through his hair. Ermano said nothing, simply rocking the boy soothingly back and forth with his little brother tucked safely in his lap. The wonderful succor was tinged with nostalgia of that fateful day all those years ago, when Ermano had kept him from falling into panic’s grasp for the first times of many.

Rien was shifted gently, Ermano careful not to jostle him as his thumbs rubbed away his stream of tears. “Hey, little one,” The soldier rumbled. “Do ya think ya can look at me, bud?”

Rien bit his lip, baby blue eyes timidly fluttering open to meet those gentle, dark navy. Ermano gave the boy a small smile. “Hello there,” He murmured. “I need ya to listen closely for a second, okay?”

Rien tensed, fear spiking at his poor heart. He fought back the urge to scoot back, stiffing in preparation—

“I don’t care whatcha think, but that was not your fault.”

Rien’s head swam with confusion, breath hitching. He didn’t understand, the pieces all too puzzling, but oh…

Tears prickled the corners of his eyes. Were they really that eager?

Rorey seemed to pick up on Rien’s train of thought, horror dawning over his features. “No,” He gasped, shaking his head as he sank to his knees beside his brother. “No, it’s not that baby, we would never. There’s—“

He trailed off, jade eyes flickering to meet Ermano’s stormy blue. He hesitated, wringing his hands uncertainly. “Rien?” He asked quietly, swallowing back a lump in his throat. “…Do you remember Nauvu?”

Rien shuddered at the horrid name, fingers coming up to frantically grasp Ermano’s sleeve. Of course he remembered that monster of a man, his father, who had caused him nothing but pure agony and grief for the first few years of his life. His pointed, cold face still haunted his sleep, harsh blows and spat swords sending him jolting up in a haze of terror. He nodded, pressing his ear desperately closer to Ermano’s chest. The steady beat of his brother’s heart calmed him, drying his tears as those powerful arms wrapped him in a shield of safety.

“Well, uh,” Rorey sucked in a deep breath, hands clasped rigidly. He bent down, stroking back Rien’s hair with a soft sigh. “When you were little, Nauvu used magic to be able to track you at all times,” He began to explain, voice tremoring with a slight stutter. “He drilled a rune inside of you, sweetie, and we—we had to get it out.”

Rien’s brow scrunched up, blinking sluggishly. His heavy mind couldn’t keep up with the sputtered information, each word another weight piled atop the jumbled mess it was. Fear creeped up his spine, yet not at his family — never at his family, who he loved and trusted endlessly. But Rorey’s words replayed in his mind in a sickening loop, memories of pain and darkness fuzzing from the past. He whined, weakly reaching up his arms for his brother.

Rorey didn’t hesitate, scooping up the boy and cradling his head in his lap. Rien snuggled close as blankets were snugged around his shivering form, curling up in Rorey’s arms. Rorey cooed softly, brushing blonde lucks from his sweaty forehead.

“Sing?” Rien mumbled. He pouted. “You promised.”

Rorey laughed wetly. “I guess I did, huh?” He mused. “Which song do you want, darling?”

Rien managed a lazy smile. “One ‘bout sunshine?”

Rorey gave the boy a grin. “Of course, hon.”

The Prince opened his mouth and began to sing, his voice sweet and blissfully melodious. It caused Rien’s tense muscles to lax, breath slowing into sleepy puffs against Rorey’s neck as his eyelids drooped shut. Each note was wonderful — pitching perfectly, the sounds flowing together like the gentle lapping of an ocean’s calming waves.

“Your eyes are as blue as the cloudless sky,”

“Your smile chases away my pain,”

“May whatever God above be so kind,”

“To let my sunshine stay,”

“Your laughter is as sweet as summer’s breeze,”

“Your hugs swell me with joy,”

“You’ve shown me that this wretched world is worth fighting for,”

“And if Fate should be so kind,”

“To for all my days let my sunshine stay,”

“Oh, shall I be filled with delight,”

“And will all my life be worth the rain.”

Rien let himself drift, slumber dragging him to its depth as the hums of the last, damning lullaby rang in his ears.

Chapter Text

Sounds of joy filled the palace, shouts of mirth ringing off the marble walls as merry folk music floated jauntily through the halls. Glasses clinked, laughter bellying bounteously as people spun and stomped rhythmically to the sunny tunes. The castle common room was packed near cramp, maids and guards alike drunkly singing along with their brooms and swords long forgotten as they celebrated another rightly won victory.

A victory against Nauvu as they once again defeated his evil deeds.

Rorey cheered on his dancing subjects, grinning widely. He clapped in bravo, whooping as he staggered to his feet.

He slipped through the room, ducking between chatters and dipping past soldiers as they chugged their drinks. He waltzed — quite ungracefully — over to his seat at the table, promptly collapsing into his chair with a clumsy bow.

“Ay, Rorey!” Evans bellowed, slamming down his beer. “Would you like another drink, your majesty?” He passed a bottle to the brunette, who took it gratefully.

“Ah, you know we too well,” Rorey chortled, ceasing the given bottle of liquor and taking a swing. It was like fire down his throat, sending flames roaring in his stomach. He sat back with a sigh, propping his feet up on the table as he leaned back.

Parties like these were always his favorite — times when he could drop everything and simply be free and careless without any responsibilities to worry about until the morning. The jumbled sounds and drunken laughs made his spirits swell, the jolly music, the smell of sharp drink and lovely chaos calming his nerves as he settled into its familiar chaos.

They had done it.

The rune was gone; Rien was safe from Nauvu’s greedy claws. Now, the boy was safe in his room, resting off the perils the day had brought to his poor soul.

Never had victory been so wonderful.

Now, all that was left was to storm Nauvu’s palace and chop off his head, Rorey thought with glee. He would do so with a wicket grin as the man’s blood soaked his shirt.

Heavy footfall lumbered behind him and Ermano dropped into the chair beside him with a grunt. Rorey’s gaze wandered over to his brother, a slurred smirk quirking his lips. Ermano raised an eyebrow at him flatly, chin resting atop his hand. Rorey giggled a bit, slouching up against the table. His brother had never looked more out of place among the noise and disarray. His dark eyes darted around the room, shoulders tensed uncomfortably as he kept a firm grip on his sword. His wine sat untouched beside him, fingers running uneasily through his hair.

Rorey sneered, thumping down his liquor. “You gonna drink that?” He teased, words garbled as he gulped down another sip of alcohol.

Ermano snorted, rolling his eyes. “I will if ya ask Lex to dance with ya,” He betted.

Rorey glared at him, slapping his shoulder with a grumble. “Coward.”

Elwyn laughed softly, gazing at his boys with a fond shake of his head. “You are going to have one hangover in the morning,” He scolded lightly, nails tapping on his wine glass. He cracked a smile. “Rien will be happy about that, I’m sure.”

Rorey had to agree. After a rather…rowdy night, his brother wouldn’t hesitate to crawl up next to him and give him a huge hug until he felt better. Along with yelling at him to brush his teeth.

“Y’know,” Rorey slurred with a smack of his lips, pushing away from the table and grabbing his bottle. “Imma go get ‘im,” He blinked slowly, rubbing at his temples. “Miss ‘im.”

Ermano scoffed, yet the gentle crinkles that softened his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. “Sap,” He grunted as Rorey stood up, chuckling when his brother stuck his tongue out at him. “Don’t fall down the stairs!”

“I won’t, old man, I won’t.” Rorey huffed, smoothing out his blouse as he stumbled across the tiled floor. He flicked sweaty umber curls from his forehead, liquor sloshing as he hummed under his breath. He ducked across the dance floor with staggering steps, slipping out of the door and into the quiet hallway.

He sang quietly to himself, lifting his bottle to take a swing every once and a while. He ran his fingers on the side of the wall as he strolled to the bedroom sweets, a light skip in his tripping steps. He turned to Rien’s door, wrinkling his nose as alcohol split over his jacket. He knocked on the door, the rapid sound echoing through the empty space.

“Rien!” He called slurredly, fumbling to grab the doorknob. “C’monnn. I miss you—“

He yelped as he flung open the door, staggering inside with a trip. He caught himself, grumbling as his liquor dripped out and onto the floor into a puddle.

The room was filled with care, painted a soft blue by Ermano and covered with a rug sown by Elwyn’s hands. Little carved wooden toys were piled in the corner, pencils and quills sat atop the small desk. The silvery light from the three moons poured from between the flowing silk curtains, glittering across the polished floors. It was Rien’s room — a place that meant nothing but happiness and the lovely sound of his brother’s giggles.

Yet, that would soon change.

If he had been more aware, if he had been slower to drown his drink, then he would have noticed the signs. He would have heard the screams as his little brother had a cloth shoved over his face and was heaved over a shoulder.

But he hadn’t, and it would forever be a crushing guilt that would gnaw at him for all his life.

“Rien,” He crooned cheerfully, twirling around in a floundering spin. “C’mere! Please?”

He froze when no reply came, dread pooling dully in his stomach even in his drunken state. He steadied himself on Rien’s bedpost, brow furrowed in worry as he peered around the room. His heart began to hammer, blood rushing in his ears, breath quickening at the deafening quiet that drilled into his skull and sent his mind into a fit of rapidly rising alarm.

“Rien?” He whispered. He took a tentative step forward, knuckles parch white where they clutched the bedpost. He pitched forward, emerald eyes wide with terror as he gawked at an empty bed.

No.

Alarm ceased him with its ripping teeth, sending him into a haze of spinning hysteria. He lunged, panting with heaving breaths as he tore through the mess of rangled sheets. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing! He threw himself back, the bottle dropping with the shattering of glass. His legs trembled, horror thundering through his brain as tears blurred his vision. The pieces suddenly began to shove together, each a knife that was sent hurdling at his heart. Rien was gone, the window was thrown open, and pillows scattered across the floor in patterns of clear footsteps. And, the final blow that slit his throat, was a torn bit of parchment that was strewn carelessly aside, face down with a dim glow of purple that made him feel sick—

No.

No.

No, no, no.

He whipped around in a dizzy circle, unable to breathe, feet slipping in liquor as he rushed out. His mind was blank, stripped of any logic, broken sobs spilling from his throat. He ran, racing through the halls as acid rolled in his stomach. Dim pain shot through his feet where glass stabbed into his skin, oxygen unable to suck through his lungs, the world spinning beneath him.

His thoughts had dissolved, leaving nothing but raw panic that wrenched through his veins.

Rien was gone. He was gone. He was gone, he was gone, he was gone— The empty bed, the open door, and—

Rorey stumbled to a stop, eyes wide as he clutched his shuddering chest.

Aquilo’s Mark.

Nauvu.

Rorey slammed his fist into the wall, ignoring the agony that raced up his knuckles. His arms ached with every blow, breath seething between his teeth as he mindlessly rammed punch after punch. Blood dripped between his fingers, blisters boiling across his skin. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, strength slowly evaporating in a sizzle of fizzing fury—

“Rorey!”

Powerful arms caught him by the torso, curling around him so tightly he could barely breathe, yanking him to a broad chest.

Rorey struggled for a brief moment, instincts overriding rational thought as his limbs thrashed against the arms caged around him. But then his face was shoved into the crook of a neck, wrists caught in a firm grip as the person sputtered. Rorey’s legs gave out, shoving into Ermano’s chest with an anguished sob. He couldn’t breathe, lungs tangled together and squeezing, struggling to curl his fingers into the back of Ermano’s blouse with eyes blown with horrors that froze his blood like ice.

“Em,” He cried, sinking into his arms with a shuddering wail. He clung to his brother, staggering breaths choking from his throat. Tears spilled from his lashes as his face crumpled, like stone being smashed before tumbling down in a landslide of wrenching sorrow into the roaring river below. He clutched the older desperately, praying to Fate that this was a hallucination of horrors and his brother was a tether that could ground him.

It had to be.

It wasn’t real.

None of it was. Because Rorey refused to believe this was real. This was some trick — whisky’s taunt of wild games.

“Rorey?” Ermano asked sharply, gripping Rorey’s shoulders as he pull away. His brow was pinched, confusion dawned over his face and mingling with stabbing concern that made Rorey want to vomit. Ermano quickly grabbed his hands, glancing at the younger’s bloodied knuckles with a grit of his teeth. “Gods, what’s—“

“He’s gone,” Rorey gasped, swaying dangerously on his pained feet. He slumped against Ermano, burying his face in the man’s shoulder with a sob that hitched into a gulp. Auburn locks tickled his neck, the smell of flowers floating to mingle with the stench of blood in a scent that made Rorey want to scream. He panted, shaking his head furiously with a choked whine. “He’s gone, h-he’s wa-wasn’t— I—“

“What?” Ermano breathed, more softly this time. A hand came up to brush back Rorey’s curls, fingers shaking. “Ro? Who’s—“

“Rien,” Rorey gasped out, words fumbling and floundering over each other. “Rien. It’s Rien. H-He’s gone, he—he—“

He couldn’t go on, voice dying on his tongue in a babbling hiccup. He curled up in his brother’s arms, unable to respond at the demands stuttered from Ermano through his weeps. Grief was like a rope that strung around his throat — digging the air from his insides until it swallowed him whole with its unforgiving jaws.

The night would fly by in a soaring wind over his head, snagging him around dizzily. Ermano would force him to stay by his side as his guards swept the palace, hurriedly explaining the situation to Elwyn. Ermano would hold them both close, vowing that it would be all right — that they would find Rien. The night would be restless, neither of the family able to cling to the bliss of slumber. Elwyn’s tears would soak Rorey’s shirt as the King of Ruperta shattered. Rorey would sit there, numb to the wild nightmare raging around him. Ermano would shout in refusal, hair knotted and matted as he paced the halls.

Then, as the sun’s first rays kissed the horizon, the announcement was made official. For the first time in years, Rorey would see his brother cry. Their father would fall to his knees with an anguished wail as grief’s weight crippled his back. And Rorey would be unable to move, eyes glazed over as icy tingles prickled his skin — numb to the agony surging within.

The youngest Prince of Ruperta had been whisked away in the dead of night, hauled off into the snow and to his death — to the Aquilo Kingdom.

***

Rien couldn’t remember why he sat here, sinking into a too-soft cushion with two guards squished at his sides. Everything was fuzzy, but not in the wonderfully floaty way the world had been just yesterday. There was no cloud he skipped across, no sun that shined merely above. It was like his head had been shoved under deep waters, reality muffled and slowed as it struggled through the waves.

The fierce lights glinted off of the far too cleanly white walls, stabbing at his eyes. He whined, scrubbing irritably at his temples. The man on his left shushed him roughly, hand coming down to warningly squeeze Rien’s knee.

Rien stifled a gasp, shying away. Gods, his mouth was dry. He tried to summon up spit, but it refused to come — leaving his throat sore. His muscles ached, bones throbbing with welling bruises of blue, as if someone had gripped him too hard. He tried to think back, shivering in his thin nightgown as he struggled to recall his memories. He whined in frustration, little fists balling up the fabric of his bedclothes.

Nothing made sense, the night a whirl of blurred pictures that spun in a dizzying waltz.

He fearfully glanced over at the soldiers positioned stiffly beside him, shoulders drew uptight. Neither had done so much as speak to him unless it was lowly in warning. It was stunningly unusual — the guards that normally treated him with a warming welcome instead greeting him with cold indifference. His lip wobbled. Had he done something wrong to anger them? A whimper pried from his throat. He ducked his head, hoping that it was a gesture vague enough to be seen as either respect or submission, whichever was desired.

Their uniforms were different, he dimly noticed. Through the blurry shapes, he could make out their armor, which glittered a dangerous graphite over their purple slacks, holding spears at point instead of swords. The room was unfamiliar, everything from the polished floors to the neatly organized tea table was just out of place. Rien wrapped his arms around his middle in a weak attempt of comfort, breath shuddering from his chest.

One of the guards stood with a grunt, gripping Rien’s upper arm and tugging him off the couch. Rien stumbled to his feet, the world spinning beneath him. He whimpered, reaching out to clutch the man’s pants leg as his knees wobbled.

The man glared, slapping Rien’s hand away before taking him roughly by the arm again. Rien cried out weakly, staggering forward.

“Brat,” The guard grumbled. “You’d think he’d put the pieces together by now, eh?”

His companion laughed. “He just needs a reminder. I’m sure His Lordship will be happy to give him one.”

Rien whined, stepping back with wide eyes. He shook his head, choking on a sob. He didn’t want a reminder. Because those always hurt so badly and he had been good!

A knock rapped on the door, making the poor boy jump. He was led limply along, a hand holding him tightly by the back of his shirt.

He was yanked to a stop. He shivered, wiping sweat from his forehead. Nausea cramped his abdomen, sending tears pricking his eyes. His head hurt, a steady pound slamming under his cheeks. Rien bit down on his fist to stifle a sob, but that made his stomach lurch. He slumped, nails gripping at his forearms.

The door creaked as it was opened, boots clicking on the tiles. One of the guards was quick to hold it open, allowing a man to stride inside.

Suddenly, everything came tumbling in place.

He was dressed in white — head to toe, the fabric unnervingly soft against his skin. The guards did not dare to hurt him — he has no bruises, no oozing wounds.

He was a gift.

He trembled as he gazed up at the man standing in front of him, heart a hammer in his ears.

He was tall, with long limbs that were tinted with muscle as he towered over the boy. He had skin as pale as snow, wearing a kingly garment of dark purple over a dress shirt, dark hair lined with silver streaks of melted chains. Cold gray eyes pierced sky blue, nose pointed and features sharp. His hands were lined with countless rings, hands that had shown no mercy when yanking Rien’s hair or slapping his cheeks.

Damien Nauvu knelt in front of his son, face dangerously blank. Rien couldn’t breathe, eyes blown, muddled mind grappling to cue him into a panic. But he couldn’t move, glued still as he stared at his birth father with drooping eyes.

Nauvu moved, and Rien flinched back, but—

But arms wrapped around him, pulling him close in a grip that was crushingly tight. Rien whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he was cradled to Nauvu’s chest. Everything about it was wrong — so awfully tense and painfully stiff that Rien felt sick. He wanted to squirm, to fight and trash, but he couldn’t. He was frozen in the jaws of a predator, awaiting his death as they sank to the floor.

“Oh, Rien,” Nauvu breathed, pulling back and resting the blonde on his knee. Icy hands cupped Rien’s face, nails running over his eyes. “Hello there, child. Let me see you.”

Rien’s breathing hitched at the Lord’s firm tone, swallowing back bile. His lashes fluttered open, eyes pooled with quivering fear as he stared at the man who had spent years making him cower in fear, who had thrown the guilt of his wife’s death onto his own son. Rien’s heart was a stabbing dagger between his ribs, threatening to burst free. He was frozen like prey in a hunt, blinking slowly up at his killer before the final blow.

Nauvu’s lips were pursed, breath sharp through his nose. His fingertips glazed over rosy cheeks that used to be gaunt with disgust, gripping the boy’s silk nightgown with a click of his tongue. He settled his hand on the back of Rien’s neck, playing with the fluff of baby hairs and sending a chill down Rien’s spine.

A smile spread across Nauvu’s face, twisted and wicket, yet it warmed some sick part of Rien’s heart. “Aw, my Rens,” Nauvu crooned, stroking Rien’s cheek with a soft sigh. “I missed you so much, darling.”

Rien’s eyes widened. “Y-You did?”

Nauvu chuckled. “Oh, yes.”

Rien squinted, biting his lip as it began to wobble. Suddenly, he didn’t feel safe in his father’s arms. Memories dully resurfaced, bobbing up to the present with terror that wrapped around his throat. He flinched back, breath stuttering.

“Rien.”

Rien wrenched his eyes shut, tears burning behind them as his muscles went rigid. He knew that tone all too well — how could he ever hope to forget something that haunted his dreams? Those harsh, merciless words could be snapped in a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree flip of emotions, abrupt and unexpected but always meaning one thing.

Punishment.

Boney hands came up again to caress his cheek. He shivered, bracing for the pain that would surely come. But the touch was gentle, skimming over his cheek with a tut.

“Look at me,” Nauvu’s started, soft but scolding. “You know I hate when you don’t listen.”

Rien obediently looked up at the piercing gray eyes, a sense of unease settling in him at the act. Nauvu smiled, brushing back Rien’s golden curls and cupping the boy’s cheek. Rien nuzzled into the affection, mumbling sleepily. Nauvu bit back a laugh, grabbing Rien’s chin without any care, tilting up his face to examine his eyes in the sunlight. Rien whined, pushing weakly at the harsh grip.

Nauvu arched an eyebrow, nails digging into soft skin. “Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart,” He apologized, patting Rien’s cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

Rien nodded timidly, squirming uncomfortably at the nickname. He tried to push at Nauvu’s chest, but he could barely manage a frail flop of his fingers. He whined, tears glossing over his eyes. He was utterly limp as Nauvu adjusted him, curling an arm around his waist and pinning his forehead to his shoulder. Fear bubbled in Rien’s stomach like acid. He wanted to scramble out of his lap and run — but he was tired. Everything was so confusing, sapping away his strength and making his head swirl.

He yelped as Nauvu stood, clinging fiercely to the man’s shirt. Nauvu barked a laugh, strutting over to the couch and sinking into one of the cushions. He snaked his hands under Rien’s arms, hoisting him from his lap and plopping him down on the floor. Rien’s brow scrunched, the tiles cold beneath his knees. He grasped the fabric of Nauvu’s robe, trembling from the dizzying effort to stay upright.

Nauvu scoffed, rolling his eyes at the pitiful boy. “Do you not remember my rules, Rien?” He asked harshly. His sneering tone sent tears prickling Rien’s eyes, a sob building in his chest. His breath quickened, terror clawing at his ribs. Nauvu was right. He had run from him after his father had done nothing but help him be better. Gods, he was so ungrateful. His father had spent years trying to rescue such scum like him from his foolish disobedience, and he had thrown that all away like the selfish, broken piece of dirt he was.

“”M sorry,” He slurred, words heavy on his tongue. Hiccups wracked his body, deep, painful ones that made his entire body jump. He scrubbed at his cheeks, self-loathing stabbing at his heart like shards of ice. “I-I’m sorry. I di—didn’t m-mean to— p-please—“ Tears streamed down his face, hot and trickling. He couldn’t cry. Nauvu hated it when he cried. He knew he didn’t deserve the relief, not after he had been so disobedient.

“Shhh.”

Nauvu knelt down, thumbing away the moister from the boy’s cheeks. Rien choked on a sob, throwing himself forward and clutching his leg. Nauvu chuckled, patting Rien’s head.

“No need to fret,” Nauvu cooed, ruffling the blonde’s curls. “I’ve only just got my sweet little boy back.”

Rien frowned at the words, shaking his head and scooting back. Nauvu huffed, standing up and grabbing the boy by the back of his shirt. Rien flinched, whimpering as he tried to shelter his head between his arms. Nauvu clicked his tongue.

“None of that,” He ordered sharply. “Don’t you want to be good?”

Rien sniffed, shoulders shaking as he swallowed back a sob. He nodded, obediently raising his head. Nauvu smiled with pleasure, taking a cup from the tray on the table and swirling in a cube of sugar.

“That’s a good boy,” He praised. He lifted another teacup and handed it to Rien, who took it with trembling fingers. Nauvu gave him a brief clasp on the back, rubbing careful circles into the boy’s skin. “Maybe you can have a biscuit later if you keep this up. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Rien shrugged, hunching over and staring at the ground. He took a slow sip of his tea, the sweet herbs sliding down his throat and mingling with the bite gathering in his stomach. He didn’t want to be here, where hunger pains were an old friend and bruises littered him like splatters of paint. He didn’t want Nauvu’s harsh slaps or icy words. He wanted Elwyn’s gentle smiles, Rorey’s joyful laughs, and Ermano’s safe arms.

He just wanted to go home.

Chapter Text

The ~*~ signals the beginning and ending of the flashback!

Rien was squirming with excitement, grinning happily at his place at the table. His head was a little woozy, pounding at the bright lights that shown from the great crystal chandelier above. He was super hungry, his insides twisting as he wondered over the mere thought of food. But it was okay! He had been super good and hadn’t complained last night, so Nauvu said he could have soup!

He wanted to bounce with joy, to chatter on in a burst of energy.

But one warning glance from Nauvu stopped him. He suppressed a violent flinch, teeth snapping shut with a click. He folded his hands, swallowing back on his dry throat. Prickles raced up the back of his neck, scalp buzzing uncomfortably.

He had to be better. Nauvu was only trying to help him! He even said that maybe, if he learned all his lessons, the Ravens would want hm again and he could go back!

Rien gasped as a servant placed a glittering bowl of fine China in front of him, filled to the brim with a clear, wonderful soup that sent his stomach growling. He beamed, shuffling in his seat to grab it and pull it close. It smelled lovely, almost like the sea with its salt and fish rolling together like ocean’s waves. His mouth watered, hands trembling as he gripped the spoon.

“Rien.”

Rien flinched at his father’s harsh snap, the spoon clattering back into the bowl. He hunched his shoulders, gaze locked on the floor as he curled his knees to his chest. He sniffled, nose growing red and eyes beginning to water. His tummy flopped, his cramping hunger abruptly dissolving as a gnawing fear replaced it. He bit his quivering lip to stifle a whine, unable to glance up and see the sure disappointment lacing Nauvu’s features like death venom.

Disgust churned in his gut, bile bitter on the back of his tongue. Gods, he was so ungrateful. Nauvu had been nothing but gracious to him — having endless patience as he helped Rien remember the lessons. He had been so kind that he let the boy sit at the table with him, as well as allow him to wash off earlier and drink a bit more tea, even when Rien forgot the rules.

There was a heavy sigh and then the scraping of wood on tiles as Nauvu scooted back his chair. Rien squeezed his eyes shut, heart fluttering nervously in his ribs as the Emperor stalked across the room.

A hand came down to cup the boy’s boney cheek, cradling his jaw gently. Rien’s breath hitched, a familiar pressure behind his eyes at the tender display of affection he craved so deeply, and a sob bubbling from his chest without warning as he slumped into the touch.

Nauvu huffed, thumb stroking Rien’s pale temple. “Do you remember what you say, sweetheart?” He asked. Rien’s blood chilled at the man’s icy tone, yet warmth blossomed in his stomach at the kind nickname. He longed to lean closer and cling to his father, but he couldn’t be needy. He sucked in a trembling breath, forcing back the tears that burned his eyes.

“Th-Thank you, s-sir,” He stuttered. “I-It smells really good.”

Nauvu seethed a breath through his teeth. He gripped Rien’s chin roughy, the boy biting back a cry as nails dug uncomfortably into his skin. “And?” He prompted, clicking his tongue impatiently.

“I-I don’t deserve it,” Rien scrambled to babble, scrubbing at his eyes. His heart was a rapid pound in his ribs; like a rabbit’s would as it ducked into the grass to avoid a snarling wolf, threatening to burst free as his shoulders wobbled. “D-Don’ deserve it, s-sir. T-‘ank ‘ou—“

Nauvu heaved a sigh, dropping his hand from Rien’s cheek to run down his weary face. Rien mourned over the loss of contact, guilt welling up and making him dizzy as he shook. Gods, Nauvu was trying to hard to help him. He was putting up with his useless self, steering him to the correct path even when Rien couldn’t offer anything in return. But Rien couldn’t do anything right. Because he was stupid and he messed up and he was being bad.

“What did I tell you about the stammering?” Nauvu asked the boy through gritted teeth, knuckles white as he gripped the slik table cloth. He slammed his fist into the table, ratting the bowl and making the poor boy jump with a startled yelp. His head was swimming, terror ripping through his veins like ice as he stared up at the man with horrified tears glistening in wide blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Rien gasped, choking on each hiccing breath. He whimpered, hot tears trickling down his cheeks. He tripped over his words, hurriedly shaking his head, trying to understand what he did this time as bile gathered in his throat. “I-I forgot. I’m—I sorry, s-sir. I-I’m sorry.”

“Gods,” Nauvu hissed, glaring down at the boy with disgust. “Just shut up, you useless brat. Did I give you permission to speak?”

Rien shook his head, tears of humiliation welling up in his eyes. Nauvu’s boots clattered on the floor and he flinched, fingers curling desperately to clutch the bowl, expecting it to be yanked away. But instead, Nauvu merely scoffed and sat back in his chair, the silence that rang through the dinning hall deafening.

Gods, he couldn’t keep doing this anymore, the constant back and forth of being praised and punished. It was exhausting. His brain felt like mush, his body rigid and frail. He wanted to wail, to clamber into Nauvu’s lap as he sobbed. He didn’t want to be bad. He wanted to be good, he did! He wiped his nose with his sleeve, shivering as he ducked his head.

The last few days had blurred together in a mess of confusion. Memories were glued together, fuzzy and patched with blanks. Each moment was one inside of a living nightmare, his mind still struggling to wrap around the fact that this was real. Horror squeezed around his heart in a nose, strangling him until he was left scared stiff.

He wanted to go home. He missed his family — longed for their sweet words and warm embraces. He knew he was being ungrateful, but he yearned to once again feel their love. Yet dread made his shoulders slump. Why would they want something like him? Someone so stupid and selfish and worthless. He knew they didn’t care, yet that couldn’t erase his self-centered desires.

He just wanted to go back! Tears threatened to leak from his lashes, breath stuttering. Nauvu was helping him! He could be good!

…But part of him didn’t want to leave Nauvu. He bit his lip. Nauvu was just trying to aid him as he learned, the man even said that they were best friends!

Then why were there moments when Rien didn’t feel safe around him? Why were there times when Rien wanted to sink into the floor and wilt under the man’s gaze?

~*~

It had started small, at first. Maybe a tight smile that made Rien cower, or a grip on his wrist that left his hand aching. His voice would raise when he would cut off Rien’s happy rambling, pale gray eyes sharpening when the boy would mumble about the floor being cold. He would laugh too harshly, his sharp retorts to the child’s wonderful, thought-up worlds carving a deep hole in the blonde’s core.

But it was okay! Nauvu said he wouldn’t hurt Rien anymore— he had pinkie promised. And you couldn’t break a pinkie promise, Rorey said so!

It was still a little scary, although. Sometimes, Nauvu would get angry. He would glower at his son, pale eyes livid with loathing fury. His voice would raise into a roaring shout that sent Rien into a trembling, sobbing mess. He would always apologize afterwards, hugging Rien as he shushed the boy. Instead of throwing things or striking out, he would grasp Rien’s shoulder and calmly remind him of the rules whenever he acted out.

Rien didn’t know what to think. Nothing made sense. He would flinch away from Nauvu’s hands — hands that had littered him in countless bruises, twisting his arms at odd angles until he screamed — but would simply be met with a pat on the head.

There were still rules, of course. Like how Rien wasn’t allowed to sit on furniture or eat without Nauvu’s permission. He was dirty, he couldn’t hop onto the couch without surely spreading his filth. Nauvu had taken one look at his rosy cheeks and clicked his tongue in disapproval, sadly refusing the boy his meal and explaining that he didn’t want to make him worse.

Rien’s stomach had rumbled painfully, breath hitching. He was hungry and it hurt. He wanted to beg, to plead frantically for food to sooth him, but he knew better. He had simply nodded, curling up on his thin blanket beside Nauvu’s bed.

The next day, he had woken with horrible cramps and a throbbing head.

He would lay shivering on the floor, too exhausted to summon tears as he mourned over the thought of home.

***

Rien had been glued at Nauvu’s heels the next day, rambling on about the pretty dream he had. Little fingers clutched his father’s pants leg, clinging close with the cool tiles cold on his bare feet. He followed the man through the halls, his happy, naive self oblivious to the annoyed twitch of Nauvu’s lips, or the glint of anger in those pale eyes.

“Rien, stop talking.”

Rien’s head shot up before he quickly lowered his eyes to his feet. He shook slightly, breath stuttering as the shades around him blurred. Nauvu had told him firmly the day before that he didn’t like being looked at in the eye, and Rien had scrambled to obey with a racing heart. He stared pointedly at the ground, respectfully lowering his head and baring his throat.

Hesitantly, he opened his mouth to tentatively ask why, throat desert dry with dread, but a hand was swift to lock around his jaw. It slammed over his lips, grip bruisingly tight.

“No, no, don’t talk,” Nauvu tutted, nails digging uncomfortably into the boy’s cheek. “Pests don’t talk, do they?”

Rien sniffled, shaking his head miserably. He wrapped his arms weakly around his middle, willing back tears that never seemed to disappear. Nauvu sighed softly, reaching down to sink his hand into Rien’s mess of golden curls. Rien’s lashes fluttered as pleasant warmth flushed his face, slumping into the kind touch. Nauvu chuckled, untangling the knotted strands with a croon.

“That’s a good boy,” Nauvu cooed, leaning down to press a kiss to his son’s forehead. “I’m very happy I won’t have to listen to you squeak all day, sweetheart.”

A shard of hope cut into his heart, something inside him keening needily at the praise. He was being good! He gave Nauvu a drowsy smile, glassy blue eyes staring up into those of sharp gray as he nodded. Over the last few days, he had gathered that when Nauvu was happy he would be very nice. Rien would sit by his door all day, waiting eagerly for the man to stop by for his cherished visits. He adored every scrap of food and each silver of entertainment.

But something inside of him cried in dismay, begging him to run before it was too late.

He remembered the first day, when he had refused to obey the simplest instruction and yelled in protest.

The harsh, sharp slam of the ground against his back had only started to fade into an unpleasant tingle, bruises of deep purple and dark blue snaking up his shoulder blades.

Nauvu seemed content to stay in the bliss of silence, humming under his breath as he flipped through his paperwork, Rien slumped by his feet. He didn’t raise a warning hand, which meant that Rien had been good! So he pushed down the itching static that drilled through his skull, forever grateful for his father’s undeserved mercy.

***

Rien’s eyelids were heavy, sagging as he stared blankly up at the ceiling above him. His shuddering chest rose and fell, each breath sending painful spikes shooting through his lungs. Spots of clawing black edged his vision, floating before him like stars in a horrible waltz. His stomach churned, begging for food and sending groans spilling from his lips. He knew he need to get up, he had to clean, but each, slight movement sent him quivering like a leaf in a rain storm.

He was so hungry — starving, even. He whimpered, wrenched his eyes shut as a hacking cough tore from his ragged throat.

He sniveled, fumbling to wipe at his splotchy cheeks. He wanted to crawl into a bed and collapse, trembling limbs weighing him down with a crushing tole. But he couldn’t, he reminded himself firmly. He choked back a sob, clutching his stomach, exhaustion settling over him like an unyielding shadow.

He hadn’t meant to be bad, he thought as fresh tears trickled down his cheeks. He let them fall — too tired to force them back, defeat plunging a gaping pit within him. His cheek stung, red marks struck ruthlessly over his face. He wailed quietly, unable to shove back the sorrow that twisted him sickeningly. He hadn’t meant to be disrespectful — he was just so hungry and the food had been right there!

He curled up into a ball, face pressed to his knobby knees as his breath rapidly quickened. He was so stupid. Nauvu’s spat words had been enough to send him crumpling to the ground, head in hands, weeping bountifully as deep hiccuping racked his frail body, mumbling frantic apologies as his father had yanked him along.

He gasped as the door creaked, lashes weakly fluttering as footfall sounded. He struggled to sit up, whining as his head spun. His breathing hitched, panic flooding his blood with its icy hold. He wanted to lung froward and throw himself at Nauvu’s chest, but at the same time spikes of alarm raced through his head. He had to get away, Nauvu was going to be mad—

He shoved his fist into his mouth, biting on his knuckles to stifle the pathetic whines that crawled from his tongue. He sat stiff, dull blue eyes squeezed shut, blood dripping between his fingers as jagged heaves tore from his ribs. His heart was a rushing roar in his ears, fear sending cold shivers down his back. He wanted to run, wanted to get away from Nauvu and go home, but he couldn’t. He had to be good, he had to be good but he didn’t wanna get hurt—

“Hey, Rens, can you look at me please?” The nickname caught Rien off guard, warmth springing in his chest. Nauvu gently wrapped the boy’s darkened wrists, pulling his thin fingers from their tight hold on his curls as he murmured to him so softly. Nauvu’s tone was kind and caring, edged with what Rien could only pick out as concern. The boy complied, allowing his fragile figure body to be tucked into place and adjusted until Nauvu’s arms were wrapped around him snuggly.

Nauvu was hugging him. He was hugging him! He wasn’t mad!

Rien gasped out a sob, clinging desperately to Nauvu’s shirt and curling up in his lap.

“It’s okay, Rien,” Nauvu hushed him, hands cardling carefully through greasy curls. It sent pleasant chills down his spine, the comfort lulling him as the promise of sleep weighed down on him promptly. “It’s okay. I’m just trying to help you, darling.”

Rien nodded into Nauvu’s chest, shivering as a draft breezed through his thin clothes, only to be held closer to his father. And the man let him, allowing the boy to sink into the faux love for just a little longer, longing for the false sense of security so that it would just be all the more sweeter when he tore it all away.

~*~

Rien tensed as he felt Nauvu’s cool gaze stare gore into his soul, fingers trembling as he lifted his spoon. He was quick to slip it to his mouth, nearly burning his tongue on the hot liquid. He choked, blue eyes widening as he grasped at his chest, coughing to clear his clogged airway. He jerked forward, shoulders tensing with every painful hack.

Nauvu simply raised a brow at the boy’s distress, picking through his roast without a care.

Rien’s cheeks reddened with humiliation, curling his shoulders as he took another bite. He sighed in relief, eyelids drooping at the wonderful taste. His aching hands shook, hunger gnawing at his weak nerves. He slurred up the stew quickly, the great taste of beef and vegetables sliding down his tongue. He hunched over, blinking back tears as memories dimly resurfaced. It tasted just like that broth the Ravens had fed him all those years ago as they nursed his broken body back to health.

He missed them so badly that it hurt — a deep, pounding pang that refused to halt.

“D-Dad?” He asked quietly, fingers fiddling idly in his lap.

Nauvu raised an eyebrow, glancing at the boy with a purse of his lips. Rien was quick to avert his gaze, chew on his lip.

“W-When—I just,” He swallowed hard. “When can I go home?”

For a moment, they sat in silence. Rien allowed himself to hope, faith swelling within him. Maybe the others did want him! Maybe he had been good enough and he could go back!

But then his yearnings were crushed like an ant under a boot. Nauvu threw his fork down, cold gray eyes livid with stirring fury that made the boy sick.

Rien’s blood went cold, freezing over as he stared at the mess with dull, terrified eyes. He wanted to move, wanted to scramble to bow and a babble apologies. But he couldn’t — he remained locked in place, breath ragged hitches that rang in his ears, sounds muffled and the world fuzzing into blurry shapes. Bile rose in his throat, tremors jerking up his spine.

He could hear Nauvu storm forward as his chair was thrown back, footsteps heavy and hard. He flinched back harshly, but it was futile. Nauvu grabbed him roughly by the hair, yanking him back. Rien yelped, staggering to his feet as pain raced up his scalp. It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt! He sobbed, knees wobbling as he tried to pull away. His foot caught on the rug, sending him stumbling as his heart thumped. He shook his head, pulling away—

Smack!

Pain burned up his cheek, stinging as Nauvu’s palm collided with his face. Rien froze, too stunned to speak as he stood there blankly, blue eyes blown as he tentatively brushed over the mark. Tears sprang in his eyes, hot and salty.

“You ungrateful brat,” Nauvu hissed, shoving Rien roughly. “I’ve done so much for you, you stupid boy. I’ve put up with your useless self out of the goodness of my heart, but you’re to selfish and worthless to care.” He gritted his teeth, his grip on Rien’s thin wrist bruising. He laughed, cold and sharp. “Do you really think that they would want you back, Rien?”

The words were like a pickaxe that tore at the poor boy, chipping away at his strength until he broke. Rien sobbed, the spat words enough to send him crumpling to the floor, head in hands, weeping profusely with deep, jarring hiccups that racked his body. His sobs and pleas were uttered to deaf ears, and Nauvu watched with a cruel smile as the steps of his plan fell spotlessly into place.

Rien choked on a wail and buried his head in his trembling arms atop knees, helplessly rocking back and forth. Nauvu let go of his hair, only for the boy to stare blankly ahead as tears continued to trickle down his bruised cheeks. He couldn’t breathe, lungs knotted together, whimpers spilling him his lips. “I-I’m sorry,” He sobbed, gripping his dirty curls. “I-I-I’ll be good- I’ll be good I p-promise. Pl-please don-don’t make it hur-hurts-“

“Oh, Rien,” Nauvu cut him off softly, shaking his head. He crouched, tsk-ing when Rien whined and spreading his arms. “Come here, let me hug you.”

Rien scrambled, eyes downcast, into Nauvu’s open arms, his hands clinging frantically at the man’s shirt and he burrowed close. He fluidly slumped against his father as the man ran his fingers down his back, shushing him as he rubbed away the tension in the muscles.

Nauvu breathed out slowly, his exhales riffling through Rien’s golden curls. His nails dug into his back. “You’re so lucky,” He sighed, pressing harder against his spine. “To have someone like me who can handle you and give you what you need.”

Rien nodded into Nauvu’s chest, ignoring the way it made his insides squirm.

“You’re so sweet when you listen, you know. I love it when you’re so quiet and pretty.”

The praised washed over him like the waves of the ocean, sticky and slimy, doing nothing to alley the buzz freezing into his bones.

Yet a growing part of him was endlessly grateful nonetheless.

***

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks of endless meetings, three days of walking inside a living nightmare, two weeks of Rorey’s emotions bottling inside in a fragile prison until he was nothing but numb. He couldn’t feel; anger and sorrow strung tightly until they were a mess he was too exhausted to sort out. Every step brought nothing but a crushing heaviness that weighed him down, crippling his spine until it would snap.

Rien had been missing for two weeks.

Each hour felt like ages, crawling through thick molasses as the world fell around him. Each second was time wasted — any passing moment threatening to decide his little brother’s life or death. Time was the beast that was ripping Rorey apart, its teeth sinking into any hope, any faith he had left — tearing it to pieces until he was left with nothing, simply a hollow, empty shell.

He could only imagine the horrors — they haunted him every time his eyes so much as slipped shut. From images of Rien collapsed on the ground with Nauvu spitting at him from the sharp sound of knuckles striking flesh, they would make Rorey jolt away in a fit of panic. He would try desperately to sob, to let the gripping anguish spill free, but he could do nothing but drily heave until he passed out once again.

“I understand your troubles, your majesties. I assure you we will find him.”

The words had been repeated to him so many times that now they rang in his ears, a bare promise of reassurance that was fake.

Rorey sat slumped in the conference room once again, where he always seemed to find himself. He found his body instinctively curling in, the effort to hold his head high and strong a futile task. He had always hated this room — the barren place was dense, colors seeming to lose their shine, the regular cheer of the castle replaced by a deafening silence. Now, it struck him with far more fright than disquietude. Its doors seemed to loom over him, the stuff, dull interior serving as an ever-lasting reminder of how his world was forever stripped of any joy.

The lady, some highly skilled detective from the West, rambled on, her words muffled as they breezed past Rorey’s head. He huddled deeper into the warmth of his jacket, staring blankly ahead with clouded green eyes. Reality was slipping from his grasp, glazing over his fingertips but never actually there. He was nearly senseless, sagging farther into a sea of defeat. He was nearly drowning, Ermano’s arm firmly around him and Elwyn’s hand rubbing circles into his knee the only tethers keeping him afloat.

He slumped against his brother, burying his face in the man’s shirt. The smell kept him grounded, pine and flowers mixing in with a sharp hint of blood. Rough hands ran up his back, his heartbeat a constant, steady thumbing over his ear. Ermano sent a smoldering glower to anyone who dared to glance their way.

They had been in the same position for hours, sitting in the hard chairs until their legs were stiff. Dozens of men and women had entered the doors, their voices drawling monotones as they offered their assistance.

At first, Rorey had been eager for their help, heart swelling with hope at their kind words. He had been set — faithful that they would find Rien before the next dawn.

But that sparking idea had wilted within the next day.

They had nothing. No one knew where Nauvu’s palace was, its old location was now nothing but dreary ruins. They had tried to pry as much information out of any enemy they had locked in their dungeon, but their efforts were useless. Each prisoner had gone into what was a crazed fit at the news, cheering for their King even as they were hauled off into darkness.

There was no evidence in Rien’s room, even as guards tore it apart.

All witnesses had been found with slit throats.

Every possible track had been expertly covered.

Rien was simply gone, whisked away without a single clue or print left behind.

Rorey gripped his forearms, nails digging into his skin — the painful pricks grounding as he longed to slip into a blank void. The world passed by in a blur, sounds blasting together in a dim roar, emptiness clawing at his stomach as he simply slouched — blood running cold in tune with the guilt that gnawed ruthlessly at his heart.

What would have happened if he hadn’t been so foolish? If he would had taken a single second to properly think before lowering his guard, would Rien’s demise been prevented? His poor, little brother was somewhere out there — in the merciless hands of his abuser, the strings of Fate his only chance at survival.

He wanted to claw at his tightening throat, to tug at his curls until his scalp bled.

“Thank you for your service,” Elwyn told the detective, lips lifted into a strained smile. “Our Kingdom gives you our deepest gratitude.”

The woman gave a brief bow before striding out of the room.

The doors slammed shut and Rorey flinched, breath hitching. The silence that followed seemed to tear him to pieces, like a band that strangled his lungs until they shriveled up and died, relentless sucking the air from his lungs. His breaths grew ragged, pulse lacing until he was left faint. It wrapped his mind in a sickening loop of quiet that was stripped of Rien’s laughter, something he would never have the mirth to hear once again.

And it was his fault.

He threw himself forward, slamming his fist into the table and screaming through gritted teeth. He buried his face in his hands, yanking on his mocha locks as his chest heaved. Tears streaked his face, hot as they trickled, the glass case that bounded his emotions cracking before it burst in an explosion. His hand stung, still healing bisters splitting open from the impact. Frustration made him reel, a sob building on his tongue.

Was this what grief was?

A feeling that squeezed your insides until even the softest exhale was agony?

He couldn’t take it as he drowned in the ocean of misery, waves shoving him back under as he tried desperately to resurface.

Elwyn squeezed his son’s hand, sniffing as he moved to place his head on Rorey’s collarbone with the rustling of robes. Rorey shuddered back a sob, gripping Elwyn’s arm as he forced back a burning river of tears. He collapsed against his father, the strings holding him up snapping from stress. He shoved his nose into the man’s wisps of tawny hair, breaths ragged.

“I know,” Elwyn murmured, holding Rorey tightly as the Prince poured out his agony. “I know, love. It’s okay, we’l find him.”

Rorey sucked in a wobbly inhale, grasping desperately at the back of Elwyn’s robes. “What if we’re too late?” He asked in a scarce whisper, the words as bitter as bile on his tongue. He bit the inside of his cheek until tangy blood flooded his mouth, dread bubbling in his stomach like acid. He roughly wiped at his eyes, choking on a wrenching sob. “Wh-What if…”

He couldn’t go on, shoulders trembling as he shook his head.

“No,” Ermano rumbled, grasping Rorey shoulder firmly. “Don’t think about it. He’s fine. We’re gonna find ‘im.”

Rorey wanted to believe his brother more than anything — longing to take faith in those declared words and anchor down his hopes.

But a storm was brewing, its dark clouds swarming above in a halo of clawing shadows. It’s harsh winds whipped around the family, sending them tumbling off balance and plummeting into the depths of the inescapable, roaring waters below.

Chapter Text

Rien woke up slowly, yet not in that blissful, inching way you would late in the morning as the sun rose into the sky. His eyelids were firm as he peeled them open, begging to droop shut, sleep lulling like a teasing promise that slipped between your fingertips. His body ached as he slumped against the grass, the lush blades tickling his skin, the chilling wind biting against him with icy jabs.

The hard dirt was cold beneath him, the ringing chirps of birds loud in his fuzzy ears.

He could not get up, lacking the mere energy to simply pull himself from the ground.

He was too tired.

Too defeated.

Too empty.

Gone was the boy who would spend the day laughing and grinning, swept away by Fate’s cruel tide. Day by day, hour by hour, it was like a part of him broke away, tumbling down into the unreturnable trenches below until he was left a mere shell. A child who wasn’t even his own, mind wired to follow orders out of pure fear, who felt sickeningly relief at the thought hopelessly bound to his father.

He didn’t know who he was anymore, his own thoughts fading into the shadows until they were replaced by the steel foundation Nauvu had beaten into him.

He no longer fought nor protested, simply taking punishment with a turned cheek.

He was so lucky to have Nauvu.

The words replayed dully in his head, repeating over and over again in a haze of belief and disbelief.

Nauvu gave him leftover carrots. Nauvu gave him touch and praise when he never had to. Nauvu who steered him correctly and kindly helped such a rat like him be better.

He was so lucky to have Nauvu.

He had no one else to inspect the scratches in his skin when he could not bare to keep it on. No one else to cradle his head when he slammed it against the wall in an attempt to muster a single thought. He had no one else to yank at his hair when he needed something, anything, he relieve the overwhelming hum that flooded his system.

He traced over the thin, silvery scars on each of his wrists — a loop joined together by a looming cross to form Nauvu’s signature symbol. They finally no longer sent stabs of agony tearing through his veins when prodded, the tissue now numb. He was so thankful for them. They allowed the world to see who he belonged to, let others know his owner cared. It made the anguish of that molten rod pressing against his skin undoubtedly worth it.

He was in so much pain that he didn’t notice at first. His whole body seemed to have become numb, which lasts for a few wondrous seconds before blasting back at full force — rushing back in vengeance whenever he so much as twitched.

Worst of all is the burning pain in his left arm, which he cradled close as agony stabbed at him like dull knives. The hunger came close, although, his stomach rolling with a cruel mix of nausea and ruthless throbbing.

With all the random injuries he’s collected for the past month, (or at least he thought it had been a month, everything was blurred together) —none of which have healed fully — and the struggle it takes to pry open his eyes, he wished something was different. That maybe some merciful string of Fate could’ve swooped in before he was stuck in this cold, rotting barn; waiting to be put out of his misery like a sickly animal.

The rusted door to the pathetic shed was heaved open, the rough grinding raw in Rien’s sensitive ears. He stifled a whine, flinching back as footsteps nearly shook the ground. The sunlight that flooded the tight space was blinding, painful against his eyes after so much time swarmed in darkness. His breathing hitched as he stumbled to his knees, scrambling to obediently kneel. He tilted his head to stare at his lap, ignoring the dizziness that sent the world spinning as he swallowed back bile.

He squeezed his shut, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Oh, Gods.

He had been so bad. He had talked back to Nauvu like the scum he was, disregarding the rules that kept him safe. Nauvu was going to be so mad. He had to apologize. What was he apologizing for again? Everything. He had to apologize for everything because he was a stupid, selfish pest who couldn’t do anything right. He was going to apologize and Nauvu would forgive him, right?

But what if Nauvu didn’t forgive him? What if he saw what a useless wreck Rien was and threw him away?

He shoved down the horrible thoughts as Nauvu spoke, his words jolting him from his haze.

“How was your night?” Nauvu asked sweetly, his robes swishing at his heels as he approached the hunched over boy. “Did you sleep well, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir,” Rien croaked, nodding robotically. “L-Liked it lots, sir.”

Nauvu snorted at the blonde’s fearful stutters, coming to crouch in front of the trembling boy. Rien bit back a whimper as the man caught his chin, gripping his bruised jaw. Nauvu clicked his tongue, sighing softly.

“Rien,” He started quietly, tone gentle yet scolding. “You know I love you, right?”

Rien nodded fervently. Of course he knew that. Nauvu was the only one who could love something like him, the only person who took enough time to teach him to be better.

“Good,” Nauvu praised, stroking back Rien’s unruly curls. “So you know that when you step out of line, that behavior needs to be corrected, and it’s my job to punish you so you can learn, right?”

Rien nodded, sniffling as he curled in his shoulders. That made sense, he knew it did. Nauvu had explained it to him. He had been so coddled, so loved, that Rien had forgotten the rules. The Ravens had made him forget what a little pest he was, and now Nauvu was helping him again! Nauvu was great, Rien thought with bubbling warmth, he was teaching him right from wrong again and correcting his ill tendencies.

Tears welled up in those big, dull blue eyes. He was being so bad! He scrubbed at his cheeks, breath shuddering. He was being so difficult for Nauvu when the man had been so nice. He hiccuped, sobs choking from his throat as white-hot shame swelled.

“Oh, shhh,” Nauvu soothed. His arms snaked around the boy, shushing him as he pulled him into his lap. Rien sobbed, clutching Nauvu as tears flowed freely. He shivered, curled up in his father’s loving embrace as he rocked them back and forth. Rien mumbled sleepily as Nauvu tugged the knots out of his hair, pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead and chuckling as those huge eyes stared up at him.

Rien slumped into the faux of comfort, eyelids dragging, breaths evening. In that moment, it was almost as if he hadn’t messed up, simply a young boy relaxing in his father’s arms.

Rien was just clinging to the edge of slumber, breathing slowed, tears stopped.

“Rens? Are you ready for your punishment?”

Rien’s blood ran cold.

“Wh-What?” He whispered, a whimper climbing up his throat. “Y-you’re— you s-still mad?”

A small smile of disbelief, nearly mocking, crept slowly across Nauvu’s lips.

“Now, why would you think that?” Nauvu chuckled, flicking his silver-tipped bangs from his forehead. Rien’s eyes widened, shivers of horror crawling up his spine as flesh tears blurred his vision. He wanted to squirm and run, his father’s glee sending jolts of bad, bad, bad, bad thrilling through him like boiling ice. “Are you really that stupid, boy?” The arms around him suddenly tightened, strangling a cry of pain from Rien as his bruised body was roughly jostled. “You disobeyed me, Rien.”

Rien’s lip quivered. “B-But—“

“Now you’re talking back, too?” Nauvu scoffed at the boy’s hopeless babbles. “I’m just trying to make you better, Rien. You know that.”

Rien’s cheeks heated with humiliation, tears of shame burning his eyes. Nauvu was spending such valuable time on him — even when he was such a worthless waste of space and an insufferable child. And what was he doing in return? Being an ungrateful little brat.

“O-Okay,” He whispered, biting his wobbling lip.

“Good boy,” Nauvu cooed, and Rien relished the way it made him feel all warm and loved. He was still and compliant as Nauvu gathered him close, pulling him to his chest as he stood. Rien squeezed his eyes shut, stomach rolling as he was roughly hoisted up. Nauvu just laughed, pressing Rien’s face to his shoulder as he strode from the stables.

Rien’s insides twisted anxiously as Nauvu carried him outside, heart fluttering nervously. Tears that never seemed to fully fade stung his lashes again, yet he forced them back in fear of dampening Nauvu’s shirt. His father had never brought him anywhere for a punishment, always resorting to kicking at his ribs or yank on his hair right then. This was new, and Rien didn’t like it. Fear stabbed through his veins, breaths coming in ragged gasps.

They had been traveling from Nauvu’s Northern Base — that cold, stiff structure where Rien had been presented — to Aquilo's high, proud, glorious palace. Nauvu and his men had stopped at a Miner’s humble cottage for the night, and the family had been more than honored to welcome their beloved King to their come. Rien like them — one of the kind ladies had even offered him a bed! But, of course, Rien couldn’t take the gift; he was undeserving of such kindness, and beds weren’t for dirty, worthless pests.

Nauvu nudged open the door, the spring breeze ruffling through Rien’s hair. The rosy morning sunlight stabbed harshly at his closed eyelids, the smell of sweet maple and fresh grass an overwhelming flood after a night of nothing but dirt, silence, and chickens.

He was set down roughly on his feet, barefoot catching on a thick tree root. He squeaked, reaching out blindly as he struggled, little fingers gripping the fabric of Nauvu’s pants. There was a ripping noise and Rien went pale, his blue eyes wide. Oh, no. He had messed up so bad and he had torn Nauvu’s robes—

Nauvu gritted his teeth, grabbing Rien by the scruff of his neck and yanking him along. Rien whimpered, staggering as he was pulled across the field of grass.

It was quite a beautiful day, if it weren’t for the storm clouds that swarmed in his mind. The sun’s newly risen, golden beams just hugged the horizon of rolling hills, flowers freshly bloomed, the breeze cool. The huge, towering maple tree above shot into the cloudless sky, the smoke from the Miner’s cozy cottage billowing from the brick chimney. A huge cave mouthed the base of the nearest hill, enforced with wooden posts with a sturdy overhang, fit for a fine mine.

Nauvu’s soldiers were sauntered around their dying fire, their loud, obnoxious voices yelling back and forth as they saddled their horses. Rien wanted to cry out, to kneel by their feet and beg for their help. But he knew it was no good. The first time he had dared to beg the guards for aid, they had laughed at his weeping and grinned when Nauvu had allowed them to deliver Rien’s beating.

But no, he didn’t need help — Nauvu had him, so he was safe! His father would never hurt him, not unless it was to help Rien. So the boy shoved back his tears, not uttering a word of complaint as he was dragged along.

One of the men jeered as he slung a pack over his horse. “What’d the brat do this time, your Highness?”

Nauvu smiled tightly. “Nothing we can’t fix.”

The two made their way across the field, Nauvu’s grip cold as he steered the boy to the gaping, looming mine that sent chills shuddering down Rien’s spine. The walls of pure stone must have been several feet thick, the air undoubtedly heavy and space tightly cramped. Rien nearly wailed and thrashed as he was nearly thrown onto the cold rock ground. The dim flames from flickering torches was the only light in the small carven, the dust clouding the air nearly making the blonde sneeze, though he kept it in because he knew it would earn him a sharp slap.

After what felt like ages of being tugged deeper into the Earth, Nauvu finally rounded the corner, revealing a bubbling, steaming pool of lava. Rien gasped, fear swelling within his poor, pounding heart. He squirmed at the sight, whimpering softly but Nauvu’s grasp merely tightened. “

Rien,” His father tsk-ed. “Don’t you want to be good?” Rien bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, the tangy flavor flooding in mouth. He managed a nod of his dizzy head, the boiling heat from the molten rock blistering against his skin.

Nauvu nudged him along, leading him to the far corner and plopping him down. Rien shifted uncomfortably, shirt clinging to his back as he dripped sweat. He glanced around in rapid panic, his fearful blue eyes meeting Nauvu’s own sadistic gaze. He watched the boy shrink in on himself with a curling smirk. “P-Papa?” Rien scooted back, breath hitching as he protested his movements, an action that Nauvu did not take lightly.

His hand snaked around the back of Rien’s neck, squeezing warningly and drawing him close. “Rien, do you know what you did wrong today?” Weakly, Rien nodded, lungs screaming for air as he did so. “And you know that I’m doing this because I care about you, right? I’m the only one that has the decency, patience, and the tolerance to love you, boy. Even after all the disrespectful things you’ve done, I still take the time to help you,” He sneered, dark and twisted. “Even after you murdered your own mother I still care.”

Rien whimpered, the intense pressure undoubtedly going to leave a bruise and the words Nauvu spat rang true in his head. Why did he have to be so ungrateful? He was hurting his father, causing trouble for the man when he had done nothing but mess up time and time again. Nauvu was gracious enough to remind him of that everyday, but that wasn’t enough for it to stick in Rien’s broken mind.

“I-I know,” He mumbled, voice wet and teary. “Th-Than—‘hank you, Papa.”

Despite the icy grip on his throat, the terror gushing through his veins, and the aching skin of his small, starved body, he truly meant those words with every inch of his soul.

“That’s a good boy,” Nauvu crooned, smiling sickly at the trembling boy. He reached out and embraced the blonde, coiling his arms around Rien and pulling him close. Rien stifled a wrenched sob, little fingers curling desperately to clutch Nauvu’s robes, shuddering hics tearing from his sore throat. Nauvu shushed him, soothing his fingers up Rien’s spine. Rien slumped against his chest, too busy leeching up the comfort he yearned to notice Nauvu reaching into the inside of his robes.

A bottle glinted in the fiery light of the lava as Nauvu pulled it from his inside pocket, crystal-like liquid sloshing in the vial. Rien froze, tensing at the sight. But Nauvu’s hold tightened, yanking Rien in place. Rien struggled to regulate his breathing as Nauvu carefully dipped the bottle into the fiery fumes of livid orange, tauntingly swirling with the clear liquor until it steamed and bubbled.

Rien whined, terror coursing through his fluttering heart, shaking his head frantically. He kicked out, dull eyes blown with hysteria, desperate apologizes spilling out in near unintelligible babbles. He squirmed, shoving against Nauvu. He didn’t want hurts, he could be good, he didn’t want hurts—

Nauvu shattered Rien free from his panicked frenzy of thoughts and forced him still, gripping his arms and firmly keeping Rien’s palm held against his knee. Horror filled the boy's chest and tears continued to stream steadily down his cheeks. He tried to draw his hand away but the man's grip was unmoving. Rien sobbed, burying his face in Nauvu’s shirt. Nauvu murmured to him sweetly, slowly lifting the vial all the while as he watched with nothing but malice.

A drop dripped from the rim, horrific as it burned through the boy’s skin and muscle. The flesh surrounding became black and charred as blood oozed down the awful inflaming skin. Rien shrieked, a cry ripped from his raw throat, hot tears trickling down his cheeks.

He couldn’t breathe through the unbearable agony, his arm trembling fiercely as his little body weight crumpled down on him like thousands of pounds. He slumped across Nauvu’s legs and cool stone, far too exhausted to hold himself up. His wails and pleas were screamed to deaf ears, and Nauvu simply watched with a cruel smile as the next drop landed in the precisely same spot as before, melting down to bone.

Rien screams echoed through the dark caverns, clinging to Nauvu’s hand, trying to find fleeting safety in his father’s arms. The poor child’s mind couldn’t fathom the anguish — unable to wrap his head around the blinding pain that made white spots dance around his vision. His face was a broken mess of tears and snot, sobs hiccuping from his lips. He cried, even as his energy was drained and his breathing became ragged.

He didn’t understand! Nauvu had promised to love him, to not harm him and help him! He screamed as the molten rock drilled into his hand, head lulling against the rock, not even bothering to reopen his sagging eyes.

In the end — after what felt like crawling, inching ages — there were eleven burns scarred on the back of the boy’s hand, great care taken to stray far from the brands on Rien’s wrists. They were each a just mark for every mistake he had tripped over, Nauvu gleefully listed them off, but Rien couldn’t hear him. It was like soft plush had been stuffed in his ears; the searing pain deafening.

He was so bad! Rien thought as he hacked out a cough, choking on his tears. He had broken the rules, he had messed up and—and—

Finally, the drops stopped. They sat there for another few moments as Rien pitifully whined and squirmed, attempting to feebly crawl away. It was several minutes before Nauvu let go of the shaking boy’s arm. Rien hitched a sniffle and went to cradle his wounded hand to his chest, only for Nauvu to grip his wrist once again to stop him.

“No, no, Rens, don’t do that.”

Rien whined, mumbling slurred speech as he pressed his splotchy cheek to the stone, too utterly exhausted to even mutter lucidly.

“Oh, poor thing,” Nauvu sighed softly, fingers sinking into the boy’s hair and tugging free the knots. “Can you sit up for me, sweetie?”

The nickname made warmth swell in Rien’s heart, a drowsy smile laxing over his lips as the coddled dulled the pain in his hand. He obeyed, arms wobbling as he swayed to sit, lashes fluttering. His eyes were all gooey, mouth tasting terrible and head throbbing. He sobbed, a quiet, feeble thing, head spinning as he slowly teetered to the side.

Nauvu chuckled. He scooped up the small boy, humming raspily under his breath as he cradled his son to his chest. Rien mumbled sleepily, resting his tilting head on Nauvu’s collar with a small, relieving breath. Nauvu held him close, running his boney fingers down Rien’s bruised back. The pure, wonderful affection made the boiling burns on Rien’s hand worth it a thousand times over, making up for the possessive glint in those pale eyes and the tightness of his arms.

It was lovely — Rien thought as he lazily snuggled closer to Nauvu. Being held like this, completely safe in the arms of his protector, of his caretaker, of his father.

Nauvu smiled tenderly, reaching up to cup the blonde’s cheek. “You’re such a brave boy,” He crooned. Rien beamed sluggishly at the praise, those bright blue eyes lighting up with joy. He nuzzled into Nauvu’s hand, the man’s nails scratching pleasantly at his scalp. “My sweet little boy, all big and strong for me.” Nauvu stroked the soft skin of the boy’s cheek, thumbing away the dried tear tracks. “I bet you’re tired, huh?”

Rien nodded slowly, rubbing at his drooping eyes with his unwounded hand.

Nauvu hummed. “Well, I have a surprise for you, sweetheart.”

Rien’s eyes widened, excitement beaming in irises of sky blue. “Goo’ s’prise?”

Nauvu laughed at his groggily slurred words, patting the blonde’s head. “Yes, it’s a good surprise.”

He pulled back from the boy, grasping the strap of his satchel as lifting it over his head. He settled a steadying hand loosely between Rien’s shoulder blades as he dug through his bag, before pulling out a gorgeous loaf of bread wrapped in a crumpled piece of fabric. It was near perfect, the bread a soft, almost glowing gold, safe for the charred burns on its underside. Rien gasped, mouth watering at the sight.

Nauvu chuckled at the boy’s delight. “C’mon. Let’s get you fed, Rens,” He gently tucked his son close, shushing his gleeful giggles and cradling his head in the crook of his elbow. He broke off a bit of the bread, carefully lifting it to Rien’s mouth. Rien cooed, eyelids sagging as the wondrous taste flooded his mouth. He ate it gratefully, thankful for the mercy of his father’s kindness.

It was amazing, nearly as good as Elwyn’s cooking! The thought sent drops of sadness seeping through him, shivers crawling up his spine. Suddenly, the bread sat heavily in his stomach, dread creeping up his throat. He turned away from the next bite, whining.

“Rien,” Nauvu snapped sharply, his grip on the boy’s shoulder tightening. He scoffed at the tears that welled up in the blonde’s eyes, gritting his teeth. “Really? Are you so ungrateful that you can’t even take the food I so mercifully gave you?”

Rien felt shame curl in his chest, ducking his head. He obediently parted his lips, swallowing the next bite even as his stomach cramped. He ate it hurriedly, trying to desperately fill the gnawing, clawing hunger that twisted his stomach. He tried to keep eating, not wanting to be selfish, but it was hard. By the time the bread was nothing but crumbs his gut was rolling, pain stabbing in his abdomen in tune with the horrible throbbing in his hand. He whimpered, screwing his eyes shut as bile gathered bitterly in his throat.

His stomach lurched. He gasped, swaying forward as the world spun. He choked, vomit spilling on the cave floor. He sobbed, face pale, fingers gripping the fabric of his pants as his gut churned. Hot tears trickled down his face, chest heaving with every ragged breath. Sweat dripped down his forehead, head a jumbled mess. He reached out blindly for comfort, shoving his face into Nauvu’s robes as he sagged limply.

“You brat!”

Nauvu roughly grabbed the sickly boy by the hair, yanking him back. Rien gagged on a yelp, gasping as he was thrown to his side. His ribs collided hard with the stone, agony pulsing through his chest. Nauvu stalked to his feet, lifting his boot before kicking Rien hard on the hip. Rien gasped for breath, sobs racking his frail frame. Black spots swam in his vision, pressure slamming under his eyes as Nauvu pressed his heel down on his head.

“You pest,” Nauvu hissed, giving Rien a rough shake that sent everything spinning. “You’re so ungrateful. Disregarding my gift, disrespecting me,” He removed his foot, Rien’s jaw skimming over the stone with dull throbs of pain. Rien whimpered, curling up as hot, sticky blood dripping down his cheek. Nauvu knelt down, stroking back the boy’s greasy locks of blonde curls, tutting softly.

“This is why I have to help you,” He said sadly. “You’re all alone, sweetheart. No one else cares, Rien,” He rose, dusting off his pants before turning, lips pursed. “Now, why don’t you stay in here for a bit to think about what you did, hm?”

Rien choked on a sob, weakly shaking his head, begs dying on his tongue. He whined, breaths shuddering, reaching out with a trembling hand. He didn’t want to be alone, everything hurt and he was so tired but—

But Nauvu paid him no mind, simply striding out of the cave and leaving the boy in the darkness.

Rien stared as his father’s footsteps faded away, frozen, the utter silence deafening other than the bubbling of lava.

Rien wailed, shoving his face into his arms with a jarring hiccup. He longed. To crawl into someone’s lap and be held, the thought sending tears flowing down his cheeks. Yet there was no one, all love fled from sight. It hurt. Confusion left him dizzy; unanswered pleas leaving him sick. He called out, but his broken cries were met with nothing.

He hugged his knees, panting, lashes fluttering as slumber weighed him down. He let his sobs burst free, tumbling out at crushing force. His hand burned with agony, stomach cramping, shivers racking his spine as sweat dripped from his brow. The effort to keep his eyes open was dragging, and he slowly gave in to sleep, letting his tired fingers slip from the ledge.

The boy drifted unconscious, simply too exhausted to trudge on.

Ermano bolted up with a sharp gasp, hands tightly clutching cool sheets. His face dripped with cold sweat as his heart thundered in his ribs. Ragged breaths echoed in his ears, dark eyes wide as his throat ached with the familiar sting of his slumbering screams. The room around him flickered with haunting horrors of rolling, dead eyes, and oozing splurts of blood slowly fading as he adjusted to the darkness, vision tinged with clawing shadows.

There was no blade weighing down his hands, knuckles clean of red stains.

Slowly, the adrenaline seeped away, leaving his fingers shaking as he shuddered in the silence.

He sighed, running through his silky locks as weary eyes blinked away sleep. He rubbed his temples as his grappling horror was replaced by profound exhaustion. He was tired of having these dreams, the the repetitive recalling of those gory, gruesome battles was starting to weigh him down — grinding his will until his mind nearly snapped.

He forced his lungs to inhale, taking in deep gulps of oxygen until his breaths evened out. He ignored how the fabric of his bedshirt rubbed irritatingly against his back, disregard the cold prickling of his skin. He dug the heel of his hands into his eyes, swallowing on the bile rising in his throat.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, pushing back his hair, strands still damp from wash. He let the fresh scent of soap and flowers mingle his senses, subduing his racing heart.

It was pitch-dark out, the twinkling, countless stars dotting the inky void, glittering like diamonds against the dark canvas in constellations that told stories of mythic heroes and far-off worlds. The three moons showed brightly high above, their silvery, ethereal rays bathing the sky in its glow, casting long shadows across the soldier’s bedroom through the tossed drapes, its gentle, calming effect somehow stilling Ermnao’s bustling mind. The room was simple, yet elegant, its timeless beauty and rich sophistication matched with an inviting coziness that Ermano loved so dear.

He heaved a breath through his nose, slipping from the velvet duvet and standing with a muffled grunt. He grabbed a candle from the bedside table, striking a match against its holder and watching as the small flame flickered to life, melting the wax as he lit the wick, its warm glow illuminating the hallway as he stepped through the door.

A few moments later, the man sat at the table in the family’s small, private kitchen located in their bedroom quarters. He stirred his Chamomile, spoon clicking against the cup. The scent of apples and honey steamed from the tea, tinged with something smoky and charred. He lifted the mug, swallowing a sip with a wrinkle of his nose. Was Chamomile supposed to taste bitter?

He sat his cup down with a thunk, rubbing at the furrow in his brow that never seemed to fade.

The days were beginning to blur, merging together until they were impossible to tell apart.

His emotions, normally kept tucked close and perfectly glanced, were starting to tip. They swelled, deep anger and sorrow roaring from within in crushing waves that threatened to burst free in a flood.

He had seen countless battles and had bathed in the blood of his enemies without an ounce of regret.

He had destroyed Kingdoms and murdered rulers without so much as a batted eye.

Yet, despite his years of victory, he was never outlashing nor proud, the utter opposing side of his brother Rorey, his intense emotions always kept close. His logical mind and deep notions were rarely exploded, simply gears that turned to make sense of the world. While never apathetic, the soldier was always laid back, refusing to be overtaken by the fierce emotions inside.

But the cold, gripping feeling that clawing at his chest was threatening to burst free. Built on a firm foundation of shock and unfamiliarity and shooting up in a looming tower.

He let his elbows rest on the table, gripping his hair with a wary sigh.

The room he sat in was a dear beauty, the walls a lovely shade of cyan like the ocean’s waves at dusk, painted with carefully with strokes of sunset orange that weaved into patterns of soaring butterflies and blooming flowers. The enchantment was bitter sweet, the glorious designs painted by the worthy brush of his late mother. Glittering goblets and shining plates were staked in tall, charming cabinets, counter tops ones of rich wood, the tea kettle steaming on the stove.

The memories that were the small space were once lively and joyful, now held nothing but a a dagger that was plunged into his heart.

His mother had died when he was but a child, the only memories he had of her were a barking laugh like his own, dark curls similar to Rorey’s, a perl necklace and lilac perfume. Then he knew only his father’s sobs and his unyielding determination as he carried their family through the periling trials. The grief had never clung to his young mind, simply floating away in a breeze of confusion.

From fables to biographies, Ermano was no stranger to grief. It was always a mountain the hero had to climb, always a weapon used to toy with the protagonist until they broke. As a man of war and blood, it was a tool he used to tear apart nations and destroy tyrants. It was a curse his blade carried, a plague following in his wake.

He had never once stopped to think about his fallen enemies — never cared about the family who would never again see their father or mother, would ignore the pang in his heart when he realized that a waiting husband would never again see his beloved wife again.

Yet now it all came rushing back like a shattered dam.

Was this how the comrades of his foes felt when he ruthlessly sliced through their soldiers? Like something was swelling inside of him like swarming storm clouds, bottling up in a crushing mound of agony until it burst free in an explosion?

It was slowly strangling him, wrapping around his neck like a hanging rope.

He raised his eyes at the sound of soft footsteps, gaze shifting to the doorway. A smaller figure raised a flickering candle, revealing tawny locks that hugged his jaw line, a kind face, and gentle gray eyes that reflected the burning flame. Elwyn’s hair was ruffled with sleep, brow creased with concern as he observed his son.

“Hello,” Elwyn greeted with a soft smiled, bedrobes swaying as he entered the room. “You’re up a bit early.”

Ermano huffed. “Couldn’t sleep,” He muttered, lifting his cup to take a sip of tea.

Elwyn hummed in understanding, ambling over to the stove and grabbing a glittering goblet from the cabin before pouring a bit of tea for himself. He sat down in opposite of his son, taking a small sip and immediately wrinkling his nose.

“Is this supposed to be Chamomile, Em?” The man asked with a light chuckle, politely setting his cup aside.

Ermano shot Elwyn a flat glare. “My tea is perfectly fine, thank you.”

Elwyn laughed. “All right, all right,” He held up his hands in surrender, shaking his head. He took another swallow of tea, grimacing and forcing on a strained smile. “Just…maybe consider asking Rorey for a few pointers.”

“I wasn’t going to wake him up in the middle of the night just for some tea,” Ermano arched an eyebrow with a snort, grabbing a handful of sugar cubes from the tea platter and dropping them into his drink. He watched as the cubes dissolved, melting as they swarm in the sweet liquid’s heat. He clenched his jaw, drawing in a breath through his nose. “Besides, he needs his rest.”

Elwyn trailed off at that, eyes drifting to stare at the grounds in the table, lips thinned into a frown as those charcoal eyes shimmered with sorrow.

There was no argument in Ermano’s claim — it was undoubtedly true that Rorey needed as much rest as possible. The last few days had been nothing short of horrible for the three of them, the winds of Fate testing them with its merciless gusts that rocked them until they tumbled. But Rorey’s struggles had been a thousand times worse, the poor brunette had cried himself dry, screaming until his throat was dead, yanking on his hair until his scalp bloody.

For once, the silence between the two was tense — something unholily stiff settled in the air.

Elwyn cleared his throat, folding his hands as he met Ermano’s stormy blue eyes.

“Would you like to spar?

“Move you foot back a bit,” Ermano suggested, gesturing to Elwyn’s awkwardly angled leg. “Wouldn’t want your knees to snap, old man.”

The two stood in the royal court, the tall windows flooding the room with soft moonlight, drapes breezing in the light wind. Columns steadily held up the doming ceiling, the carpet at their feet weaved with marvelous designs of vivid colors, the space wide and empty. Ermano gripped fencing staff in one chalk-dusted hand, using the other to grab a hair tie and twist his hair back in a quick ponytail, auburn locks spilling over a broad shoulder.

Elwyn nodded, shifting his footing to perfect his stance. He blew a loose strand of hair behind his ear, dusky hair pulled back in a low bun, staff held expertly between his hands.

Ermano had been giving the elder sparring lessons for the last few months, improvement slow yet steadily increasing. He knew better than to underestimate the man’s small size, his shoulder still ached from the bruise Elwyn had given him in their last match before apologizing profoundly.

The two stepped back from each other, weapons gripped and brows furrowed. Ermano swept his hair over his shoulder, eyes narrowing, before lunging.

Ermano leaped forward with shocking grace, striking out with his staff in a twirl. His pole collided with Elwyn’s, the wood thunking as their weapons clashed. Elwyn was swift to pull back, ducking when Ermano lashed out a split second later.

Ermano moved like a dancer at his heels, moments nothing but refined and powerful. His spirits sang with every blow, some lusting monster inside of him yearned to finally be at home once again — in the heat of a blood bath on the battlefield. His strikes were a second nature, simply a routine he could follow in his sleep.

He grunted as Elwyn’s staff met his, staffs shoving against each other before the broke apart. Ermano stepped back, a grin twisted on his lips as he glanced at Elwyn with gleaming eyes. “Gettin’ tired, old man?”

Elwyn laughed, wiping sweat from his forehead as he offered an easy smile. “You wish, brat.”

Ermano lunged, slamming his weight down as their staffs collided once again. Elwyn gasped, knees buckling under the force, staggering as he quickly backpedaled. Ermano scoffed, straightening his stance as towering over the man as his father struggled to righten himself, breaths heavy and heaving.

Ermano had always been flawless at spotting the finest details. From chips in paint to the slight small of smoke, he saw the world carefully and left nothing unnoticed.

Yet he failed to see the sweat that drenched Elwyn’s face, failed to notice the horror in those gray eyes, and missed worried calls of his name.

Everything was drowned out by agonized screams that rang ruthlessly in his head, the scene before him washed away and twisting with horror of blood stained grass and limp bodies. All logic melted from his mind, leaving his hands clenched round his weapon, dark eyes blazing dangerously, some animalistic instinct clawing inside snarling for destruction.

He snarled, tearing forward in a clouded haze. The simple pole he held shifted, becoming his long, sharp sword that glinted in the moonlight. He saw his father as nothing but a faceless enemy he were to slice down.

He threw himself forward, lips curled back to bare his teeth, blows uncharacteristically reckless and brash. He plummeted his foe with nothing but raw, brute force, grinning at their yelps of fear and pain. He saw red, twirling in a deadly dance, a swelling, wrenching darkness clawing up from his chest until it spilled over like a crawling monster of shadows.

It was the beast that was hidden inside any poor soul cursed to walk the Earth — whether buried under mounds of kindness or shown brightly for the world to see.

It was the damning cost of a being a victorious warrior — the bloodshed and shrieks swirling together until his head was as gory as the battlefield.

He carried nothing of morals, any reasoning shoved aside, a chant of kill kill kill thundering through his head like a deathly drum.

He rammed into them, sending his enemy tumbling to the ground with a pained shout. He rolled so that is weight slammed into their figure, his forearm planting firmly under their chin and pressing their throat to the floor. He pinned down their shoulders, stormy blue eyes gleaming like a rabid predator’s as they struggled for breath.

“E-Em!”

They choked, eyes wide as they clawed uselessly at the soldier’s hold. “St-Stop—“

Suddenly, the horrible, gripping red vines that snaked around his mind loosened their strangling hold, letting the blurry battlefield before him morphing to a fuzz of reality. Wide, panicked gray eyes met his own dark blue, blood dripped down Elwyn’s forehead with every heave of breath, trashing under Ermano’s crushing hold.

Ermano’s breathing hitched. He stared at Elwyn in horror, his father still writhing in his grip.

He dropped his staff, it landed with a dull clatter as it rolled at his feet. He was unable to look away from Elwyn’s prone form, breaths coming in struggling gasps, ice flooding his veins and freezing him in place.

Elwyn heaved himself up, clutching his chest as he fought to regain his breath. He gaped at Ermano with wide, terrified eyes. A gash cut across his forehead, Ermano realized numbly, deep and tearing, blood dripping down his temple before rolling down to stain his shirt the same unforgivable crimson. The other stood there helplessly, watching as his father bled, heart shattering when Elwyn flinched away from his gaze.

Elwyn was terrified of him.

Ermano had done it once again.

He had hurt someone he loved.

He took a step back, legs trembling, eyes wide.

Self hatred and disappointment bubbled within him, bile gathering at the back of his throat.

No. No, no, no, no—

“Em,” Elwyn breathed softly. He slowly stood, careful to discard his staff as he rose to his feet. There was no anger clenching his fists or an ounce of hate upturning his nose, instead, his expression was one of unending, powerful, unconditional love that made Ermano’s heart squeeze. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to leech his father’s kindness, not being the blood-thirsty, ruthless monster he was.

Ermano jolted back as Elwyn stepped closer, nearly tripping over his own feet. “No,” He shook his head, hands trembling as he backed up. “N-No, Elwyn, don’t—“

He couldn’t breathe, lungs tied in a knot that squeezed his insides. The roaring rush was still there, a dull command ordering him to attack—

“Hey,” Elwyn murmured gently, advancing on the younger man carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal and not a rabid beat. “Em, shhh. You’re okay.”

Ermano gasped, limbs locking in place, frozen with horrid shock. He sucked in a shuddering breath, prickles racking his form in shards of ice that stabbed at his skin, heart a pounding drum that was trapped in his ribs.

Elwyn slowly made his way across the room, his eyes never faltering in their steady gaze. Ermano stared at him as his knees threatened to give out under his weight, eyes burning with unshed tears. He found himself unable to look away, his father the only light in a world of swallowing darkness, shaking with tremors that made his head throb.

Oh, Gods, what had he done? He couldn’t breathe, breaths coming out in panicked chokes, cold sweat drenching his brown. There was blood coating Elwyn’s bangs from a wound that he had cut—

It was like a shackle of iron had clamped around his chest, grinding against his bones until he splintered. The soft moonlight was incredibly bright, its silvery beams stabbing a growing pressure under his eyes. He brought a shaky hand to comb through his hair, smoothing out his auburn locks as he stumbled back on wobbly legs. The empty room was crampingly tight, the walls shoving in on him until he was crushed—

“Em,” It was Elywn’s voice that pulled him back, a teether that grounded him to reality. The words swam before Ermano, his father’s face hovering before him, concern thronging his features. He was a mere step away, the deed to reach out and snap his neck effortless. Ermano wanted to shove him back, wanted to plead for him to run before he hurt him, yet he was still — breaths ragged as Elwyn slowly reached out.

Elwyn gently rested his hands on the sides of Ermano’s arms, murmuring comfort as he rubbed soothing circles to scarred skin. Ermano’s breathing hitched, a lump swelling in his throat. He expected some unholy force to jerk him forward, strings yanking his limbs as he beat his father to death, but he found himself sinking into the touch as Elwyn gently reached up to cup his cheek. His knees shook, head slumping as he sagged; body too exhausted to hold his weight.

“Oh, Em,” Elwyn breathed. He brought his arms up to hug his son close, leaning on his tip toes to press Ermano’s head to his shoulder. Ermano shuddered, shoving his face into his father’s shoulder, teeth gritted, Elwyn’s shirt growing damp as tears sprang in his eyes. Elwyn brushed back the warrior’s disgruntled hair, eyes shining with sadness.

“No,” Ermano shook his head, recoiling from the embrace. Fear thundered through his skull, heart a pounding stab in his chest. “No. Get away, what if I—“

“You’re okay,” Elwyn reassured him. He kicked away the staffs, with rolled until they clattered against the far wall. “You’re okay, mate.”

Ermano panted, shaking, staring at Elwyn as the man carefully gripping his arms, lowering them both to the ground as the man dangerously swayed. Ermano sank to the floor numbly, dread settling in his stomach like rotted food. He gazed at his clenched hands, reddened and stretched from where they had just been wrapped around Elwyn’s throat.

He had nearly killed him. He had nearly strangled the kind, loving man who had raised him—

“Hey,” Elwyn cut in quietly, gripping his knee. “Look at me, okay?”

Ermano flicked his gaze to meet those kind gray eyes, forcing out his breaths until they were even, shoulders stiff. The two sat in silence under the beams of moonlight, the silence blissful to Ermano’s rushing head, Elwyn quick to call him back when he once again lost himself in a world of war and blood. Slowly, the raging monster inside calmed — cooling its bottled anger until it dissolved.

Ermano rubbed his pounding temples, realization hitting him like a wound of bricks. His head snapped up, eyes wide.

“I—“ His voice was cracked and hoarse, tremors fighting to leak into his words. “Wh-What—“

Elwyn squeezed his hand warmly, running his thumb over scarred knuckles. “Deep breaths,” He reminded him tenderly. “We’re all right.”

Ermano swallowed back bile, gripping his father’s hand back tightly. “I-I’m so sorry,” He had but gasped out. “I-I don’t—“

“No,” Elwyn interrupted firmly, shaking his head. “Em, that wasn’t you’re fault, I should have known…”

“Known?” Ermano repeated hoarily, clearing his throat. “Known what?”

“I shouldn’t have asked to spar,” Elwyn murmured, dragging a weary hand down his face. “We’ve all been struggling and your nightmares have been getting worse…”

Ermano grunted, running a hand through his hair as he sighed. He let his eyes sag shut, a bone-crushing exhaustion clinging to him like a stubborn leech that sapped away at his strength. The warrior had been inflicted with countless wounds, shown by the scars that littered his skin and ached in his joints, yet this wound was cut much, much deeper. It was nearly impossible to feel in the bustling of the day, yet thrived in the horrible silence that made is scream with agony, always there, always present, never quite fully faded.

“Your hair’s a mess,” Elwyn chuckled softly. Ermano opened his eyes, raising an eyebrow.

It was true, his auburn locks a disarray of tangled strands. He sighed, nodding. “Guess so.”

Elwyn shuffled, scooting so that he was sitting at Ermano’s side. He smiled at his son gently, gesturing to the soldier’s hair in an unasked question. Ermano nodded, sweeping his locks so that Elwyn could easily reach them. They shimmered like the rich colors of autumn leaves in the moonlight, gleaming blossom pinks and sunset oranges as Elwyn expertly weaved them into three tresses, twisting them into a beautiful braid.

Ermano let himself float in the peaceful haze, letting his father’s fingers comb through his hair.

For a moment, it was almost as if no time had passed. As if they were still one big, happy family of four sleeping soundlessly through the night.

“Your mother would sometimes…loose herself, too,” Elwyn said softly after a moment, humming under his breath as he delicately worked. “Years of war leave a dent. She was strong, but even the toughest soldiers can crumple after so much bloodshed.”

Ermano chuckled sadly. “War isn’t kind to anyone.”

He thought of Rien, his little brother, who had been thrown into war and trail before he could walk. The poor boy had faced so much pain, so much suffering, until finally now, he was whisky away as a sick little trophy for Nauvu to polish and beat.

The thought made him reel.

“We’ll find him,” Elwyn muttered, as if reading Ermano’s thoughts. His eyes were narrowed, slate gray swarming with cold anger that would send countless men cowering to their knees. He tied the final cross of Ermano’s braid, lips set into a frown, fists clenched. “We will find him.”

Ermano felt darkness uproar inside of him — as dark as ink and twisted, the lust for split blood chanting through his head. He met Elwyn’s steady gaze, giving his father a stiff nod. An unspoken understanding passed between the two, a promise that they would take to the grave without question — a vow to get their youngest back even if the world sat at their feet in ruin.

And morality be damned, he would always pick his family over the world.

Chapter Text

Rien normally slept restlessly, shivers racking the poor boy’s spine as he weakly tossed on his thin mattress. Slumber was a rare mercy to come by, nights filled with stifled sobs and an aching loneliness that carved out his heart. The cool drafts that breezed through the palace were like shards of stabbing ice to the blonde who slept without a mere blanket, teeth chattering until his lips were raw and bloody, tears leaking down his nose until he was left faint and limp.

No boy should flinch at his father’s pats, no child should gape over food that had such little mold.

Screams haunted his fleeting hours of rest, those of engaged shouts of his father shaming his ruthless blood. The word murderer swam through the horrible nightmares, whether it was spat in his face or whispered in his ear, it was a piece of his past he could not shake.

It didn’t matter if his selfish heart shattered each time his father would shout those hateful words in his face, he deserved it. It was a deep, sickening realization that struck him dizzy. His mother, who he had never gotten to meet because of his own evil soul, had wilted away just to give life to him. He sniffled, tears of shame bubbling over his lashes as he thought of what she would say when she saw her failure of a son.

But his father would simply scoff at his tears, then probably follow that up with a harsh slap. Rien would sob as his ribs would bruise at the plummeting blows, his begs met with scorns — mocking that the boy who had killed his mother in cold blood coward at a sting of pain.

But this time, Rien slept peacefully. His head rested against his lump pillow that was mushed to comfortably coosh his cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest steady and gentle, too weary to care for the scary darkness that swallowed the small space. Clouds of sugary fluff filled his cheery dreams, kind voices praising him and gentle hands soothing his sore body, lingering kisses peppering his face.

It was tinged bittersweet. It allowed Rien to glimpse some illusion of love, yet slammed him with a horrible sadness when he tried to reach out, only for it to melt away at his fingertips.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder — roughly shaking him. He was startled out of his dream, thrown back into the real world. He whined, eyes struggling to flutter open, head throbbing as he was harshly shook. He squinted, trying to work out the dark, blurry shapes above him. Someone was talking, their voice a low hiss in his ear. Rien weakly squirmed, trying to push away, the anger seething in their voice sending fear jolting through him—

Nauvu’s pale eyes pierced through the darkness, cold as he clamped a firm hand around Rien’s arm. “Get up,” He snarled, tugging the boy off the mattress. Rien gasped, stumbling like a newborn colt on trembling legs. Blood rushed in his ears. His foot snagged on his pillow, sending him slipping with a startled yelp.

Nauvu paid no mind, yanking the boy along. Rien staggered after him, his arm stinging where the man’s nails dug into soft skin. His breathing was ragged and hard, bleary blue eyes wide. He was forced into the hall, the dim light of the blazing torch Nauvu held stabbing pressure under his temples. Confusion raced in tune with his hurtling heart.

“P-Papa?” He whispered tentatively, voice scratchy from disuse, golden curls still tangled from sleep. “Wha’s happ’nin’—”

Nauvu struck him hard across the cheek, pain blooming over the boy’s face. Tears welled in Rien’s eyes, a mark painting itself on is face.

“Shut up, you worthless brat,” Nauvu spat, harshly yanking on Rien’s arm.

“I— M’sw’rry, sir,” Rien gasped out, a sob building in his chest. His bare feet padded on the tiled floors, cold and numb. “Pl-plea—“

Nauvu ignored him, simply leading him through the halls. Guards bowed as their King stormed past, not sparring the boy so much as a glance. Rien shrank in on himself, curling his free arm around his middle and rubbing soothing circles into his tingling skin. He whimpered as Nauvu pulled him along, struggling not to trip or shy away.

Nauvu turned the corner, leading the boy to a stairwell that drooped down. Rien bit back a whine as he was pulled inside, the shaft damp and dark. Chills crawled up his spine, their descent down the jagged steps making his head swim.

Finally, they made it to a small, tight space that made Rien shiver with unease. Before them was a towering, heavy steel door, the air heavy, the only light the shining flames of Nauvu’s torch. The floor was packed dirt, cold prickling Rien’s neck, the awful smell of old, rotting wood floating though his nose.

“W-Where we goin’?” He dared to stammer, bile bubbling in his stomach. Tears ran down his cheeks, chest shuddering. “I-I don’—“

Again, he was met with silence. Nauvu stalked forward, dragging the helpless blonde along, throwing open the heavy door with a grunt. With strength of a madman he practically threw Rien inside as the door shut with a gritting slam. Rien cried out, eyes screwing shut as he lost his footing. Pain shot up his ankle, knees giving out, landing on his rear with his back colliding against the furthest wall. The only light was the beams of three moons that poured in from a single, barred window high above his head, the room barren, walls cramped, shirt dirty where it rubbed against the ground of soil.

Nauvu began to stride forward, causing the boy to scoot back in panic. Rien’s chest was heaving, eyes blown wide, sobs racking his throat. His father’s expression was unreadable in the darkness, just his form loomed over the cowering boy. Rien whimpered, eyes beginning to burn. “D-Dada?” He hiccuped. “Pl-please…” His foot boiled in agony. He cried out, quivering. “I-it hurts. Hurts—“

Nauvu reached down, grabbing the boy’s wrist and yanking it against the wall. Rien squeezed his eyes shut, flinching. He expected his hand to be slammed into the stone, but instead it was shoved against metal — icy and cold. Its chill shocked his flesh, heart jumping, eyes flying open.

“P-Papa?” He whispered shakily as a rough, stern steel cuff closed around his little wrist with a click. He tried to pull away, flailing in racing panic, breaths coming out in chokes gasps. “P-Pleas—“

Nauvu jerked his other wrist up, pinning it as he mercilessly locked it in place. Rien’s hands fell down limply, head a spinning mess, landing in his lap with the rattling of chains. His small, fragile hands were shackled to the wall, with barely enough slack to rest against his knees. Dull knives of pain scrapped up his skin, itching where they rubbed against the chains.

“For the good of the Kingdom,” Nauvu breathed. Rien flicked his gaze to stare at his father with wide, confused eyes. Nauvu’s face shined ghostly in the moonlight, lips set in a frown, expression indifferent, pale eyes glinting with malice.

Rien’s heart leapt into his throat, arms aching, dizziness spinning him as he struggled for breath. “Wh-What?”

Nauvu pursed his lips, chin tilted up, turning to leave.

“W-Wait!” Rien wailed, a pit forming at the bottom of his churning stomach. He tried to cling to his father’s robes, but he was yanked to a stop by the shackles. His shoulder screamed in pain, eyes blurring with tears, chains rattling as he frantically began to pull on his restraints. “Please. I-I’ll be good- I’ll be good I p-promise—“

Tears spilt down his cheeks, sobs tearing from his throat, panic wrapping around his heart and squeezing.

“I-I don’ un’stan’—“ Rien whined, shaking his head feverishly. “No, no, no, pl-pl’se—“

Nauvu turned, robes swishing at his heels. Rien’s pleas and wails fell of deaf ears as the door was thrown open, before creaking shut. Rien flinched back as it slammed closed, teeth clacking together. The chains were far too tight on his thin arms, fingers numb, raw panic flooding over him like a splintered dam. He called out until his voice broke, throwing himself against the shackles. The sore aching in his arms had spread to his shoulders in a roaring fire, until his whole body was nothing but heat. He fell limply against the ground, dirt staining his rags, sobbing as he begged for his father to come back. He screamed until his lung felt like they were going to collapse, until his throat was dry, until his head pounded.

“P-Papa!” He wailed, nails scratching at the wall. “Please! Please…”

No one came.

He was too far down for anyone to hear his begging, the walls lined with stone blocking any sound.

His cries echoed back at him, the darkness swallowing the cell and its hopeless prisoner.

Sleep didn’t come that horrid night.

He slumped, eyes sagging, wrists burning with agony. He sniffled, shoving his head between his knees as his body shuddered with painful, deep hiccups. His curls were a mess, greasy and picked with dirt, dried tears streaking his face. His stomach growled, begging for food, his faint head from dehydration. He swayed with the chains clattering, the world fuzzy. Pitiful sobs shuddered from his parched lips, lashes fluttering.

His head was dizzy and light, eyes heavy. He sucked in tattered breaths, head lulling to sag against the wall behind him.

He didn’t understand! He had been good, why was he here, what had he done—

He curled his knees to his thin chest, resting his head atop them. He whined, the defeated sound scraping from his dry throat. He sat there in the darkness, the cold seeping through his clothes and sending his teeth chattering, confusion pounding his head. His weak cries echoed through the cell, begging for Nauvu or the guards, pleading to give him another chance. He could be good, he could be good—

He was met with silence.

The hours blurred. He sobbed and yelled until he was left limp, arms enflamed, hopelessness and dread pitting in his stomach. Tears trickled down his cheeks, hot and sticky, exhaustion weighing down his trembling limbs. “D-Dada…” He mumbled, words slurred and stuttered. “I-I…M’cold…”

He laid there, deathly pale, thin chest shuddering as his gooey eyelids fought to stay open. He didn’t sleep, his restful fit lasting through the night. He tried to tug on the chains, tried scratching the walls until his nails were chipped and bloody, but it was no use. He cowered, mumbling deliriously to himself as he violently shivered.

It was impossible to tell how long he swayed in the darkness. He didn’t hear a peep above him. In fact, the only reason he was alerted to the rising of the sun from the bars above was because heavy footsteps broke the silence. Rien feebly lifted his head, sobs hiccuping from his lips. He gasped, lifting his head, dull blue eyes shining with childish hope.

A guard stepped into the cell with the creaking of rusty hinges. Rien stared in disbelief, tears of sweet relief flowing down his face. He sniveled, gazing up at the guard as he shivered and shook. He obediently kneeled, chains rattling. “Pl-please,” He whispered, swallowing on his sore throat. “I-I’ll— I be good. J-Just please— I w-wanna come back.”

He was ignored, the guard simply scoffing before she hauled a bucket of water into the room, a plate of bread balanced on a hand. She strode inside, setting down the bucket with the sloshing of water and thunking down the plate carelessly. Rien flinched, shrinking back. He cautiously peered over at the food, his mouth watering. The bread looked old, stiff and wilting. Thankfulness swelled within him at the reward of food, but terror and confusion bubbled his gut, making him sick.

“Please,” He begged, reaching out to desperately clutch the guard’s boot. His expression was horribly crumbled, defeated and agonized like no child’s should be. He whimpered as the chains jerked, arms spiking with pain. “I-I’m sorry. I-I’ll be good, I-I p-p’omise—“

He wanted Ermano to shush him and reassure him that he was okay. He wanted Rorey to scoot him up and hug him tightly. He wanted Elwyn to whisper soft things in his ear and press a kiss to his hair.

But Fate was cruel.

The guard paid the wailing boy no mind, casting the poor child one cold glance before exiting the room, the door grinding shut behind her.

“No!” Rien sobbed, shaking his head frantically. He yanked against the chains, kicking at the wall, chest heaving with rapid breaths. “No, p-please! I’ll be good, I-I be good, I-I swear!” He tried to desperately wiggle free, whines and whimpers slipping from his lips. He gasped for breath, exhaustion slamming into him as he slumped against the cold dirt floor.

He couldn’t fight off the restless tiredness that plagued him. Baby blue eyes slowly fluttered shut, the cell fading as he drifted off.

The next few days were nothing but an exhausted haze for the poor boy. He would spend his hours laying awake, shifting on the floor in a futile attempt to get comfortable, mumbling slurred apologies to the dirty walls. His destress would come in hot waves of salty tears, few and scarce from the cruel lack of water. Not a soul came to comfort the little boy who sobbed, leaving him to rot in that lonely cell.

The same few guards would stride into the cell, each expression as impassive as the next, noses turned up with indifference. They never acknowledge the child’s cries of help, always setting down whatever stale food they had brought before turning.

Sometimes they threw an old rag at Rien, barking at him to wash off. Rien had scrambled to obey, the rough cloth running over delicate skin until it was raw and red. He was roughly thrown a new pair of trousers that were horribly itchy, sending prickles of discomfort tingling his spine. His curls of shining gold were now dirty and dull, once bright eyes of blazing blue now weary with defeat and swimming with flooding confusion.

He would spend the ticking hours curled up in a tiny ball, shivering as time went by in a blurry fuzz. He would cry silently to himself, staring blankly at the unmovable shackles with small shoulders that slumped in defeat.

He would babble quietly in the dark, slurring childish nonsense in a hopeless act of soothing. Sometimes, if he tried hard enough, it was almost like someone was listening to him; shushing him softly with their hand breezing through his hair.

But there was no one.

Rien would sniffle, bury his head in his knees has his small mind tried to make sense of it. What had he done wrong? He would wail and hiccup, distress spilling over the boy as he sank into an endless pit of sorrow.

Slapping a hand over their mouth to stifle terrified whimpers after waking from a scary nightmare, shaking as he tried to cower away from a monster would have most children whisked into the arms of their parents. But the guards would scoff at him, deliver a harsh kick to his side as his bucket was carelessly refilled.

His wrists has started to bleed, drops of blood slowly rolling down his forearms in marveling shades of vivid rubes and earthy browns. Rien had gasped in wonder at the color, eyes wide with disbelief and he timidly dragged his fingertips through the stick liquid. He had slowly smeared it across his arm, adorable giggles tittering from chapped lips as he traced wonderful patterns.

He drew beautiful tapestries — painting the walls in winding flowers, covering his hands in weaving designs that almost made up for the steel cuffs that bound them.

But most of all, he colored his family. He made Rorey’s sparkling eyes and Ermano’s gentle smile, Elwyn’s kind face and even Lex’s locks of fiery hair.

They weren’t perfect by any means. His hands trembled, vision flickering as spells of dizziness tremors him. But they made happiness bloom in his chest, his heart squeeze with longing of his family.

And he would see them again! He just had to be good, and they would want him again. Just like Nauvu said.

He would tell himself stories, too! They were cheery little tales — ones of warm embraces and homemade soup, always ending happily. He would sleepily mumble about a big dragon who made friends with a princess, and if he imagined hard enough it was almost like he could feel the beast’s warm scales pressed against his side. He would hum about three mice who had to befriend a hungry cat, smiling softly when he thought of them riding the tamed feline into the sunset.

But then, there were sudden moments when reality would plummet him with crushing blows.

Sometimes it was hard to breathe. His chest would squeeze, icy tingles racing down his back, head pounding like it would burst. The walls would press together, heart fluttering in his ribs, bile gathering in the back of his throat as he clamped his hands over his ears. The silence would ring deafeningly in his ears, shrieking like a scratched record. Loneliness would send sobs bubbling from his lips, confusion that his young mind couldn’t grasp leaving him hiccuping.

Some days, defeat would sag him down as he stared blearily at the ceiling, counting the inching seconds. But others, some childish hope would flicker inside him — faith set firmly in some savor that would break through the door and carry him to safety.

Rien was curled up in the corner, watching with dragging eyes as blood oozed slowly down his wrists. His breaths were soft, sleepy huffs, joints aching as shuddering coughs ripping from his throat.

He hadn’t moved, numbly slouched. He lacked the energy to move, head held in his hands. He groaned, head all fuzzy, stomach rolling with twisting cramps. He floated in a haze of feather-light dizziness and heavy throbbing. Cold sweat clung to his pale skin, dull pain stabbing in his gut. He hugged his middle, squeezing his eyes shut with a whimper.

His stomach churned with agony, acid rising as shadows tinged his vision. He sniffled, scrubbing weakly at his gooey eyes. Hunger tore his insides, begging for food, but the mere thought made him sick. The plate of moldy grits sat at his feet, the horrible smell fanning over him in hot, sticky waves. He had dragged himself forward when the guard had shoved it inside, shoveling down the slimy food.

He sobbed quietly, face wrenching in anguish as vomit arised, bitter and awful on his tongue.

He didn’t know what was going on. Dull pain gurgled in his tummy, making the poor boy miserable. He shoved his face into his thigh, shuddering as violent shivers racked his fragile frame. He cried as another clammy wave of sickly faintness oozed over him like thick sludge. He coughed, lungs sore, whining, thirsting to crawl into someone’s lap and be held by loving hands.

He flinched as the door gridded open, teary blubbers of panic startling from the terrified blonde. He gasped as pain raced up his abdomen, making him gag.

“Oh, Rens…”

A hand caught his chin, firmly forcing dull blue eyes to meet piercing gray. Nauvu frowned, slim fingers dragging through the boy’s tangled curls.

Rien choked a whine, pushing desperately into the kind touch. His hands came up to clumsily paw at his father’s sleeve, sobs spilling from his mouth. He jerked on the chains, breath hitching, frantic for the affection. His arms blistered with agony but he didn’t care because he just wanted to be held and he could be good, he could be good, could be good—

Nauvu chuckled, his arms came up and wrapped around the whimpering boy, pulling him into his lap. Rien gasped, little fingers fumbling to grasp Nauvu’s robes and he shoved himself into his father’s chest. He cried, eyes squeezed shut, breaths shuttered as his shoulders trembled. He curled against Nauvu’s warmth, shushed gently with a hand sweeping back his mess of hair. Fat tears rolled down flushed cheeks, sagging in his father’s embrace with exhaustion pummeled on top of his shaking shoulder.

He felt awful, fevered chills running down his back with icy sweat, but it was okay because Nauvu was here. Rien nuzzled closer, resting his head against Nauvu’s collar.

Rien let himself be cradled in Nauvu’s arms, sleepy breaths puffing against the man’s neck. His head was all fuzzy, ears stuffed with cotton and all icky. Sweat dripped from his furrowed brow, cold shudders painfully crawling up his little body. Bile shoved its way up his throat and he sobbed, a quiet, feeble thing. But it made his stomach lurch, head wrenching in a fierce throbbing.

“Easy, easy,” Nauvu cooed. His chilly hands came up to cup Rien’s face, offering sweet relief from the feverish heat that flushed his cheeks. “I know, you don’t feel good, do you?”

Rien shook his head, shivering like a blizzard that refused to stop. He whined, burying his head in Nauvu’s chest. Sweet things were murmured in his ear, soothing circles thumbed onto his back. Rien squirmed uncomfortably, tugging weakly on the chains. They hurt, rubbing his skin raw. Hot tears of frustration prickled his eyes, a sob bubbling up and he twisted, nausea swimming in his stomach.

“Sh, sh,” Nauvu shushed. He caged Rien to his chest, patting his head. “You’re okay, sweetheart. What hurts?”

“T-Tummy,” Rien sniffled. He clutched his middle, biting his lip with a whine. Blue eyes were glassy and unfocused, fingers shakily gripping the back of Nauvu’s shirt.

Nauvu sighed softly. “Oh, you poor thing,” He muttered. “I know, I know.”

Rien hiccuped, nodding weakly.

The boy’s head was too foggy to catch the pleased gleam in the man’s pale eyes, nor the slight smirk in his lips as he glanced at the half-eaten plate.

Nauvu tutted, dragging his fingers through Rien’s greasy curls. “Do you want it to go away?” He asked softly, hot breath fanning over Rien’s neck. The blonde nodded. Nauvu breathed out a chuckle, fingertips stroking down Rien’s spine. Suddenly, the arms holding him were suffocating — a cage of cold flesh that trapped him in his father’s grasp. Rien whimpered, shrinking back.

Nauvu yanked back the boy’s curls with a snarl, pain jolting up Rien’s scalp. Rien gasped, head forced back to bear his throat. Nauvu rested a hand on his neck, a chilling warning that sent a seizing, gripping fear stilling him — a rabbit frozen under the jaws of a predator.

Nauvu’s smile was sharp, teeth glinting in the darkness. “You want to be good, don’t you?” He hummed, brushing over Rien’s bruised jaw. Rien nodded frantically, tears blurring his vision. Nauvu frowned sadly, thumb stroking over moist cheeks. “I know, I know. But I can make it go all away,” He crooned. “You just have to do one, tiny thing for me, sweetie.”

He leaned in close, eyes gleaming with a possessive, greedy yearning that made the young boy’s breathing hitch. The man’s nails dug into baby-soft skin, drops of blood welling up. His words were barely there, breezed out with a smack of his lips. “Just tell me where the Ravens are.”

Rien’s brow furrowed at the question, he frowned drowsily. He rubbed at his eye with a closed fist, words heady on his tongue. “Th’ palace,” He squeaked.

He flinched as Nauvu drew in a seething breath. A flurry of fear jolted through his heart, screaming to get away from the man as dread pooled in his stomach—

Pain stung across his face as Nauvu’s palm collided with his cheek. He yelped, scrambling back with a shaky gasp. His back shoved against the wall, blue eyes blown in gripping terror. He watched with heaving breaths as Nauvu rose, hands clasped tightly as he coldly gazed down at the cowering boy.

“You will tell me,” Nauvu whispered. “Where the Rupertain palace is, or Fate so help me you’re going to rot in here like the murderer you are.”

Rien whimpered. “Pl-Please,” He begged, tears spilling over his lashes and dripping down his chin, hot and salty. “I-I don’t— please don-don’t hurt—“

He sobbed, chest heaving, heart feeling as if it was going to burst from his chest as it thundered. His lip quivered, entire body trembling as he mumbled out random, messy speech. His heart hammered, breaths coming in shuddering gasps. “P-Please—“ He wailed, shaking his head frantically. “I-I’m sorry. I-I’ll be- I be good, p-promise. Ple-Please don’ m-make hur-hurts.”

Nauvu’s boot slammed into his ribs. Rien cried out, curling into a small, trembling ball on the dirt floor. Horrible agony bloomed across his chest, bruises springing up like dark flowers. He whined, broken and wheezy, but he couldn’t breathe, horrible webs of silk tangled around his lungs. His throat burned as he screamed, ribs creaking as Nauvu ruthlessly stomped down.

His pleas were shrieked to deaf ears.

His father never answered as he begged for mercy.

“Ple-Please!” Rien cried, choking as Nauvu’s boot smashed into his windpipe. “P-Papa! I-I don-don’t u-und-und’stand—“

Nauvu stepped back, regarding the boy in front of him with indifferent, cold eyes.

Rien’s head lulled back, glassy eyes dazed and fluttering. He gazed up at his father, whimpering as dull pain throbbed through his ribs. A dribble of blood rolled down his lip, tangy and hot. The shackles clanked, spots of black dancing before him like dizzying ballerinas as he laid there limp.

“And you might never,” He murmured. “And that’s okay with me.”

He turned, giving Rien a sickening smile, brushing dirt from his shoulder. “You’ll have time to think over my question,” He drawled out. “I’ll come back to visit soon.”

Rien heard the door shut with a thud. He coughed, lungs pinching in pain, tears trickling down his nose. Agony raced up his ribs, bruised chest stabbing with every ragged breath. He tried to summon up any strength to call out, yet every drop of will was gone — seeped away until dirt dry. He pulled his knees up, thin arms hanging lax above his head. His blinks were dragging, fatigue slowly embracing him in the gloom.

Confusion swam through his muddled mind, yet the defeat that soaked him like slimy sludge left him too rout to puzzle over it.

He wanted nothing more than to crawl into Elwyn’s lap and let his father sooth out his hair. For Rorey to promise that everything would be okay. For Ermano to pat his back and keep him safe.

But he was no longer that loved little prince he had the bliss of being. Instead, he was a broken, hollow boy who had been dragged into problems he didn’t understand. He was a prisoner in chains, a child forced to endure unfair hardship.

The black spots were growing bigger.

Slowly, the fog swallowed him. And he went willingly.

The mug of hot chocolate was pleasantly warm in Rorey’s hands, chasing away night’s lingering chill. It was sweet going down his throat, settling warmly in his stomach. It tasted of snowy days and sleepless nights, swirled with sugar and topped with a sprinkle of cinnamon. It calmed his spiking nerves, soothing the tremor in his hands.

A blanket was wrapped over his shoulders, the soft plush creating a comfy nest around him. He gazed out the window as flakes of snow gently coated in grass outside, the flickering flames of the fireplace chasing away the blizzard’s glacial wraith. Rorey watched as the fire glowed brilliant ambers that danced with glistening honey-yellows, reflecting in dazed eyes that sparkled like emeralds.

His heart was heavy. A weight of iron sank it deep, he could feel it struggling to stay afloat in the murky waters of despair below.

He wanted to scream and claw at the walls until his hands bled. He wanted to pound on the door until his knuckles were raw, scream until his voice died.

Yet he didn’t.

He was far too tired, all spite truant and leaving him drained dry.

He had been secured in the same room for three hours. Each minute slugged by, leaving his frustration gnawing. He had tried to strain his neck to get a view of the courtyard, teeth gritted. But it was useless. He was helpless — stuck in the stupidly comfortable lounge as havoc wreaked. He set his mug down with shaking hands, reaching up to tug angrily at his mocha hair.

A dark, twisted lust foamed within him, bubbling up in a tangled rage. Seething hate loured his head like surging, inky storm clouds. His heart pounded like a beating drum, blood a rushing roar in his ears that swelled from some shattered, aching pit of wrenching grief buried deep within.

At the dimming light of dusk, an Aquilo soldier had come galloping on a steed as they frantically waved a white handkerchief. Yet despite the flag of surrender, their lips had been quirked in a sneer — willingly complying as the guards shoved them to the ground. He had not been armed, grasping only a simple, wrinkled scroll that was addressed to the High King.

Rorey had been getting fitted for a new coat when suddenly soldiers came storming — dashing to the gates with blades drawn. Rorey had lunged after them, a thundering rage blinding him as his mind began to pick up the scattered pieces.

He had come rushing to the gates, spitting horrible curses as he charged forward. Thoughts of his little brother had fogged his conscious like fumes of acid, fists clenched as he slammed his knuckles into the pathetic rat, panting as they writhed and shrieked. Tears had streaked down his face, sobs shuddering his frame, pain stinging his hands but he didn’t dare let up his plummeting blows. Hands had grabbed his arms, yanking him back. Rorey had screamed and trashed, struggling furiously as Ermano had hauled him away. Rorey had shoved his face into his brother’s shirt, shaking as he was gently led to the lounge by their forcibly smiling father.

His knuckles still stung. Blood stained the bandages that is brother had carefully dressed. He pulled his hand close to his chest, eyes fluttering shut as he drew in a quivering breath.

He wanted to pry the door off its hinges and rip that soldier apart until he was a bloody hunk of oozing flesh. He didn’t care what the scroll had proclaimed. He wanted to beat them black and blue until they pleaded for mercy, only to inch them to an anguished death.

He yearned to show them the agony their family had been through. Longed to make them kneel until they finally knew the pain they had dragged Rien back to.

Rien.

Beautiful, sweet, innocent Rien.

The guilt never let up. It was always there, always present — serving as a cold reminder of how badly he had failed his baby brother.

The door clicked, lock clinking loudly through the suffocating silence before it was swung open. Rorey scrambled to his feet with a gasp, nearly tipping over his mug as he threw himself from the windowsill. Lex stepped into the room, a worn paper held in her hand, dark cape thrown over her shoulder and splattered with blood.

Rorey seized forward, anger bubbling over. He threw himself to the door in a desperate attempt of escape as his mind stumbled along in a race of fury. His eyes burned, breaths tumbling out and heart pounding. He casted aside his brother’s orders and father’s worry, his dying thirst for reprisal clouding all logical thought.

Lex was swift to catch him, gripping his arms and wrestling him back. “Your Majesty,” She huffed, gritting her teeth. “Just stop—” Rorey grunted, shoving forward but to no eval.

“Where are they?” He demanded, stepping back with torn breaths. “Where the hell is that bastar—“ He tried to duck past Lex and into the hallway, stumbling back as the soldier shoved his shoulder.

“Ro!” Lex shouted, gripping the brunette’s shoulders. Rorey’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he snapped out of his enraged fit. He gazed at Lex with wide jade eyes, finally sucking in the reality before him. His brow furrowed, recoiling in staggering shock.

Lex had her jaw clenched, chin head high. Yet her eyes of steel were rimmed red, knees buckling where she stood. Rorey shuddered a gasp, stunned breathless at the sight. Cold dread pooled uneasily with the bile lingering on his tongue. The sight made tremors of fear leak down his back.

Lex never shed tears. She was a soldier; one to simply straighten up through trials. Seeing her so open, so venerably weak — it was wrong. Horribly and utterly wrong.

“Lex?” Rorey whispered. His voice was hoarse, terrified to his own ears. “W-What’s wrong?”

Lex was horribly silent. She locked her gaze on the crackling fire, swallowing roughly as she wordlessly passed him the scroll.

Rorey sputtered in puzzlement, hands trembling as he reached out to take the parchment.

“Read it,” Lex whispered, squeezing Rorey’s arm. “Just read it.”

Emerald eyes tentatively scanned over the scroll, dismay slowly creeping to stab at his jarred nerves. It rustled as he rolled it out, faded yellow with old age and smooth under his fingertips. He lifted it to peer at the ink scrawled on the paper, heart beginning to pound. Vomit crept up his throat, breath hitching. He perused the words of careful cursive, the letter shaking as a quiver shuddered through his hands.

With each line realization dawned on him, awful and corrupted like withering vines that tore apart his heart.

To the Hight Royal Family,

Let this letter be a document forever encased, to serve for a reminder of our power and strength. These words are ones of history, these lines ones to change eternity.

The Prince has earned his fitful retribution. The murderer has been slain, we claim our rightful victory! Our Queen has been revenged! Live in terror, Ruperta, knowing what happens when you dare to test our Lord. He shows no mercy, his reign shall be mighty, and this is the first of countless justful deaths that he will deliver to your forsaken Kingdom.

This is your awakening.

Your Prince, beloved son and cold-hearted murderer, is dead.

And soon follows all of Ruperta.

And lastly, a seal was stamped below the final line — the ink blood red, engraved with a loop joined together by a looming cross.

Aquilo’s mark.

Slowly, realization hit. It slammed into Rorey like a wagon of bricks, smashing against his shaking shoulders with its crushing, painful weight. The words swam before him, breaths tearing from his throat in broken wheezes. A cold wind seized him, claws wrapping around his lungs in its icy, inescapable hold. His fingers went limp, the scroll hitting the floor with a clatter.

The world before him blurred, knees wobbling, heart racing because it couldn’t be real. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be, it was—

He fell to his knees, choking for air, eyes blown wide as tears slowly trickled down numb cheeks.

He was in that cold, silent bedroom all over again.

Yet now his mind wasn’t muddled by drink.

There was nothing to stifle the roaring grief that surged through him like an enraged blaze, smoldering and boiling. Sobs tumbled free, heart wrenched with agony. He buried his face in his hands, ugly wails tearing from his lips as he shattered.

Rien was gone. His little, innocent, baby brother had died a criminal’s death. He had could have been hung or been flogged until he bled dry. Rorey hiccuped, the terrible images swimming before him. That sweet boy…Oh, Fate. He was dead, dragged into the problems of war as a child before being slaughtered like a useless animal.

Lex’s armor clinked against the marble floor, and then her hand was gripping Rorey’s. Rorey clutched her hand, sobbing a he rested his head against her shoulder. She said nothing as Rorey’s tears soaked her uniform, simply holding him close with a few of her own quiet sniffles.

Rorey shook his head frantically, mumbled pleas slipping through his weeping. “N-No,” He gasped, choking on each stuttered word. “No. H-He’s not— h-he can’t—“

He wanted to believe that this was so sort of trick. A taunt thrown his way, some cruel ruse of Fate.

But the tears wordlessly trailing down Lex’s face was enough to silence his frantic begging.

That night, the youngest Prince of Ruperta was proclaimed dead to the Kingdom. Citizens bowed as guards stood tall in tribute — the entire Kingdom mourned over the death of a child too young to have been hauled into the perils of war. Countless yellow roses were scattered across the courtyards in Rien’s honor, filled with the painful memories of the boy’s laughter and bright smiles. The palace gates were heaved shut as the family grieved, their tears and sobs unable to muffle as they wept in unimaginable sorrow.

From that day, change swept through the Kingdom like a hurricane’s winds. Trees uprooted as the warm air became frigid, powerful gusts sending grass wilting and causing foundations to pry apart.. The sunlight was shadowed by darkness, its rosy rays dulled as heavy clouds swarmed in a gloomy abyss above as so began a deadly, hollow storm began.

Chapter Text

Two Years Later

Elwyn’s heart pounded unsteadily, his breathing labored, hands rigidly clasped. His lips were pressed together in a thin line, shoulders spun up tightly with unfleeting tension.

Teacups rattled as the carriage bumped along the uneven path, stray rocks and up-torn roots sending the wheels jolting. Hooves clopped through the dirt and orders cut across the crisp dusk air, armor clinking as the horses led the carriage on with a sharp click of reins. The smell of billowing smoke drifted through the silk drapes, muffled voices chatting back and forth in an attempt to lighten the stiff aura that clung to the camp like a crawling leech.

The sun had not yet set, yet the early night chill sent lingering shivers prickling his skin, the three moons already beginning to glitter across the fire-laced sky. 

Only an hour left until darkness set.

Only an hour until this long, dragging war finally let his weary bones rest.

Only an hour until Ruperta finally saw a glimpse of peace.

Elwyn rubbed his aching eyes with his hand, letting out a weary sigh.

The carriage was much too stiff for his liking. The white seats were laced with gold, stitched by an expert hand and entwined with lovely designs. He traced the intricate fabric, the cloth smooth under his fingertips. He wrapped his dark blue shawl around him, staring into the deep swirl of blue and silver. 

Dark gray was a color he had grown to adore. It was the shade of deep, murky waters and the dark clouds that swelled overhead. It sang the expression of the sorrow that was locked deep within, soaring a symphony of grief for their Kingdom. It allowed him to sturdy his trembling footing, to remind him why he had to carry on. It was his sworn duty to help his citizens trudge through trenches, to free his empire from the shackles of grief that held him down.

There was a deep, heavy sorrow that sat damningly in his stomach. 

Two years ago from today, Nauvu had lit the spark that had exploded the two Kingdoms into a raging blaze.

Two years ago from today, Ruperta was nearly sent tumbling to its defeat.

Two years ago, that crawling rat had slit the throat of Elwyn’s youngest son.

And now, that burning inferno was going to tear apart Aquilo with its blistering heat and burn it to ashes.

His heart clenched, the chilling claws of grief twisting his insides in a grip of agony that never seemed to fade. Thoughts of his sweet little boy plagued him like a deadly sickness, clinging to him, unstable no matter how desperate he searched for a cure. It never ceased, seeping away at his strength until he was too tired to carry on.

But he had to limp forward.

He couldn’t sit back and watch as the flames ate his Kingdom alive.

The carriage slowed to a stop, the horses huffing as their reins were sharply pulled. Elwyn glanced up, quickly smoothing out the wrinkles in his blouse as he stood. He steadied his crown atop his head, drawing in a deep breath before the door was pulled open.

He stepped out, snow crunching under his boots as he kindly thanked his bowing servant. The gentle breeze riffled through his tawny hair, blowing through the camp as soldiers marched by, saluting respectfully to their King. Elwyn forced on a smile, ignoring the stabbing pain that tugged at his heart. Everything seemed forced these days, not a day inching by where rolling out of bed wasn’t an exhausting task that sent his knees wobbling.

The carriage slowed to a stop, the horses huffing as their reins were sharply pulled. Elwyn looked up, quickly smoothing out the wrinkles in his blouse as he stood. He steadied his crown atop his head, drawing in a deep breath before the door was pulled open.

He stepped out, snow crunching under his boots as he kindly thanked his bowing servant. The gentle breeze riffled through his tawny hair, blowing through the camp as soldiers marched by, saluting respectfully to their King. Elwyn forced on a smile, ignoring the stabbing pain that tugged at his heart. Everything seemed forced these days; not a day went by that just rolling out of bed wasn’t an exhausting task that sent his knees wobbling.

But at least now, after all this time feeling (and being) helpless, useless, they finally had a chance for peace.

Their camp was set on the rolling mountain range just west of Nauvu’s castle, waiting silently to strike by night. Tents stretched out for miles, soldiers sharpening their weapons as they prepared for the command to charge. Voices echoed through the air, sharp and determined. Men and women both readied their gear, all eyes trained on the sun as it slowly sank below the horizon.

Elwyn turned as heavy footfall sounded, glancing up at a familiar face. “Your Majesty,” Harlow bowed briefly, fist resting above his heart as he stood. “The army is ready. We await your command, sir.” His long wisps of blonde hair had been pulled up in a tight bun, amber eyes as sharp as ever. Elwyn gave his sergeant a squeeze of the shoulder, lips easing into a small smile. 

“Thank you for your service, old friend,” He thanked the man warmly. He glanced around, brushing back his bangs. “Do you know where my sons are? I wanted to wish them luck before we’re off.”

As always, he disregarded the pang that throbbed his heart when he realized once again that his two sons were all he had left. 

Harlow nodded. “They went to the cliffs to scout for troops.” He gestured to the roughly made path that twisted through the towering trees, huffing a chuckle. “Kimiko hasn’t come bursting back howling yet, so I assume they’re perfectly fine.”

Elwyn thanked the elf as he strode back to his men. Elwyn’s boots sank into the snow as he trailed along the path, carefully stepping over scattered branches and squelching puddles. The smell of sharp pine drifted, leaves rustling as squirrels scampered up the winding tree trunks. Clouds of a swarming gray gathered overhead, the sun’s dimming rays of gold kissing the horizon as they slowly sank below the hills to let darkness take hold.

He shuddered, nerves squeezing his stomach.

This was it.

This was where they ended it all.

He ducked under one dipping branch, reaching out to brush away the shaggy pine needles from his face. Finally, the cool wind hit his face as he stepped into a clearing that overlooked the valleys below. The great cliff shot out into the beautiful sunset, the sky transforming into a stunning canvas of warm colors that sailed across the clouds. The crimson hues slowly began to spread, dripping through the bright blue like the blood that would soon soak the grass under his feet. Two figures stood gazing out at the mystical lands below; one slender and lean, the other towering and broad. 

The sight sent sorrow swelling within Elwyn like the rising rapids of a flood. Guilt was a rushing tide that made his heart crumple at seeing the heavy weariness that weighed his sons down. His heart hammered, tears glistening in his eyes as regret hammered in tune with his racing heart.

Those huge, baby blue eyes still swam in Elwyn’s nightmares. They haunted him, relentless in their forever reminder of swirling furies of the past.

His eyes burned with unshed tears, a rare anger boiling in his chest.

His sword was heavy on his hip, and he couldn’t wait to sink it into Nauvu’s heart.

Ermano turned at his father’s footsteps, dark eyes gleaming like shimmering ocean waves in the rosy sunlight. Elwyn’s oldest son had changed over these last two years, appearing as the mighty general he was. His hair now flowed to his waist in waves of silky auburn, tied in expertly weaved braids and shining like autumn’s lively leaves. He wore armor of black steel that glinted in the light, fashioned to snuggly fit its bearer’s sturdy figure. His burgundy wine cape blew at his heels, stitched with lace of gold. His helmet was tucked under one arm, looking like a skull of a bird of prey with its sharp, pointed helm. Scars were scattered across tanned skin, posture shockingly graceful for his powerful stance.

His eyes were still crinkled with easy vigor, yet there was a shadow of darkness cast over his expression that sent shivers down Elwyn’s spine. Ermano’s sword hung from his waist, shimmering a soft purple glow, made of heavy steel that could easily tear armies apart.

Elwyn himself had been greatly effected by these dragged years. Lines creased his face, hie age showing in the shear wisdom of his kind eyes and relaxed smile. Yet there was some weary, heavy weight on his back, as if the emperor was beginning to drag under countless years of grief. A wooly dutch cloak hung at his elbows, worn pleasantly with age with the scent of apple cider. Robes of dark gray floated to his knees, tawny locks of hair pulled back in a low updo at the nape of his neck. And lastly, his crown of shining gold at atop his head as a damning reminder of his duty of service.

“Quite the view, eh?” Ermano huffed, gripping the hilt of his sword as he gave a dry chuckle.

Elwyn followed the soldier’s gaze, staring down at the palace below their feet. A feeling of foreboding washed over him as the sight of the looming palace, its towering walls and turrets casting long shadows in the dying sunlight. The bricks that built its facades were weathered and dark after countless years of being exposed to the harsh climate. Each of the many, soaring windows glared back at him with a lifeless, cold gaze. A heaviness settled over Elwyn’s shoulders, breath hitching as he imagined the countless lives lost within its walls.

Including his own son’s.

He couldn’t shake the feeling like he was being watch. It was as if the castle itself was alive and aware of their threatening presence. It was daring him to come closer, taunting them with the horrors it held.

(Note: The description of Aquila’s castle was assisted by a chat bot)

“Fate,” Elwyn breathed, shaking his head. “I hate it.”

Rorey barked a laugh. “Well, you’re in luck,” He hummed. “By this time tomorrow, it’ll be nothing but ashes.”

The words were bitterly spat, sour with anger as those emerald sparkled with raging anger.

Out of the three remaining Ravens, Rorey had truly changed the most.

Gone was the awkward young man who always slouched and stuttered. In his place stood the youngest Prince of Ruperta, with green eyes as bright as flames and features sharp with wit. He stood tall, shoulders rolled back, mocha curls still a disarray. He wore a long victorian coat of deep, rich blue laced with dancing patterns of gold that flowed in the soft wind, glasses perched on his nose. The grief that clouded his face made him look ages older, a deep sorrow settled over his eyes like surging, dark storm clouds. He was a raging blaze fueled by the perils of his past, a kid forced to grow up too fast.

No longer were they ruler of pure peace.

They had morphed into something much darker, into lords who were unafraid to challenge their foes.

They were the Crown, Sword, and Quill.

“That’ll be a sight to see,” Ermano snorted, reeling in Elwyn from his sea of thoughts. “The great, powerful Aquilo Kingdom— finally on its knees where it belongs.”

Leaves crunched, soft footsteps padding across the grass. Elwyn turned, a small smile lifting his lips as the large hound came prancing up behind him. He chuckled, kneeling down to scratch Kimiko’s head. The Newfoundland dog huffed, tail thumping as she nuzzled her wet nose into Elwyn’s hand. Elwyn riffled through her soft fur, sighing softly as his eyes threatened to drag shut.

This was it.

They had to claim one last victorious battle before a final entirety of peace.

Rorey drew in a shaky breath, running a hand down his arm as if to chase away a lingering chill. “I with he was here to see this,” He muttered, tears glistening in those forest green eyes.

The words were a knife sent hurling at Elwyn’s heart.

For most people now, it was history. Simply an event to be written down in the history books.

But for them, whenever they shut their eyes, it all clearly came back.

Rorey had always blamed himself for that horrible day, despite how strongly his family disagreed. He would wake with screams tearing from his throat, leaving Elwyn utterly hopeless as his son frantically blurted apologies. It made him sick, nausea swirling as Rorey sank into a pit of guilty despair. He could do nothing but hug his boy close, murmuring soft reassurance as his own grief stabbed in his gut.

Elwyn rose, brushing off his robes as Kimiko trotted off to Ermano’s heel. He grasped Rorey’s hand, thumb running over his clenched knuckles. He held him close, running a hand soothingly down his back as he blinked rapidly himself. Rorey sniffed, slumping into his father’s arms with a shudder. Elwyn gently brushed away Rorey’s stream of tears, gazing into those vivid green eyes.

“I know, honey,” He whispered, tucking his son’s curls behind his ear. “I do, too.”

He would do anything to go back to a time before it was too late. He would do anything to give this undying love some place to go. He hated it — forever trapped in the limbo of wanting to heal yet unable to let go. 

Ermano settling a hand atop Rorey’s shaking shoulder, stormy blue eyes hardened with stoney determination as he pulled his family into a protective embrace.  Elwyn leaned into his son’s warmth, eyes squeezing shut as he rested his head against Ermano’s broad chest. 

“Even if he ain’t,” Ermano murmured. “We’re gonna fight in his honor, and we’re gonna soak these grounds in blood for ‘im.”

“Yeah,” Rorey drew in a shaky breath. He clutched Ermano’s hand, swallowing roughly. “I’m gonna enjoy it.”

Ermano huffed a chuckle, yet there was no humor behind it. “I think we all will.”

Elwyn bit his lip, a weary sigh slipping through his lips. “We’re going to fly a lot of flags half-mast,” He said grimly.

He could imagine it now all too clearly. These rolling hills would be littered with countless cold bodies, the grass soaked in crimson blood until Death herself was summoned into the chaos.

“It’ll be worth it, though,” Rorey gazed at the last rays of rosy sun, jaw clenched as his flowing coat whipped at his heels. “They’re gonna pay.”

Ermano hummed. His hand was rigid in anger as he gripped his sword, eyes swirling with icy indifference. “That they will.”

And, as Elwyn stared at the wicked castle that would soon be nothing but a pile of bricks, he couldn’t agree more.

Drip…

Drip…

Drip…

Dull blue eyes watched in fascinated wonder as leaks of icy water oozed from the cracked ceiling, echoing through the heavy silence like pounding rainfall. They trailed down the grimy walls in a trickling race, landing with a splash in a growing puddles that soaked the dirt floor. The relentless stench of damp soil permeated the clammy air.

The small sound was nearly deafening in the small space, ringing until ears bled.

The cell was not accustomed to noise. Once a day a guard would shove through the door before briskly setting down a plate, only to stride out right after. Its prisoner almost never spoke, voice lost from broken sobs and defeated begging. The dripping was the loudest sound to haunt its stone walls in two long years, leaving the darkness swallowed in a curse of silence.

The cell had grown dirty and ragged over the years. Dust coated the untouched floor, grime going unnoticed on the walls. The smell of blood and sweat had mingled together until they formed a reek that refused to uncling its grasp. There was little life within its bars, other than the scarce rat that would scurry in to escape the cold.

It was a hell of its own, surely no place for a child’s eternal stay.

But it was the home of a boy too young for such grief. 

A small, frail figure was curled up in the far corner. Their small wrists were locked with heavy chains that weighed them down, covered in mire and filth. Their thin chest rose and fell in a restless sleep, ribs clearly digging out under their thin garments. Their face was gaunt and horribly starved, yet so, so young. Curls that had once shined a brilliant gold were now a muddy brown, eyes that would blaze a bright blue now dimmed gray in defeat.

Rien whimpered, glassy eyes struggling to pry open. The dripping seemed to drill into his skull, hammering pressure under his temples. It tore apart his tears,  bringing salty tears to burn his eyes. He shifted with the rattling of shackles, whining softly as he pressed his blistered hands to his ears.

He groaned softly, lashes fluttering rapidly in a brawl to stay open. They had become used to the gaping darkness, the few rays of dying sunlight stabbing at his eyes. His arms ached from where they were chained forever to the wall, skin so raw and swollen that it was sickening to look at. The agony never stopped, constantly slicing up his poor muscles.

He slumped with a stuttered breath, head sagging against his chest. 

He didn’t bother pulling against the chains anymore. He had given up on pleading to be let out.

He was too tired to fight, too tired to wonder why he was in here.

He had grown to accept this, and there was no way out.

Such despair didn’t belong on a child’s face, no boy’s heart deserving of feeling so hopelessly heavy.

He had lost his spark of defiance. He simply stared drowsily at the door, the only fight he had left coming out in a half attempted prayer for rescue.

A gust of icy wind flurried between the bars of the window, sending painful stabs of cold down Rien’s spine. He wrenched his eyes shut, cowering into himself in a futile attempt to huddle a smidge of warmth. It was getting so much colder, yet beads of sweat dampened his brown. A pitiful sob wormed from Rien’s throat, hair lurching from his lungs. He tumbled into a fit of horrible coughs, each hack like fire eating his insides. He clutched his scrawny chest with a gasp, heaving drily with wide eyes.

Finally, after miserable ages, Rien jerked back with a gasp. Tears blurred his vision, stomach lurching yet lacking anything to hurl. His labored breaths puffed huffs of cold air, frost clinging to his eyelashes as his teeth chattered. Agony churned in his gut like rusty knives, waves of heat slamming down his spine. He gagged, collapsing like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

He shoved his face into his knees with a weak sob. He wanted to drink gulps of water, yet the mere thought made him nauseous. Sweat drenched his rags of clothing, mind foggy with his thoughts muddled by the fever’s unrelenting fumes. He didn’t understand how his skin could be white-hot as winter’s winds ripped at his frame, discomfort tingling up his back with every frantic toss and turn. 

His stomach growled, begging for food. But when he so much as glanced at the pile of untouched plates stacked in the corner his gut folded with unease. He whined, shoulders trembling as tears prickled his eyes. 

He hiccuped, face crumpling before he began to cry. His mewls were soft and stifled by his shaking knees, head spinning as his breaths became ragged. Bile was sour on his tongue, stomach twisted with hunger and throat dry. He sobbed, that all too familiar gloom of hopeless confusion misting over his mind. He sniffled, dull eyes raising to stare desperately at the door he would never reach. He didn’t try to crawl to it anymore, weighed down by defeat that sank heavily in his chest.

He couldn’t find the energy to scoot forward and grab his bucket of water. His strength was faded dim, ebbed away over years of no hope and finally crippled by sickness.

Muffled footsteps thudded down creaking stairs. Rien blearily lifted his head as keys rattled, the door grinding open and a guard stepping inside. Her armory clanked, wrinkling her nose at the stench of blood and rotting food. Rien shrank back as she entered the room, eyes wide with fear when she glowered down at him. She carelessly sat down a plate of grits with a clatter, mouth thinned into a stern line.

“You need to eat,” She told him firmly.

Rien whimpered, breath hitching as he shook his head frantically. Even as hunger gnawed at him, the thought made the poor boy. His gut flipped, lips wobbling. 

The guard huffed. Rien prayed that she would simply shake her head and storm out, no matter how feeble a hope it was.

She knelt, grabbing the plate and swiftly stepping forward. She caught Rien’s jaw roughly, yanking up his chin. Rien choked on a cry, heart racing with terror. The guard scooped up a spoonful of grits, before wrenching open the blonde’s mouth. Rien gasped, lips unwillingly parting before the spoon was shoved into his mouth. He choked, taste dry and horrible. He sobbed, trying to squirm away but the guard pinched shut his nose.

Panic quickened his breath, thin chest heaving. He swallowed, throat stinging, frantically gagging for air. Another bite was wormed into his mouth. Rien was pressed against the wall, crying as his hands fumbled to pry at the hands gripping him. He choked down another bite, the mush settling uncomfortably in his stomach as cramps squeezed his middle. 

The spoon fell to the ground as the guard pulled away, and Rien fell to his side in a horrible coughing fit. Mucus and blood trailed down his chin as he choked to lap down the precious air. He shut his eyes, curling into a trembling ball as the solider stood.

“You’re a big boy,” She sneered. “Do it yourself.”   

Rien flinched as the door slammed shut. He reached up to tenderly cradle his jaw with a whimper, nursing over the fresh bruises. They throbbed with pain, sending salty tears flowing down his cheeks. 

He buried his face in his hands with an ear-shattering sob that tore from his parched throat. The child’s cries echoed through the empty room, reaching not a soul who cared for his weeping. He sniffled, chains rattling as he wiped at his damp cheeks.

Everything was too much yet utterly nothing at the same time. It was an exhausting loop that the young boy was trapped in, cursed to repeat until he rotted away in the darkness. 

He just wanted it to be over.

He wanted this to end, he wanted to finally rest.

In his delirious state, he could almost imagine the fever’s stifling heat was the arms of his family holding him close. He could pretend that the gusting wind was Rorey’s sweet voice, his torn sleeves rubbing against his arms wrist were Elwyn’s loving hands, and the heavy shackles were Ermano’s reassuring pats.

Maybe this was it.

The fever would finally let him escape this torture and let him kneel before Death.

Time blurred, the hours passing in haze of shivers and sickening heat. He watched with glazed eyes as the sun slowly set behind the bars, some part of him hoping that it would be the last sunset he would ever witness.

It was a horrible prayer for anyone, let alone something so young.

But Fate had other plans.

He had no idea long he had numbly laid there, letting time trickle away. He waited in the darkness, silence swallowing him with his jaws of defeat.

Then, the silence broke.

A muffled, jarring thud rocked the palace, followed by shrill screams from above. Rien gasped, eyes flying open in terror as he scrambled back. It was as if the world had descended into chaos. Heavy footsteps rushed overhead, orders barked, swords clinking. People called out in, voices frantic, footfall pounding on the floor. 

I-
I wrote a chapter to squeeze between this chapter and what was chapter 10. I thought I had already posted this chapter so I had to finish writing the OTHER chapter because I thought that was the next on the list to publish-

Rien whimpered, shrinking against the wall as tremors shook him. He hyperventilated, breaths ragged and quick, staring around in confusion as his heart pounded. He wanted to crawl into someone’s arm and be held close, to be assured that everything would be all right. But instead he was left gasping in a frenzy, wondering what was happening as havoc reigned.

Another thundering blast crashed through the air, this one much, much closer. Rien yelped, panic seizing him. He yanked against the chains with hysteria, kicking and fighting even as his arms burned in protest. He cried out, begging for someone to save him. People were screaming, the sounds of a raging battle blazing above with the clashing of weapons. More explosions crashed, shrieks of agony piercing the air, arrows whistling before they sank into their marks. 

Tears blurred Rien’s vision, head spinning as he kicked and pulled. The shackles remained mercilessly strong, wrists hopelessly trapped. He sobbed, throwing himself back. He clutched his head between his hands, unable to breathe, lungs twisted as he wept. He called for his brothers, babbling through his tears, coughing on his own spit. He was stuck, lock to the wall, there was nothing—

Suddenly guards yelled breathlessly in warning, a sense of dread pitting in Rien’s stomach. His eyes widened, realization slamming into him.

There was a ripping boom for a split second, when the world around him exploded.

Rien was flung back, ramming into the corner as debris and stone were sent flying. His ears rang, screams of agony and raging chaos thundering around him as he struggled for breath. Moonlight poured through the splintered wall, pieces of stone blown across the cells. He was spiraled out on the dirt, pain throbbing through his chest, arms tangled in the shackles. He weakly raised his heavy head, dizzy as everything swam.

The room, always so dark and muted, was suddenly too bright and too loud. He could hardly breath with all the dust in the air, but nothing compared to the sheer pain that engulfed the boy's skull, finding a new wound wet and horrid as he pressed a hand against it. He whimpered, lashes fluttering. He blearily looked around, eyes landing on his leg before his breath was sucked away.

His left calf was nothing but a raw hunk of meat, sending bile gathering in his throat  Sticky blood pooled around him, soaking his clothes, he stared in horror, heart hammering.

Then, the pure agony hurled into him with crushing force. It spread through his body like wild flames, anguish clutching him with its iron grasp. A scream tore from his throat, white spots dancing across his vision, tears streaming down his face. It burned, a horrible torment that never ended. He writhed, sobs spilling from his mouth. 

He sputtered erratically for air and choked. White-hot claws tore at his insides and blood thundered in his ears, his face is so hot he might burst. Tremors wracked his hands as he clapeds them over his ears, pulling his legs to his chest, dirt scraping against his ankles. He mindlessly called for help, clawing uselessly at the chains, darkness edging his vision. 

No one came.

Rien curled up, tearless and heaving as his blood stained the floor. 

It took several hours for Rien to hear another voice. Gooey eyes peeled open, the world fuzzy as it swam before him. Rien’s cheek was pressed against the cold floor, head throbbing and heavy. Muffled words reached his ringing ears, footsteps stepping through the rubble. Labored breaths wheezed from the boy’s chest, inhaling gulps of dust with every heave. 

The sun had now long set, moonlight streaming into the cell through the crumpled wall. Gone was the chaos of the battle, swept away by a chilly wind that rifling through the debris. 

Rien groaned, brow furrowing as he blinked hazily up at the stone ceiling. Dried blood crusted his face, pain stabbing through his leg in fierce tremors, bringing tears to burn his eyes. He shivered, struggling to take in the world around him as he floated in a barely lucid haze.

Suddenly a pile of rubble was kicked aside, someone grunting as they hefted themselves up into the cell. Rien stiffened, breath hitching. Terror jolted through his veins, freezing him in place as his heart fluttered so fast he feared it might stop. He trembled, unable to move, unable to breathe, only able to watch as the shadows loomed closer.

“Gods,” Someone grumbled, boots scraping against stone. “Who needs such a large dungeon?”

Another voice snorted. “Yeah. I think the holes we blew into it make it look much better.”

Two figures came into view, leaving Rien frozen as he stared at them with wide, petrified eyes. One was shorter and stocky, sword held in hand as he scanned through the rubble. The second person was tall and lean, a sash of colorful fabrics looped around her neck in vivid waves. They each wore the same uniform, yet it was drastically different than the ones Nauvu’s guards wore. Their armor was a steel that glinted in the moonlight, equipped with a furry, royal blue cloak clasped at the shoulders. Blood soaked their garments, yet they paid no mind to the stick substance that was splattered on their boots.

“Can argue with that, Quin,” The man huffed.

Rien held his breath as they came closer, lips beginning to turn blue, frozen under the jaws of a predator. Tears streamed down his face, chest stuttering with sobs. He bit into his fist to keep himself from wailing, eyes screwing shut. His leg felt like it was burning from the inside out, eating up his flesh in vicious hunger.

Quin drew in a sharp breath as her foot slid in a trail of blood. Rien’s trail of blood that soaked the dirt, still pooling from his ripped leg. She turned to her companion, hand resting over the hilt of her blade.

“Evans,” Quin murmured, voice lowering into a seething whisper. She crouched, yellow eyes narrowed as she dragged a finger through the oozing blood. “D’you think it’s fresh?”

Evans’s brow furrowed. “A wounded soldier probably crawled in here,” He muttered. “Stay on—“

He trickled off into silence that made chills crawl up Rien’s spine. Heart bursting from his ribs, he risked a glance to peek at the strangers, only to find brown eyes boring into his own with shock.

Time seemed to slow, minutes souping by in thick syrup. Rien was locked in place, eyes wide in terror, simply a bunny under the teeth of the wolf.

The two rushed over to the boy, panicked horror stunning their faces. “Oh, my Gods,” Evans breathed shakily. He shoved aside the wreckage, kneeling beside Rien in a swift flurry. “Kid?” He demanded, reaching down to frantically check the child’s weak pulse. Rien whined as gloved fingers pressed against his neck, feebly squirming away with a hiccup. 

“Hey,” Evans’ commanding voice broke through Rien’s haze, rough hands cupping the boy’s face. “Look at me.”

Rien couldn’t. He knew he had to listen, he had to be good, but hysteric fear gripped at him with its blindingly hot claws. His body was tense and rigid, breath coming in shallow, rapid gasps as he stared unblinkingly up at the shocked guards crowding around him. His senses were screaming, everything too bright and too loud, the hands on his quivering body so overwhelming that he wanted to scratch off his skin. Tears welled, springing from his eyes in salty bunches of moisture that rolled down his face. 

“Gods— what’s he even doin’ here?” Quin sputtered, grabbing her satchel and digging through it. “He’s so young— Oh, Gods,” Her eyes widened, face paling as she looked sick. “Evans, his leg—“

Evans’s head snapped up, eyes flying to follow Quin’s modified gaze. He gaped in horror at Rien’s shriveled leg, eyes widened at the bloodied, ripped flesh. 

“Holy Fate,” He whispered, hands shaking. A sob bubbled from Rien’s throat, fear jolting his poor heart. Evans cringed, breathless as he scrambled to reassure the blonde. “Hey, it’s gonna be all right, kid. Just hang on.”

Quin grabbed her sword and Rien flinched back with a cry, panicked whines tumbling free as he struggled for breath. Evans shushed him, gripping his arm in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture yet sent the boy twisting in fear. He hiccuped, frantically begging through his tears. He sobbed as the sword was struck down. But instead of one final blow of agony, the blade came slicing down at his shackles. Metal clashed as the chains shattered. Rien gawked in shock, staring at his thin, red wrists with wide eyes.

An arm was slipped under Rien’s knees and the other around his shoulders. Rien gasped as he was suddenly lifted, hoisting into Evans’s arms as the man rose. Evans shushed him, jostling the boy as he rushed back to the collapsed wall in a frantic hurry. Rien’s head spun, heart hammering, dangling limply in the stiff hold as he was stunned in stupor shock.

“I know, I know,” Evans murmured, climbing back down from the room of wreckage with Rien tucked to his chest plate. He casted a glance down at Rien’s leg, grimacing before swiftly looking away. “Gods, that— ” His voice was shaky as he slid down a wall of crumbled stone. “You’re gonna be fine, okay? You’re going to be just fine.”

“C’mon, hurry,” Quin urged as she raced ahead. “We gotta get him to camp.”

Evans jumped, landing easily in the grass with the crunching of snow. He shifted Rien, beginning to run again, when Rien’s senses exploded.

After years of being locked away to rot in that lonely cell, the outside world hit him like another explosion that made his ears ring and bleed. The silver light of the three moons bore into his eyes, their beams stabbing a horrible pressure under his temples that made bile churn in his gut. The smell of fresh pine, sweet flowers, and even the moist dirt burned his nose as if the scents were poisonous fumes. 

He yelped, clinging desperately to Evans’s shirt with a sob. An unspoken scream shred from his throat, trashing weakly with wrenching wails. It was all too much, sending him soaring into a haze of delirium as he choked for breath. Evans’s body warmth was searing against his cold skin, spots of black pulsing across his vision as his insides lurched. 

Evans held him tightly as he struggled, arm bumping the boy’s wounded leg. For a spilt second a bolt of lightning-hot pain shot through Rien’s veins, before he sank heavily into a sea of darkness.

Chapter Text

Rorey winced at every pained whimper that pierced the damp air, forcing his hands steady as he weaved thread through skin. Fingers sticky with crimson blood, his teeth sank into his lip, brows creased in pointed focus. Shudders wracked his spine as he stretched wilted flesh. Bile rose in his throat. Harsh wind whipped the flap of the tent. The world seemed to freeze in tense silence; safe for the groaning of countless wounded and sharp seethes of breath.

The sickening stench of raw flesh plagued Rorey’s nose. Wounded soldiers packed the medical tents until some were bleeding out on the ground. Panicked shouts and wrenching sobs of loved ones flurried through Rorey’s head in rushing static. 

He almost wanted to crumble into tears himself; near utterly useless as he desperately tried to stitch a warrior who was injured fighting in his honor. Elwyn had always made sure his boys knew how to seam a gash, but Rorey’s mind was futility blank. He was lost. Never before had he needed to stab a dying man with a needle while praying to Fate for a pulse.

But it was an undoubted necessity. The overwhelmed healers had dragged in any soul who could wrap a bandage.

Ruperta was that desperate.

Rorey hadn’t seen a glimpse of the battle field. Ermano and Elwyn had insisted that Rorey stay up here in their stuffy royal tent, as the young man could hardly lift a blade. But he knew from a sinking dread that the valleys below were soaked in blood.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Rorey frantically choked, eyes burning as he pressed gauze to a slash so deep that he wanted to vomit. He clutched his patient’s limp hand. “J-Just keep your eyes on me, okay? Eyes on me.”

Glazed eyes lulled to stare blankly at Rorey’s chin. Rorey’s shoulders trembled as he shoved his fist between his teeth to stifle a sob. A weak smile oozed on the dying soldier’s lips.

“Your Majesty,” They rasped, choking out heavy words with their rolling tongue. They lifted a quivering hand to rest on Rorey’s cheek, smearing blood on pale skin like some twisted, sick flower of rich ruby. Their chest heaved with a weak chuckle. “Th-Tha— Ha— hhgg—“ A hacking cough ripped from their throat. “Thank you.”

And Rorey had only been able to numbly watch as their eyes drifted shut.

Sympathetic glances had been thrown his way, dripping with sadness. He had been gently ushered out of the tent as his racing heart hammered in his ears. Knees weak he had stumbled through camp, breaths ragged, gut churning.

Rorey pressed his back against a tree with a shaky gasp. He paid no mind to the branches and thorns that had ripped apart his blouse, the pain nothing but dim throbs, eyes wide as he choked for broken gulps of air. The cool dusk hair tore at him like icy knives. He gripped his curls, eyes wrenching shut, burying his face into his knees.

Rorey wanted to scream himself hoarse and rip his hair from his scalp. Gods, how pathetic could he be? A soldier who had fought nobly for Ruperta had just stuttered their last breath. They had bled out as his hands hovered in frozen terror. Those feverish, glassy eyes swam before him in blurry hauntings. Did he have a partner who would be waiting anxiously for their loved one’s return, only to receive a letter stamped with the royal seal to inform them of that warrior’s passing? Had they had children who would wail and mourn for their lost parent for every passing day? Had they been adored by friends who would drink themselves senseless in their grief?

Guilt was a familiar, almost welcomed sensation that loomed doomingly in his gut. It gnawed at his heart — painful yet grounding.

It served as a reminder of what he was deep down.

A disgrace. A worm who deserved to crawl on the dusty ground. An unspoken curse to his wonderful family. 

A useless failure who had let a warrior die right in front of him.

Rorey dug his nails ruthlessly into his forearms — refusing to let himself burst into wails of agony he had held back for so long. Such selfish, damning rats such as himself did not deserve to feel the sweet relief tears brought.

From reading countless myths and diving deep into the rise and fall of thrones, Rorey knew for a solid, sure fact that history was the one lesson that always repeated itself. From greed to lust to rage — tyrants and heroes alike never slipped past the same mistakes. 

And here he was — Rorey Everest Raven — a living, spitting exemplar of such horrid enlightenment.

How many innocents slaughtered by his hands did it take before he learned? How far could the cost fly until Icarus inevitably fell into the raging sea blow?

With every dragging day, each pulsing with more sorrow than the last, he begged Fate for that nadir to hurry to halt him. 

Sometimes he wondered, if he weren’t here, if Rien would once again be alive and well.

Grief panged at his heart like a steel blow to the stomach. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks. He furiously wiped them away, sucking in a shuddering inhale. The image of those baby blue eyes peering up at him — as if Rorey himself had hung the twinkling stars in the inky sky — floated before him like some awful vision from Hell and he wanted to vomit. 

A bitter laugh bubbled from his chest. It was hollow and hitched with a broken cry.

Gods, how wrong that sweet ray of sunshine had been.

Rorey was jarred from his rushing thoughts, (thrown roughly to reality once again, he thought bitterly) as leaves rustled somewhere in the depths of the forest. Eyes widening, his head snapped up to hurriedly whip his gaze ‘round, heart leaping into his throat. Silence met him. But a chilling oddity wafted the air. Everything was too…still.

As if even the woodland creatures were frozen. Waiting tensely to see deciding events unfold.

Horror crept up his spine. Rorey swallowed roughly, gaze swiftly sweeping the forest as he slowly rose. Ignoring his unsteady legs, he lifted a shaky hand to his belt — unclasping his dagger. He tightly gripped its hilt, mocha curls spilling over his face as he turned in a wary circle. Breaths frozen puffs, some crawling chill shivering up his back; as if a looming presence forever lurked behind him.

A hand yanked the back of his shirt, sending him tumbling back. With a yelp Rorey lashed out blindly with his dagger, eyes wide, slicing through nothing but air. Pain bloomed cross his shoulders as he was wrenched back. 

He struggled and kicked. Screams for aid ripped from his throat but a boney hand was clamped over his lips. Sputtering curses he stubbornly buckled and thrashed. His attack hissed in pain as he managed to knick his blade into their leg. 

But Rorey’s victory was short won. A hand quickly wrapped around his wrists and twisted. A cry of agony tumbled free and his knife clattered at his feet. With a harsh kick to the back he was sent slamming to the earth in a heap. There was fist in his hair now, twisting and yanking and pushing and forcing his face down into the mud. He tried to shout, but his mouth fills with mud—bitter and gritty and vile and choking. Just breathing through the filth in his nose and mouth that threatens to fill his lungs made his head spin with dizziness.

Fabric rustling, hot breath fanned over Rorey’s neck. “Hello, Prince,” The assassin crooned. Their voice was the sickly sweet of rotting applies. “Quite the situation you’re in, hm?”

Rorey snarled. “Sly mutt,” He spat through heaving pants. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing — coming after a Prince.”

They chuckled — cruel and cold. “The thrill is what makes it exciting,” There was the shinking of metal. A dagger being drawn from a sheath. Rorey’s eyes widened. “Now, stay still…”

From the counter of his vision, Rorey caught glimpse of a blade that glittered in the fiery rays of setting sunlight.

Pure survival instincts took over, years of bottled up anger bursting in an inferno of fight. Desperate, wild, he threw himself back with a guttural cry. Startled, the assassin’s bruising grip faltered, letting the Prince twist an arm free. Rorey grabbled blindly for his knife, gritting his teeth as his attacker struggled to wrench him back. 

An arm yanked up to jerked back Rorey’s head, ruthlessly pinning against his neck. Rorey gasped — unable to suck in any trace of air in the steel grasp. He choked on his own spit. Fumbling fingers clawed uselessly at the iron grip. Rorey fought like a rapid animal — biting and scratching until black splotches danced before him. The world was nothing but fuzzy blobs of color, knees weak, ears ringing. Face pale, Rorey’s head lulled back, gulping frantically for oxygen that wouldn’t come.

But, by some miracle, his fingertips grazed over the slick blade of a dagger.

He curled his fingers around his blade with a splitting grin. He slashed out with frantic strength. A gasping scream ripped through the forest. Their grip slacked, hands racing to clutch their gushing wound. Rorey threw his weight against them, shoving away his cage of flesh, delivering a hard kick to their gut. He scrambled back, mud splashing, watching in horror as the assassin slammed into the rocks below with a sickening thud.

Stillness settled back over the forest yet again. The assassin lay dead in a limp heap.

Rorey gasped, clutching his chest as his heart raced in his ribs. Heavy exhaustion slammed over his shoulders, leaving him trembling as he stared at the attackers cold body. The adrenaline that had pumped ripely through his veins abruptly vanished — replaced by a sinking fatigue that weighed down his bones. He wiped grime from his face, chest still heaving, emerald eyes fluttering over the fresh blood stains splattering his trousers.

He grabbled for a tree branch to heave himself unsteadily to his feet. Swaying dangerously, he slumped against the rough bark. Horror boiled within him. Gods, that had been so close. His bobbing throat was raw from abuse. The familiar mass of crushing guilt burdened his back as he thought of what he had just risked. His father’s broken wails and Ermano’s silent, shaking sobs chilled him to his core.

Here he was once again. Running straight into danger without a single care.

Rorey swallowed thickly. He went to sheath his knife, hands quivering, when suddenly a ray of dimming sun gleamed bright the blade’s dark hilt. Squinting, he studied it, then jerked back with a gulping gasp.

Carved deeply into the iron was a looping circle that jutted a broad cross. It was the symbol displayed over every whipping banner held by their enemies across the battle field. The mark of Aquilo.

And glazed thickly, expertly over the dagger’s tip was an oozing liquid of deep scarlet.

Dread twisting his stomach, Rorey timidly lifting the knife to his nose. The sharp, sickening smell of roses hit him like a cart of bricks.

Poison.

But it was not just that weak spike servants used to kill the mice in the palace. No. With damning realization, Rorey knew exactly what it was.

Letum poison.

The venom of the Letum spider — a small and measly foe who played dead to strike with its bite that could kill in mere seconds. Highly rare and twice as illegal, the sight made Rorey’s heart flutter. His head swam with horror. The awful pieces began to tumble in place. Fate, if a single assassin Rorey had slain by luck was armed with such death, how plentiful was their supply?

Any soldier could be wielding it. Whether it grazed their blades or tipped their arrows. 

And they were using them in the bloody battle that his brother was leading.

Rorey staggered to his feet, choking for breath, exhaustion instantly dissolving as a morphine buzz pulsed through him. Movements frantic he broke into a mad dash. His mind ran with his feet as they pounded the ground. He threw away all logic, his clever wit left abandoned, replaced by deaerate urging that sent him madly charging forward.

He had to warn Ermano.

There was no way in Hell he was letting the curse of history repeat itself.

He was not going to lose another member of his family. 

Never again.

The fiery light of dusk ablaze the battlefield, the rays of blinding sun tearing through the sky like gnawing flames. The snowy hills rolled below narrow cliffs, twisting up to stare at the looming palace above, its twisting towers and turrets casting creeping shadows in the dying sunlight. Its weathered facades and cold winds glared with a lifeless, chilling gaze. A heaviness settled over the shoulders of whoever gazed upon it, an aura of utter hopelessness seeping from its walls like oozing blood.

Gazes swept across the surging peaks to squint at the blurry blobs of glistening figures that stood unyielding atop that towering hill. Banners whipped in the wind — weaved with Aquilo’s mark that seemed to glower down at the Rupertan knights. Soldiers adorned with violet garments stretched on in a deadly trail for winding miles. 

This was it.

The final, damning battle that would put a halt to the Kingdoms’ rivalry. It would end the dragging war. 

One Kingdom would prosper, and the other would soon be nothing but ashes.

And Ermano’s hard heart was set firmly on victory.

Ermano tore through soldiers in a deathly whirl. His blade hacked through flesh. Twirling with grace he slaughtered any poor soul that dared to prance in his path. Heart thundered in his ears, a familiar, steady beat to tune his lethal waltz. With one slice of his sword he cut down three warriors in splatters of bloody carnage. 

A smirk tugged at his lips. Thrill pounded through his veins like fine wine. It was addicting, stirring, leaving him lusting for more. The adrenaline coursing in his bloodstream cleared his mind and sharpened his senses. Never before had he ever felt so free. In the raging chaos of the battle, he was like a grand King in his rightful place of power — thriving in the blood and death instead of luxury and riches.

The stench of tangy copper thickly wafted the air. The snow at Ermano’s feet was sickly ruby with fresh rivers blood. His plates of darkly glittering armor were stained with the crimson pigment of guts. He gripped his sword as he twirled it expertly, movements thundering yet elegant in his mass slaughter. Arrows thunked dully against his shield, the picture of godhood with his hair flying around his face where it came loose from its braid and his cape, half burned, whipping around his legs. He growled, low and dangerous, and his sword caught the sunlight as he swung down. Terror glinted in the eyes of his poor victim, and a ragged scream ripped from their throat as he mercilessly stabbed their heaving chest with a wet thud. 

He raised his head, swooping back his locks of auburn. Stormy gaze sweeping over the battle field he tore free his weapon and kicked away the lulling body. 

Countless dead soldiers littered the snowy hills. Ermano felt a pang for each fallen Rupertan Knight he glimpsed across. The clashing of swords echoed through the valley, screaming piercing the air, the ground nearly shaking with pounding footsteps. In the fuming havoc it was impossible to see which Kingdom was closest to victory. The world blurred into a fuzz of blood and malice, his determination locked on the palace atop the stooping mountain and nothing more.

The thundering of hooves slammed against the ground, kicking up snow. Ermano gripped his sword as a soldier galloped through the sea of chaos. The steed’s armor glittered deep purple, bloody and stained, neighing as it was sharply yanked to a halt. Its rider was familiar. Greasy strands of black hair, a sour expression — Commander Adrian, whose beady eyes would often bore into Ermano’s across the battle field.

The man’s lips curled into a sneer. “Come to avenge your dead brother, General?” His words were like the hiss of a snake, laced with venom, sickly calm until he struck.

Ermano hefted his shield, a breeze whipping back his hair. “I would watch yer tongue before it’s chopped off,” He replied coldly, seething in a sharp breath.

Commander Adrian barked a humorless laugh. “Bold words,” He mused. “Arrogant, aren’t you?”

“I have slain countless of your troops without breakin’ a sweat,” Ermano chuckled darkly, gesturing to the limp bodies slumped at his feet. “Arrogance is well within my right.”

Adrian scoffed, lips pressed thin. “This won’t bring him back,” He spat. “You can destroy out castle, you can kill our King, but that victory is ours.”

Cold rage twisted in Ermano like dull knives; blunt and burning. Knuckles strained white he gripped the hilt of his blade. Rare sparks of fury billowed through his head like fumes of smoke. ‘Victory.’ Ermano wanted to vomit. His gut clenched with disgust. Even he — the warrior who had slain countless foes and had burned empires to ashes — was hazed nauseous at this man’s evils. 

What kind of soldier proudly puffed their chest and proclaimed they had the life of an innocent child under their belt?

No soldier worthy of their title.

Let alone the man who had slaughtered Ermano’s little brother.

“Get off yer steed, coward,” Ermano’s hard eyes gleamed with hate as he observed the Commander with cold composure. He lumbered a threatening step forward, his armor rustling with the clanking of metal. “Horses have no place in this battle caused by your sins.”

A cunning grin cut cross Adrian’s face. “Gladly.”

Dropping the reins he swung a leg over his mount’s back. Saddle clinking he dropped to the ground and brushed dirt from his knees. Adrian grinned, grasping the shank of his rapier blade as he drew it — the blade of silver glittering in the dying sunlight. 

Cape flowing at his heels, Ermano lifted his sword with an expert twirl of his wrist. He allowed his foe the leniency of steadying his sword, before he struck.

Ermano darted forward with a roar, sword swung in an arc with deadly swiftness. Adrian ducked back with a heaving breath. He fumbled for his blade and the swords clashed, iron gritting together as the two warriors swept off into their deathly dance.

Jaw clenched with strain, Adrian pulled back and sliced for Ermano’s open side. A ghost of a grin flickered on Ermano’s face as the weapon knocked uselessly against his armor. Fear frazzled Adrian’s cocky smirk.

Ermano lunged forward. His blows were hard and quick. He struck out with his sword in a lunge of shocking grace. His blade collided with Adrian’s, metal clanged as their weapons clashed. Adrian was swift to pull back, ducking when Ermano lashed out a split second later. 

Ermano moved like a dancer at his heels, moments nothing but refined and powerful. With each arcing swing his veins thudded with thrilling blasts of adrenaline. He swept in a brisk circle round his opponent, a dark grin curled his lips. Sweat slicked Adrian’s brow, face paling as he gritted his teeth with strain. The terror that gleamed in those beady eyes sent his spirits soaring with twisted pleasure.

Instead of mercilessly plummeting his foe with nothing but, brute force, Ermano jabbed out with almost playful lashes of his blade. He was like a cat toying with a mouse. The blood dripping down Adrian’s temple made him rumble a dark chuckle.

He wasn’t ready to break his puppet quite yet. 

After all, why waste such amusement?

“You’re quite slow for you reputation, Commander,” Ermano hummed, words harsh with teasing venom. With ease he dodged Adrian’s attack, the strike sloppy with fear. The blade thunked uselessly off Ermano’s shield. He used the momentum to duck down, his cape whipped from his back as he lunged up, his fist slammed into Adrian’s jaw.

Adrian staggered back, hacking a raspy cough as he spat blood into the snow. “Fool,” He snarled. “Stop toying and fight me!”

A laugh rumbled from Ermano’s chest. “S’quite fun, I’m afraid,” The warrior grinned, lips curling and teeth sharp. “Nothin’ like a good ol’ game of cat and mouse, hm?”

Ermano his sword, the metallic rasp of the blade sliding back into its scabbard echoing across the battlefield. It rested at his side, no longer needed in this battle. Stormy blue eyes gleaming, his lips permed back in a sharp grin. But that didn’t mean he was going to be merciful.

Throat bobbing, Adrian paled with a shudder of breath. He clutched his sword before him with knuckles stained white. With a yell he frantically sliced out in a wild swing. Ermano weaved through the clumsy cuts — twirling in a duck before slamming into the smaller man. Adrian stumbled back with a yelp of startlement. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ermano rammed his shield into his side and delivered a hard kick to his chest.

“Quiet now, aren’t ya?” Ermano huffed as Adrian stumbled back with a pained gasp. He strode forward, boots kicking through bloodied snow. “Just like the worthless pest ya are.”

Adrian clutched his ribs, wheezing. “I’m flattered,” He spat. He stood, stifling a grunt, wiping sweat from his forehead as he faced Ermano on trembling legs. Dark eyes gleamed with something murderously inhuman. Bloody teeth glinted in the last rays of sunlight. 

“Wanna know how he died?” He asked with a breathless chuckle. 

Ermano glowered down at the man coldly. Burly shoulders rigid he folded his hands over his weapon’s haft. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game.”

Adrian sputtered a cackle, a horrible imitation — his voice scratchy and cracked. Hacking coughs heaved from his throat and he clenched desperately at his chest. “The King threw him into the dungeons,” He began in a rasp. “I was tasked with bringing the brat food,” Twisted joy rotted his face. “I got to watch as he slowly withered away.”

Ermano clenched his jaw — utterly silent as a storm of fury raged within him. Sorrow clenched his heart in a grip of cold talons. Two years of grief shifted like crumbling rubble, cracking and tumbling to let blinding light show upon the raw misery buried deep within. It burned. Like flames flickering over to gnaw at something raw and sensitive.

Gods, he nearly wished he could unhear that statement. The image of his little brother curled up in a trembling ball as his stomach fiercely cramped sent the sour taste of bile to his tongue. A shudder wracked his spine. 

Had Rien cried out? Had he sobbed for them — his family — as Nauvu cruelly let him rot? Had there been no one there to comfort him as he was sick? No one to dote him after a nightmare?

Ermano snarled. His hand darted to his side and drew his blade with a flash of steel. He threw himself forward in a ruthlessly lunge. Like a God coming to smite a mortal with his wraith. His sword met Adrian’s in a thundering blow. He pulled back, quick as a strike of lightning, aiming a swing for Adrian’s head and the commander just ducked back in time.

“The food was ages old,” Adrian gasped out between heaving pants. He hobbled a step forward, the tip of his sword dragging along the ground. He chuckled. “The brat got ill and choked to death on his own vomit.”

The words were like a sharp punch to the gut.

Ermano heaved a shaky gasp, frozen in terror, mind staggering in a floundering loop. His heart pounded, horror clenching his stomach. The world blurred, sounds fuzzes of static.

They had never been given how Rien — sweet, little Rien — had been slain. It felt their wondrous creativity up to imagine how their youngest had fated. Ermano had held Elwyn through countless nightmares, gripped Rorey’s hand when the guilt became too much. Froze himself when reality was suddenly too sharp and harsh. From a noose being looped around Rien’s neck to a quick stab of a knife, the thought had haunted three of them. 

Ermano had held the axe of execution between his hands countless times. He had lifted it before swiftly slammed it down on a prisoner’s neck with the splintering of bone. But he had always been sure to be painless and quick. After all, this was war, there was enough unnecessary suffering to begin with. A true warrior — who had fought nobly for their people — did not deserve a bloody death. They would even pardon those who had simply been trying to protect their Kingdom, not fight for their King.

But this?

It was inhumane. It was mad. It was nothing short of sadistic. Even for an enemy soldier.

But for a child?

It was a terrible, cruel thing that made Ermano’s hard heart shatter.

Finally, after these two dragging years, he knew how his brother had died.

Wide awake in terror, probably sobbing in panic, as he heaved and choked on bile.

A small, shuddering sob wrenched from Ermano’s throat.

Commander Adrian threw his head back and laughed. His crazed cackles echoed through the valley of chaos. “Nothing to say, General?” He jeered with a smirk. “Are you really—“

Ermano strutted forward, deadly silent, kicking aside bodies before he snapped out his arm and grabbed Adrian’s neck in a merciless grip. With a tight squeeze he threw the man to the ground. Adrian gasped. Coughs ripped from his throat as he sputtered and choked. He writhed at Ermano’s feet with hitching cries. Snarling, Ermano wrenched a hand into his greasy hair and tore back Adrian’s neck. He forced the Commander to his knees and shoved a cruel, warning hand to clutch his windpipe.

“Beg,” Ermano spat. He dipped his head to bore his eyes — swimming with fury — into Adrian. Hot, irony breath fanned over the sobbing man’s face with every enraged pant. “Beg for my mercy! Plead and weep at my feet like that little boy you killed!”

“Pl-Please!” Adrian blubbered frantically. He uselessly grabbled at Ermano’s wrist as sobs bubbled past his lips. “Please! Have mercy! I-I have a fiancé—“ He hiccuped, tears streaming down his cheeks. “We’re— our wedding— i-its in the fall—“

Ermano drew in a breath. Eyes cold and pitiless, he grabbed the hilt of his blade with clenched teeth. “Relieving them of a curse like you is the most mercy I’m willin' to give.”

Then, gaze unwavering, he raised his sword. With a yell of rage he struck down the final blow. A thrill of satisfaction thudded in his rushing ears at the deafening sound of bones snapping. Blood splattered on his trousers. With a wet thunk the Commander’s head rolled across the snow.

It was bloody, it was painful.

Yet it was nothing short of what he deserved. 

Moments later, Ermano had swung himself upon his stolen steed. With the clacking of hooves and rattling of reigns he urged the mount to gallup on. The ground shook under the horse’s hooves. The rushing wind whipped back his cape. The world blurred by, Ermano’s eyes locked steadily on the raging battle ahead. Screams pierced the icy air, swords clashing, thundering cries of war echoing off the stooping cliffs.

Within the sea of chaos and carnage was Lex — fighting like a raging blaze. Her axe chopped through flesh. As flames would ruthlessly crumble foundation, with each deadly slash of her axe she tore through soldiers with ease. Cracking blood smeared her cheeks. A wicked sneer curled upon her lips.

Yanking the steed to a stop, Ermano leapt from the saddle with the dull clank of armor. Rearing back his sword, he stabbed a foolishly turned enemies back — twisted his blade and sending them collapsing with a ragged scream. Thrilling delight thundered through his veins. Pumped with adrenaline he tore down any enemy blocking his path.  

“Nice of you to join us, General!” Lex crowed as she twisted a soldier’s neck with a sickening crunch of bones. She grinned, teeth tinged crimson. “Gettin’ slow in your old age?”

Ermano huffed. “Very original. Ro’s rubbin’ off on ya.”

Lex barked a laugh.

Ermano twirled on his heels, cutting at his foe’s knees in an elegant swing. A gasping shriek ripped from their throat and they tumbled into a heap. Ermano lifted his foot, before ruthlessly stomping down on their head. Bones splintered. They were left limp as blood pooled beneath them.

Lex hefted her axe over her shoulder, flicking back her frazzled bangs. “We’re closing in on the castle,” She muttered. Her steel gaze scanned over the rolling hills of the valley, lips pressed as she observed the looming palace haunting them. “They outnumber us, but we caught them by surprise,” A rare flicker of hope sparked in her cold eyes. “If all goes well, we should be victorious by nightfall.”

Ermano sucked in a deep breath, the stench of tangy copper wafting his nose. “After all this time, ey?”

“Aye,” Lex murmured. She gave the warrior a curt nod of respect, fist held above her heart. “It’s been an honor to fight beside you, General. I hope your revenge is as sweet as you anticipated.”

A broad grin twisted Ermano’s lips. “I have high hopes that it will be.”

Lex returned the darkly glinting smirk, before tipping her head and darting to join her brothers and sisters in battle.

For a spilt second, Ermano allowed himself to breathe. His muscles burned with strain, blood rushing in his ears, breaths heavy as he wiped sweat from his brow. A fierce pounding stabbed under his temples. With a grit of his teeth he clenched his sword, drawing in a weary seethe of breath. His injuries throbbed, head heavy, shoulders slumping as Adrian’s sickening words raced through his mind in a nauseating loop.

Rien had been thrown heartlessly in a cell, left to rot and die slowly by food poisoning. Bile jumped in Ermano’s throat. Rushing to pull back his hair, he doubled over and spat a wad of vomit into the snow.

Ermano was drenched in his enemies’ blood. It soaked his shirt, stained his armor, caked under his nails. In these last few gruesome hours he had shown no mercy — not even a glimpse — slaughtering his foes like useless cattle. 

But never could he let a little boy starve to death under his hands without impaling his blade into his chest.

What sick kind of monster could have such sin on their conscious? 

It was as if a scab had been ripped from a wound. Leaving the peeling gash wrenching with pain, leaving his grief raw and exposed. 

Finally, just as he had come to terms with Rien’s death, reality once again surged up to twist a dagger into his heart. Sorrow tied round his limps and yanked him to the ground — like some impossibly heavy weight. His eyes stung with scarce tears. His knees felt weak at the thought of telling his father and brother the damning news. He couldn’t bare to watch them crumple in defeat as the words spilt from his tongue. They couldn’t take another loss—

His ears picked up the hurrying footfall a split second too late. 

Head snapping up he whipped around, when suddenly a weight slammed into his side.

With a yell Ermano was thrown to the ground. His jaw slammed into the dirt. The cold of the snow stabbed his skin. Pain blossomed through his ribs. Struggling for his thrown blade Ermano kicked and jabbed, chest heaving. The soldier who had tackled him rammed their knee hard into his chest. Breathless, Ermano swung wildly as the two tumbled. Rocks cut into his skin. The ground rubbed him raw. He struggled and kicked. Scratched and punched. But as his mind stumbled to catch up with reality, a fist collided with his cheek.

Pulling spots of white danced before him. With a groan he dug back his head, hot agony tearing through his skull. A heavy weight scrambled to his stomach. Ermano pried open his eyes, breaths rapid and sharp, gazing up at his attack with a blurry vision and ringing ears.

The Aquilo warrior stared down at him with wide eyes. They were clearly younger — surprise flashing across their feature, helmet askew. But their hands shoved down Ermano’s shoulders harshly, pinning the General to the ground. Ermano gritted his teeth with a snarl. He yanked at the grip on his wrists, bucking like a dying animal, sputtering furious curses. Grim satisfaction thudded through him as he managed to free a hand, he reached for his sword—

But metal scratched and whirred, and then the cold steel of a dagger was pressed under his chin.

Instinct took over. Ermano’s limbs locked in place. His breath hitched. His heart froze in his chest.

Their eyes met. In the hollows of their helmet Ermano could just make out the fear glazing their stare. Hand shaking, they stared down at Ermano’s face, knife wavering where it was held against Ermano’s throat. Hesitation furrowed their brow. They swallowed thickly.

Ermano forced words past his rapidly closing throat. “C’mon,” He ground out. “You don’t have to do this. Just walk away.”

They shuddered, shaking their head. “I can’t.”

Then they squeezed their eyes shut, drawing in a shaky breath, before pressing their dagger to Ermano’s neck. Ermano choked, clawing desperately at their arm. Uselessly. Skin peeled, stinging faintly as beads of crimson welled.

“Em!”

A cracking, frantic voice screamed in horror.

Ermano drew in a ragged gasp. Pure, utter terror squeezed his heart. But not for the knife that rested uncertainty on his throat. 

No.

He recognized that voice. For nearly all his life it had been a constant chatter that followed him with utter, foolish loyalty. From gentle laughter to lift the older up to broken sobs as Ermano provided a solid shoulder to cry on. A familiar presence that never left his side. That always meant comfort — that always meant love.

It now struck a wrenching stab of terror that stopped Ermano’s heart.

It was Rorey’s cry that echoed across the battlefield.

A slender figure hurled forward, slamming into the young soldier and sending them spiraling to the ground with a yelp. Ragged breaths panted from the two, crumbled into trembling heaps. The weight was knocked off Ermano’s chest. Throat left bear and wrists freed.

Gasping, Ermano scrambled to his feet. Heart thumping in his hearts. Lungs tied in a tight knot. He grabbed his sword with fumbling fingers, rushing over to the two figures splayed in the snow. Movements staggering he kicked over the soldier’s thrashing form and sent his blade buried in their neck. Quick and painless. Throwing aside his weapon Ermano broke into a run, eyes wide, throwing himself at his little brother with snow sent flying.

“Rorey!” Ermano roared, words seething with fury. He ceased the younger’s shoulders, panting, grip nearly bruising. “What the hell?!” He was yelling, almost screaming, eyes blown and pulse racing. “Fate, what are doing here? You could have gotten yourself killed!”

Rorey was gasping for breath. Emerald eyes glazed with horror and blank with shock. “I-I—“

“No,” Ermano growled. He rose, grip snaking around Rorey’s arm and yanking him to his feet. He roughly steadied his brother as he stumbled. Clutching his shoulders and pulling him close, Ermano sternly scanned Rorey’s quivering form for injury. Any mere scrape or the shallowest of cuts. He gripped the younger’s chin with shaking hands, stormy eyes swimming with burning rage, turning Rorey’s face from side to side.

Rorey struggled in the tight grip. Small hisses of pain slipped from his lips and he squirmed. “Em—“

Refusing to let go, Ermano jerked Rorey to his chest and tightened his squeezing grasp. “Just stop,” He ground out. “Do you have any idea how foolish that was?” He shuddered a shaky exhale, swallowing thickly. “You could have died.”

“I-I’m sorry!” Rorey cried, shoulders shaking with ragged sobs. “I-I—“ Hot tears trickled down his cheeks. “I had to! I had to warn you. Th-They’re—“

He managed to pry himself free. Floundering, he dropped to the ground and shifted hurriedly through the snow. He grabbed the knife that the soldier had wielded. Knees weak he stumbled back to his brother.

“L-Look,” Rorey held out the blade, gesturing frantically to the tip.

Lips pressed thin, Ermano slipped his hands under Rorey’s and coldly titled his grasp. Carved deeply into the iron was a looping circle that jutted a broad cross; the mark of Aquilo. And coated thickly, precisely over the dagger’s tip was an oozing liquid of deep scarlet. It wafted the rottenly sweet stench of roses.

Ermano’s brow furrowed. Chills of horror crept up his spine.

“It’s Letum poison,” Rorey explained breathlessly. “It’s lethal— i-it’s deadly! I had to warn you! I couldn’t— I couldn’t just let you die!”

Like a puppet whose strings had been snipped, Rorey sagged. He buried his face in his hands and stifled a sob.

Realization hurled into Ermano’s head. As heavy as crushing as a mound of bricks.

Letum poison was deadly — it could kill its target lightning quick or drag out the death for agonizing hours. Fifty years ago it was utterly outlawed from warfare. Too deadly and rash to be safe for either side of battle. Even a handful of prisoners in the castle dungeons were locked away for abusing the knowledge of its craft. It was far too dangerous to allow to be used without care.

But Aquilo was surrounded. 

They were losing.

They didn’t give a single damn.

And it was just like Nauvu to take everyone else out with him.

The shrill blaring of trumpets cut through the battle field — followed by thundering called. Ermano whipped up his gaze, eyes dancing across the raging chaos. The almost frantic tune swelled with the clashing of swords in a swarming loop of disarray. Voices rang in shouts of confusion, sputtering and nearly hopeful. As the horns bellowed, years of drills and commands flooded Ermano’s mind and left him breathless.

It was the grand call of victory.

“They’re retreating!” Warriors were yelling, hesitant with daring faith. The words swam through the air in a lifting call of hope. Soon all soldiers were bellowing in a cheer of utter relief that shook the ground. 

Confusion pounded a steady pressure under Ermano’s temples. Something uneasy sank in his gut. Retrieving his sword with the squelching of flesh he gazed among his troops. 

Aquilo could not be retreating, surely. They were protecting their palace — their King — and Nauvu’s cruelty ensured that no man or women was leaving this hells cape unless it was by returning to the dirt. And they had no fortress to retreat to. Ruperta was going to storm their castle without fail. Cowering back into their solitude would only quicken their death.

“Em?” Rorey breathed shakily. He clung to the older’s arm, eyes sparkling with timid hope. “Is it— are they really…?”

Ermano didn’t trust himself to reply. Peering up the rolling hills he could in fact see soldier clad in purple darting from the battle, like rabbits from hungry wolves. Shock thudded Ermano’s heart. Disbelieving, he narrowed his gaze, gripping the hilt of his sword.

He couldn’t shake some looming sense of foreboding dread. The ‘retreating’ soldiers’ movements were far too orderly for cowering foes. Lines straight and neat they escaped to the peeks above. To the high grounds — where they stopped.

Ermano watched with creeping realization, blood rushing and icily cold. He waited for the damning turn, for shocking flip of Fate.

A shrill whistle pierced the air. An all too familiar fife that hammered in Ermano’s ears. With a sharp cry he lunged forward, jerking Rorey to his chest and raising his shield. 

The arrow hit the wood with a dull thunk.

The sinking feeling in Ermano’s gut proved to be right.

Aquilo was bowing; with arrows tipped with the most lethal poison known to man.

“Fall back!” He called, hearing screams echo out past the trees. A few soldiers shoved past him, heading to the safety of the thick trees. Foot fall shook the earth. “FALL BACK!” 

With a grip of iron he grabbed Rorey’s wrist, bursting into a dash to the forest. Screams of anguish coursed in a deadly song of defeat as soldiers fell at all sides. His feet pounded against the ground. Surging with determination he yanked Rorey along. Muscles burned as he held his shield over their heads. Wind whistled, followed by terrible thuds of arrows slamming into flesh. He kicked aside bodies lulled in their way. Arrows rained down on them like pours of deathly rain.

Sweat dripped down his brow. Blisters burned his feet.

But he didn’t slow. 

Slacking surely meant death.

He weaved through trees, ducking under branches and tearing through the undergrowth. Thorns scratched at his arms. Leaves and twigs caught in his frazzled hair. Minutes dragged into ages as darkness begin to settle over the forest. Ragged breaths tore from his lungs. The trees wrapped together in a towering prison — dark and dense, no clear path and stripped of refuge.

His armor clanged as he ran. The metal plates grinned against each other in a frenzied symphony. Labored gasps puffed through the cold air. He rammed through staggered soldiers. He shoved forward with all his might.

But not for his own skin. Never to keep his racing heart beating.

But to haul his brother to safety. Rorey was no warrior. He was built for the ink and quill, not a spear and shield. He had not sworn the oath to lay down his life, simply a poor soul who had gotten snared into this bloody mess. He was one of the few people Ermano so fiercely loved, and he was going to do everything in his power to keep his head attached to his neck.

Which was why a jolt of pure terror ripped through him when Rorey’s wrist slipped from his grip.

Ermano whipped around with eyes raging with desperate fury. His brother was lagging well behind, stumbling and clutching his chest and choking for breath. He swayed dangerously, lashes rapidly fluttering. The trees split around him in a clearing — unprotected, a plucked chicken ready for killing. 

“Come on!” Ermano snarled. “Run, hurry!”

He ignored the gripping terror that wrenched his heart, seizing forward. 

Rorey shuddered a gasps. Raw panic glazed his eyes, sucking in quick wheezes, hurriedly shaking his head. “E-Em,” He croaked. “Stop. No, no don’t—“‘

Ermano gritted his teeth, ignoring his brother’s frantic pleas. With a fatal, lumbering step he strode into the clearing. His boot crunched fresh snow, when something cracked and groaned loudly under his feet. Although muddled and faint, it ran like roaring thunder in Ermano’s ears. Breaking through the cries of the wounded and sobs of grievers.

With a seethe of breath Ermano stepped back, heart leaping into his throat. He stared at the ground below his feet in horror. Deadly webs spun in thin lines across the frosted surface. 

It wasn’t a clearing.

It was a frozen lake.

The frozen water lapped at the edge of the ice, a treacherous and unforgiving expanse that hid danger beneath its crystalline surface. It was a cruel irony that it was also so beautiful to look at, with the snow-covered banks and ice-covered trees reflecting the light of the moon with a dazzling brilliance.

Rorey legs trembled like a newborn fawn’s. Broken wheezes hitched from his throat. He heaved mindless sputters of panic and his fingers came to yank on his unruly curls. He stared at the ice with swimming terror, chest heaving with labored breaths, tears spilling over his lashes.

Inhaling deeply, Ermano steadily set his hands before him, as if coaxing a frightened animal. “Rorey,” He began, slow and calm. “Do not move. You’ll only make it worse, okay?”

A whimper crawled from Rorey’s throat.

“Em,” He begged shakily. He clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling a sob was wrenching his quivering frame. “Em, help, help me, p-please—“

“Shh, shh,” Ermano soothed. He forced down his worry, remaining steady and firm. “You need to stay calm,” He ordered. “Eyes on me.”

Rorey managed a jerking nod. “O-Okay.”

“Step toward me, okay?” Ermano murmured. “Slowly.”

Swallowing thickly, Rorey hesitantly planted one foot further along the ice. But his movements were fumbling. 

Swallowing thickly, Rorey hesitantly planted one foot further along the ice. But his movements were fumbling as tremors wracked him with each teetering breath. His heel rammed rough against the frost, and the shimming crystals sent cracks of jagged, dooming fractures splitting beneath his boots. 

With a breathless sob Rorey lunged back, emerald eyes blown with twisted terror. He staggered, choking for breath, frantic cries tumbling free as the ice around him shattered – surrounding him in deathly cracks that pierced the night; blood-curdling and deafening.

Ermano spat a curse with such vigor a sailor would gawk in alarm. The burning, tempting desire to race foolishly out on the ice gripped him firmly, like glowing flames that lured him close just to trap him in its lethal jaws of demise. Fierce protectiveness surged his cold heart – yet left him utterly uselessly to watch Fate’s cruelty play out. 

A wrenching sob tore from Rorey’s heaving lungs. Knees wobbling and weak he staggered, clutching his chest, guttural, painful cries spilling free. His frantic begs were choked. Coming out in a dull, broken whimper. It was clear that his mind was racing with panic, tears spilling down his cheeks, yanking furiously at his curls. 

“I don’t—“ He gagged, shaking his head wildly. “I can’t— I-I—“

“Rorey!” Ermano bellowed harshly. It was cruel, he knew, but his guilt instantly vanished when Rorey’s gaze snapped to his face. And Ermano held his tearful stare steadily. “You’re going to be fine, understand?”

Rorey sniffled. “But—“

Ermano sternly shook his head. “No,” He snapped. “Carefully, okay?” His voice was low, but it wasn’t harsh like before. Instead, it was soft. Insistent. “C’mon. Breathe. It’s gonna be all right.”

Rorey nodded. With a shuddering breath he gradually began to inch forward. Ermano coaxed him closer with every wobbling step. 

Chills of dread stabbed up Ermano’s spine as his brother dangerously swayed. Rorey puffed heavy breaths, lashes fluttering fitfully. His steps stumbled with waves of sickly dizziness. He tripped over his own feet and with an ear-shattering shriek he was sent slamming into the ice. Nauseating cracking spilt the air. Like glass crumpling the ice shattered. Rorey sputtered a frantic cry, lurching forward, then the raging waters seized. The sheet of frost completely shattered, and Rorey was sent thrown into the frozen depths.

Soldiers gasped. Healers screamed.

Ermano didn’t hesitate. 

His actions may have been foolish — rash, childish. His mind was stripped of all thought of logic. 

He threw himself forward. Ice shattered under his thundering footsteps as he raced forward with a desperate cry. Without a shadow of uncertainty, a ghost of doubt, he dove into the frigid waters to save his beloved brother.

The shock of the cold rammed him like a sledgehammer. Icy knives merciless stabbed into his skin, nerves nearly numb, wracking him with hot spikes of agony. He clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. It burned. He flailed and thrashed, grabbling for his bearings in the frozen depths.

His heart pounded between his ribs. The frigid water stung his eyes. The water was inky black, and Ermano could barely see anything, but he could feel the iron fingers of panic wrapping around his heart. His brother was somewhere in the darkness, fighting for his life. His lungs ached, begging for oxygen, sending waves of nausea slamming in his head. Kicking forward, he frantically whipped around, eyes dancing wildly to scan the river floors. Where was he? Where the was he, where was—

There.

Rorey’s limp form drifted through the dark depths. His face was sickly pale, head lulling, silver bubbles streaming from his mouth. Kelp brushed his splaying fingers, jacket rippling the water. Emerald eyes flickered back and forth with hysteria, glazed with horror, yet he could barely mange a twitch — thrown into shock by the water’s unforgiving chill.

Muscles burning, Ermano lunged forward, gritted with determination. With one final desperate seize his hand clamped around Rorey’s sleeve. 

He yanked Rorey to his chest, hauling him into his arms and clutching him close. With renewed, determined strength he fought against the whipping current. Ermano furiously kicked, locked on the shimmering ghost of moonlight above. He held Rorey in a crushing grip. He was deathly cold in his arms. He had to get him to the surface— 

His shoulder rammed into the solid ice forested above. Ermano felt his stomach drop. 

The ice—

Biting back a cry he slammed into the sheet of frost. Pain blossomed across his shoulder. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. He plummeted his fists into the ice that stood in his way of freedom. Unstopping, unyielding. But his lungs burned. Fatigue slugged his movements. Exhaustion dragged him down; a damaging weight. His eyelids drooped, and his mind coaxed him to just sleep—

Shouts rang above. Shadows swarmed above the ice. Just as Ermano felt himself nearly stagger into the pits of unconsciousness, a pole was plunged through the ice, and the crystal sheet shattered.

Hands grasped Ermano’s arms, yanking him out of the frigid water. He gasped as they broke through the surface, sputtering, the shock of the chilly air wheezed the oxygen from his lungs. He held Rorey close, burying his face in the younger’s damp curls, unwilling to let go no matter how badly his exhausted arms ached. Soldiers grunted, orders were barked, and the brothers were heaved onto dry land. He collapsed against the dirt, muscles limp and trembling. The rushing adrenaline was sucked away, leaving him gulping for air, sheer relief flooding him.

They were alive.

Grip unyielding, he yanked Rorey impossibly closer, holding him tightly to his chest. His brother heaved with ripping coughs. Rorey sputtered a sob, clinging desperately to Ermano’s shirt. His breathless cries wrenched Ermano’s heart. He shushed the younger softly, pressing his nose to those umber curls, muttering nothing but sweet nonsense into his ear.

 “You’re okay,” He murmured, easing soothing circles to Rorey’s back. “Shhhh. Shhh. I know, I know.”

Rorey jolted with the force of his gasping cries. His chest heaved. Tears trickled down his cheeks. Those jade eyes were blown, wildly darting in racing panic. “T-The— we—“ He choked on a sob. He shoved closer, burying his face in Ermano’s shoulder. He clung to his brother’s neck with a wet hiccup. “Em, Em—“

Ermano cradled him close in his unfaltering embrace. “Shhh, shhh,” He shushed. He rested his scratchy jaw atop Rorey’s head, tucking him safely under his chin and running his fingers through the brunette’s tangled hair. “You’re safe.”

Rorey managed a weak nod. He sucked in a shaky breath,, lashes fluttering as he finally gave into the exhaustion dragging him down and sagged in Ermano’s arms.

Ermano whistled a relived sigh, slumping back against the grass and staring at the starts twinkling above. He lapped down air to soothe his burning lungs, gritting his teeth and rising heavily to his feet with a stifled grunt. A soldier hurried to steady him, hand hovering uncertainly.

“Should we make camp here for the night, sir?” They asked, wiping sweat from their brow. Bags burdened their eyes, their legs shook under their weight, and their shoulder clearly shook from exhaustion.

Ermano drew in a seethe of breath. He brushed back his limp locks of drenched hair, the strands hanging over his face in a damp curtain. He gazed over his troops with his lips set in a grim line. Soldiers stood scattered through the trees, panting from the sudden sprint. There was only a handful left; not enough to form even a quarter of a battalion. Some leaned heavily on others and blood oozed from numerous wounds. Others bit back sobs as they cradled dead loved ones to their chest. Each weary eye was trained on Ermano as if he was their almighty God here to save them from impending doom.

And here was their savory. Soaked, shaking, and hesitating.

“Y-Yes,” Ermano nodded. “We’ll rest for the night. We’ll need our strength for the morning.”

Lex shoved through the crowded soldiers, hair whipping over her ears like rivers of rippling flames. Blood was smeared over her face like crude warpaint, steel eyes locked on Rorey as she strode forward. Without a word she carelessly threw back Ermano’s dangling hair and seized Rorey’s face in her hands. Lips pursed thinly, she ran over every scrape and bruise, pressing her palm against Rorey’s cold cheek with a heavy sigh.

“Stupid idiot,” She muttered gruffly. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Rorey’s lips frayed in a weak smile. “H-Hi.”

Ermano watched, a soft fondest tugging at his heart, as Lex grumbled and pressed their foreheads together. It was as if they were the only two who mattered, resting in a blissful, brief haze of peace.

Lex drew back, tucking one of Rorey’s stray curls behind his ear. “C’mon,” She murmured, gaze flicking between the brothers. “Let’s get you two into dry clothes.” She barked a hollow, dry laugh. “We have plenty dead bodies to strip them from.”

Ermano poked at the glowing embers of the flickering fire, nudging the smoldering coals with the blunt end of a gnarled stick. The soft chirping of crickets filled the forest in a small chorus of a song, the icy wind bit at his bare skin in frigid prickles of cold. He watched as the flames swept in a wild dance of fiery swirls, leaping in untamed twirls of dazzling, colorful bursts. Ermano combed through his tangled auburn locks. Hair tie held between his teeth, he fastened his still dank hair into a brief bun, strands spilling over the crook of his neck. 

A dented, rusting kettle rested over the fire, rattling lightly as it boiled tea. Ermano hoped it boiled, at least, instead of burning.

It was a few good hours into the night. The three moons glittered in the inky sky, casting their silver glow down to leak through the canopy of towering trees. Light chatter echoed through the thick wood. Metal clashed as weapons were sharpened. A few tents were scattered under the streaming moonlight, sheltering the wounded from the chilling air. How they got all this supplies was beyond Ermano. Even as a General, he had no clue what supplies were brought to the battle front. The few remaining soldiers were settling down in the forest bed, gazing up at the twinkling stars, few able to sleep as they dreaded the upcoming dawn.

With so few troops left, Ermano grimly wondered if they stood a chance at all.

The clothes he wore were a bit tight, tugging uncomfortably at his clearly bulging arms, meant for someone quite smaller than him. His boots were illy fitted, trousers skimming his calves, but it would make do. His sword was a heavy weight on his hip. A damning, unshakable reminder of the morning and the blood it would bring.

The whistling of the kettle snapped the warrior from his thoughts. The pot’s lid clattered as billows of steam whistled from its spout.

Cursing under his breath, Ermano hefted himself to his feet. His muscles were still rung from his swim earlier, sore as he lifted the kettle from its stand. He grabbed two metal cups, poured the scalding tea, carefully blowing on it to cool. He turned with a small smile.

Rorey sat huddled by the fire, slumping limply against a tree thick trunk, trembling with violent shivers even if he was swaddled in numerous blankets. Somehow, he had managed to hold onto his glasses in the frozen lake. They sat on the bridge of his pink nose — flogged from the cold. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion, eyes glassy, breaths labored wheezes. 

Ermano shuffled round the fire, kneeling by his brother’s side with a rare softness creasing his eyes. He sat down on a smooth rock with a poorly stifled grunt.  “Gotcha some hot tea,” He murmured, raising a glass. “Should be good for yer chills.”

Rorey managed a weak smile. “Thank you,” He rasped. 

Ermano hummed. “Of course.”

He leaned forward, brow furrowed with concern. He lifted a massive hand to Rorey’s forehead. A frown tugged his lips at chills dripping from younger’s skin. He lifted his rough hands to cup Rorey’s face, painstakingly gentle, thumbs caressing over his brother’s pale cheeks with a tsk of worry. “Feelin’ any better?” He asked, blunt nails lightly tracing over Rorey’s cheekbone.

“A bit, yeah,” Rorey croaked. Groaning, he slumped forward, nuzzling into Ermano’s hands. He sniffled, lashes fluttering. “M’tired.”

“Goin’ for a swim in a frozen lake’ll do that do ya,” Ermano teased lightly, rumbling a chuckle.

Rorey shot him a heatless glare. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

“I didn’t!”

Ermano snorted, fondly shaking his head. He picked up the cooling cup and dropped in a brass spoon. He thoroughly stirred the steaming liquid. Blowing over it once more with the swirling of steam, he lifted a spoonful to Rorey’s lips. “C’mon,” He murmured softly. “Drink up, okay?”

Tenderly, he coaxed down a few swallows of tea. He hummed sympathetically when Rorey would wince, throat sore, shushing him softly. Rorey’s strength seemed to seep away with every inching second. He blearily stared up at Ermano through half-lidded eyes, chest rattling with every slow rasp of breath. A rare smile softened Ermano’s features. 

“How is it?” Ermano asked, slipping another spoonful between Rorey’s lips.

Rorey smacked his lips. “S’good,” He cracked a ghost of a grin. “For your tea.”

Ermano huffed, lightly flicking his brother’s forehead.

He gazed over Rorey, the horrid memories of the last few hours slamming into him like a cart of bricks. Rorey’s broken, shrill cry that echoed through the blood-soaked battlefield would forever ring in his ears to haunt him. Then, after Ermano had just managed to haul his little brother to safety, he was rendered implicitly helpless as Rorey stood trembling on the thin ice of that lake. Terror’s iron claws gripped his heart. Dread dropped in his gut. 

Ermano didn’t believer in luck. He was a warrior — trained to think rationally and act in pure logic. 

But the fact that Rorey was alive was some forbearing mercy of Fate.

Ermano warily rubbed at his temples that throbbed. “Gods, Rorey,” He muttered. Lifting his gaze, he stared into those jade eyes that sparkled like something priceless. He grasped Rorey’s hand, sucking in a shaky breath as he clutched his brother tightly — desperately. “Ya scared me senseless back there, y’know that?”

Heat crawled up Rorey’s cheeks. He ducked down in shame, fiddling with the corner of a blanket. “I-I know,” He whispered meekly . “…sorry.”

Ermano heaved a sigh. He lifted Rorey’s head from his chest, gripping his chin between his fingers. “I know,” He rumbled. He gritted his teeth as a shudder wracked down his spine. “And I forgive ya, but Ro…”

Swallowing back bile, he miserably shook his head. “When I saw you on the battle field, my heart stopped,” He let out a shaky breath. Fiercely seizing forward, he pressed their foreheads together and smothered back a shuddering sob. “ I was terrified. I can’t— I can’t lose you, too.”

Rorey sniffled. He roughly wiped his teary eyes with a sleeve, throat bobbing.

“I-I’m sorry,” He whispered, voice tight and wet. “I-I saw the poison and I—“ 

He wrung his hands with a choke of breath. “I panicked. Em I couldn’t let you die,” Finally, he looked up, teary eyes pouring into Ermano’s, swelling with wrenching sorrow. “I couldn’t- I—“ 

He frantically shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut with a sharp gasp. “Couldn’t let that happen again.”

Ermano stared at his brother with heaviness settling over his heart. Like a veil raised from his eyes, clouding smoke lifting, the merciless truth of reality slammed into him and sucked the air from his lungs. Here was Rorey in naked light. Wide-eyed, hot tears trickling down his cheeks, far too young for his slender shoulders to sag with burden. So young — shockingly young. He was merely twenty-three— twenty-three. A kid. 

He was so young — far too young to have seen the horrors that flashed behind his closed eyelids. Ermano saw a kid buckling under the crushing weight of grief. He saw the boy who had sobbed into his shoulder as he clutched that damned letter in his fist. The kid who would crawl into his bed late at night when his head became too loud.

A kid who unrelentlessly hammered himself with the blame of his little brother’s death.

Cold realization sent chills riddling Ermano’s spine. With a shudder Ermano lifted a hand to cover his mouth as bile gathered in his throat. 

Ermano was no stranger to grief. It snared the best soldiers until they couldn’t go on. Grief was like a rope that strung around your throat — digging the air form his insides until it swallowed you whole with its unforgiving jaws. It didn’t make sense. It was rash, vivid, and had a pull so strong no one could resist.

And it was ripping his brother apart.

“Oh, Ro,” Ermano breathed, crestfallen with sorrow. 

A wrenching sob tore from Rorey’s throat. Like a puppet’s whose strings had been cut he sagged, strength seeped away,. He crumbled, shoulders shuddering from the force of his anguished cries. His weeping ripped Ermano’s ears bloody. They were so heartbroken, so deep and shattered that Ermano’s cold heart twisted with agony.

Sure and steady, Ermano knelt and swept his brother in a hug. Rorey clung to him with a sob, slumping against the older’s chest and stripped of the power to even lift his chin. Ermano pressed a hand firmly to the back of Rorey’s head his fingers tangled in those unruly curls. He shushed Rorey’s sniffles, scratching soothingly at his scalp. He could feel Rorey’s tears soakings shirt but neither of them made to pull away. He remained unfaltering as Rorey sagged against him, combing through the younger’s hair, lovingly tugging free tangles as the fire crackled with the swirling of flickering flames.

Since when were their tears of grief become plentiful enough to flood rivers? So common they could soothe a thirsting man? When had this endless cycle of grief trapped them in its inescapable grasp?

“It wasn’t your fault, okay?” Ermano murmured, pressing his nose to Rorey’s curls. “We were all to blame.”

Shuddering, Rorey refusing to meet the older’s eyes as his lip wobbled. “B-But I—“

Ermano clenched his jaw. “No,” He gritted firmly, hand clasping Rorey’s chin and titled his head to steadily meet his teary eyes. “I wasn’t your fault.”

Rorey hiked his shoulders to his ears, fingers bunching together the blanket in frustration. “But—“

Planting his hands firmly on Rorey’s shoulders, the warrior shook his head, narrowed gaze soberly hardened. “It was not your fault,” He whispered. “Say it.”

Rorey’s breath hitched on a confused sob. “I-It wasn’t my fault,” He choked, shaky and unsure.

“Mhm,” Ermano nodded, stroking away a salty tear that rolled down the brunette’s temple. “Again.”

Rorey swallowed thickly. “It wasn’t my fault.”

A gentle smile tugging Ermano’s lips, stern gaze softening. He wrapped the slaking blanket snuggly around Rorey’s shoulders, easing him back to comfortably rest among the blankets nestled on the grass, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Exactly.”

Gripping his forearms, Rorey managed a weak nod. “O-Okay.” He croaked.

Ermano hummed. He grabbed his sleeping bag that sat rolled up neatly by the fire, smoothing it out before settling down with a soft sigh. With the stifling of fabric he rested his head atop the lumpy mat, when Rorey grabbed his arm and dragged him close. Ermano chuckled softly, tucking Rorey to safely to his chest and tracing a light hand down his spine.

Rorey shuddered, fingers desperately grasping the back of Ermano’s shirt. “Don’t go.”

Ermano shook his head, arms solid around his brother as Rorey shoved his face into his neck. “Never.” Was the soft promise he muttered.

And he intended to keep it.

Chapter Text

Hello! :D So sorry for skipping a chapter lmao. I have almost all of chapter 11 done, but my inspiration for it wilted away and died- so here we are. I hope you enjoy!

Consciousness returned in sluggish, thick waves. Everything was muddled and slow, as if time swam in murky molasses that sludged along. Rien’s eyelids were far too heavy, brow soaked in sticky sweat, some unknown weight threatening to drag him back into the abbess of sleep. Everything ached, dulled pain coursing through him, prying a weak whimper from his parched lips. His head was all fuzzy, clouded with thick fog that made him dizzy and drowsy.

Memories leisurely reemerge, drifting to the surface like bubbles in boiling soup. He could recall wild panic and terror that froze him in place, loud booms tearing apart his eardrums, his senses exploding as he was held stiffly in someone’s arms. He struggled to make sense of them, feverish mind lazily stumbling to catch up.

A hand rested on the boy’s cheek, tilting up his head. Rien whined, flinching away with a dull jolt of fear. Fingers grasped his wrists, running over his scarred wrists with a tut. Unable to squirm away, Rien's limbs were weighed down by an unshakable exhaustion

He groaned softly, lashes faltering to flitter open. The world was blurry, sounds muffled as they floated through Rien’s disordered haze. He felt nothing short of awful. His head pounded, joints horribly sore, stomach churning with nausea that made him faint. His face wrenched in agony, sickly heat flooding over him in waves, shivers violently wracking his spine.

He stared up blearily with glassy blue eyes, dim confusion swirling when he wasn’t met with the familiar stone walls and permanent darkness. His arms weren’t weighed down by those tormenting shackles, fresh air breezing across his face. Puzzlement scrunched his brow,, heart fluttering uneasily in his chest.

He rested on something wonderfully soft, more comfortable than he had been in years. Soft lantern light glowed, illuminating his cloudy vision. Vaguely, he could feel something tightly wrapped around his left leg, starchly clean compared to his filthy rags and muddy hair. He laid on a small cot in what looked to be a tent, the flap blowing in the wind. The sharp, clean scent that filled the air made Rien’s gut twist when he inhaled. He tried to work sense of his dry lips, tongue uselessly rolling, throat too dry to summon a mere mumble.

“—Evans and Quin simply stumbled upon him, your Highness,” A voice drifted through Rien’s muddled haze, a blurry face hovering above him with a pinched brow. “We think he was injured heavily in one of our explosions, but as for why he was locked up, we can’t say.”

“Gods,” Someone breathed in reply. “The poor kid…”

The voice was soft, gentle and tinged with a northern accent. It struck a sudden wave of recognition, memories of a memories of tender laughter and warm hugs making Rien’s heart squeeze. He whined, straining to get closer, some buried part inside of him knowing that the voice meant love and safety. Rien sobbed weakly in frustration, tugging at the sheets with fumbling fingers as tears sprang into his wrenched eyes.

Fabric shifted, footsteps coming closer. Soft hands cupped the boy’s face, thumbs brushing away Rien’s stream of tears. “Shhh…” That warm voice soothed. “It’s all right, darling.” Rien couldn’t stifle the needy keen that tore from his lips, broken and desperate. He leaned into the touch, the kindness to unfamiliar and burning yet wonderful.

“There we go,” The kind man cooed, tucking back Rien’s tangled curls. “Can you open your eyes for me, kiddo?”

Rien whined. His eyes were painfully heavy, crusted in sleep’s goo. But he didn’t want this undeserved love to end so soon, so he obeyed. Blue eyes stared glassily at the figure in front of him, the man’s features a blur of colors. He flinched as the foreign light stabbed pressure into his skull once again, days spent in darkness making the dim glow agonizing. He sniffled, hiccuping.

“Aw,” The man cooed. He stroked the soft skin under the boy’s eyes, easing away the pressure. “There you are.”

He had a good-natured face that was built to uphold a smile, locks of tawny hair brushing his jaw. His eyes were gray, yet shockingly different from Nauvu’s shade pale steel that haunted Rien’s nightmares. They were nothing but kind and tender, speckled with blue and forever creased with laughter lines. Yet there was a cavernous, buried sorrow to the worry lines that plagued his face, carved with endless wisdom and deep grief.

Rien would never forget that face.

It was the face of a caring, motherly man who had thought Rien the true meaning of unending love.

It was Elwyn, his father, holding him close after so, so long.

A strangled gasp stuttered from Rien’s throat. It was as if a bucket of icy water had been sloshed over his head, leaving him stunned at he gawked up at his dad. Disbelief thrusting through him in blasts of staggering jolt. His breath halted in his lungs, blue eyes blown wide in shock. Tears sprang into his eyes, hot and salty. His mind refused to accept this as reality, sadness panging his heart when his beaten mind insisted it was some taunt of Fate. He wanted to reach out and clutch his father’s robes, throw himself into those adoring arms and prove that he was good enough to return to him.

But he was scared stiff, terrified that this was all a trick.

“I know,” Elwyn murmured sadly. He sat down on the edge of the cot, cradling Rien’s head with pain-staking gentleness. “You don’t feel good, do you?”

His words sent the dam blocking Rien’s tears shattering. He sniffled, gripping Elwyn’s sleeve as sobs bursted from his chest. He batted away the blankets, shoving his face into Elwyn’s shirt with a cry. The familiar sent of apple cider filled his nose — the smell of home, the smell of love. His breaths were ragged and quick, head spinning, some desperation shoving free and tumbling out in frantic fear. He coward into his father’s arms, eyes squeezed shut as his throat ached from the force of his whimpers.

He couldn’t bare the thought of his father shoving him away. He clung tightly to the man’s robes, breath hitching in fear. Everything was bad and he felt awful, he simply wanted his dad to cradle him close and tell him everything was all right again. He wailed as Elwyn pulled back, tears streamed down his cheeks as his face crumpled. No, no, no, there had to be a happy ending, please—

“Shhh,” Elwyn whispered. He held Rien close to his chest, the boy’s head tucked tenderly under his neck as he rocked back and forth. Rien’s eyelids started to drag, sleep settling comfortably around him as his fright began to breeze away like leaves in Fall’s cool wind. The world seemed to pleasantly slow, sweet pleasure gooping through his head like thick syrup.

Elwyn ran his fingers through Rien’s curls, scratching gently at the blonde’s scalp. Rien nuzzled into the touch with a sleepy coo, mumbling softly. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Elwyn hummed, pressing a lingering kiss to the boy’s forehead. “You’re okay now, baby.” Those altruistic gray eyes met Rien’s dull blue with a smile, chuckling kindly when he noticed the smidge of dirt on his nose. He cupped Rien’s cheek, using his sleeve to carefully wipe away the grime.

“You poor thing,” Elwyn murmured. Rien raised his heavy eyes to peek up at his father, snuggling close. Elwyn traced a finger lightly along Rien’s boney face, eyes swimming with the agonized sadness of a mourning man. Rien’s brow scrunched as he thumbed over his nose, fingers stilling to a stop. The man sucked in a shakily breath, tense with shock. Rien whined as the arms embracing him became stiff, a tremor quivering Elwyn’s hands as he jerked back.

A hand caught Rien’s chin, tilting up his head. Rien drowsily stared at Elwyn’s face, shivering as cold hair blew against his feverish cheeks. Elwyn swallowed roughly, choking in disbelief.

“That— no,” He breathed, eyes wide. Tears spilt over his lashes, stuttering on gasp. “Oh, Fate...” He gazed into those big blue eyes, ones that were cloudy with peril too horrid for any child, yet utterly unforgettable.

“Rien..?”

Rien hiccuped, flinching away with a shameful nod. He chewed on his wobbling lip, the tangy taste of blood bursting on his tongue. His heart was a stumbling rush in his ears, panic seizing it with a gripping squeeze. He ducked his head in hot humiliation, guilt squirming in his gut. He should have known, he shouldn’t have dared to let his hopes soar. He knew he didn’t deserve his family again, he was so broken and useless, of course they didn’t want him—

Rien expected to be given a sharp slap or a harsh words, to have his feeble hopes crippled.

But then there were arms yanking him close with startling strength, a nose buried in his hair as Elwyn gave a wrenched sob. He clutched his son tightly, as if he would vanish if he let go. He sobbed, cupping his boy’s face as he wept, pressing kisses to every scar the child held. The touch burned, so gentle, so adoring, never faltering in their steady love. Rien froze up, heart almost skipping a beat as fear rose up and threatened to clog his throat and nose, cutting off his breaths as he waited for his father to dissolve into nothingness and seep through his fingers.

But even as he wearily waited, Elwyn’s warmth never wavered.

Rien gasped, trembling in his father’s arms. They were real, gentle and safe and real.

“D-Dad—“

He clung to Elwyn’s shirt, burying his face in the man’s chest as his shoulder began shaking with sobs that were muffled by soft fabric of Elwyn’s scarf. His dad smelled like apple cider and hazelnut even after all this time, the smell of home and the smell of love. He couldn’t stop his wails, shaking like leaf as he hid away from the world in his father’s lap. His small hands fisted up bunches of Elwyn’s robes, terrified of letting go.

“Oh, my boy,” Elwyn wept. He caressed Rien’s cheek, hands delicate and soft. “Rien, oh Rien!”

Rien sobbed as his father pressed kisses to every inch of his face, lips warm against frigid skin. His eyes swam with horror at every scar, cut, and bruise that littered the boy’s body. Rien tucked his head under Elwyn’s chin, fitting perfectly — as if the universe that carved the place just for him. Everything came crumbling down, leaving a broken, defeated boy in its wake.

He snuggled closer, limp as all the perils he had been thrown together to crush his back. He sniffled, biting his wobbling lip as his sobs bursted free. “I-I’m sorry,” He hiccuped, stumbling over his frantic words. “I-I w-wanted to be strong, b-but it hurt a-and—“

He couldn’t breathe, lungs burning. He babbled on uselessly, dread churning his gut.

“Shhh,” Elwyn murmured. He lifted Rien’s head to lay against his collar, arms wrapped lovingly around his son. “None of that, sweetie. You’re okay.”

Rien sniffled, eyes drifting shut as he relaxed against his father’s chest. His breaths came out in sleepy puffs, fingers weakly clasping Elwyn’s robes even as his arms sagged. He felt suddenly heavy; a wary, bone-deep exhaustion settled over his shoulders like a welcomed blanket. Sounds were muffled, the world hazy. He peacefully floated in thick syrup, Elwyn’s sweet words whispered above his head, his father’s embrace remaining unshakably steady.

He could hear voices exchanged above him, muddled and messy. The healer replied before their footsteps faded away, the tent flap ruffling. Rien drowsily glanced up, blue eyes glassy and half-lidded. He sighed happily nuzzling into Elwyn’s neck with a content huff.

Elwyn chuckled wetly, his stomach bouncing. Rien furrowed his brow as his head was tilted up, blinked sluggishly at Elwyn’s face. Elwyn smiled softly, thumb stroking over the boy’s nose.

“You poor thing,” Elwyn breathed, quiet whispers barely audible, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “Oh, Rien…”

Footsteps thundered outside, shouts piercing the chilly air. Rien weakly lifted his head, rubbing at his tired eyes. Two figures ducked into the tent, stumbling and frantic, panting heavily.

Rien’s brothers gawked at him with wide eyes, stilled in utter shock.

Ermano’s auburn hair was tied into a brisk bun, disheveled and tangled. His burgundy cape blew in the icy wind, stained with fresh blood and tinged with smokey burns. He stared down at his little brother with wide stormy blue eyes, disbelief written across his face. Rorey bursted in at his heels, choking for breath. He fumbled to shove his glasses up his nose, knees wobbling. Jade eyes danced around the room in a panicked dance.

“Dad?” He stammered, stumbling forward. “Th-They said— is h-he—“

His emerald eyes flickered to meet Rien’s baby blue, freezing Rorey in place with a hitch of breath.

Rien was pulled into Rorey’s arms a spilt second later, trembling and tearless, dried out yet filled with such a strong, intense love that he thought his heart might rupture. Rorey shook and mumbled, shoving his face in Rien’s curls as he wailed. Yet his cries weren’t shattered with misery, instead ones of pure, inexpressible joy.. Everything felt so unreal — so distant. Rien wondered if it would all be gone if he opened his eyes, the space between Rorey’s arms empty.

A familiar weight settled on his shoulders, Ermano’s hands warm and hefty. Rien leaned back his head to rest against his oldest brother’s broad chest, strong arms embracing him like a protective shield. The soldier quivered with silent tears, jaw sat atop the boy’s head. He carded his fingers through ash blonde hair, combing out snowflakes that melted against his gloves.

“Fate,” Elwyn blubbered, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. He took Rien’s hands, thumbs running over his son’s pale knuckles. “My boy, oh, my boy…

Rorey wiped at his nose. The cot creaked as he grabbed a blanket, wrapping the fabric around Rien in wooly cocoon. He sniffled, caressing Rien’s cheek and peppering light kisses to his feverish forehead. “I- oh, darling,” He cried. “H-How? I- he—“

“Some mercy of Fate,” Elwyn replied shakily, swallowing hard. “I-I’m not sure, but he’s he’s here,” He hiccuped. “He’s here.”

“Even Death couldn’t take someone so precious,” Ermano rumbled. He cupped Rien’s face with scarred, rough hands, strands of auburn tickling Rien’s neck as his brother knelt to press their foreheads together. Tears swam in his eyes, uncharacteristically tender as he pressed his little brother’s head to rest against his burly shoulder.

His heart was a steady beat in Rien’s ear, strong and sturdy. It lulled Rien into temping sleep, eyelids sagging.

“S’eep?” He mumbled.

“Oh, yes, baby,” Rorey whispered. He planted a kiss on the crown of Rien’s head, smoothing back his curls. “You can sleep. We aren’t going anywhere, darling, I promise.”

Those words sank into Rien’s heart, warming the bitter cold that had hollowed out his chest. The days ahead would be a never ending struggle as he trudged on the trail of healing, a nonlinear battle that would never fully end. But now, his eyes drifted shut, safe in the arms of his family.

Ermano combed his fingers through his hair, smoothing out the silky strands. He picked out dried trickles of blood and brushed away clumps of dirt, his locks of auburn shimmering like crisp autumn leaves in the cozy, flickering lantern light. Crickets chirped, like a choir of tiny instruments playing in perfect harmony, the night air cold and fresh with sharp pine and the soft breeze rustled the loose flap of the tent, like icy murmurs drifting through the stars. The sounds of soldiers idly chatting by a crackling fire floated into the tent, the night peaceful for the first time in two years.

Ermano sighed quietly, pulling off his gloves, the leather worn and smooth against his calloused hands. He sat back in his chair with a creak, shoulders slumping. Fatigue weighed heavily on him, arms aching from swinging his sword, yet a bright joy soared within him, unquenchable, like a blazing flame.

He gazed at the feeble boy that laid limply on the cot in front of him, achingly small in the sheets that swallowed him. Rien's face was flushed and ghostly pale as he slept, with his eyes darting under closed lids. Sweat dampened his disarrayed golden curls, brow furrowed uncomfortably in his feverish haze. His thin chest rose and fell with each shuddering breath, hoarse whimpers scraping from his parched throat as he recalled horrors Ermano could only begin to imagine. He shivered violently despite the wooly blankets tucking him snugly, choking coughs racking from his lungs.

The boy was littered with scars and bruises, so awfully thin that Ermano could see his bones when he peered closely. His cheeks, once rosy and full, were hollow and gaunt from starvation. The fear held onto those baby blue eyes with unrelenting and merciless claws never seemed to let go, the sight sending a dagger hurling at Ermano’s heart. No child should look that way, shrinking back in defeat as if ready to take blows he deserved.

And his leg— Ermano’s gut twisted. Gods, his leg…

Ermano had slaughtered countless enemies mere hours ago, their blood still soaking his cape, yet the sight made him sick. Dirty, thick bandages were tightly wrapped around Rien’s calf, disfigured and still sluggishly oozing blood. It was a mess of gore and raw flesh, fibers ripped apart and muscles shriveled. The healers’ faces had darkened at the sight, their voices grim when they told the Royal Family that their precious son might loose a leg.

Rien was ill and wounded, barely scraping by as time inched on.

Yet, by some sweet mercy of Fate, he was alive.

Rien lied just before Ermano’s eyes, steadily breathing, heart still beating, his spirit shattered and leaving an empty, hollow shell but alive.

Ermano drew in a shaky breath, disbelief surging like a roaring storm and raging with the burning longing that had never seized once in those long two years. He didn’t trust it, convinced that this happiness would crumble between his fingers like dust.

A fierce, intense urge of keen love swelled in his chest, a rare anger bubbling at the sight of his crippled baby brother. His sword gleamed in the dim light, still smeared with the waste of his fallen foes, a thrill of furry pumping through his veins. Dark pleasure swelled at the thought of sinking his blade through Nauvu’s neck, to give him the agonizing death he deserved.

The coward had slipped right from under them in the heat of the battle, riding off from the battle like a petrified fool. Ermano clenched his jaw, stormy blue eyes gleaming with seething hate. His little brother’s abuser was still out there, undoubtedly rallying his troops for revenge.

But it wouldn’t matter. Nauvu was only delaying the indelible — his damning fate was sealed.

A whimper pried the warrior from his lusting haze of blood; teetering with fear and raspy. Ermano quickly lifted his head, anxiety coiling his stomach.

Rien squirmed uncomfortably under the sheets, breath hitching. He was trembling like a flaying leaf in powerful gusts of winds, flushed face screwed up in pain. Quite whines slipped from his mouth, little fingers fumbling to shove free from his nest of blankets.

“Hey, hey settle down,” Ermano murmured. He leaned forward, catching Rien’s clammy cheek in his hand and stroking it soothingly. Rien slumped into the touch, a cough wheezing from his lungs. His lashes fluttered, blue eyes staring drowsily up at Ermano, glazed in the faint light. He croaked a weak, dry sob,  clutching his brother’s sleeve as thick tears rolled down his face.

Ermano brushed away the moister, gently dragging his thumb under the boy’s eye. “Shh,” He rumbled, lips tugging into a scarce, gentle smile. “Ye’re okay, kid.”

Rien sniffled, pressing into Ermano’s warm palm with a rattling sigh. Ermano huffed a chuckle. He smoothed Rien’s sweat-drenched curls behind his ear, blunt nails scratching tenderly at the boy’s scalp. Rien mumbled softly in contentment, eyelids sagging as he smiled lazily in contentment, even as fever racked his prone frame. He stared blankly into space, flushed, sweating heavily.

The sight of Ermano’s little brother boneless under the slight affection made him reel in disgust. How long had it been since anyone had bothered to simply run their hand through his hair or pat his shoulder?

Although, with Rien’s sickeningly thin chest and horribly scarred wrists, it wasn’t surprising.

“E-Em?” Rien rasped. He whimpered, biting his lip as he shivered violently. He wheezed a ragged sob, scooting back as his breaths began to quick, glassy eyes wide with hysterical fright. He shrank back under his brother’s gaze, choking as he fumbled to babble out sputters. “I— ‘m sorry, Em…” He mumbled, hiccuping and pressing his lips tight, wrenching his eyes shut and letting fresh tears fall. Ermano stared at his brother as he stumbled out frantic apologies, overwhelmed with concern and care as each stutter chipped away at his cold heart.

“Hey,” Ermano whispered. He rose, slowly lowering himself to the edge of the cot, the mattress creaking under his weight. He tenderly cupped Rien’s face with his massive hands, shushing him softly. “It’s all right, little one. You’re okay. You’re safe, kiddo,” He promised firmly. Rien sniffed, pushing into Ermano’s unfaltering warmth with a broken keen and when he spoke his words were almost too quiet for Ermano to hear.

“Don’ go,” The boy pleaded. “D-Don’t go, pl-please—“

Ermano’s heart split. He rested a steady hand on Rien’s head, carding through his curls that glowed hazel in the mellow gold light. Rien blinked up at him sluggishly, breaths beginning to peacefully subdue as his older brother held him close. “I ain’t lettin’ ya go,” Ermano vowed. His stormy eyes shown with a fierce love that would sent entire armies to their knees, unyielding and solid. “You’re back with us, kid, and we ain’t lettin’ ya go.”

Rien snuffled, shuddering with hiccups that sent his small body jolting. Ermano hummed under huskily his breath, brushing back the blonde’s clammy locks. Rien glanced up at him with drowsy blue eyes, his tears slowly drying as his chest rose and fell with sleepy huffs of air.

Ermano shifted with the rustling of blankets, grabbing the dish of steaming soup and the cup of cool water from the bedside table. He sank back into his chair, offering Rien a small yet warm, tender smile. He scooted his chair closer, resting the bowl on his knee. “Let’s getcha fed, kid,” He muttered. Rien smacked his cracked lips, glazed eyes staring blearily at the dish. It smelled of tasty chicken and ripe carrots, the fresh scent of minty herbs drifting through the air.

Ermano dipped the spoon into the broth, carefully blowing on it before he lifted it to Rien’s lips. Rien swallowed eagerly, his weak body no doubt yearning for nutrients. His brow pinched in surprise, mumbling happily with a small, adorable giggle that made Ermano’s heart soar. He laughed softly, bringing back the spoon before giving the kid’s hair a found ruffle.

“D’ya like it?” He hummed, twirling a golden curl between his fingers. Rien nodded with drooping eyelids, impatiently opening his mouth for more.

Ermano fed him bite after bite, attentive not to spill any broth. The quiet sounds of the night sang in a tranquil melody, leaves rustling as birds began to chirp with the rising sun. Dread rose in his stomach when Rien whined and shook his head, weakly pushing away the spoon with the bowl merely half empty.

Rien whined as Ermano sighed, cowering back with a horrible flinch. He struggled for breath once again, shaking his head frantically.

“I-I’m sorry,” He wailed, yet another flow of endless tears welling in those baby blue eyes. “I-I c-can’t,” He gasped, rubbing rakishly at his damp eyes. “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Ermano’s eyes widened, guilt hammering his pounding heart. “No, no, shhh,” He quickly coaxed, placing the bowl on the table again so that he could sit by Rien’s head. He set a large hand at the nape of the boy’s neck, soothing comforting circles into sickly skin. Rien’s eyes danced with uncertainty, panically choking for air yet frozen in terror. Ermano grimaced . He gently lifted the blonde’s head, settling it comfortably in his lap as he continued to laxingly rub his back, holding back shivers when his fingers dipped into the clear bumps of Rien’s spine.

Time trickled on. Rien buried his face in Ermano’s shirt, little fingers desperately clutching bunches of the smooth fabric. His sobs slowly began to subside, leaving him trembling with wet, stuttered hics. Ermano shushed him softly, not hesitating before scooping the boy up into his arms. He was stakingly careful of the child’s injuries, pressing his scarred lips to his sweaty forward as he cradled Rien close. He murmured nothing but sweet nonsense into Rien’s ear, tender fingers wiping away the boy’s steady stream of tears. Never did he show such venerable kindness, his love only graspable by his adored family.

“You’re okay, little one,” He whispered, setting his scratchy jaw atop Rien’s head. “I’ve gotcha. No one’s gonna hurt you ever again, kiddo.”

Sniffling, Rien nuzzled his nose in Ermano’s shoulder as if he was too weary to hold his chin up any longer, eyes drooping with heavy exhaustion. Ermano said nothing as his shirt was slowly soaked with the boy’s silent tears, simply letting him curl up against his chest, tight and sure. Gods know he needed it.

Finally, Rien regained control of his breathing, stopped wailing and quieted down, leaving his head lulling to tuck securely against the warrior’s neck. Ermano flicked the boy’s hair behind his ear, gazing down at him with a small smile as those huge blue, glassy eyes peered up at him shyly.

“Hey there,” Ermano chuckled. He sobered at the sight of the boy’s red-rimmed eyes, wincing at the feverish heat that radiated from Rien’s skin. He reached for the glass of potion-laced water again, carefully bracing Rien’s neck as he lifted it to his lips. Rien’s lashes fluttered as he swallowed, flimsily lifting his head with a dozy whine. He swallowed the mixture, nose wrinkling at the mushy taste.

Ermano snorted. “I know, I know,” He gently eased Rien’s jaw open, tipping in the water and taking care to pace him. Rien snuggled into the fur of the warrior’s cape after he gulped it down, eyes drifting shut.

Ermano sat down the cup, adjusting his little brother to cradle him close. He shifted, the cot groaning, leaning back and resting Rien’s sagging head on his shoulder. Rien sleepily grumbled, hands clinging to the back of Ermano’s shirt as if terrified of letting go. The rising sunlight crept through the tent like a blooming blush, soldiers beginning to stir from their slumber as dawn’s rosy sun rays kissed the horizon. Rien’s cheek smushed against Ermano’s blouse, adorable little snores puffing against Ermano’s neck.

Ermano swept those golden bangs from Rien’s forehead, gently lying him back down and tugging the sheets up to his chin. He chuckled when Rien batted at his wrists. The warrior couldn’t find it in him to leave his brother’s side, staying at the head of the cot and watching as Rien drifted back asleep.

The flap of the tent ruffled, footsteps padding through the grass. Ermano glanced up, snorting in amusement at the sight of Rorey staggering inside. He was in his silk night clothes, jade eyes still cloudy with sleep. Elwyn strolled in his wake, shaking his head fondly at his son.

“Ya don’t look like ya should be outta bed, Ro,” Ermano huffed.

Rorey grumbled sourly with an eye roll, plopping down on the mattress and gazing at his sleeping brother in wondrous disbelief. Hands trembling, he tentatively reached out and caressed the boy’s cheek, breath hitching as his fingers brushed over clammy skin. He pressed his palm against Rien’s hair with a quiet gasp, swallowing roughly.

“I-I thought it was a dream,” Rorey rasped, dragging a weary hand to rub at his eyes. “I-I didn’t…” He trailed off with a shudder.

Cold shivers crawled up Ermano’s spine, sympathetic despair churning his gut. The thought of this all being a ruse, a carefully planted trick, made him sick. He reached out to grasp his brother’s knee, squeezing it reassuringly.

“He’s here,” Ermano said quietly. “And he ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Rien stirred at the new voices, a questioning whine slipping from his lips. Dazed blue eyes dragged to stare at Rorey’s face. The boy squirmed weakly in his cocoon of blankets, hands flopping to weakly grasp for Rorey.

Rorey gasped shakily, eyes wide as he tentatively reached out to take Rien’s fumbling hands. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Sobs bubbling from his throat, he cupped Rien’s face and pressed peppering kisses to the boy’s temple.

Ermano watched them with a smile tugging at his lips, his once heavy heart soaring.

He didn’t know why Fate was so kind. Two years of grief were left behind as a great mirth rose him to the clouds.

Part of him was terrified this was all a ruthless taunt — that he would suddenly be thrown back into reality like a damning weight slamming into his back. He almost didn’t trust it.

But his fierce love outweighed his doubt.

“Easy, Ro,” Elwyn tutted, laughing lightly as Rorey squished Rien’s cheeks. He sat in Ermano’s prior chair, smiling softly at his sons. “Don’t jostle him, love.”

“All right, all right,” Rorey huffed, sitting back with his hands raised. A broad grin curled upon his lips. “You don’t have to be so broody, old man.”

“Oh, you little brat!” Elwyn sputtered, jabbing the brunette harmlessly in his chest. “I’m not old.”

“Eh,” Ermano smirked. He placed his chin on his palm, squinting at his father has if thinking deeply. “Gonna have to agree with Rorey on that.”

“Oh ho,” Rorey chuckled dangerously, emerald eyes whipping to his older brother. “Don’t you disclose yourself from this, General,” He sang. “You’re pushing thirty soon, you’ll need a cane.”

“You-“ Ermano rubbed at his temples, chasing away the birthing of a headache. “I was defendin’ you!”

“Well, it’s true—“

“At least I ain’t an over dramatic twig—“

“Oh, you—“

“Simmer down before you wake Rien,” Elwyn cut in scoldingly, shooting his sons a light glare with a fond sigh. A hint of amusement tugged at his lips. “You daft oafs.” He added with a knowing grin that didn’t belong on a king’s stern face.

Rorey slapped a mocking hand to his mouth, sagging into Elwyn’s arms as he let out ridiculously fake wails that made Ermano scoff. “Betrayal!” The Prince cried, throwing his arms into the air. “By my own father.”

“Well deserved, too,” Ermano snorted.

A scarce happiness overflowed him as they bantered, keeping their voices quiet in mindfulness of their resting brother. It was almost like old times. When grief didn’t crush their backs and sorrow never clouded their vision. The air was almost light, faces nearly stripped of all pain and wary they had daringly come custom to.

And while it wasn’t perfect — the family still had a trudging road of recovery ahead of them — maybe they were starting to pick up the pieces. After all, healing took time.

“He should be on the track to recovery,” Harlow murmured, nail running over the furrow in Rien’s brow. The elf grazed over the bandages peeking from those unruly gold curls. “Poor thing hit his head hard.”

Elwyn watched as his soldier grabbed a potion from his belt, glass clinking as a glistening leaf-green liquid swirled inside. Harlow popped off the cork and dabbed it on a cloth. He dragged it over an angry gash that curled over Rien’s temple, wilting deathly pale skin. Nimble fingers rubbed in the gel, lips pursed as the elf carefully chased away the fiery threads of growing infection.

“And his leg?” Elwyn was almost hesitant to ask, hands clasped tightly to fight off wracking tremors. His gaze danced over his son’s sickly from, worry twisting his insides into a noose of gnawing anxiety. It hurt to see his precious boy like this. So weak, barely clinging to survival, every passing day bringing another crashing wave of uncertainty.

Harlow sighed, tucking a stray lock of misty blonde behind a pointed ear. “His foot is as good as gone,” He replied solely, face grimly set. “If we get back to the castle quickly enough we may be able to save his knee, but that explosion shattered his bones, your Highness.”

Elwyn’s breath hitched, horror crawling up his spine. “What?” He breathed. “S-Shattered’?”

Harlow nodded. “Yes,” He sighed, frowning thinly. “He was caught in one of our bombings, he’s lucky to be alive.”

“Oh, my Gods,” Elwyn stammered, unshed tears glassing his eyes. “H-He…”

Rien — sweet, innocent Rien — had been thrown mercilessly into a cramped cell for nearly two years, left to rot and die with only rats for company. His cheeks were hollow, chest sickeningly thin. Feverish sweat slicked his brow and uneven breaths stutters from his lungs in rattling wheezes. Those baby blues held so much pain, so much horror that Elwyn couldn’t begin to imagine what perils his boy had faced.

Elwyn was a gentle man who was nothing but kind. He was sweet tempered, never raising a hand and always slow to anger.

But this made him livid.

He wanted to run Nauvu through for just thinking of touching his son. He wouldn’t hesitate to rip him apart, to bathe in his blood, to relish his screams of agony.

And that would still pale in comparison to what that rat had put Rien through.

“Do our troops have any leads on Nauvu?” The King asked coldly, hands clenched under his robes. He knew Ermano had been working tirelessly on finding the damned emperor, his eldest’s tactical mind set firmly on their revenge. With their entire forces and best strategists on Nauvu’s trace, it shouldn’t be taking so achingly long to pursue him.

Yet it was as if he had completely vanished, faded from the earth’s surface.

“No,” Harlow shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We have nothing. He could be dead for all we know.”

Elwyn hoped so. Even if his lust of blood wouldn’t be satisfied, it would be worth it ten thousand times over if Rien was safe.

“You should go help pack,” Elwyn ground out with a strained smile. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we find Nauvu.”

Harlow bowed respectfully, armor shifting. “Would prefer me to finish changing the Prince’s bandages, sir?” He asked.

Elwyn shook his head. “I’ll be happy to do it, Sergeant,” He told the elf kindly. “But thank you for offering.”

Harlow ducked out of the tent, the flap rustling in the light breeze. Elwyn stood with a deep seethe of breath, willing his hands to steady as he swallowed roughly. He grabbed the elf’s discarded pack and finished through its sea of medical supplies before pulling out a roll of gauze. He cut off two thick strips, carefully lying them on the feet of Rien’s cot.

The bandages on Rien’s wrists were stained with crimson, the tangy smell of blood wafting. Gently, Elwyn slipped a hand under the boy’s elbow to lift his arm. Rien stirred in his sleep, kicking out weakly against the sheets. Elwyn shushed him softly. He brushed back his son’s damp curls, pressing a loving kiss to his forehead.

Sapphire eyes fluttered open, glazed as they swept sluggishly up to pour into Elwyn’s pools of gray. The man smiled gingerly, stroking the flushed skin of Rien’s cheek. “Hi, darling,” He whispered. Unshed tears blurred his vision. He sniffed, cupping his son’s face and desperately pressing their foreheads together as his breath hitched.

Gods, he was real.

After all this time, his son was safe in his arms.

Rien blinked hazily, breaths sleepy puffs. The medicine loaded into his bloodstream clearly muddled his mind, settling him to float in an oozing haze. He stared up at Elwyn with drooping lids, faint recognition dawned cross his face and his brow scrunched.

“D-Dad?” He croaked weakly. His voice was far too timid for a child, raspy from underuse and breathless with disbelief. Elwyn wanted to sob, his eyes burned. Gods, what had happened to his boy? Where was his son’s bright, joyful spark of mirth? It was all but gone, beaten down and buried under the horrors these last two years held. Eyes that used to be a blazing blue were now dim slate, nearly the shade of Elwyn’s own if not for a horrible, deafened dullness that weighed them down.

How could he have let this happen?

What had become of his son?

“Yes, baby,” Elwyn cooed, a sob welling in his chest. He caressed his boy’s cheek, tender fingertips running over jagged scars that littered what used to be soft, pristine skin. “Oh, my darling. I’m here,” Tears rolled down his face. “I’m here.”

Rien nuzzled desperately into his father’s hands, lip wobbling. “M-Missed you,” He sniffled, eyes welling with hot tears.

Oh, and Elwyn’s heart shattered.

“I missed you, too, sweetheart,” He whispered shakily. He reached down to clasp his son’s hands, thumb running over boney knuckles that were so small on his palm. He clutched the boy desperately, terrified that if his grip faltering his son would be tore away from him yet again. “Oh, you poor thing,” He was nearly weeping now, breathless as hiccups spilled from his lips. Quivering lips planted a desirous kiss to his son’s head, smoothing back his mess of curls.

Rien was here.

He was home.

Rien’s head lulled against his father’s hands, fumbling fingers fiddling with the cuff of Elwyn’s sleeve. “M’tired,” He mumbled. The poor boy was clearly exhausted. His eyelids sagged, breaths heavy, muscles as limp as bags of sand. Elwyn ran a finger lightly over the shell of the blonde’s ear, smiling softly.

“I know, kiddo,” He murmured. “You go right to sleep, love. I’ll change your bandages, okay?”

“M’kay,” Rien yawned, lashes fluttering, before his eyes drifted shut as he sank into another deep slumber.

Elwyn watched his son for a peaceful moment, startled by how shockingly tranquil Rien seemed as he quietly snored. It was as if all of Fate’s horrors had been merciful, simply whisked away in a gentle breeze.

It made bile rise in Elwyn’s throat.

He shuddered, gently grasping Rien’s thin wrist and beginning to unravel its bindings. Countless years of serving nobly on the battle field had taught him well. But now there was no urgency for the first time in what seemed like ages. Gods, in his son’s return he had nearly forgotten that the what seemed to be eternal war was finally over.

They had won.

And lying right in front of him was the real victory.

Elwyn sat aside the dirty gauze, crumpling them as he hummed quietly under his breath. He grabbed the fresh bandages, smoothing out the strips of crisp white. He reached out to swathe the cloth around Rien’s wrists, when he froze and stared in stock.

Rien’s wrists were rubbed raw. Horrible scars blotched his arms, so deep that the light pink of healed wounds melded into a darker red, almost purple. The sick was deathly pale, the sickly color of fresh snow. The sight made Elwyn sick. Such gruesome, deep wounds did not belong on a child. These were the scars of a hardened warrior, they had no place on his son.

The claws of horror tangled his lungs in a wrenching knot, breaths stuttering. His son, his boy, what had happened—

He couldn’t breathe. He gapsed, slapped a hand over to mouth to muffle heaving sobs. He squeezed his eyes shut tight but the tears still came. He couldn’t breathe, lungs tangled in a coil of hysteria, the world spinning in blurry blobs of color. Guilt hammered him, squeezing his pounding heart, wrapping around his neck like a noose before sucking away his air.

He couldn’t hear his own sobs, legs weak and wobbling. He fell to his knees at his son’s side, tears of mourn streaming down his cheeks as he buried his face in his hands. He wanted to claw at his skin. He wanted to slam his head against stone and scream. This was what he had doomed Rien to — suffering, agony, grief.

Gone was the bright, innocent boy who only saw the best in the world. That naive child was now withered away, leaving this broken shell in his place.

Pain and isolation had molded Rien, morphing him until he shattered under their weight.

It anguished Elwyn to see his boy this way, chest heaving with rapid breaths as he gazed at Rien with his vision blurred with tears. Rien — a child — had seen horrors Elwyn could only begin to understand. At an age so young, with a soul so sweet, every spark of joy he had left was beaten out of him.

And that, Elwyn had learned over his thousands of years walking this damned earth, was just how the world worked.

Chapter Text

SORRY FOR THE WAIT OH GOOD FUCK- I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO UPDATE THIS LMAO, BUT ON THE BRIGHT SIDE I HAVE 8 CHAPTERS PRE-WRITTEN SO-

ENJOY LMAO

Consciousness returned slowly. Senses crawled through thick molasses, head packed tight with wool, skull hot and aching. Rien’s eyelids were drooping — heavy and gooey with lingering sleep. His curls were soaked in sticky sweat, an unknown weight threatening to drag him back into the abbess of sleep. A dulled pain pumped in tune with his heart, each thumping beat echoing raggedly in his ears. The smell of something clean stained the air, making him wrinkle his nose.

He was drifting in a thick fog, floating drowsily through the clouds. Flushed heat crept sickly up his neck. He shivered, lungs wheezing a shaky breath that burned his sore throat. He felt nothing short of awful. His head pounded, joints horribly sore, stomach churning with nausea that made him faint. His face wrenched in agony, sickly heat flooding over him in waves, shudders violently wracking his spine.

He rested on something wonderfully soft, more comfortable than he had been in years. Torch light glowed, illuminating his cloudy vision. He tried to work sense of his partched lips, tongue uselessly rolling, throat dry.

Memories were like leaves drifting through an autumn breeze — just out of grasp in the whistling gusts.

Breaths puffed from dry lips, lashes flittering as he stumbling from sleep’s grasp. The world was fuzzy, but he could finally make sense of the blur. Gentle fire light casted over what looked to be a room in the medical wing,, the flames crackling over charing logs. The walls and sheets were a bright white, stabbing at the boy’s eyes. His head was carefully settled on a plushy pillow, swaddled huge blankets. His brow scrunched, confusion sluggishly churning his head.

Where was he? Rien thought with growing panic, eyes darting around the room. This wasn’t his cell, what had happened? He choked for air, twisting in the sheets, eyes darting with wild hysteria. Everything was so bright, the ticking of a clock deafening, morphing into an awful, overwhelming sensation that coursed with agony—

A knock rapped on the door, startling the boy. Rien gasped, jerking upright as his heart began to stagger into a race. He was frozen in terror as the doorknob rattled, hinges creaking before it was cracked open.

A man stood almost timidly, emerald eyes staring at Rien in breathless disbelief. He was tall and lean with fluffy curls like Rien’s own, but a rich shade of mocha instead of gold. He rushed into the room with a hitch of breath, hurrying to sit beside the boy with a watery grin broad on his lips.

Rien flinched away, fingers clutching the fluff of a blanket. He flinched back. Wide eyes gawked at the man, clouded with fear that turned his veins into ice. His little heart fluttered in his ribs, bile sour on his tongue.

Nothing made sense. Where was he? Why wasn’t he in his cell? Nauvu was going to be mad. A sob bubbling in Rien’s throat. No, no, no, no—

Sadness crumpled the brunette’s face. He reached out, gently clasping Rien’s cold hands with a warm smile. “Hey,” He greeted quietly, stroking over the boy’s knuckles. “How do you feel, sunshine?”

“I—“ Rien gasped, tears springing into his eyes. He gasped for breath, frantically shaking his head. “ I-I don’— m’sorry, pl-please—“ His words were slurred, fever muddling the dull fear scratching his skull. Teeth sank into his wobbling lip to stifle a wail, his little body shaking with the force of his jarring cries. “Don-Don’t hur-hurt—“

Ragged breaths choked him, wheezing sobs tumbling free. The gripping fear squeezed him stiff. Confusion melted his head into slush. What was going on? Was he here to be punished? No, no, no. He could be good, he could be good, he could be good!

“Oh, sweetie,” The man breathed. He reached up to cup the blonde’s face, brushing away Rien’s trickling tears. His hands were so gentle, Rien found himself slumping desperately into the gentle touch with a hiccup.

The stranger shushed him with a soft smile. It was so tender, so loving. Rien cried out, bursting into blubbering wails. He raised his arms, reaching out to safely be held close. He was scooped up in a tight embrace, cradled close with a nose buried in his hair. Sweet nonsense was whispered into his ear, a kiss pressed to his curls. Rien cried and clung to their blouse, eyes wrenched shut as he gasped frantic babbles.

“Please,” He whimpered. He shoved his face into the man’s shirt, sobbing. “Pl-Please! Don’ go, d-don’t l-leave—“

“Shhh,” Fingers soothed back his curls. “You’re okay, baby. Deep breaths, okay?” Fingers caressed his cheek. “Deep breaths.”

Stuttering sob choked out of his throat, blue eyes squeezing shut as he desperately attempted to hold it in. He tried to suck in shuddering breaths of air, lungs begging for oxygen. “I-I’m sorry,” He panted, salty, hot tears dripping down his cheeks sunken. “I-I’ll be good- I’ll be good I p-promise. Pl-please don-don’t make it hur-hurts-“

“Shh, shh,” A kiss was planted to his brow. “You’re okay, baby.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Rien shuddered, fingers curling tightly around his curls and tugging. “I sw-swear I-I am. I’ll be good. I-I be good.”

“Hey, hey,” The man tutted, running a hand down the boy’s back. “None of that now. Can you look at me, darling?”

Rien didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to. But he had to be good. Tentatively he raised his head, baby blue eyes flickering up to pour into jewels of vivid emerald. The brunette smiled kindly. “Hi there, dear,”

Recognition slowly began to dawn on Rien, like rays of blinding sunshine bursting through somber clouds. Wiry glasses, a pointy face, jade pools that sparkled with life. Everything came rushing back like water from a splintered dam. A melodious voice that would sing him to sleep, slender arms pulling him into an adoring hug, a light laugh that rang like silver bells.

Oh, Gods.

It was—

No, no, no.

Rorey twirled a golden curls between his fingers, peering down at his brother with gentle eyes.

Rien choked on air, stock still like a startled fawn. The world blurred, spots of black dancing before him dizzyingly as he struggled to breath. A hand rested on his shoulder and he flinched, but didn’t dare cry out, didn’t care move. Tears welled in his eyes, head faint. He didn’t understand. This couldn’t be real. It was a dream, it had to be a dream—

“It’s all right, kiddo,” Rorey whispered. He cupped Rien’s face, thumb running over thin scars. “You’re okay now. You’re safe.”

His fingers tingled Rien’s skin. Rien gasped. He was real. He was real, he was real, he was here.

Rien wailed, collapsing against the Prince’s— against— against his brother’s chest and sobbed like a newborn babe. He clung to Rorey’s coat, he was wrinkling it smearing tears and snot all over it, but the Prince didn’t seem to care. Rorey just held him close, tucking the boy’s head under his chin. Rien fit perfectly in his arms, as the spot was made for him.

He wasn’t yelled at for his tears or given a harsh slap.

No one laughed and shoved him away., lecture him about weakness and dignity.

Not a soul scoffed or gave him something to really cry about.

Instead, Rorey hummed softly under his breath, nails scratching at Rien’s scalp as he rocked the boy back and froth.

“It’s all right,” He promised again and again. “I know, I know, you’re doing so good. You’re okay, everything’s okay. It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

Rien sniffled, nodding into the fabric of Rorey’s shirt. He cried himself out, there in his brother’s arms, until his eyes were heavy and his head hurt but he couldn’t stop. He dryly sobbed into Rorey’s chest, eyelids drooping as he began to sway. Exhaustion settled deep in his bones, leaving him drowsy as his eyes drooped. Rorey pulled up the blankets that had slipped to the boy’s waist, snugging them under Rien’s chin.

Rien weakly cried out as Rorey scooted back, gripping his sleeve. “Don’ go.” He flinched, clamping a hand over his mouth in horror. He knew he was selfish, he deserved to be left alone—

Rorey was crestfallen. Sorrow swam in emerald eyes. “Oh, baby,” He swallowed thickly. “Never. I’m not leaving, okay?”

He hiccuped, fists fumbling to wipe away his tears. This was real. Rorey was here and real and— and—

“Shhh,” Rorey soothed. He gently stroked back Rien’s curls. He offered the boy a small, tender smile. “You’re okay, you’re safe. You’re home.”

Rien’s lashes fluttered. “Home,” He slurred, the word pleasantly rolling on his tongue.

He liked that word.

Rorey laughed — warm and light. “Yes, baby,” He agreed. “Home.”

Another knock echoed through the room. Rien hazily blinked as the door creaked down, reveling yet another familiar face. Ermano looked the same as always. A sharp noise that had clearly before been broken, stormy eyes that had been hardened by bloodshed yet still crinkled with kindness. He sank by Rien’s side, the mattress dipping, eyes swimming with a fierce, yet achingly soft love that was more scarce than gold.

“Hey, kid,” He rumbled, lips tugging into the smallest of smiles as he gazed down at the small boy.

Rien gasped shakily, eyes beginning to burn. “E-Em?”

Ermano huffed, reaching up to ruffle the blonde’s hair. Rien mumbled sleepily, twisting in the blankets to furrow into the blissfully warm touch. But he froze, memories shuddering free like oozing leeches that sucked away his happiness. Nauvu’s harsh words rang in his head, scoffing at Rien’s selfishness, screaming the clear truth that no one would want someone so broken and needy.

Hot shame crept up Rien’s cheeks. His father was right. He was so stupid — a useless retard who tripped over his own feet. He didn’t deserve this care. Shivers crawled up his spine. He ducked his head with a stifled whimper, squeezing his eyes shut as he bowed respectfully. His heart twisted in his ribs like a caged bird.

He struggled to breath, lungs tangled tight in panic. He whimpered as worried voices muttered overhead, muddled by the rushing of blood in his ears. He nearly flinched back as a large hand landed on his shoulder, a pit of dread opening in his stomach. He wanted to plead, wanted to beg for mercy, but he had to be good. He had to good—

“Hey,” Ermano murmured, his husky voice ringing in the boy’s ears. “Ya okay, kid?”

Rien’s words caught in his throat, fear jolting through him as a sob bubbled in his chest. Breaths rasping wheezes, he bopped a meek nod as his lip trembled. “Y-Yes, sir,” He whispered, nails digging into his skin that tingled with fear.

The horrified silence that boomed through the room made Rien’s heart skip a beat. He didn’t want to be bad! He wanted their cuddles and sweet nicknames so gravely. But they didn’t want him, Papa had told him! Nauvu’s stories had caused so many nightmares for Rien to wake up to, either bolting up in cold sweat or waking up a sobbing mess. Terrors of Ermano’s sword stabbing into his stomach, and shouts Rorey’s cruel words cutting into him would make the boy sob himself dry. He knew it was his fault, who would care for someone as useful as dirt under their boot?

Tears began to spill freely, salty and hot, a whimper escaping his throat as fear squeezed the poor boy. He gasped at the noise, clamping a hand over his mouth and biting down on his knuckles until he tasted tangy blood. Pests didn’t talk, pests didn’t talk—

“Oh, baby,” Rorey whispered, stepping forward and caressing his cheek so, so nicely. “What’s wrong?”

Leaning into the blessed touched, Rien shivered, words thick and heavy on this tongue. “N-Nothing, sir,” He shuddered. It was a lie — he was so scared but he had to be thankful.

“Hey,” Ermano tutted gently, lips pursed. “None of that, now.”

Rien flinched violently at the sudden tone change, something tight curling in his stomach. His head was spinning, sickly dizziness wafting him faint. “I-I’m sorry,” He sniffled. “I be good, I-I promise.” He tried to suck in his tears but they kept coming, fast and quick. Nauvu never liked it when he cried, he was being bad. And bad meant punishment. Rien shivered at the thought, paling. He didn’t want hurts. No, no, no, no—

A wrenched sob spilt from his lips. “I-I m’sorry,” He wailed, trembling with the force of his cries. “I’ll be good— I'll be good I-I promise. P-please don-don't make hur-hurts—“

“Hey, little one,” Ermano soothed, clear worry leaking through his voice. “Calm down. Deep bre—“

A hand rested atop Rien’s head, scarred fingers tugging through knots, and Rien shrieked. He threw himself back, terrified of the sure hit that was to come, foot tangling in a blanket and sending him tumbling to the floor. He cried out as his back slammed into the hardwoods. An agonized whine escaped his lips. Tears raced down his cheeks, a rush of panic twisting and tangling in his stomach and — his leg, his legs It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. It hurt and he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move-

He glanced down in terror, blue eyes blown with horror, frantic to see what was wrong, but—

His left leg was cut off at the knee; leaving a stump that was expertly wrapped in crisp bandages.

His leg was— it was gone.

Rien gasped, gaping in shock. He didn’t understand. This couldn’t be real, it wasn’t real. His leg was gone, it was gone—

“Rien,” Ermano breathed, rushing to scoot across the bed and crouching beside the blonde. Worry written boldly cross his face he knelt and glanced over Rien for any injury. He was nothing but a blurry blob to Rien as he stared at his leg in horror. Where his leg should be. Because it was gone and it did’t make sense and— and—

Ermano’s eyes flicked to follow the younger’s gaze. His face fell, crumpling in sorrow. “Aw, kid…”

Rien wailed, tears flowing down his face as he gasped and shook. His cries were weak, broken things. He choked a sob and he buried his head in his arms atop his bruised knees and he helplessly rocked back and forth, trying desperately to ground himself. He gripped his hair and pulled. The little boy broke apart like no soul should — crumbling as easily as flimsy hay shack in the wind.

Hands slipped around Rien’s middled and he was pulled up into strong arms. He sobbed and buried his face in Ermano’s chest, fingers curling to clutch the warrior’s blouse. Horrible, choked wails stuttered from his dry throat.

He didn’t understand. He was being good. What had he done wrong?

He gasped for breath, spots of black pulsing in vision. Throat tight and hot, panic’s claws ripping apart his head.

“You need to breathe, kid. Breathe.”

Rien shook his head, whimpering all the while as frantic apologies blurted past his lips.

“C’mon,” Ermano rumbled, circles rubbing into his back gently and without stop. “You got it kid, c’mon. Breathe.”

And here, trapped in the soldier’s powerful arms, Rien didn’t dare disobey.

He sucked in a ragged wheeze, eyes wrenching shut. Tears burned tracks on hollow cheeks.

“That’s it, sweetie,” Rorey cooed, voice as sweet as honey. “Again, okay?”

A minutes trickled by the tightness in Rien’s chest slowly loosened its crushing hold. He slumped back against Ermano’s sturdy chest with a whine. He was gently shushed and held tighter, taking in the smell of flowers and pine trees, along with a hint of blood that drifted from Ermano’s cloak. It was filled with warm memories of laughter and firm embraces. It felt…safe.

“There you go,” Rorey sighed softly, offering the boy a small smile. “All better.”

“N-No hurts?” Rien dared to whisper, blue eyes timidly raising.

Ermano sucked in a sharp seethe of breath. Rien flinched and buried his face in the crook of the man’s neck, but he was only cradling safely to Ermano’s chest. “Never,” He promised firmly. “No one is ever going to hurt ya again.”

Rien couldn’t believe the statement. Those few words flooded his ears, sending him into a spell of dizziness. It sounded wonderful, but with a pest as broken and selfish as him, it was undoubtedly impossible.

He was gently lowered to rest soundly against the pushy pillow again, eyelids sagging as blankets were tugged over his shoulders. “Oh, bubs,” Rorey crooned, emerald eyes swimming with concern as his hands fluttered worriedly all around the boy’s figure, from his hair to his waist. “I bet that was so scary, hm?”

Rien sniffled, nuzzling into the pillow with a weak nod. He was so tired. Exhaustion clung to him, a lead weight dragging him down. “Mhmm,” He slurred, words rolling heavily on his tongue.

The mattress dipped as his brother sank beside him. Rien glanced up at the curly brunette, sniffing as he stared up with those huge blue eyes that still shined with tears. “Y-you n-not go-gonna hurt m-me?” He asked fearfully, voice small and frail. Nauvu would have smacked him the moment he stuttered.

“Buddy,” Rorey breathed, paling with horror. He stroked away Rien’s stream of dried tears, tremors shuddering through his hand. “No, no. Never. I— We—”

His gasps were cut off with a sob, hiccuping and burying his face in his hands and his shoulders shook.

“Aw, Ro,” Ermano huffed sadly. He lowered himself down with the rustling of fabric, clasping Rorey’s back and gently easing him against his chest. Rorey sniffled, eyes squeezing shut as he buried his nose in the crook of the older’s neck.

Ermano ran a comforting hand down his brother’s back, easing the tension from his stiff shoulders. “Hush now,” He muttered into Rorey’s curls. “You’re okay.”

“He-He—“ Rorey clenched his fists, blazing fury sparking in his eyes like a monstrosity of flames. “He’s so skinny,” He gritted his teeth. “I’m going to tear apart that rat.”

Seething anger sank deep in his spat words, a death sentence to the unfortunate soul who dared to set a finger on his family. It was terrifying. The rage bundled up sent Rien’s mind on a staggering race of panic. He tried to push back the cry building in his chest, the pressure squeezing at his aching ribs. He wanted Nauvu. He just wanted his father to hold him close and lull him to sleep.

“Papa?” The boy hiccuped, fever glazed eyes swooping around the room wildly. But Nauvu was no where to be found. He was gone because Rien was so bad and didn’t deserve him. Even if that fact had been beaten into him a thousand times over, it still hurt like a knife hurdled to his chest. He sobbed, squirming frantically in the blankets. “I-I want Papa!”

But he wasn’t here. He wasn’t here and Rien was so bad! He scrubbed at his eyes, biting down on his quivering lip in an attempt to stop the tears that wouldn’t let up.

Rorey’s face twisted at the cries, looking sick. “That man is not your father,” He hissed, clenching his jaw. “He is a sniveling worm who deserves to rot.”

“B-But he—“ Rien’s babbles cut off at the livid fury that practically fumed from Rorey like billows of thick smoke. Rien clicked his jaw shut, pushing back against the pillows with a fearful whimper.

It didn’t make sense. Nauvu was only doing what was best for Rien! Sometimes it hurt but the man said it himself — Rien had to be taught how to be good. Even if Rien didn’t like it when he was spit in his face or feel the King’s rings cut into his cheek. Nauvu was still the man who gave him tight hugs and sweet names. He smiled when Rien stayed quiet and was kind enough to give him leftover fruit when he was good.

“Shhh,” Ermano cut in, prying Rien from his swirl of thoughts. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?” He glanced worriedly at the sickly heat creeping up Rien’s flushed neck. He leaned forward, frowning. “How’re ya feelin’?”

Rien knew better to lie. “Throat hur’s...” He managed to rasp.

Ermano hummed sympathetically, giving the young boy a small smile that dripped with sorrow. “I know, kid, I know,” He gently gripped Rien’s arm, easing him upright and settling him comfortably against the headboard. Rien was too exhausted to flinch away. grabbed a glass from the bedside table, filled with assumed water but tinged with an oddly pink liquid. The warrior tipped it to Rien’s parched lips. “Here. Drink up, okay?”

Memories of the guard yanking open his jaw and shoving in a mush of eggs made Rien shiver. He cracked his mouth and gulped down the water. It was blissfully cool down his aching throat, swishing with something tangy and bitterly sweet. It mixed with his salty tears.

Ermano pulled the cup away as Rien swallowed once more. His gut was rolling, stabbing painfully like dull knives. His lashes fluttered, drowsiness slugging through his head and turning it to thick soup. Heavy weariness churned over him, head hot with a steadying pound. “T-T’ank you, sir,” He croaked.

“It’s nothin’, kid,” Ermano murmured, running a hand down the boy’s neck and fiddling with the baby hairs. “Let’s lay down, yeah? I bet you’re tired.”

Rien weakly nodded, eyes half lidded as he gazed blearily at the man’s fuzzy face. Large hands gently slipped to support his back, lying him down and resting his head on the pillow. Blankets slid down the boy’s waist, revealing once again the wrapped stump that ended his leg. Rien’s breathing stuttered, a whine prying from his throat. He couldn’t get his eyes to rip away, a numbing cold prickling up his spine.

“Ah,” Ermano winced. He scratched at his chin. “Yeah, the healer uh, had to get rid of it,” He sucked in a shaky breath. “It was awful, kiddo. Your foot was just...it was gone.”

Rien could only blink sluggishly, gaping blankly at his leg.

“But dad’s meeting with people right now working on making you a new one!” Rorey jutted in with strained cheerfulness, hands rigidly clasped. “Ms.Brown thinks you’re really going to like it.”

Rien thought of that kind old lady who would greet him with sweets and a dimpled smile. Dim warmth flickered in his heart. “R-Really?”

“Mhm!”

Rien furrowed his brow, heart racing as he curled up beneath the sheets.  He didn’t dare breathe. It didn’t make sense. Why were they being so nice to him? His breathing hitched as the memories came rushing back in a flashing flood. Rien nearly gagged, bile rising in his throat and bitter on his tongue.

“D-Don’ und’stand.” Rien whispered.

Rorey sighed sadly, scooting closer. “This is all so new and scary, huh?” He murmured. The brunette sank his fingers to cardle through Rien’s hair, scratching soothingly at the boy’s scalp. Rien leaned into the touch with a sniffle, nodding.

A warm, scarred hand cupped Rien’s jaw, stormy eyes gleaming with a fierce love as he held the boy as if he were priceless. “You’re back with us now, kid,” He whispered softly, vowing the statement. “I know you ain’t gonna believe us, but you’re safe here, okay?”

“M’kay…” Rien mumbled.

“Go right to sleep, darling,” Rorey cooed, pressing a lingering kiss to the boy’s cheek. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Rien couldn’t muster the energy to reply. He snuggled deeper into the mattress, and let sleep lure him in.

Chapter Text

(Yes, this is the third time that Ermano has comforted Rien after a nightmare. Is it annoying? Yes. Do I care enough to change it? Nah. In all honesty, I’m not happy with the first two times lol and wanted to redo it).

Ermano had always thrived in the late hours of the night. Whether it was the safety of darkness to shadow a desperate ambush or simply just the relaxing hours of nothing but moonlight and stillness. He worked best with the burning of candles and the rare peace the moons provided. His quill was steady in his hands, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he scratched ink onto the parchment. Moonlight streamed from his thrown open window, a pleasant breeze of night’s wind flowing through the velvet drapes. Dim candlelight flickered, the worn wood of his desk brushing against his wrist as he looped neat cursive.

He enjoyed little more than spilling his thoughts onto paper, letting the memories of blood flow free to form a beautiful script of history. Those brutal battles were no longer horrors that sent him jolting awake each haunting night, instead now stories of victory and endurance for others to read. It let the warrior slip into a state of rare, welcomed peace. Scarred knuckles ran over the book’s leather-bond cover, a small smile tugging his lips as he thought of his novel lining the market shelves, his name finally known for something other than gruesome wars.

Ermano doubted his work would ever truly be finished. Every time he set down his quill, finally satisfied, something else would rush back. It was truly a cycle of blessing he weaved to form a grand story.

It helped loosen the grasp those damned memories had on his brain. He sucked in a breath through his nose, brushing back a stray lock of auburn. His hair hung in a curtain of silk over his face, stormy eyes glinting in the candlelight. Kimiko slept soundly at his feet, her snout nudging against Ermano’s knee. Ermano huffed, reaching down to scratch the hound between the ears.

Almost timidly, he let himself bask in the silence. Tense shoulders rolled back, breaths even and slow, lips eased from their usual, stiff line.

It wasn’t something he was used to. He was a man of war and bloodshed, thriving in the chaos of battle as he struck down his foes in a deathly dance. Silence was something he was not used to. It was almost unnatural, unnerving. It was what he would run from at a mere glimpse.

For years, silence meant his haunting thoughts pounding at his skull. It meant no escape from his emotions raging inside of him. It meant remembering his failure.

Chills riddled his spine.

He shuddered, eyes drifting shut.

He had to remind himself that Rien was okay. He was alive, safe, and healing. He was just across the hall, settled in a deep slumber.

Everything had worked out in the end.

Suddenly, a shrill, ragged scream pierced through the tranquil silence.

Ermano was on his feet in an instant, quill thrown aside as he snapped out of his peaceful haze. He swiftly grabbed his sword, sweeping back his hair as he charged into the hall. His feet pounded on the tiles, heart racing. His gaze whipped around, a breath of horror escaping him as he realized the cries of pure, curling terror rang from Rien’s room. Kimiko bounded sharply at his heels, ears pinged back.

Memories of that haunting night flooded back in a deadly tide. He could almost hear Rorey screaming madly as his fists slammed into the wall, nearly smelt the stench of liquor. He could almost recall that horrible, twisting pain that had wilted his heart when he had torn apart Rien’s room only to find it empty.

A fierce protectiveness surged within him, jaw clenched. He lunged for his little brother’s door, ramming it open with a grunt.

Adrenaline pounded through his veins, fingers clenched over the cool hilt of his sword. He expected an attacker looming over Rien’s bed, a knife dripping with poison held over the boy’s head. He gripped his blade tightly, ready to ruthlessly tear the intruder apart, but halted as he scanned through the darkness.

There were no enemies to clash, no blood to spill. Instead he was breathless as he stared at his little brother, stunned.

Rien was thrashing in his bed, fearful whimpers strangling from his lips as he kicked and twisted. The sheets were tangled around him in a tight coil, fresh tears leaking down his face as his eyes darted wildly under closed lids. The poor thing was heaving, crying so hard that he gagged and sputtered. Ermano felt a chilling sadness sink in his stomach at the sight.

“Oh, kid.” Ermano murmured. He sat down his sword with a clatter, striding cross the room to kneel by the boy’s bedside. He caught Rien’s clammy cheek, thumbing over it as he shushed him softly.

Rien’s lashes fluttered. Bull blue eyes hazily blinked up at Ermano, glassy with fever and swimming with pulsing fear. He whined, face crumbling as he sniffled and squirmed in the blankets that held him down. The boy hiccuped, lip wobbling with tears, reaching up for Ermano with a shuddering sob.

Ermano had faced foes who had dropped to their knees and sobbed, begging for mercy at his feet. He had simply met them with an unflinching hurdle of his blade. But he would never be able to say know to those teary blue eyes. He scooted Rien into his arms. The boy sobbed and trembled, clutching the older’s shirt like drift wood at sea. Ermano held him to his burly chest, arms wrapping his treasure in a strong, safe embrace.

Ermano soothed back the boy’s curls. “Sh, sh,” He whispered. “You’re okay.”

He didn’t know anyone was capable of this type of crying. Rien’s whole body flinched from the force of it, wet sobs being torn from his lips as his chest heaved with despair. Ermano rose to his feet, cradling the boy with unfaltering strength, rocking the crying child as he hummed huskily under his breath. Kimiko whined in distress, pawing at Ermano’s feet.

His brother’s cries sent sorrow piercing his heart like a shard of ice. But, as demoralized as it was, Ermano was simply glad he could fight off the horrors of night this time.

Ermano sat his jaw on Rien’s curled, rubbing his back as he slowly paced. He quietly grasped the handle of the balcony door and stepped out as the hinges creaked. The cool night air breezed over the two like gentle, chilling murmurs. Silvery moonlight glittered high above, stars twinkling in the inky sky. Rien shivered, snuggling closer to the warm fleece of Ermano’s shirt.

Ermano sank into the rocking chair, wood creaking under his weight. He tucked the blonde close, blunt nails scratching gently at the younger’s scalp. Rien’s wails had quieted into hushed snuffles and hics, leaving him trembling in Ermano’s arms. Kimiko planted herself loyally by the warriors feet, tail thumping anxiously.

Ermano cupped the boy’s face, tenderly cradling his cheeks as he wiped them dry with his brow furrowed with worry. “Hey, bud,” He muttered softly. “You okay?”

Rien nuzzled into his brother’s hands, sniffing wetly. “E-Em,” He choked, tears pooling in eyes that were glazed with horror. He gasped a ragged sob. “Em, Em, I— he—“ Frantic, he shoved himself desperately against Ermano’s chest, jolting with deep, painful hiccups.

Ermano shushed him and rested a heavy hand on the crown of his head. “I know, kid,” He rumbled. “S’gone now. You’re safe.”

Rien shuddered, pillowing his head on the older’s broad shoulder. Ermano gently traced the boy’s jutting cheekbone, tucking him safely under his chin as he eased circles to his back. He held back a grim sigh as he skimmed over every gaping dip in Rien’s spine, rare sparks of anger brewing with raging disgust. Rien curled up in his lap, breaths stuttering. Ermano could feel the boy’s poor heart racing rapidly, trapped in his ribcage.

“Sc-scary,” Rien gasped as best he could, whining as he gulped for breath with burning lungs. A painful sob bubbled free from his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he cowered closer to his brother with a choked, trembling whimper — so desperate for safety, it made Ermano’s hard heart spasm.

Ermano patted the boy’s shoulder. “I know, I know,” He muttered softly. “It wasn’t real, kiddo. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt ya.”

He noticed with aching sadness that Rien was digging his nails roughly into his palms, racking up delicate skin in raw, red lines. He pursed his lips. “Hey, now,” He chided gently. Carefully, he slipped a finger under Rien’s palm, spreading out his hand to thumb over pale knuckles. “Let’s not do that. I bet it hurts, huh?”

Rien sniffled. “Mhm.”

Gods, his hand was so tiny in Ermano’s massive palm. His little fingers barely brushed Ermano’s, shakily curling around the man’s thumb.

Ermano hummed sadly, fingers tracing Rien’s cheek to brush away a stray tear. “Can ya tell me how you’re feelin’, buddy?” He asked quietly, dipping his head down to carefully knock their foreheads together. Eyes of shimmering blue poured into Ermano’s jewels of midnight, deathly hollow yet too wonderful to be real.

Rien scrunched up his brow, teeth digging into his lip. “Fuzzy,” He timidly reply in whisper, staring blankly at his knees. A whimper of confusion slipped from his throat. “Don’ like it.”

Ermano had been forced to watch as countless of his fellow soldiers were driven into dooming madness. He had been forced to skewer through so many familiar, bright faces as they tore at his eyes with their nails. It was a price that came with war — the utter cost of victory. Hearing those words stammered from his little brother sent wrenching chills crawling up his skin.

He swallowed back bile.

No, He swore to Fate, jaw clenched with fiery determination. He refused to let this boy be swallowed by trauma’s cruel grasp. He would fight tooth and nail before he let those horrors drag Rien away.

“Fuzzy, huh?” Ermano prodded, swallowing roughly.

Rien nodded. “Yeah,” He whispered, snuggling into the crook of Ermano’s neck. “S’like my head’s blurry, feels— feels bad.”

“I bet, kid,” Ermano whistled a sad sigh. He gently stroked over the boy’s temples, hoping to fight off the growing pressure. “It’s all cloudy, ain’t it? Dark and scary?”

Rien’s lip wobbled. “Mhm…” He fiddled with the gold-laced patterns of Ermano’s blouse. “Like storm clouds.”

Two words that were so small, so easy to utter, yet sent Ermano aching.

“Tell ya what,” He offered Rien a rare, loving smile that tugged at the twisted sorrow buried deep within. “Come to me, Ro, or Dad when ya feel that way, okay?” He tapped the boy’s pink nose, huffing a laugh at the adorable giggles he got in return. “Why don’t ya use a secret word? Would that be cool?”

Dim excitement lit up in the boy’s eyes. “M’kay,” He agreed, a shadow of a sleepy grin ghosting his lips. A pink, hesitant flush crept up his cheeks. “So…so I can come tell you if my head has storm clouds?”

Ermano gripped Rien’s hand. “Always,” He promised, words sealed with sobriety of steel.

Rien mumbled happily, resting his head on the man’s collar with a small yawn. Ermano chuckled, hand dipping down to gently scratch the boy’s chin. “Is someone tired?”

Rien nodded, eyelids drooping as he puffed a soft breath. His head dipped to snuggle against Ermano’s shoulder, lashes fluttering as the man ran a tender hand through his hair. Ermano huffed. “All right,” He chuckled, patting the boy’s head. “”Bout time you went to sleep, kid.”

Rien grumbled under his breath, baby blue eyes peering up at Ermano with an adorable, drowsy glare that sent the warrior’s cold heart melting. He cooed and Rien’s eyelids slowly sagged as he gave away into slumber, face slipping against Ermano shoulder with a crease of brow — a dull and disheartening reminder of the fever that still flushed through him, leaving him weary and heavy-limbed.

Ermano pressed the back of his hand to the boy’s forehead, stroking over a clammy cheek with a tight-lipped frown. Heat still rolled from Rien’s pale skin in sickly drips of sweat.

With the rustling of fur, Kimiko nuzzled her snout against Ermano’s knee. She whined huskily and nudged Rien’s limp hand. Her tail beat uneasily. She ran her rough tongue over the boy’s knuckles with rivers of slobber.

Ermano rolled his eyes, taking the corner of his shirt to dry off the kid’s hand. “He’s all right, girl,” He told his hound, scratching Kimiko behind the ears. “Fever’ll be gone in a few days.”

It was true. The boy was trudging a quick race to recovery. Physically, at least. His wounds had closed up nicely, this illness was slowly yet steadily trickling away, even if the effects of starvation would likely never fully fade. But the healers were able to work miracles. They got Rien through those horrid nights of haunting fevers and splatters of blood. Now, Rien was cradled in his lap as he slept soundly.

But mentally…

Ermano couldn’t stifle the shudder that jolted through him.

No one knew the full extent of the horrors Rien had been thrust through. Not a soul knew what damning barbarity that sent the boy flying awake in the dead of night with hoarse screams tearing from his throat. Ermano could only glimpse at the boy’s deep, terrible scars and assume. It was blindingly clear that Rien wasn’t the same bright, happy boy he had been two years before. Those blazing eyes were now dull, simply a mere, hollow shell.

Ermano was familiar with the slow, dragging aspect of healing. It was never a battle fully won. But as a daring soldier, it was an undoubted cost.

But Rien was hardly eleven. He was a boy — a child of youth who would have rosy cheeks and a bounteous laugh. He should not be cripple, the words from his lips should be cheery and loud — not those stiff, frightful stutters. Whatever had happened to beat down the boy’s sparks of defiance sent chills down Ermano’s spine. Seeing Rien — his little brother — so broken made his heart heavy.

He glanced up as the door creaked. Light footsteps padded and Rorey gave the older a tired smile too wary on his young face. Mocha curls were a frazzled mess from sleep, a shirt hurriedly thrown on and arms hugging his middle. He shivered as the cool night air breezed against his bare skin.

“Good morning,” Rorey greeted, thunking down to lean against the railing. He slid down with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes.

Ermano snorted. “It’s midnight,” He huffed, mindful to keep his voice down. Just to be safe, he carefully raised his hands to cradle over Rien’s ears.

“You’re the idiot who was awake first,” Rorey retorted, though his words lacked any drip of venom. He squawked when Ermano leaned down to ruffle his hair, batting furiously at his hand. Rien shifted in Ermano’s arms, little fingers curling to clutch the man’s shirt. Emerald eyes flickered to the boy, understanding flashing cross Rorey’s face as his brow creased with sadness.

“Oh,” He breathed, shakily reaching out to tuck back the blonde’s curls. “Poor thing…”

Ermano hummed thoughtfully, something grim and stoney settling cross his features. “He just suddenly started screamin’,” He muttered. A broad hand came up to smush Rien’s cheek to his collar. “I-I thought he…”

He pressed his lips together, gaze casting up to stare at the twinkling stars above. They were like splotchy dots within seeping ink, the three moons glittering from the heavens above.

Rorey shuddered a sharp take of breath, a sickly dwindle blanching his face. “Gods…”

A warm, gentle hand settled over Ermano’s scarred knuckles. Ermano swallowed roughly, grasping his brother’s hand in a desperate, shaky grip. It was a familiar gesture of comfort the two shared in a tie of loyalty and brotherly love. From raging crowds to damningly silent nights, they were each a solid rock for the other to rest on.

Rorey’s hair dipped to rest on Ermano’s shoulder, his curls brushing against Ermano’s neck. “We have a long road ahead of us, don’t we?” He whispered.

Ermano sighed softly, leaning back to pull his brother close. “I believe we do.”

Rien watched as Ermano fiddled with the knobs of the bathtub, eyes wide with excitement. The marble counter top was cool under his thighs, foot swinging giddily and golden curls still a disheveled fluff from sleep. He gazed around the bathroom, staring at each shiny surface that glittered in the soft candlelight. The tiles were polished and laced with swirls of gold, the smells of rich, flowery soaps drifting through the air.

His head was pleasantly fuzzy, as if tucked in a soft, wooly blanket. It wasn’t like that sharp, heavy weight he had gotten used to bearing. Instead it was warm, and light as if he were floating high through the clouds.

It was a stark, blissful contrast to that rigid fear that sent him spiraling. The fever that clung to him turned his brain to mush, letting the poor boy rest free from the tangled shackles Nauvu had weaved round his neck

Ermano chuckled at Rien’s eagerness, shaking his head fondly. He carefully tested the water with his wrist, humming in contentment and letting the huge basin fill. He rose from his knees, giving Rien’s hair a ruffle. “Ready for a bath, kid?”

Rien nodded fervently. He giggled as Ermano tossed his blonde locks. The man grabbed a jug from the counter, giving Rien a small smile.

“Want any bubbles, kiddo?” Ermano asked, flicking off the top.

Timid excitement staggered in the boy’s heart like a trembling fawn. “B-Bubbles?” He whispered shakily, twisting the fabric of his shirt between his hands. His heart leapt with uncertainty, dim swells of hope soaring in his chest.

Ermano gently patted the boy’s back, hand steady and firm. “Mhm,” He rumbled. “All the bubbles you want, bud.”

Rien gasped in disbelief. “All the bubbles?”

Ermano huffed a quiet chuckle, caressing the boy’s temple and twirling a golden lock between his fingers. “Of course, kid,” He murmured, squeezing Rien’s hand. “All the bubbles.”

A droopy smile eased upon Rien’s slips, a brief glimpse of his old, childish happiness shining in his eyes. He bundled into Ermano’s arms, nuzzling against the warrior’s hard chest. “Than’ you,” He mumbled, smushing his cheek against his brother’s shoulders. “M’like bubbles, s’pretty.”

Ermano snorted, yet his laughter wasn’t cruel or unfriendly. “Real pretty,” He agreed. He poked Rien gently in the ribs, sending the boy squirming at the ticklish sensation. Ermano rolled his eyes fondly. “C’mon now, arms up. You are filthy.”

A wide, toothy grin spread on Rien’s face. “Nu-uh,” He shook his head with a pout.

Ermano tapped a finger on the boy’s nose, rumbling a chuckle. “Uh-huh,” He insisted sternly, though he couldn’t smother the kind smile quirking his lips. “We’re gettin’ you clean, gremlin.”

The older helped Rien wiggle free from his shirt, pulling it up over his head and smoothing it neatly on the counter. Rien shivered as the cool air breezed against his bare skin. He huddled closer into Ermano’s steady warmth. Ermano shuddered beneath him, sucking in sharp breath of worry. Hands fluttered to grip the boy’s shoulders, stormy eyes blown as he exhaled a whistle of horror.

“Gods,” He sputtered. He shut his eyes tightly and leaned against the counter, knuckles clenched white, taking slow, deep breaths. “You—“ He rubbed at his temples, hands shaky. “W-We’re gonna get some food into ya as soon as we’re done, all right? A-As much as you want.”

Rien flinched, a shamed flush crawling to his cheeks. He dipped his head, rubbing furiously at his prickling eyes. “Y-Yes, sir,” He croaked.

A warm, gentle hand rested on Rien’s jaw, dwarfing the boy’s cheek. “Hey,” Ermano murmured, callouses rubbing against Rien’s skin as he stroked over the younger’s temples. “None of that, bud. You’re okay.

Rien lifted his head with a sniffle, shyly nodding. “M’kay.”

Ermano rubbed away the boy’s fresh spill of tears. “Ready for that bath?”

“W-Will it hurt?” Rien whispered, voice a rasp of fear. His teeth sank into his lip, the tangy taste of blood bursting on his tongue as his heart fluttered uneasily between his ribs. He shivered as he thought of that one guard who would storm into his cell, jarring him from his blank haze, hands rough and careless as they yanked him upright and scrubbed him raw with that itchy rag. Bile gathered in his throat as he thought of the drafty air of his cell slamming into his near-stripped form.

A grave, sober fury twisted Ermano’s expression, lips thinned into a line of stone. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing back the silky auburn strands as he seethed in a sharp breath. “No, kid,” He answered firmly. “Of course not. I’d never hurt you, and neither will anyone who sets foot in this castle, okay?”

“O-Okay,” Rien swallowed, shakily lifting his eyes to pour into Ermano’s that glinted like the twilight sky. “Y-You keep me safe?”

Ermano placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gripped it tenderly. “Always, kid.” His words were unfaltering, like an unbreakable vow. He ruffled the blonde’s hair with a smile. “Now let’s getcha clean, yeah?”

As soon as Rien was undressed — safe for his undergarments, of course — Ermano slipped his hands under Rien’s arms and carefully picked him up. Rien gasped as he was lifted from the counter, snuggling into the sturdy embrace as Ermano’s powerful arms came up to cradle him. Ermano strode back to the bathtub, crouching to the tile before lowering Rien into the spaceful, glistening basin.

Rien gasped as the warm water lapped at his leg, scrambling to cling to Ermano’s shirt. A fearful sob hitched from his throat.

“Shhh,” Ermano soothed, voice rumbling from his chest as he traced a hand down Rien’s spine. “You’re okay. It’s safe. Just relax, kiddo.”

Rien sniffled, insides tangling in an anxious knot but he obeyed. His fingers reluctantly eased from their desperate cling and he let himself be carefully — always so mindfully, gently — lowered into the water, despite how badly he wanted to curl up in Ermano’s arms.

The warmth of the water seeped into his skin, relaxing his coiled muscles and chasing away his lingering chills. It seemed to embrace him; like a huge from all sides. He settled into the tub with a soft sigh, lashes fluttering. Peaceful sleep coaxed his mind. Everything was so light, as if he were floating through fluffy clouds; put under the laxing spell by the comforting weightlessness that came with being submerged. The water smelled like spring’s flowers, swirled with herbs that tingled his raw wounds. He blinked blearily up at Ermano as the man sat in a large wooden chair by the tub, its frame creaking under his weight. A large hand came to brush back the blonde’s curls. Lids drooping, the boy nuzzled into the touch with a drowsy coo.

Ermano chuckled. “Does that feel good?” He hummed, nails scratching lightly at Rien’s scale.

A loopy smile drooped on Rien’s lips. “Mhmmm,” He sluggishly nodded, patting the water with splash. He giggled. “S’warm.”

Ermano snorted, eyes shining with a deep, fierce love that tugged on his lips. “You’re adorable,” He huffed, rolling up his sleeves. He ruffled Rien’s curls and grinned at the adorable titters of laughter he got in return. “Y’know that, kid?”

He pulled back his auburn locks, weaving them into a swift bun that left strands pouring over his face like a curtain of silk. Rien watched as the auburnette grabbed a neatly folded rag, dipping it into the tub with the trickling of water. The boy flinched when the soapy cloth was lifted to his skin, shuddering at the chilling memories of that itchy rag carelessly scrubbing him raw. But Ermano was nothing but infinitely gentle. He washed the grime and dirt from Rien, grip unfaltering yet endlessly tender, always asking Rien if he was comfortable before fondling over untouched skin.

The action sent Rien’s head swimming with confusion.

Since when did his opinions matter?

If he wasn’t good, he got no say in matters.

Ermano;’ lips got really thin when he asked, though, so he kept his puzzlement to himself.

Rien, gaze aimed at the ground, flinched as a hand suddenly cupped his cheek, bringing his eyes back up.

“We’ll never hurt you, Rien,” Ermano promised gently, a soft smile on his face. “You’re far too precious for that, treasure.”

“I-“ Rien didn’t know what to say. It didn’t make sense. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, hunching his shoulders. He shut his mouth, thinly pressing his lips, unsure of how to respond.

Ermano didn’t mind his silence. He just helped Rien wash, his unconditional kindness never wavering. He held Rien’s hand when the boy was scared to dunk his head underwater, simply cupping his face and carefully pouring water over his hair.

Ermano added bubbles, too, just like he had promised! Really fluffy, big bubbles that floated on top of the water. Rien had seen them before, in the buckets the guard would thrown to him to clean up the floor after his stomach would spill out those horrible, rotting eggs. He laughed as the bubbles stuck to his nose, but they disappeared when he tried to pick them up.

Rien scowled, making a sleepy sound of confusion.

Ermano chuckled. “You have to do it very gently, little one,” He told Rien, getting down to his knees. He scooped up a bit of the foam in his hands, Rien watching with wonder. “See?”

Rien cooed, reaching out to carefully cup the clumps of bubbles. He missed Ermano’s grin that gleamed evilly, and suddenly the older threw the foam at the boy.

Rien shrieked, scrambling back — water sloshing — giggling as he shook the bubbles from his damp hair. “Em!” He cried through his laughter. “Y-you’re mean!”

Ermano grinned, hands on his hips as he huffed a laugh. “I’m just the meanest, huh?” He gently flicked Rien’s forehead. “A terrible, evil, no good villain.”

Rien nodded, arms cross seriously. “Mhm!” He slapped at the water with a wicked grin, sending droplets flying The man cursed under his breath when some water splashed on his shirt, making Rien giggle.

Ermano bent down and knocked their foreheads together, a smile dancing on his face. “Find this funny, huh?”

Rien giggled, even more, nodding as he covered his smile with his hand. Ermano heaved an exasperated sigh, although he couldn’t smother the fond grin curling his lips. “C’mon, gremlin,” He rumbled. “Let’s get you dressed.”

By end of the hour, Rien was completely clean. His hair was wrapped in a soft towel, dressed snugly in the comfiest clothes he had ever seen. His stumped knee was freshly dressed and carefully soothed with herbs.  He was also really, really tired.

“There ya go,” Ermano murmured, whisking him up again, scarred fingers cardling through the boy’s hair as he tucked him close. Rien snuggled closer to his brother’s warmth, lying his head on Ermano’s broad shoulder. Ermano chuckled softly. He twirled a stray gold curl between his fingers. “All clean now. What’d ya say we get some food now, huh?”

Rien nodded sleepily and Ermano swung open the door, the boy held safely in his arms like the priceless treasure he was.

“—and you see, your Majesty, my neighbor’s rooster keeps crowing at the crack of dawn every morning!” A man exclaimed, furiously fixing his monocle with a fuming huff of breath. It was clear from his refined accent and expensive clothing that he hailed from one of the wealthiest cities. Yet another stuck-up Noble here to moan and whine. Elwyn forced a strained smile, nodding along even as a pounding pressure stabbed under his temples.

Fate, Elwyn dreaded his royal duties at times such as these. Listening citizens’ endless complaints was enough to drive any ruler mad.

He sat on his high throne that glittered in its mighty glory, carved from precious gold and towering over all. Flags weaved with Ruperta’s crest — a soaring, elegant raven — flowing down as the twilight rays of sun poured into his grand, magnificent throne room. A line of impatiently waiting subjects — from farmers to prestigious clergies — rolled out the two looming doors and into the halls. Elwyn was draped in his royal robes, hands rigidly clasped, the heavy crown on his head felt like a binding burden.

“—you have power over all Ruperta, your Highness. Surely you can make the bird squawk at a reasonable hour! Please, or my wife shall have my head!”

Elwyn let his eyes drift shut, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m afraid I can’t do anything to prevent that,,” He explained, hoping he didn’t sound as weary as he felt. “I don’t have power over birds, sir.”

The Noble sputtered protests, face heating up, but was quickly shoved away by a lady who boisterously began to exclaim her story.

It was the same cycle that dragged on day by day. More citizens, more rambles, repeat.

Elwyn tapped his fingers on the arms of his throne restlessly. His mind was set lose in a staggering race of restlessness. The walls seemed to close in, heart hammering between his ribs. It pained him to sit here in such peace while he had just reunited with his youngest son. He longed to burst into the bedroom chambers and scoop his boy into his arms.

But he was King, and there was only so much his advisers could do before the Kingdom grew anxious.

Before whispers began to spread.

Ruperta couldn’t seem weak — not when the Aquilo Kingdom served such a threat. Any glimpse of frailty, just a mere smidge of vulnerability could signal a storming attack.

And Elwyn couldn’t risk that.

Not when his family was finally somewhat repared.

He wasn’t risking them yet again, no matter how much it pained him.

So he ticked away the hours listening as intently as he could, summoning all of his wisdom to execute the best decisions. The winding line slowly faded, the sun setting amongst the snowy cliffs, Elwyn’s throat began to sting from such use. Exhaustion was heavy on his shoulders, eyes aching and head beginning to fiercely throb. He was nodding along to a merchant’s story of a thief who had stolen there bread, when suddenly a guard came hurrying up the stairs. Lex’s armor clanked as she strode forward, steel eyes distant with clear worry and lips pressed thin.

“Lex?” Elwyn asked, dipping his head in greeting. He gripped the arms of his throne. “Is something wrong?”

“Your Highness,” Lex bowed, cape swishing at her heels. “I hate to disturb you, my King, but,” A grim weight settled over her face. “This is urgent, I’m afraid.”

Brows arched, Elwyn quickly steadied his crown and turned to the soldier. Worry stabbed his stomach like dull knives, hot and twisting. The words sent chills of dread riddling his spine.

“Do show me, Commander.”

Lex nodded, swiftly standing up before clapping her hands.

Footsteps echoed and guards ushered through the crowd, voices tight and laced with fear. Elwyn sat up, smoothing out his robes, watching with a racing heart as a couple was hurried forward.

They were young, two women who couldn’t be any older than Rorey. Their clothes were simple yet clean, hair a bit frazzled and each face shaken. One clung to the others hand as her partner strode forward, cowering back with such fear that Elwyn felt his heart wrench. The other soothed her wife before rolling back her shoulders and steadily meeting Elwyn’s gaze with fire ablaze in her eyes.

“Sir,” A guard scoffed, breaking the tense silence. “These…” He wrinkled his nose. “Peasants have stormed into the gates demanding to see you.”

“We are not mere peasants,” One of the farmer’s spat, chin held high. “I am a proud citizen of Ruperta. Our rights are equal.”

The guard sneered, gripping his blade with a hollow laugh. “Really?” He drawled. “Well, at least I do not hail from the damned island of—“

“Stop,” Elwyn cut in, hand raised firmly. He pursed his lips and gazed at the soldier coldly before he wilted. “Let them speak.”

One women gasped, tears streaming down her face as she threw herself forward. “Oh, thank you, your Majesty,” She cried, heaving with her heavy, wet wails. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Her wife gently gripped her shoulder, pressing a brief kiss to her temple, before facing Elwyn with a shaky breath.

“Your Highness,” She murmured, dipping her straw hat. “You are too kind.”

Elwyn smiled. “It is my honor to serve you, my lady,” He spoke kindly. “Tell me, please, what troubles have you brought to me?”

“I know you are a busy King, your Greatness,” The farmer began frantically, words nearly stumbling free in a breathless burst. “I would never waste your time with ridiculous blasphemy, but this…” She gulped an unsteady breath. “My wife and I sir, we live on a humble farm. Eight sun falls ago we were going about our chores, when— when we saw him, sir,” She swallowed hard, looking faint. “The man you warned us about.”

Terror flashed in her eyes. “Nauvu.”

The staring crowd choked in horrified gasps. A few even let out small shrieks of fright. The name seemed to ring through the room in unending, sickening loop that made Elwyn’s ears bleed.

Horror crept up his neck like icy, stabbing chills. His breathing hitched, hands quivering.

The words were a shard of ice sent to pierce Elwyn’s heart. He choked a sharp gasp. A cold pit emptied his stomach.

It was clear from their countless searches that Nauvu was very well alive. Every patrol had come back emptied handed — Nauvu had miraculously vanished without a mere trace. The man’s presence still loomed over Elwyn; an unwavering shadow that haunted every waking moment. Some part of Elwyn buried deep down dreadfully knew that this twisted battle of custody was not over.

But no. Gods, no. He refused to believe this sickening feeling that sank in his gut was correct.

“Wh-What?” Elwyn whispered shakily. “You…you saw him?”

The guard scoffed, lips curling back in a sneer. “I wouldn’t trust anything this rat speaks of, your Grace,” He spat cooly. “Her tongue is wicked with lies!” He whipped around to the crowd, eyes ablaze and hands thrown. “She hails from the cursed island of Syla!”

People shrank back in horror, choking gasps as they stared at the couple with wide eyes. Parents grasped their children’s hands, glares of disgust were thrown to the women, curses were sputtered. Fear swarmed over the throne room — tight and rigid — all eyes turning to Elwyn in desperate hope that their King would execute action.

While such harsh cruelty made Elwyn frown with cold anger, he understood his peoples’ fear.

The island of Syla was infamous for its dark, gloomy past. Elwyn could recall it clearly. It had been nearly three hundred years ago, when Ruperta had been just a small settlement that he and Suri struggled to keep afloat. Word had spread fast of a revolution — the Nyx Rebellion — in the South led by a determined, insane madman who was set on creating a poison that could kill armies in mere moments.

They had been struck down around a hundred years later, but their horrible deeds still rocked fear deep into peoples hearts.

The trembling lady stumbled forward, shaking her head frantically. “Y-Your Highness,” She stammered breathlessly. “Please, please! We would never— we would never lie to you—“ She sobbed, collapsing to her knees with heaving cries.

Elwyn’s gut churned. Nausea slammed into him in dizzying waves.

“No, no, no, madam, please — stand,” He urged, clearing the lump in his throat. He forced a flimsy smile as the lady shakily stood, folding his hands placidly. “I do not believe in such horrible, irrational racism. And I will not let those who do go uncorrected,” Yale eyes cold, he glowered down at the outspoken guard sternly until he wilted with cheeks red in shame. Swelling with satisfaction, Elwyn turned once again to the framers with a grim sigh.

“Do you have any more information to share about such sighting?” He asked in a desperate plea. It was a clear, utter weakness — yet he would not hesitate to fall to his knees and beg if it meant to keep his family safe.

The lady in the straw hat clasped her wife’s shoulder and drew in a deep breath. “He was seen near the Western Port, my Lord,” She chew the inside of her cheek, casting her gaze to the floor. “And he…he wasn’t alone,” She swallowed hard. “He had an entire fleet that escaped by sea.”

Elwyn’s eyes widened in shock as sharp inhales echoed through the damning silence. Cold prickles raced up his skin. He was frozen, struggling to process such shocking information as reality. He wanted to scoff, wanted to laugh and pray to Fate that this was some cruel taunt.

But there was not a shred of trickery in the sober, terrifying claim.

Elwyn shuddered, eyes burning as he forced a smile. “Th-Thank you for your help, madams,” He managed. “You’ll be rewarded for your loyal deeds.”

Boots clacked as they left with brief bows. Fabric shuffled as people leaned in to whisper, eyeing their King, yet Elwyn could hardly notice.

Thoughts of dismay rushed through Elwyn’s head in a revolting loop, breaths shallow and fast. He struggled to control the rise and fall of his chest, a deafening ringing splitting apart his ears. Thick, sharp fuzz was shoved into his head as the world around him blurred. It was as if he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall into the abyss of his own fears and anxieties.

“Your Majesty?” Lex’s worried call reached through his panic. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Elwyn gasped, clutching his heaving chest. “I— please send everyone out, Commander, I-I need to—“ He shuddered. “Need to think.”

Obediently, his guards ushered everyone away. In a blink, Elwyn sat alone — sagging on his throne as he gasped and choked for breath. The walls seemed to shove in, inching forward until he was crushed into a pile of dust. Exhaustion hit him in a powerful blow, shoulders shaking with violent, jolting tremors, blood rushing in his ears.

He was stunned, hunching over with a weak cry — feeling as if the weight of the world burdened his back. Horrid possibilities pounded through his head, each worse than the last. Nauvu was a dangerous, clever man. A wicked witch who wanted to snatch Rien into his claws yet again. If he was roaming free -- if he was alive — his entire Kingdom — his family — was at such a grave risk that his stomach lurched.

A choked sob escaped him. He lifted a fumbled hand to slap over his mouth, stifling his broken cries that echoed through the crushing silence. Salty tears streaked his cheeks. His heart squeezed with each rapid thunder. And most of all, his crown sat heavy on his head — a dooming reminder of their undoubted future.

It was a curse. A wretched hook and had reeled his family into such agony.

Part of him wanted to throw it into a pit of raging fire and never look back. He knew he was a coward, but his sons meant more to him than all of Ruperta combined. The throne had already taken his wife away from him. His love, his angel. This power came with a grave risk that rocked him to his core.

And now that it was suddenly shoved clearly in his face, he couldn’t help but wonder if — up in the Beyond — Suri was staring down at him with disappointment.

Chapter Text

More often than not, Rorey would find himself staring into those dull blue eyes as pit of nothingness swallowed his abdomen.

He refused to leave Rien’s side. Ermano and Elwyn dreaded departing from the family’s youngest as must as mice did the palace cats, but they of course had duties to attend to. He planted himself in the room’s itchy chairs for hours on end. He only left when Elwyn would drag him to bed when it looked coal dust was smeared under his eyes. Every morning he would wake to dawn’s first light and enter the medical wing with a smile on his face, anxiously watching his little brother under a locked gaze.

Each time Rorey would see the boy, a bit of his heart fractured.

Rien was so quiet, so skittish — just a mere shell that it made Rorey sick. There was not a smidge of doubt that he worked skin and bone to summon just the slightest bit of happiness from the boy. But Rien would shrink back at his smile, would tremble like a leaf if Rorey cracked a single joke. He reminded Rorey horrifically of a caged bunny. So awfully tiny amongst the swarming white bedsheets, cowering at a bare glance. Fear was carved into those hollow cheeks, far too vivid to belong on such a young face. Gone was that bright kid whose grin would undoubtedly brighten Rorey’s day — completely vanished without a trace. And in return was a hollow shell that was terrified of his own shadow.

It drilled an aching pain deep within Rorey. He nearly gagged each time he caught a glimpse of the jagged scars littering his baby brother’s pale skin, his stomach lurched with every profoundly nauseating stutter that left Rien’s lips. From hesitantly denying ‘undeserved’ food to shrill begging at any simple mistake.

It was like Nauvu had taken the time to deliberately engrave shackles that tied Rien into a messy knot. Burning anger swelled in Rorey’s chest like blazing flames. The man had seized all of the joy from the boy and replaced it with carefully threaded fright.

Rorey no longer feared that Rien would suddenly vanish, but this was somehow masses worse.

He could recall a few night ago terribly clearly. Rien had woken up screaming from the depths of a nightmare. Rorey had jolted wake, scrambling for his glasses as he had watched in horror as his brother thrashed and shrieked. Gods, those blood-curling cries still rang in Rorey’s ears. He had sprang forward, catching the boy’s thin wrists as he weakly kicked and struggled.

“Rien!” Rorey had yelled, breathless. He struggled to yank the boy into his lap as he writhed like a dying animal. He held Rien close to his chest, lost in shock as he gripped the thrashing kid. Gods, he practically dwarfed the little thing. Blankets were strewn, Rien’s cries piercing the room.

Rien was sobbing, eyes screwed shut, little feet kicking out frantically. “I’m sorry!” He screamed hoarsely, chest heaving with ragged breaths. “I’m sorry! I’ll be goo-good!” His fists beat desperately against Rorey’s chest, so frail and weak. “I will! I p-promise— no, no, no!” He shrieked. “Please, please!”

He had been wailing, fighting uselessly against Rorey’s grip. Violent tremors shook his little body as he cried and begged.

“Oh, baby,” Rorey had breathed, eyes wide. He had held Rien’s head to his shoulder, rocking back and forth. “Shhh. You’re okay. It’s not real, shhhh.”

He had quickly caught Rien’s wrists, grip gentle. Bile was bitter on his tongue.

Rien had thrashed and sobbed for what seemed like hours into the night. Those broken, shrill wails made Rorey’s own eyes prickle. Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks and soaked Rorey’s shirt, deep hiccups wracking his tiny form as he curled into his brother’s embrace. Slowly, his sobs quieted into wet sniffles. He gulped for breath and sagged in Rorey’s arms. Rorey thinly pressed his lips together, brushing back those golden curls as Rien’s eyelids sleepily drooped.

“Please…” The boy had mumbled. A tear trickled down his temple. “M’sorry, d-don’ wanna— don’t wan’ hurts.”

Those drowsy pleas had been enough to send Rorey’s spirit crumbling.

He had sucked in a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his nose in Rien’s hair. “You’re okay,” He whispered, words looping together in a desperate prayer. “You’re safe, buddy, I’m here, I’m here. Just go to sleep.”

It had been a long night.

Those agonizing memories made Rorey’s throat wrench shut. The boy’s screams still haunted him each time he caught sight of Rien whining in his sleep.

It had shattered his heart to see his brother so broken. Hot guilt squeezed his gut.

No child should sound so prettified. Such a sweet soul shouldn’t be splintered into such shattered pieces. It was so hard to remember that Rien had once laughed and grinned. Looking at him, Rorey could see not a trace of that sweet gremlin he so loved. Rien was alive and real yet drastically different.

But Rorey was a determined man. He was not going to simply let his baby brother rot away to become an empty shell.

Lacking in the physical apartment, he made up for that with his pure will. It ran in the family. He would gladly work himself to the bone if it meant seeing Rien smile once more. His ears ached to hear the boy’s joyful laugh one final time. Rorey would unquestionably give his life to see just an inch of happiness cross his face.

Along with his set ambition came a hammering guilt that was eating apart his insides. Not a moment pasted when a terrible shame wasn’t twisted his heart.

Gods, he couldn’t help but wonder, what would have happened if he had been slower to gulp down vodka on the fateful night? He couldn’t shake the thought. If he had mustered just a smidge of self control, if he hadn’t been so foolish, would Rien still be a happy, rosy-cheeked kid with Nauvu left far behind?

That thought haunted his sleepless nights, when he was too tangled up in the noose of self-hatred to call for Elwyn or Ermano. He would stare at the ceiling and curl into his blankets, tempted to bash in his skull if his head didn’t quiet. Nothing eased this boiling pain of guilt. Rien’s screams haunted him, his scars nearly sending him into a fit of madness.

Because he knew it was his fault.

Which was why Rorey was risen at the brink of dawn, curls hurriedly combed and glasses slightly askew. His footsteps echoed through the halls, the early morning rays of sunlight leaking through freshly parted drapes and shimmering the marble floors glistening pinks. Maids and servants rushed about, briefly bowing to the Prince with a smile before scurrying off to fulfill their duties.

Rorey made his way to the medical wing; a path he had taken countless times within the last week. He tucked a case under his arm — made of fine leather and tied with an elegant yellow ribbon. He had gotten only the best craftsmen in the palace to work on this gift, and he was indeed pleased with the results.

Swirls of happiness danced within him, even if timid. He thought of the colorful pigments and fresh paper staked in the case and couldn’t help but hope. Rien had always loved art. From doodling his beloved bunnies to spending hours in his own little world with his paints. Rorey longed to see his little brother once again smile, and he had faith this would work.

“Oh, your Majesty,” One of the healers beamed as Rorey shut the door behind him. She dropped her papers and clacked over to the prince, practically jittering with excitement. “We have excellent news!”

Rorey ached a brow. “Oh?” He queried, following the doctor as she led him through the rows of cots. “Do tell, miss.”

“Well,” The healer cleared her throat, smiling brightly. “Your brother is steadily growing stable. Last night we examined his blood sugars and we believe that he soon may be fit to leave the medical wing.”

“Oh, that’s lovely!” Rorey laughed, bursting into a grin of his own. Gods, finally. He could hardly bare seeing Rien in that cramped, stuffy space any longer. As soon as he could, he was going to whisk the boy from that misery and pamper him rotten. “How soon may he leave?”

“Very soon. Although,” The healer clicked her tongue. “Under conditions, of course.”

“From our tests, it’s clear that he’s been deprived of all but the bare necessaries of food. With someone as small and young as he is, I highly doubt he will ever fully recover,” She heaved a sad sigh. “Malnourishment leaves a heavy tole, and bundled with his loss limb and years of trauma,” She shook her head. “It’s going to be a difficult recovery.”

Each word that slipped from her mouth were like a damning curse engraved in the poor boy’s future. Rorey swallowed back bubbling unease. Each damning reminder was like a wedge sent splintering a crack in his shallow peace.

“Well,” Rorey ground out, giving the women a strained smile. “That’s a road we are more than willing to trudge,” He nodded curtly at the healer, ignoring the goosebumps riddling his skin. “I assure you that my father hears of your great work.”

They reached the familiar wooden door that led to Rien’s makeshift room. It was really an old office that had been quickly stripped in order to give the reunited Prince at least some form of privacy. Rorey bided the healer thanks before they parted, wringing his hands to still their shuddering tremors before turned the doorknob.

Rien sat stiff in bed, flinching as the door groaned open. Rorey’s heart wrenched at the sight of his little brother. The boy was swimming under his silk nightgown, so painfully small in a nest of white sheets. He curled close to himself, clutched the sheets tightly. Stiff as a board, he watched Rorey warily with dull blue eyes. His throat bobbed as his breathing hitched. He was so scared, so frail. Rorey wanted nothing more than to snuggle him in blankets and never let this cruel word touch him again.

“Hello,” Rorey greeted soft— so, so soft. He smiled gently at Rien, slowly coming to sit in his regular chair. “Good morning. Did you sleep well, darling?”

“Yes,” Rien croaked, his voice choked. “Yes, sir.”

Rorey winced at the frantic stammers. “Hey,” He cut in, stern yet nothing but warm. “None of that, remember?”

Rien’s brow furrowed. He twisted his garments with trembling fingers. “O-Okay, s-“ He bit his lip. “R-Rorey.”

Well, Rorey thought with a grim sigh. At least that’s progress.

A bowl sat discarded on the bedside table, and Rorey was unsurprised to find it only a third empty. Gods, it was a struggle to find anything that Rien could stomach he was so heavily malnourished. Rorey could spot his jutting ribs sickeningly clearly. But what was worse was watching the boy fumble in confusion at the rich, unending food.

More than once Rien had frantically babbled his thanks for a mere meal, bowing deeply before the flustered servant.

“Were you not hungry?” Rorey asked gently, barely to battle the tugging urge to pamper the kid with goodies and sweets. “I can ask the cook to fix you something different.”

He regretted his careless words at once as Rien quickly shook his head, eyes jolting with gripping horror. “N-No thank you, your Majesty,” He stammered shakily. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t finish it. I can—“

“No, no, no,” Rorey murmured gently — because that was what Rien needed. The poor thing was terrified. “It’s okay, bud. You don’t have to eat it if you can’t.”

Rien didn’t respond. He just sniffled, ducking his head to focus blankly at his lap.

Fate, it was laughable. Rorey’s tongue was as sharp as a sword, his wit able to duel valiantly against any weapon. But now he choked on it, lost for words as he gazed sadly at the broken boy before him.

“I brought you a surprise,” He exclaimed with forced cheerfulness, breaking the rigid silence.

The words would have perked up any young child, would have peaked their excitement. But Rien sank his teeth in his wobbling lip to stifle a whine, shoulders drawn tightly to his ears.

Rorey leaned forward, lips pressed into a thin frown. “It’s okay,” He reassured the young blonde with a warm, small smile. “It’s just a little thing I though you’d like, do you want to see?”

Blue eyes flickered. They came to sluggishly stare at Rorey’s chin, timid and meek. Rien nodded hesitantly.

Rorey grinned, quickly grabbing the case and rising to his feet. He crouched and sat it in Rien’s lap — gently — flicking open the latch and opening it. Rorey unraveled the yellow ribbon, tucking it into his pocket. Inside were little cups of bright pigments, shaded in countless colors, with blank papers stacked neatly between them. And, of course, a bundled of differently tipped brushes was set to the side.

Rorey watched as those baby blue eyes widened, gawking in awe at the gift. Rien gasped. He reached a tentative hand to brush along the cool wood, lips parted slightly in shock.

Rorey chuckled. “D’you like it, sunshine?”

Rien nodded fervently, a ghost of a smile tracing his lips. “Th-Thank you,” He whispered.

Rorey hummed. “Of course.”

He watched with sparkling eyes as Rien carefully picked up a brush, gently prodding the bristles and rolling it between his palms. Cautiously, as if fearing this new treasure might be yanked away at any moment, he dipped the brush into a cup that was filled with paint as yellow as the blazing sun. Rorey had to catch himself from staring, nearly blinded by the small glimmer of Rien’s happiness.

Silence settled between the two brothers. But for the first time that week it wasn’t stiff nor tense. Instead, Rorey quietly observed the boy as he painted. The picture came to life, brilliant colors swirling to make a vivid image of yellow flowers that twined around the page in braids of weaving vines.

“It looks very good,” Rorey murmured, startling Rien from his nearly peaceful haze. Rorey smiled tenderly. “You’re very talented.”

Rien’s cheeks tinged pink. “Thank you,” He mumbled.

Gods, Rorey’s heart just melted at those words. His cheeks hurt from the broad, mirthy grin tugging his lips, happiness swelling inside of him. It was only a tiny, tiny spark, but he had determinedly hoped that would send a roaring fire ablaze.

It wasn’t much; Fate, it was near pitiful.

But it was all they had.

“Are you ready, dear?” Ms. Brown asked kindly, dangling earrings of snowy blossoms jingling as she pranced around the room. Rien wanted to claw out his ears. His little chest tightened at the piecing rattling, his fuzzy head rolling with dizzying nausea. A shaky breath wheezed from his sore throat.

Everything was so loud. Each scrape of a boot nearly sent him spiraling into sobs. A pounding pressure wrenched his skull, building with each glint of stabbing light. His wooly gown was horribly itchy. He urged to scratch his skin raw just to get the painful prickling to stop. The potions loaded into his bloodstream made it feel as if his head had been stuffed with thick cotton. It was muffling, drowning out his thoughts and leaving him floating in a haze of sluggish nothingness.

The stump of his left leg throbbed mercilessly, leaving his gut clenching in unease.

He refused to look at it. He was too scared. Half of his leg had been chopped clean off. That meant he couldn’t work. He couldn’t stand, he couldn’t be useful, he was such a broken, worthless waste—

“Dear?”

Rien flinched as Ms. Brown frowned at him, those rich brown eyes pooling with concern. He swallowed thickly.

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” He whispered, words quivering and hushed. He dipped his head, staring at his limp, cold hands. “M’ ready.”

No, He wanted to scream. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready at all. His heart raced in his ribs like a trashing, trapped bird. He was scared. He was so, so, so scared. He didn’t want to see his family’s smiles turn into curling snarls. He dreaded their warm touches becoming inevitable harsh slaps. Their kind words would soon be spitting orders as they hauled him into darkness. He didn’t want to be thrown back into that awful torment, but he had to be good!

The doctors had decided he was stable enough to be moved from the medical wing. Rien felt sick just thinking about it. All of the needles and cleanly smells made him dizzy, but it was so drastically better than the pain he knew was coming that he dreaded leaving it.

Now he was getting what he deserved. He knew it was to only help him, to guid him, but tears still stung his eyes.

“All righty, then,” Ms. Brown clasped her hands. Rien watched with churning anxiety as a pair of boots clacked cross the floor.

Rien squeaked as large hands grabbed round his middle, whimpering as he was lifted into the air. His eyes wrenched shut. He shuddered and tightly clutched the guard’s shirt, fear sending his little heart leaping into his heart.

“Yer okay, lad,” Rowan muttered. He patted the boy’s back. “Up yeh get.”

The soldier lowered the child down to settle comfortably into the wheelchair, which was rolled beside the cot. Rien slumped back against the padded backrest, shivers racing up his spine as the cold air drafted against his flushed skin. Blurred figures ____ above him. He blinked hazily, blood rushing in his ears. A soft blanket was tucked around his shoulders, careful hands adjusting his awkwardly angled limbs.

Ms. Brown hummed, lifting a hand to steady her mushroom hat as she dipped down to gaze over Rien. “There you are,” She chuckled, brushing back a stray curl. “Still feeling a bit faint, dear?”

“I…” Words rolled heavily on Rien’s numb tongue. He weakly sat up, rubbing his tight forehead. “M’kay, miss.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, the tang of blood flooding his mouth. The wheels creaked as Rowan pushed him through the medical bay. Rien kept his gaze downcast, heart staggering in a hammering race yet somehow impossibly heavy.

Tears welled in his eyes. He wanted to run. He wanted to spring up and run, run, run, run. But he couldn’t. Because his leg was gone. He couldn’t stand. He couldn’t stand and he was useless. Panic squeezed him, the walls seemed to shove in — rapacious to trap him in their unescapable grasp and shatter his bones. He wanted to whine and squirm, stomach clenching with churning nerves.

But he had to be good. He pressed his lips tightly together. Pests were still and quiet.

Footsteps echoed through the room. Rien shuddered, shoving back a sob as cries of terror threatened to spill from his lips.

“Oh, your majesties!” Ms. Brown chirped, her dress rustling as she curtsied. “I was beginning to wonder if I were to send someone to fetch you.”

Rien felt his dim hopes plummet into the depths of his pitting stomach.

“Your majesties”—

He wanted to throw up.

Elwyn— The King — laughed softly. “No need for that, old friend,” He replied kindly, but Rien knew it was fake, fake, fake, fake. “We are more than overjoyed to come retrieve our boy.”

The words sent a chill of horror crawling up Rien’s spine.

A heavy hand was suddenly placed on the boy’s shoulder, startling the poor kid from his thoughts. Rien gasped shakily, a whine strangling free. His eyes snapped up without thinking, and he cowered under the Eldest Prince’s stormy gaze. The boy took no notice of the fierce protectiveness that gleamed in those midnight eyes, the rare gentleness creasing his features. But fear’s thick fog wrapped around his head, flooding him with terror that slammed him with waves of dizziness. He could only gaze at Ermano’s ripples muscles in hammering fear.

Tears burned his eyes. He hurriedly ducked his head, lip beginning to tremble.

He didn’t want to feel those fists litter him with agonizing bruises.

But he knew he deserved it. What right did he have to stop them?

Ermano gently patted Rien’s shoulder. He didn’t wear the heavy armor Rien and been him stalk through the halls with, instead fitted with a loose, simple white shirt and a long crimson cloak that looked wonderfully soft. “Ready to get outta here, kid?”

Rien dug his nails deep into his palms to stifle a frightful whimper. “Y-Yes sir,”

“Everything okay, bud?” Rorey asked, brow creased as he crouched to peer worriedly into those dull blue eyes. “You seem a bit out of it.”

He curled into his chair, his breathing picking up as though he’d run a great distance. His heart fluttered behind his ribs like a trapped bird. Ermano wasn’t balefully glaring at him with eyes murderously gleaming, there wasn’t cruelty playing at the corners of Rorey’s mouth. But he knew those masks would fall away. They always did.

Voices muttered above him. A blurry shape of soft blue knelt before Rien, delicate hands tenderly cupped his cheeks. “You’re probably pretty fuzzy, huh?” The King hummed sympathetically. “The healers gave you some stuff to keep calm you down. To you from having bad dreams last night.”

Oh. Rien bit his lip. That-That didn’t make sense. He swallowed thickly. “M’okay, your Majesty.”

Elwyn’s lips pursed with doubt, but he said no more. “I bet you’re tired,” He said warmly. He gently ran a hand over the boy’s knuckles. “When we get to your room you can sleep as much as you want, okay?”

Rien knew far better than to argue. The scorched burn scars ripping his hand proved that. He managed a meek nod.

“Okay, then!” Rorey exclaimed cheerfully, giving Rien’s head an adoring brief kiss. “Let’s get you to your chambers, shall we?”

Ermano grabbed the handles of the wheelchair from Rowan with a mutter of thanks, so uncharacteristically careful that it made Rien want to scream. When were they going to drop the act? When were their masks going to fall? When were these loving touches going to become harsh and painful? These thoughts plagued Rien’s mind like leeches. The wheels creaked as Ermano rolled him into the halls.

Rien couldn’t help but let out a breath of awe at such beauty. The windows were tall and grand, letting the sunlight flood the halls with its glowing glimmer. Crystal chandeliers hung high above, drapes of fine velvet flowing to the polished marble floor. Maids and servants hurried about, bowing to the Family briefly before going off to finish their tasks at hand.

Ermano rumbled a chuckle at Rien’s shock. “Pretty, huh?”

Rien flinched, heart jolting into his throat. Muscles tense, he curled up with a hitch of breath.

“We’re very glad to have you back,” Rorey smiled at the boy, adjusting the collar of his long coat that glittered like ocean’s waves in the sunlight. “You should have seen the cooks last night. They were fixing dozens of those cream-filled buns you love, darling.”

The Prince continued to ramble as they strolled through the halls. As much as Rien tried to drink in his words, they trickled numbly out of his ears. Fear knotted his lungs, like dull knives twisting his insides. His head spun, horrors flashing through his mind as he thought of where they were taking him
He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to be back in that small cell with those horrible shackles. Back to the loneliness, back to the pain.

Bile stung his throat. Sobs bundled in his chest at the thought. He knew better than to beg, phantom pains jagging up his ribs as a damning reminder.

He sniffled, shivering with tingles of cold dread. He felt sick. Pain prickled his palm as he dug his nails into his skin.

He wanted to be scooted up in Elwyn lap, he wanted Rorey to kiss his forehead and Ermano to rumble soft praise. He didn’t wanna be carelessly thrown in a cramped cell, left to rot in the darkness. Lip trembling, the boy gripping the hem of his gown. But he knew better. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare disobey. He had to be still, he had to be good.

A warm, massive hand settled at the nape of Rien’s neck. Rien’s eyes burned with tears, for some reason. His jaw trembled. He stiffed, prepared for the pain, but—

“You’re gonna love it,” Ermano murmured. Calloused fingers rubbed soothing circles into Rien’s neck, stroking over the soft baby hairs. “We tracked down near every blanket in the castle, kid, each fluffier than the last. And you’re right across from my room too, ain’t no one gettin’ close to ya.”

Rorey smirked, playfully bumping his shoulder against his brother’s arm. “What’s this?” He teased. “Ermano’s going soft.”

“Shut,” Ermanao growled, shooting a glare his brother’s way. Rien drew in a choking gasp, eyes wide. The tone sent chills racing up his skin. He squeezed shut his eyes, trying to force himself to stay still, to be good—

But Rorey laughed. He nudged Ermano in the side with a cheeky, nearly boyish grin, squawking when the older mercilessly ruffled his hair.

“Boys,” Elwyn lightly scolded. He caught Rien’s eye, shaking his head fondly.

Confusion bubbled, mingling with the terror gripping Rien’s heart. He didn’t understand. Nauvu had told him that the Ravens were mad — lost in a crazed haze of blood to claim the throne. All of this friendliness and love didn’t make sense. His head hurt.

Rien wanted Nauvu. He wanted his father to tuck him into his lap and run his boney fingers through his hair. The poor boy missed the man’s cruelty. He flinched when he recalled those harsh beatings but it was so, so much better than whatever game the Ravens were playing. It was confusing and made his brain feel like melted mush.

He wanted to believe in their adoring touches and sweet words. He wanted it so badly that it hurt. But he knew it was a trick. He didn’t deserve it. Who could even think of loving a boy who had killed his own mother?

The thought didn’t calm his raging sea of dread. He knew he should be locked away to rot, he did, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. He shivered at the thought of being in that terrible, eternal darkness. Tears sprang in his eyes.

Finally, finally, after what seemed to be dragging hours, Ermano rolled him to a gentle stop. Before him was a polished door with shining white facades. Flowers of shimmering gold twinned up the sides to form a peaceful garden of yellow roses growing up the paint. Rorey and Elwyn were both grinning in excitement.

It was a beautiful, domestic scene.

But at the same time it was twisted and sick.

Rien stared, wide eyed and frozen. Elwyn turned the handle and Rien flinched, cowering as he gazed fearful at his prison.

But there were no chains, no cold stone walls, no barred windows. Instead, the space was open and bright, with a huge bed engulfed in a nest of the softest blankets. Paints and toys were stacked neatly in the corner, sunlight pouring in from the windows. The walls were a gentle periwinkle, fitted with yellow drapes and fluffy rugs.

Rien could only choke in shock, puzzlement squeezing the air from his lungs.

It was— it wasn’t—

Rien’s breath hitched, and it hurt to breathe. He couldn’t even form the words to express how confused he was. The poor boy’s mind couldn’t wrap around this— this blessing, as messed up this was. He could barely even hear his family’s mutters of concern. The hairs along his arms standing as goosebumps crawled down his skin.

“I—“ He gasped, a whimper spilling from his lips. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t—

“Shh,” Elwyn crooned softly. A warm, gentle hand cupped his cheek. A thumb stroked over his temple. “You’re okay, sweetie.”

Rien whimpered. The touch was grounding, tethering him as the world dreamily tried to float away. Blue eyes danced with panicked uncertainty. This didn’t make sense. Where was the cell? It didn’t— he couldn’t—

“Sunshine?” Rorey murmured, gentle hands fluttering to worriedly grip the boy’s cold fingers. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

And those sweet, concerned words were enough to send the boy shattering.

Rien burst into tears, sobs hitching free. His little body shuddered from the force of his cries, salty tears streaming down his cheeks as he gasped for breath. Heat rushed to his cheeks. He cowered back, ashamed. He shouldn’t be crying. He was being nothing but an ungrateful, worthless brat. Thankfulness swelled in dizzying waves. He should be kneeling, he should be pouring out his thanks to The King instead of hiccuping blubbering cries.

“Tha-thank you, your Majesty,” Rien gasped out. He wheezed, curling in on himself. His lungs won’t work. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe--. “I—“

“Shhh, shhh,” A warm, gentle voice cooed. “Hush now, none of that, everything’s all right.”

The boy’s lashes timidly fluttered open. And then the King—

The King!

He knelt down on his knees in front of Rien. Rien choked on air, heart pounding as the King himself dirtied his robes and crouched before him. His hands were gentle on his son’s shoulders, misty eyes so unfathomably warm that it made tears well up in Rien’s own.

His lungs wailed. Shame crept in the back of his throat, and guilt forced him to open his mouth and draw a breath. How selfish of him to refuse air when some people were struggling to laugh or still breathing in smog.

“Come on,” The King crooned, easing the boy from his prettified state. “You’re okay.” His arms gently came to wrap around the blonde, pulling the child into his lap, and his hands ran through Rien’s fluffy curls. For a second, Rien was tense, frozen, but then he collapsed against Elwyn’s chest— his father’s chest and sobbed like a newborn babe.

He wasn’t shoved away. He wasn’t crudely smacked or harshly shouted at. Instead, Elwyn held him close and murmured gentle nothingness into his hair. Ermano’s hand and rubbed soothing circles to his back and Rorey’s honey-sweet voice shushed his cries. Rien wailed and hiccuped, clinging to his father’s shirt.

“It’s all right,” Elwyn promised again and again, “I know, I know.. It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

Rien sniffled, fumbling to wipe his tears. “Please,” He begged desperately, voice wobbling and wet. “I-I don’t— I didn’t—“ He gasped, shuddering. “I’ll be— I be good. I p-pro-promise. Jus’ don’—“

“Shhh,” Ermano murmured, clasping the boy’s shoulder. “You’re okay, kiddo.”

Rien shuddered. He shoved in nose into the crook of Elwyn’s neck with a soft whine.

Rorey’s fingers stroked through Rien’s hair. “What is it, sweetheart?” He asked, voice tight as it always is when he’s worried. “Is it the room? Do you not like it, darling?”

Rien jerked back, shaking his head frantically.

“I’m sorry,” He hicced, voice a hushed rasp of defeat. “I—I love it, sir. Th-than’ you, thank you. I know I don’t—“ He hiccuped. “Don’ ‘serve it.”

The silence that wafted the air was heavy and rigid.

“What?” Elwyn breathed, a rare, fuming rage seething his words. “You what?”

A hand caressed his cheek and Rien flinched away with a strangled cry. But his father gently lifted his head, soft gray eyes pouring into jewels of baby blue. “Darling,” Elwyn whispered, swallowing thickly. “You…”

The soft fuzziness of the world was sharply gone, and everything suddenly seemed to be pressing in on Rien, sounds, smells, the feeling of the gown on his skin, the weight of the their eyes. “I’m sorry, sir,” He croaked, lip wobbling. “I like it. I do, I do! I s-swe’r—“

“Oh, no, no, no,” Horror ablazed in Rorey’s emerald eyes. He pressed a kiss to Rien’s forehead, shaking his head. “Oh, little one, you don’t have to apologize.”

Rien whined. Tears blurred his vision. “B-But—“

“Shhh,” Ermano murmured, tucking back a stray sunflower curl, his auburn locks tickling Rien’s neck as he sat his scratchy jaw on his head. “No buts. You’re a kid, you’ve none nothing to not deserve these things.”

Rien was too scared to admit that he didn’t believe them.

But maybe, that would change.

Chapter Text

The tabby cat’s fur grazed softly under Rien’s fingertips, sleek and somewhat dry, glistening like the ripest peach in the flickering candle light. A cool draft breezed from the thrown open window, rippling through the silk drapes. Towering shelves of rich wood stretched up towards the vaulted ceiling. Gilded ladders lean against the shelves, their wooden rungs polished to a sheen from years of use. The library smelled earthy and fresh. A combination of grassy notes with a tang of vanilla from parchment swam over an underlying mustiness. It was heavy, grounding; easing away at the boy’s stress.

A pitching purr rumbled from the cat’s chest. With a flick of her tail she rubbed along Rien’s leg, fur tickling the boy’s skin. Rien ran a gentle hand between her ears. He pressed against the back of his wheelchair, curling up as the cat settled herself in her lap, favoring his entired leg. He watched her thrill and lazily lick her paw with weary blue eyes. The silence swam in his ears, its nothingness deafening, letting his roaring thoughts freely rush.

The numbness that had gripped him captive slowly began to melt away in trickling seeps. It left his fractured heaps of jumbled emotions sagging limply in his head.

The last few days had left him a raw, exhausted mess. Everything was so new and different that the boy found it uneasy. Without the heavy medication pumping through his veins to block out the throbbing of his stumped leg, his mind was stripped of the blissful haze the drugs had to offer. Yet it still left him floating in a thick haze of confusion. But this one wasn’t muddling nor soft. It was painful and made his head pound, brought burning tears of frustration to sting his eyes.

Rien sucked in a shuddery sigh, burying his face into his knees.

He had done everything to please the Ravens. They had saved him from rotting in that cell, the least he could do was unconditionally obey. He wanted to believe that he was doing this to dutifully please his new owners. But he was selfish. Instead, he was scared of their patiences running out. He didn’t want to ruin their kind touches and soft words. The chilling thought made his breath hitch on a sob.

So he had been good. He did what they told him to do. He ate when they told him, shoveling down hot food so wonderful that it brought tears to his eyes. Even if he regretted it as his stomach lurched, barely touching his plate before he was so full. He would ignore the squirming of his gut, hoping to satisfy the Ravens. But he would simply be given a sorrowful, long look in return before worried hands were fluttering over him. And, worst of all, he could only cower as anger glinted in their eyes.

Rien could hear them out his door late at night, too afraid to sleep, as he huddled under his sheets with his heart racing. They would speak in hushed, wild voices. Rorey would gesture wildly with his hands and Ermano’s mutters would rumble into a near-snarl. Even Elwyn’s puzzling calmness would waver.

Rien didn’t know what he was doing wrong.

He wanted to be good. He wanted to make them happy. Rien was desperate to cool the Ravens’ fury. Rien had never been dicrcted with their naked, fuming wraith, and it made him shake. Rien was their’s. He would do anything to make them look at him with all but rage swimming in their eyes.

He could be good. It hurt some buried, rebellious part of him to sit still and quiet like some twisted pet, but he would do anything for them. He would sleep soundlessly on the floor, hoping to see even a spark of pride in their eyes. But they would just kneel and gently croon until Rien climbed into bed with tears clinging to his lashes.

Rien could barely eat, the nausea far too dizzying to push through, and every time he warily refused food he would get a flash of utter disappointment in return. The same would happen when Rien would risk to shakily speak up. Yet, they never hurt him. Not even a harsh slap nor an unkind word. They handled him with such care that it made him want to scream. Why didn’t they hit him? Did they not want him? Did they simply decide that such a pest wasn’t worth the effort and cut off the strings of any existing care?

Everything he was doing was wrong. It kept building higher and higher, like a wobbling tower teetering in the clouds. Every little mistakes was threatening to send Rien to tears. He was like a frayed rope. Weakened and tired, a second away from snapping. He just wanted to be good.

In the lates hours of the night, Rien would sometimes catch himself wishing to be back in that cell. It was cramped and dark but it was familiar. Nauvu loved him. He taught him how to be good and corrected him when he messed up. The rules were confusing but were there to keep him safe.

Don’t speak unless spoken to.

Don’t argue.

And, above all, listen.

Even you can’t mess these up, Nauvu would sneer.

But Rien still did. He still messed up, even if he tried so hard.

The punishments would vary. From the sharp tip of a knife piercing his side to standing until he dizzily swayed. Apologizing over and over until his throat stuttered uselessly. Hunger clawing from the inside out.

The marks from Nauvu’s lessons still lingered, even years later. Silver scars littered Rien’s back, ribs sickly jutting. Those awful memories of agony still sent him jolting awake at night with hoarse screams. But— but some part of him missed it. He missed crawling into Nauvu’s lap and letting his father stroke through his hair. Missed those rottenly sweet words hot on his neck. At least Nauvu loved him. He corrected Rien’s mistakes. He cared.

Even if Nauvu’s voice sent him cowering in fear. Even if those cold hands gripped him harshly. That was love! Not whatever puzzling mess the Ravens had thrusted at him.

Rien wondered if it would be easier if they just ignored him. He would try to shrink back into his room, but his attempts were always met with worried glances and soft coos. That, and his exile would end every evening when they would invite him to dinner. And lunch. And breakfast. Every day.

It was strange. No one ever shouted at Rien for eating too much, never scolded him for being such a waste of space. They were quiet, yet never tense. There were no glares, no hurtful words, no stoney silences. Instead Rorey and Ermano would playful banter. Elwyn would laugh and shake his head. They would always ask Rien if he wanted more. He did his best to stay silent and unworthy of notice, but all of them seemed determined to notice him regardless.

It was just all so tiring. Tiptoeing around them, forcing himself to be docile but getting only disappointment in return. They refused to hit him. They refused to love him. Rien yanked on his curls with a weak cry. What was he doing wrong? Why didn’t they want to stay? Maybe he wasn’t enough. Maybe Nauvu was right, he was the only one who could ever love him.

…But a selfish, dark part of Rien didn’t care. Not really. He ignored Nauvu’s true, cutting words. He just— he wanted them. He wanted Elwyn- he wanted Ermano and Rorey— he wanted—

He just wanted his family.

Even if they didn’t want him.

The sickening truth blanketed him as heavy as the silence did. Nothing and no one. Alone. As he always was.

A door was suddenly shut with a creak, the sound jarring in the silence. Rien flinched, clutching the purring cat to his chest as his thundering heart leapt to his throat. Unease swam in his gut. He glanced up fearfully, shoulders hunched to his ears.

Rorey hovered between the shelves, seemingly nervous as he fiddled a bit with his hands. He beamed brightly at Rien. But it wasn’t the cunning grin the boy expected, no cruelty twisting the corners of his lips. It was so odd — kind, nearly disarming the terror gripping Rien’s heart.

“Hello,” Rorey greeted softly. “I was hoping to run into you here.”

He easily strolled closer, hands splayed placidly and movements slowed, as if approaching a cowering animal. Fingers brushed across the leather covers of countless books, emerald eyes settled on Rien with swirling secrets locked inside. Yet they held no baleful malice. Only a strange emotion that Rien couldn’t quite place. He settled into one of the plush chairs, folding his hands over his knees, worried gaze never wavering from Rien.

Rien shrank back, clutching the tabby cat to his chest with a shudder. He swallowed drily. “Hi,” He rasped.

A brief spasm tested Rorey’s shoulders. His smile faltered, fingers wringing. Tinges of sadness muddled the sparks in his eyes, but stripped from any trace of anger. It made no sense.

“I see why you like it here,” Rorey hummed, motioning around the towers of books as if to prove his point. “It’s lovely.”

Rien ducked his head, ignoring the burning tightness twisting his lungs. “Yes,” He agreed quietly. “I-It is.”

Rorey softened, brow creasing as he leaned closer. His hand brushed the boy’s shoulder — light and hesitant. It burned. Rien flinched back, teeth sinking to his bottom lip to hold back a cry. Blood rushed in his ears. Bile gathered in his throat. But the touch remained gentle, grip only tender as it rested over Rien’s back. It was nothing like Nauvu’s touch, harsh and demanding.

“You doing okay?” Rorey asked softly.

“I—“ Rien choked on his weak stammer, pulse rocketing. “Yes, sir. I’m well.” He answered hollowly.

The Prince smiled at him sadly, lips pursed. “Aw, darling,” He murmured. His voice was so gentle, but his words sent a thrill of utter terror stabbing Rien’s heart. “It’s okay, you don’t have to lie, sweetie.”

A wordless whine squeezed Rien’s throat, breath hitching on a shuddering sob. “I-I would never lie to you, your Highness,” He gasped out. “I— I—“

His eyes burned, world blurry with brimming tears. Wheezes heaved from his lungs. Tremors choked his breathless words and every inch of his body. Dizziness spun his head in sickening loops of churning nausea. He squeezed the squirming cat close to his stuttering chest, heart racing in his ribs like a thrashing bird. With a strangled hiss the cat scrambled away, swiping at his arm before scurrying off.

Gentle hands soothed through his curls, stroking away the boy’s trail of tears. “Shh, shh,” Rorey cooed. “You’re okay.”

Rien swallowed, throat bobbing as he ducked his head. “Sorry…”

Rorey offered the boy a warm smile. “It’s quite all right.”

Staring at his lap, Rien kept his head firmly bowed, nails digging into his palms. “O-Okay,” He whispered, throat bobbing.

A rather awkward silence settled over the room — stuffy and uncomfortable. Rien squirmed a bit, clutching the arms of his wheelchair with a shaky inhale. His nerves curled restlessly, head a rush of pulsing fear, gut churning. His wary gaze flittered to flick anxiously over at his brother, shoulders arching protectively to his shoulders; as if his pathetic little shell would be strong enough to protect him.

He didn’t know what sent his heart fluttering in terror like a timid rabbit. Unease swam in his stomach. It was just— they were all so calm. The Ravens patience seemed to be unending, running off of no conditions and infinite time. But Rien wasn’t naive. He knew everyone was a ticking fuse waiting to blow. Especially around him. It was only a matter of time before they realized how he wasn’t worth their kindness. Before they, like everyone, sped out of borrowed time and lashed out.

When was the inevitable going to happen? Each day delayed it longer.

He knew he was selfish. It was greedy and bad but he couldn’t bare the thought of losing their soft, never ending love.

When had his hopes dared to spike that far?

“I don’t bite,” Rorey laughed gently, fracturing the tense silence. Then, face stripped of any frivolousness, his sparkling eyes hardened with grim sobriety, he leaned down to meet Rien’s wide and weary gaze. “I’m not gonna hurt you, kiddo,” He murmured; a soft promise that Rien didn’t dare believe.

Rien flinched, fingers clutching his arms. His throat was too tight to speak and his eyes were stinging with tears all over again as he stared at his lap. “Sorry—“

“No, no,” Rorey cut in, shaking his head. “Don’t be please, I—“

He sucked in a sigh, rubbing at his temples as if to chase away a fiercely building pressure. Now that Rien summoned the recreant courage to risk a glance at the man’s chin, he could peer past the diminutive holes poking through his stiffly righted mask. The Prince looked awful. He was stripped his signature jacket, the bags under his eyes are like smears of coal, his hair was an absolute mess. Like he had run his hand through it over and over again, his lips were dry and cracked, face a bit pale and exhaustion slumping his shoulders.

He smiled shakily, and Rien nearly missed the way those verdant eyes watery gleamed.

Rorey cleared his throat thickly. “I’ve been trying to learn to play the harp,” He said with forced cheerfulness. “You can listen to me practice, if you want.”

Quickly, Rien nodded, knowing far better than to refuse. He ignored the spiriting excitement at the thought of hearing his older brother’s wonderful music. But he quickly squashed down those perilous hopes. Surely this was a trick. Why would Rorey bother to — willingly! — offer Rien something so precious. Dread dropped his stomach.

But Rorey wasn’t smirking, there wasn’t that cruel glint in his eye that had gleamed in Nauvu’s thin pupils whenever he would play a trick Rien had no choice but to stumble into. He looked frantic, desperate, nearly crazed. It was alarming.

A radiant beam of pure relief flashed across Rorey’s face. “Okay!” He chirped. “I’ll go get it so you don’t have to move, yeah?” With a shaky smile, he rose to his feet and swifted to the door, and, as if frantic to be freed from the space, swung into the hallway with the slam of the door.

Rien stared at the door as the beautiful grandfather clock ticked on, brow furrowed. Confusion laced him, head beginning to throb in tune to the continuous clicking of clock hands. His mind was like a crippled staggering in a sprint; struggling profoundly to keep up.

Music.

The word was dead on his tongue. It triggered nothing but a sense of tangy bittersweetness of past memories that were foggy. Music was a bliss he had been deprived of for ages as he sat in damp darkness of that cramped cell. He could recall all too clearly that, more than once, Nauvu would cut off the tongue of minstrel whose last song had been too loud.

Vaguely, a few dim memories resurfaced. He could recall peaceful moments of his head laid in Rorey’s lap, humming along under his breath as his brother plucked the strings of his ukulele to sing a trail of dainty notes. It sounded sweet — like gentle laughter — lulling him to slumber as his eyes had sagged shut.

But they were distant. Far away and just grazing his fingertips.

A pang of sadness wrenched Rien’s heart. Stupidly, he felt tears well in his eyes. He lifted his fist to his mouth and bit down hard on his knuckles until dull pain bloomed. An iron band was clamped around his lungs — squeezing — like the noose of a hanging rope. His wheezing breath caught in his throat, aching and sore.

But strangely, he just felt…numb.

He was drained, crumpled by those countless days spent in the dark. Stripped of the energy to be angry and just exhausted.

Was it worth it to burn with resentment for those last years? Was frustration worth the crushing weight that burdened his shoulders?

He…he didn’t know anymore.

Hinges creaked, the doorknob rattling. Rien glanced up as Rorey swung back through the grand doors, a bit breathless and curls askew. Righting his wiry glasses he shot Rien a brief grin. Rien shrank back as the man sank back into his wingback chair, settling the instrument tuck in his arms carefully on his knee.

Cautiously, Rien peered closer. The harp glittered in the golden rays of sunshine. Its rich wood was adorned with lovely painted flowers of bright colors. The strings shimmered like drips of honey, finely tuned.

“Dad got it for me a few years back,” Rorey hummed, running a finger across the arch of the harp. “Back when…”

His eyes flickered to Rien, teeth sinking into his lip. Rien shrank under the intense gaze, unease squirming in his gut, unable to place the strange sorrow that swam in the man’s pinning gaze.

Rorey cleared his throat, knuckles clenched until they were strained and white. “I uh, figured that if I could play the ukulele, I might as well be able to play the harp,” He forced a haggard laugh. “Anyways, here’s just a little tune.”

And then he played.

Not well — or at least, not how his fingers could gracefully dance over the strings of the ukulele. Instead they stumbled, grip off so it was poorly balanced on his lap. But he still plucked them to play a lively tune. The harmonies interwove like a tapestry through the great space, creating a rich fabric of sound.

Maybe it was because Rorey simply wasn’t excellent, or just the pure unfamiliarity of music, but the boy found himself staring. For split second the iron band of stress squeezing him unsnared. Baby blue eyes sparkled in awe. He found himself daring to scoot closer, hugging his knee, timidly peeking out from his arms.

Spiting the stumbling of Rorey’s playing, Rien politely clapped in applaud.

“You’re really good,” He murmured shyly, peering up at Rorey with a timid hunch of his shoulders. “S’pretty.”

Rorey beamed, a boyish sort of grin, filled with innocent joy, not a carefully calculated mask. He placed the harp carefully at his feet, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s fluffy hair. “Aw, thank you, sunshine,” He crooned. Laughing warmly, he shook his head. “But it’s okay. I’m dreadful,” A soft smile eased his lips. “You can say so, darling. I’m still learning.”

Heart thudding flittingly in his chest, Rien’s breath catch in his lungs. He paled, gut rolling.

“No!” He cried out raspy, feverishly shaking his head. “No— I— y-you don’t—“

Gods, this was it. The trick — waiting for him as always. The cruel end to their trickling kindness. He shouldn’t have dared to hope, and now he was trapped helplessly under Rorey’s cruelty. No escapes. No witnesses. The loving touches, the sweet words, they halted here — merely serving as a bait to lure the boy in. Rien curled back jerkily, breath hitching, breathe quickening as if he had been stumbling along in a race.

“Hey,” Rorey cleared his throat. Rien’s gaze snapped to him with a choking gasp. He watched as Rorey’s innocent mask fell, just to be replaced with another. His brow furrowed, lips pursed, emerald eyes sparkling with duplicitous concern. “Darling? Rien, what’s the matter?”

“Y-You play great, your Majesty,” Rien sucked in a shaky breath, a band of iron squeezing his lungs, fingers clutching the fabric of his pants. His voice rattled with wheezing tremors; shaking — every inch of him was shaking, so violently that his teeth were nearly chattering. A lump wedged tightly in his throat. His heart fluttered wildly, thrashing in his ribs like a caged bird.

A frown thinned Rorey’s lips. Worry troubled his face, clearly noticing the boy’s unsteady heaves. He leaned forward, reaching for Rien.

A whimper crawled from Rien’s throat, fear hammering his gut. He flinched back with a strangled cry, pressing against the chair, chest heaving as his eyes stung with tears. His pulse rushed in his ears. A sob ripped at his tongue. He stared up at Rorey with pleading eyes, chills riddling his spine, before shoving his face into his hands with a hiccup. It was cowardly, It was foolish and selfish but he couldn’t look— he couldn’t— he- he can’t— he can’t—

Horror dawned on Rorey’s face. “Baby,” He breathed, eyes glistening wetly, a hand coming to clamp over his mouth. “Oh, baby It’s okay,” He whispered frantically. “Shh. Breathe, just breathe—“

Rien dragged in a rough gasp, hot tears trickling down his temples. The world blurred, swimming before him in fuzzy blobs of color, breaths rattling from his burning lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut; braced for the pain. His gut lurched. He didn’t want to face whatever Rorey planned, so carefully set in place, the thought sent dread dropping his stomach. Would it be horrible humiliation or facing down his brother’s fists? Both? Surely, after all this time, he had countless mistakes to pay for—

Hands grasped Rien’s shoulders.

With a cry Rien jerked back. He desperately shoved away Rorey’s hands, movements fumbling, frantic— he couldn’t breathe. Air caught in his throat. Choked begs wheezed from his lungs. He thrashed and bucked like a spooked horse. Raspy screams tore free. No. No, no, no, no!

“Pl—Please,” He sobbed. Words tumbled free in a frantic flood. He shook his head, eyes slammed shut. “I— please—

As if burned, Rorey quickly drew his hands back. “Rien—“

It was foolish, it was stupid, but Rien couldn’t catch his tongue in time. “G-Get out,” He gasped, clamping his hands over his ears. “I— please,” A shattered sob wrenched from his chest, jolting and painful, sending him gasping for breath. “Please, please—“

“O-Okay,” Rorey scrambled to his feet, conflict flashing across his face. “I- I’m sorry.”

Rien didn’t dare breathe as Rorey’s hurried footsteps clacked, lips pressed tight to stifle the cries that bubbled in his chest. He flinched as the door swung shut. He waited— waited, waited and waited. The silence was suffocating, shoving at all sides, the clock’s ticking looped round his head until he felt sick. The sorrow pounding his heart begged him to cry — to wail and to weep — but the tears refused to come.

All that was left was a hollow, empty shell and the cold pit that swallowed his stomach. He wondered if the heart between his ribs was still there. He could feel it racing, but it was numb — meaningless and dead. Far too wilted for such a young, innocent boy. A boy who was broken. A shattered, pyrrhic mess.

Rien shoved his face into his knees and dryly sniffled. A single tear dripped from his eye, hands clutching his shirt as he sobbed. His lungs burned a raging inferno with every attempted breath, slowly suffocating himself as he curled up into a miserable ball.

Elwyn hovered hesitantly outside of the library door, knuckles raised over the wood to rap a knock.

He stared at the designs carved into the old wood by an expert hand, patterns of flowers and markings of stars weaved to form a lovely tapestry of beauty. Stained glass windows glittered countless colors in the newly risen sunlight. Shimmering refections danced in a dazzling display, vivid colors splaying his fingers deep blues and rich reds.

A pang twisted Elwyn’s heart as he imagined what he would find if he were to crack open the ancient doors.

Rorey had thrown himself into the man’s office last night, breathless and nearly in tears as he had spilled out fumbling words. After sitting his son down and tucking him close to his side, Elwyn had managed to coax the story, ever-growing worry gnawing at him. From the bits he had managed to gather, the pieces were somewhat clicked into place.

Rien had been awfully spooked. Thrusted into a blind panic. Elwyn had been caught in a conflicting battle — unable to decide whether or not to throw open the library doors and scoop his son up or to leave him and not risk making things worse. But Ermano — strong, steady Ermano — had gripped his hand and proposed to station loyally at the door through the night.

And he had, as Elwyn stared up at the ceiling in cold sweat instead of sleeping.

Now, hours later, Elwyn stood hovering — hesitating. Dread churned his stomach. Fear riddled his spine. He was terrified — coward — to open these damned doors and see the mess that had become of his son. His heavy hearted wrenched. Rien…his boy, oh, his boy. Elwyn swallowed thickly, clenched fist coming to rest warily, allowing his head a brief moment to sag.

You’d think it’d get easier after all the years. Elwyn chuckled dryly with irony.

He, at least, had hoped it would become easier to deal with this crumpling mess he made.

Clenching his teeth, he fumbling for the doorknob and gently pushed with the creaking of hinges.

He glanced around the library, gaze swooping across the towering shelves and scattered piles of books. The earthy scent of old leather wafted the air, undertoned with a hint of villain from fresh parchment. A draft breezed from an open window, the silk drapes fluttering, candles sent flickering. Golden beams of sunlight poured freely, sending the stained windows glittering their lovely hues.

“Rien?” Elwyn called softly, slipping through the doors. He chewed anxiously on his lip. There was no sigh of life — no sign of his son. Tentatively, he treaded deeper into the room, eyes dancing to sweep the space.

Elwyn rigidly clasped his hands, trying to cease their trembling. “Rorey said you were pretty upset,” He murmured softly, rounding a corner. “Are you…”

His words trailed off into a soft hitch, misty eyes staring at the sight before him in horror. Rien lied limply, miserably curled up, limps splayed as if he had taken a sharp tumble. He was utterly still, safe for the rattling of his chest, eyes staring up at Elwyn. He lulled at the feet of his wheelchair, which was angered awkwardly as if shoved by wight. His gaze was glassy, unfocused, settled on some spot pasted his father’s shoulder and seeing right past his face. Dried tear tracks streaked his cheeks. Eyes rimmed red and curls knotted in tangles. Shivers wracked him, but helpless to the harsh wind. A tiny, strained whine crawled from Rien’s throat. Thin, raspy, fearful. Elwyn wanted to vomit.

Elwyn gasped. He rushed to his boy — tearing past the shelves and shoving away books. Reaching Rien’s side, he fell to his knees, heart pounding with worry.

“Oh, darling,” He breathed. Gently — oh, oh so gently — he reached to cup his son’s face, hands wracking with tremors. His heart clenched at the fearful whimper that pried from Rien’s lips. Elwyn fought back tears of his own, dragging in a shuddering inhale. He desperately clutched his son, soothing back his hair and shushing him.

Shoving back ruthlessly hammers of self-loathing, Elwyn grasped Rien’s arm with a shaky smile and eased him upright. Those cloudy blue eyes watched him warily. His breath stuttered at Elwyn’s touch, flinching away as soon as he could sit. Fingers gripping the fabric of his pants, the boy remained quiet, shoulders hunched, but his dry lips lulled uselessly. As if the words choked on his tongue and floated away.

Elwyn clutched his sleeve, guilt twisted his gut. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” He whispered. As if his sweet words could somehow take back his failure.

He longed to scoop Rien into his lap. To hover worriedly and check for any sign of injury, pressing kisses to his son’s cheeks to chase away those tears. To cradle Rien safely in his arms and brood until he sparked annoyance. But he restrained himself. This wasn’t a problem he could simply solve with a quick kiss and band aid. Nauvu had Rien’s head dark and twisted — this conflict burrowed deep, its roots tangled and sickening. Elwyn would only make it worse. Rien’s whine of fear served as a cold reminder.

But he slowly unfolded a handkerchief from his pocket, smiling as warmly as he could before beginning to dry his son’s tears away. He lightly traded Rien’s cheekbone, stroking his cheeks clean. “There you go, love,” He murmured. He dragged a wary hand down his face, signing. “Fate, I’m so sorry,” Lips pressed thin, he casted a worried to the swaying hand Rien kept at his side. He hummed sadly. “What must have hurt, huh?”

Rien’s shoulders just slumped in a weak shrug. His bleary gaze floated, staring blankly at his hands with a heavy blink.

Elwyn chewed on the inside of his cheeks. “Hey,” He called quietly. Carefully, he reached out. Dipping a hand he cupped Rien’s face, lifting the boy’s gaze to pour into his own dove eyes. Elwyn pressed a lingering kiss to Rien’s forehead, before pulling back with a soft hum.

“Hi,” He crooned, a warm smile easing his lips. “Are you hearing me, precious?”

Rien nodded weakly, eyes falling to gaze at his lap.

“Yeah?” Elwyn stroked a finger through Rien’s curls, frowning gingerly. “You seem a little out of it. I bet you’re tired?”

A sniffle hitched Rien’s breath. Elwyn shushed him gently. He wrapped his arms around Rien and cradled him close, resting his jaw on his head and beginning to rock from side to side. He brushed a stray curl from Rien’s forehead, lovingly caressing his cheek. The boy leaned desperately into the touch. Elwyn let him sag, arm coming to squeeze his shoulders, watching as Rien’s lashes drooped.

“Why don’t we get you something to eat, okay?” He suggested softly. “I bet you’re hungry.”

He pressed a kiss to Rien’s temple. “Let’s get some food into you, darling.”

Moments later, a steaming mug sat warm in Elwyn’s grasp, chasing away night’s lingering chill. Its heavenly smell drifted to his nose. It was sugary sweet. Smelled of icy days, swirled with sugar and topped with a sprinkle of cinnamon. He smiled warmly as he approached the boy huddled on the couch, blankets snugged around his shoulders, little hands drawing them close. Rien stared blearily at the blazing hearth, the flickering flames of the fireplace danced in fiery swirls of vivid color.

But those baby blue eyes were blank. Murky. Muddled as if swimming with clouds. Sickeningly, they held no emotion. Simply hollow pools that reflected the leaping flames of the hearth.

And sadly, Elwyn couldn’t stop the dear relief that calmed his spiking nerves.

At least it was better than that defeated fear that paled the boy’s face.

Elwyn handed Rien the steaming mug with a warm smile. Rien held it close, timidly gazing at the chocolate goodness with wonder.

“There you go, baby,” Elwyn cooed, pressing a hand to the blonde’s clammy cheek. Tsk-ing at the icy sweat, he settled beside the boy with the rustling of robes and pulled him close, adjusting the blankets to swaddle him in a wooly cocoon. “Drink up, okay?” He placed a kiss to those golden curls. “You’re dreadfully cold.”

Quickly nodding, Rien lifted the cup to his lips and gulped down a swallow. He winced, the hot liquid undoubtedly stinging his hoarse throat, face twisting sourly for a moment before he began to drown the cup dry. Elwyn felt hot shame sink in his stomach. Gods, his boy must have been so thirsty as he had lied limply on the floor, tears trickling endlessly down his cheeks. Gently, he coaxed Rien into finishing the mug, lifting the rim to the boy’s lip and unable to cease the worry squeezing his heart.

“There you are,” He hummed softly, dragging his fingertips down Rien’s back. “Is it good?”

Rien nodded. His head slumped to rest against his father’s side, snuggling closer. Cold fingers curled to clutch Elwyn’s shirt. “Mhm,” He mumbled.

Elwyn tucked him close, nuzzling his cheek atop of Rien’s head, secure, gentle, steadying. His hands were soft on Rien’s skin, his thumb rubbing an idle circle over the inside of his son’s elbow. “Are you tired, sweet thing?”

Rien managed a wobbling nod. Weakly, his fingers grasped Elwyn’s sleeve, tugging up his father’s hand to press against his cheek. He leaned into the touch with a soft sigh, eyes sleepily sagging shut. Elwyn huffed a quiet chuckle.

He stroked his thumb over the delicate skin under Rien’s eye, lips tugging into a frown. Gaping bags practically bruised the boy’s cheeks. It was like a miner had taken thier filthy gloves and smeared the grim under Rien’s lashes. Elwyn wondered if the poor boy had gotten any sleep at all.

“I know,” He murmured, twirling a blonde curl between two fingers. “I bet you’re exhausted,” Guilt gripped him. “You can sleep as much as you need, okay?”

With an unintelligible, slurrying hum, Rien burrowed closer. Elwyn chortled. He stroked the boy’s hair, trailing his hand down Rien’s cheek. The pad of his thumb dragged up and down his son’s temple. Easing back a headache’s pounding pressure. Rien shuffled to rest soundly against his father’s chest. His clenched hands relaxed with a soft sigh.

Huffing at the boy’s clumsy antics, Elwyn pulled back briefly to adjust his grasp, but froze with a startled jolt as Rien suddenly clung to him with a cry. The boy desperately flung himself forward. A sob bursted from his lips. Breathless stammers fell dead on Elwyn’s tongue. Before he could clutch his son and worriedly sputter, the sound of shattering glass bled his ears. Quickly turning, he found the discarded mug in pieces on the floor, knocked over by Rien’s elbow.

Elwyn rose to his feet with a sharp breath. “Oh, Fate,” He tutted, muttering a small curse. Kneeling, he carefully swept the sharp fragments from the push cushions, ignoring the panicked fluttering of his heart. “Goodness…”

He turned back to Rien, flicking back his askew tawny locks to once again brush his jaw. Hurriedly he cupped the boy’s face. His hands fluttered from the blonde’s forehead to waist, worriedly hovering, checking every inch of skin for a scratch or scrape. “Are you okay, sweetie?” The man fretted. “Those pieces were awfully sharp—“

“Y-Yes, sir,” Rien choked through wheezing breaths. His thin chest heaved with shuddering breaths. “I-I’m okay.”

Elwyn finally drank in his boy, yet the sight left him sick like old milk. Rien’s arms were wrapped tightly around his middle, fingers squeezing the fabric of his blouse. He was crumpled in on himself, shoulders hunched, looking continuously like he was about to be sick. He looked pale and washed out, lips pinched and his wide eyes were creased at the edges like he was in pain.

Elwyn swallowed roughly. “Oh, good,” He breathed, folding his arms around the blonde. “Glass cuts are nasty,” Pressing his nose to Rien’s curls, he hummed. “I’m sorry about your drink. I can ask the cook to bring you another one—“

He went to stand, soothing out his robes. Suddenly, Rien shot up with a cry. Elwyn yelped. Heart racing, he began to pull away, but froze as Rien desperately clung to him, a gasping sob wrenching from his throat.

“Rien? Darling, what’s the matter?”

Sniffling, Rien miserably shook his head. His gaze fell to his lap, heat flushing his cheeks, shying from Elwyn’s concerned gaze.

Riddled with confusion, Elwyn’s teeth sank into his lip. He pressed a shaky kiss to Rien’s forehead. He ignored the unease that wrenched him. “I need to go ask a servant to clean this up, okay?” A soft smile creased his face. “I’ll be right back.” He eased Rien’s arms from his middle, giving the boy’s shoulder a gentle pat, but—

“No!”

Rien lurched up, throwing himself at the the man as a strangled cry tore from his lips. Elwyn jerked back with a sharp gasp. Shock ripped through his head, mingling with looping confusion. He opened his mouth, eyes flashing with horror, but was slammed into silence as Rien began to sob. Heart-shattering wails tore from his lips. Violent trembles wracked him. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he frantically clutched Elwyn’s lapels, words tumbling out of his mouth with a heaving gasp.

“No! No, please! Please!” He was sobbing, feverishly shaking his head as he choked for breath. “I-I can be good, I swear, I swear—“

A hand came to slap Elwyn’s mouth in horror. “Rien—“

“I-I— please, please! You can— can— I won’t—“ A deep hiccup jolted him, sending him sputtering into a bit of forceful hacks, choking on his own sobs.

“Darling,” Elwyn drew in a shuddering gasp, clutching his son close and burying his face in those blonde curls. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back tears of his own. “Breathe, you have to breathe—!”

Breathless sobs poured free from the shaking boy, Elwyn’s shirt grew damp where Rien pressed against him desperately. “Please,” Rien begged, fingers frantically grappling to grip the back of his father’s robes. “I-I can take it! Pl-please! Y-You can! I-I'll be good, I swear, I swear—“

Voice cracking, he trailed off — too hoarse to speak. But that couldn’t crush the wrenching wails that hitched from his raspy throat. He was panting, his body shaking so hard his teeth numbly chattered. They both were. Sickeningly, Elwyn couldn’t tell where Rien’s trembled ended and his begun. He curled up, nothing but a pitifully small ball in Elwyn’s lap, hysteric wheezes ripping from his lungs.

Suddenly, like a ton weight smashing into Elwyn’s chest, the pieces began to slowly click together.

Elwyn felt dizzy. Hot nausea swirled, bile gathered in his throat. Horror drew a sharp seethe between his teeth.

“Y-You want me to hit you?” He breathed, choked.

Rien sniffled, nodding weakly against Elwyn’s chest even as he shuddered. “Nauvu made it so easy,” He whispered, wiping roughly at his eyes. He shoved his forehead against Elwyn’s collar with a poorly stifled sob. “B-But here it’s so confusing you…you won’t hit me. You don’t want me. I—” A panicked wheeze twisted his lungs. “Please, please j-just do what h-he did. I’ll— You can hi-hit me. But you don’t!” Cracks shattered his frustrated cry like fractures did glass. “Y-you don’t want me, you don’ wanna stay. But Nauvu— he did and—“

He whimpered, strained and thin, squeezing Elwyn tighter as he fought to gulp down shaky breaths.

Anger stabbed Elwyn like dull knives that were awfully rusted, grinding and twisting. His blood boiled. Fire flooded his veins in rolling rivers if roaring flames. Yet icy sadness pierced him like deadly shards of glass. He tightened his hold, pulling Rien tightly to his chest as he clenched his jaw so hard his teeth fiercely ached.

“No,” He all but snarled, rare, sheer fury dripping from his words like venom. “Never. I— Rien…”

Rien flinched, a terrified whine pried form his lips. From where he was crushed against Elwyn, the man could hear the boy’s poor heart lunch into a sprint.

Shuddering, Elwyn couldn’t help but wince. He drew in a tight breath, cradling the back of Rien’s head. “L-Let’s breathe, okay?” The wraith vanished as quickly as it had came, voice strained and weary. He traced a gently hand through Rien’s curls, keeping his touch feather-light. “D’you think you can calm down a bit, baby?”

Clinging to the King, Rien let Elwyn coax him. He listened with sickening obedience. Nothing but pliant and miserable. Nothing like the loud, bright kid he should be.

Finally, Rien was nothing but deadweight in Elwyn’s lap; exhausted. And the man didn’t voice an ounce of complaint. He just kept running his fingers through Rien’s hair — steady and soft as his son sagged against him with wet sniffles.

“Darling?” He murmured softly. Rien’s shoulders hunched, a stray tear leaking down his temple. Elwyn hummed a sad noise.

“Darling, listen to me. Are you listening?” His voice was firm, but endlessly gentle, holding all the care the world had to offer. He dipped his hands down and cupped Rien’s face, lifting those tearful blue eyes to meet soft, steady gray. Those eyes that had once beautifully glittered, that had gazed at Elwyn as if he had hung the stars, now stared at him with nothing but ghostly fear.

“Good, okay,” Sobering, he let loose a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders back. “Listen,” He said sternly. “I-I am never going to hit you. Never,” His voice wavered, hitching on a breath as his eyes stung. “But— but you aren’t leaving ether, okay?”

He pressed their foreheads together, clutching his son’s head as a shattered sob burned his lungs. “I love you, baby,” He whispered. “So much.”

Rien’s lip quivered, a fresh wave of tears rolled down his cheeks. “B-But—“

“No buts,” Elwyn cut in firmly, rubbing soothing circles on Rien’s back. “Whatever wretched words came from that worm’s mouth were false.”

Swallowed thickly, Rien nodded. He shoved closer, as frantic as a dying man, burying his nose in Elwyn’s robes as a new round of sobs shook him. Elwyn sniffled. He wrapped his arms around his precious boy and cradled him close, sniffling.

“Oh, darling…” He breathed, salty tears blurring his vision. His voice was scarce, a mere whisper, yet was as heavy as the crushing agony that burdened his back. “What happened to you?”

Chapter Text

Cool air prickled at Rien’s bare skin, shivers sent skittering down his spine like spiders spinning scrawling webs. His breath hitched, caught in his throat, uncertain and tickling his lungs. Knots of clutching nerves squeezed his stomach. Eyes shut tight, he fisted the fabric of his shirt in bunches, little fingers trembling, a fearful whine sinking heavily on his tongue and threatening to pry free.

He horribly disliked this room. It was cramped — painfully tight, a looming weight pressing on his shoulders. The sharp smell of cleanly chemicals stabbed his nose and clenched his gut. His head swirled. Blood rushed in his ears. Breaths stuttered, thin chest raggedly shuddering.

A gentle hand settled on the side of Rien’s neck. The boy flinched back, jerkily scrambling back with a breathless wheeze.

Rorey instantly recoiled, face set in a grimace of regret. “It’s okay, darling,” He cooed softly. Hands folded harmlessly in his lap, he scooted back with a gentle smile placing his cheeks. Rien stared into those sparkling emerald eyes, fear’s sharp claws wrapped like iron around his throat. His already sickly pale face was washed colorless, lip trembling, eyes beginning to sting.

“Sorry,” He whispered. Shoulders arched, he ducked his head. His curls drooped to brush his temples, shining gold in the harsh light. Mingling fear twisted his insides in a churning tangle.

It was all so much. From the itchy gown his wore to the chilly air that smelled cruelly clean. He sat stiffly, curtains drawn around the cot to provide a glimpse of solace, yet the sounds of the Healing Wing still continuously came to scratch his ears raw. Groans of injured soldiers sent bile up his throat. Stuttering gasps of pain sent his heart racing.

The boy was thankful, of course. The stump severing his leg had been aching madly, keeping him up to miserably stare at the ceiling in the dark hours of the night. Elwyn had grown frantic with worry when Rien had shamefully admitted his pain. Voice shrill and hands fluttering, he had rambled on until Ermano had suggested taking a visit to Ms. Brown. Even now it steadily throbbed.

“Hush,” Ermano rumbled. Biting his lip, Rien flicked his gaze to his eldest brother. He leaned forward, poorly stifling a grunt, massive palm coming to cradle Rien’s quivering hand. His auburn hair was splayed loose from his twisting braid, voice graveled from the early hours of the morning. Stormy eyes were softened fondly. “Yer okay, kid, the healer ain’t gonna kill ya.”

Rorey sputtered, kicking his brother hard in the ankle. “Em,” He hissed furiously.

Idly smoothing back his hair, Ermano arched an eyebrow. “What? Is that untrue?”

Pursing his lips, Rorey tiredly rolled his eyes playfully. “You are fruitless.”

“S’barely daybreak, I feel like that’s justified.”

“Boys,” Elwyn muttered, wearily rubbing at his temples. He shook his head, yet was unable to shake the fond grin that rigorously lifted his failingly stern frown. “Please, I’m nursing a headache.” Huffing, he slapped Ermano’s shoulder — gentle and heatless — and squawked as his son retaliated by ruthlessly ruffling his hair.

“Don’t listen to them,” Elwyn chuckled softly. Smoothing out his robes, he stood, sinking beside Rien with the cot creaking. “Your brothers are quite daft.”

Rien found a giggle tittering from his lips. A smile laced Elwyn’s lips. His father cupped his cheek, misty eyes swimming with worry, thumb stroking the delicate skin under the boy’s chin. “You’re going to do just fine,” He promised. “I’ve known Ms. Brown for thousands of years, and she still remains the best healer I’ve known to this day.”

Rien swallowed. His hands came to cage protectively around his middle, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “M’kay,” He murmured. Slumping, he rested his head against Elwyn’s shoulder, knees curling close as a shiver tingled his back. Elwyn cooed. He wrapped an arm around Rien’s side, tucking him close. Rien clung to his shirt with a soft sigh.

“What’s happened to my little guy, huh?” His father hummed, fingers smoothing through Rien’s fluff of curls. “You’re getting so big.”

Rorey laughed. His slender hands came to cup Rien’s face, pressing a kiss to his forehead and squeezing his cheeks. “And cute, too.”

“Nooo!” Rien giggled, slapping at his brother’s wrists. “I’m not cute,” He stuck his lip out in a pout. “M’a big man.”

“Hm,” Rorey clicked his tongue, a grin quirking his cheeks. “I suppose you’ll have to be both, then.”

Then, like the horrible traitor he was, Rorey smirked evilly and began to mercilessly attack. Rien squeaked as his brother pecked small, brief kisses to his face. Shrieking, Rien blindly smacked at the brunette, breathless with the laughter that bubbled from his chest. With a cackle Rorey ruthlessly ruffled his hair, crooning sweetly as the boy squealed.

A warm chuckle was uttered, and with a rattle the curtain was whisked back. Ms. Brown gazed at the brothers with a fond sigh, straightening her stooping mushroom hat with the jiggling of the rings that dangled from her horns.

“Well,” She tutted gaily. “Who could this be, I wonder?”

Ermano crossed his ankles with a clank of metal, chuckling at the embarrassed heat that had crawled up Rorey’s neck. “I’m afraid it’s only us, madam.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Ms. Brown tsk-ed, hooves clacking on the floor as she whisked the curtain closed with a flurry of her dress. She crouched in front of Rien, smiling kindly, her deep brown eyes glancing the boy over.

Rien shrank under her gaze, prickles of fear racing up his skin in icily stabs. His heart staggeredly stuttered, frozen, blue eyes warily wide with fear. He tightly squeezed Elwyn’s hand.

Sorrow crinkled the elf’s dimples. “It’s quite all right, deary,” She soothed, raising a wrinkled hand to pat Rien’s arm. “I’m just going to make sure you’re healing along nicely— this’ll be nifty and quick.”

The tangy taste of blood bursted across Rien’s tongue as he sank his teeth into his lip. Nervous flutters flew flurriedly in his gut. He sucked in a shaky shudder of breath. Phantom feelings of ghostly hands gripping his arms, leaving dark bruises plastering his skin, haunting him warningly. But a meaningful glance from Ermano — swelling with such rare, deeply piercing reassuring — eased his leeching dread.

“O-Okay,” He breathed, tension creeping back to his shoulders.

Ms. Brown smiled. “All right, then,” She chirped, stooping down and fumbling with her bag. Unclasping the glittering buckle, she dredged through the clutter of paper and books, muttering under her breath. She clicked her tongue, digging out a glass vile that swirled with shimmering pink liquid. It clinked as she thunked it on the table.

Startled, Rien jolted as a flinch jerked his spine. He clung tightly to Elwyn’s hand, shying closer to the crook of his father’s arm. Elwyn shushed him softly. His nails lightly traced along his back, laxing away the tension.

With a flick of one long ear, She gave the boy a gentle smile that creased her warm chocolate eyes. “Let’s get started, why don’t we?” She hummed. Clasping her hands, she bent down to peer kindly into the boy’s baby blue eyes. “Tell me if anything hurts, sweetie.”

Rien swallowed, throat bobbing. “Yes ma’am.”

Smoothing out her dress, the elf leaned in close, eyes narrowed in thought. Her hands came up to cup Rien’s face, lips pursed thin. The pad of her thumb stroked over Rien’s cheeks. Rien shivered, the tender touch sending cold prickles to his cheeks. The lady’s gaze bore deep into his wide eyes, frowning pensively, tipping the boy’s head from side to side.

“Your concussion is healing very nicely, dear,” Ms. Brown chirped, patting the blonde’s cheek. “I’d say you’re coming around right smoothly! I’m just going to check your vitals to make sure you’re all nifty.”

Rien’s brow furrowed. He watched, fixated with curiosity, as the elf placed her wrinkled hands upon Rien’s frail shoulders.

Ms. Brown drew in a deep breath. Her eyes drifted shut, and with a whistling exhale a soft light began to glow from her palms. Threads of light — tinted as green as a canopy of leaves — seeped from her fingers in shimmering rays, curling around Rien’s wrists in strings of glistening magic. A lulling fuzziness seemed to sludge through Rien’s veins.

Exhaustion clung to him, leeching away his energy and leaving him sagging. It churned the sharp pounding in his head, leaving it empty and swimming, warmth settling pleasantly in his stomach. Lashes fluttering, Rien slumped to the side until he could weakly grasp Rorey’s sleeve. He nuzzled close, heavy head thunking to rest on the brother’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Rorey breathed. Slender fingers sank into Rien’s curls, nails scratching gently at his scalp. The older dipped his head, jade eyes swelling with love. “Hell, darling.”

Rien managed a droopy smile, adorable giggles slipping from his lips. “Hi.”

Ms. Brown removed her hands with a hum. She blinked rapidly, rubbing at her temples, yet a small smile tugged her lips. “I say!” She exclaimed cheerfully, righting the tip of her mushroom hat as it slipped. “His blood loss has healed remarkably well! As have his nutrients.” She chuckled. “The cooks have done their job very well.”

“Fate,” Elwyn sighed softly, brushing back a stray tawny lock. “That’s a relief,” Lips pursed, he gently cupped Rien’s cheek, thumb brushing over pale skin. Rien slumped into the tender touch with a mumble, hazily staring up at his father’s kind face through his dragging blinks. Elwyn pressed a kiss to his forehead, twirling a gold curl between his finger. “The poor thing is far too thin.”

“What about his recovery?” Ermano spoke up, standing from his chair that groaned under his weight. “Ya said before that there would be…” Worried dark eyes flicked to Rien. “Complications.”

“Bit too soon to tell right now, I’m afraid,” Ms. Brown murmured. “But time will tell.”

As the warmth leaked from Rien’s chest, a dull pain began to wrenched fiercely at his skull. The harsh lights stabbed at his eyes. Riddling heat crept up his cheeks.

Rien rubbed at his eyes, squinting tiredly as the thick fuzziness vanished as quickly as it had come. His muscles were shaky and limp, arms trembling as he heaved himself upright with a wince, biting back a whimper as his head hammered with hot pain. That empty bliss seeped away like sand pouring between his fingers. He was left raggedly gasping, lungs burning, gut folding in a nauseous loop.

A dry sob hitched from the boy’s throat. The horrible taste of bile was bitter on his tongue.

Rien was immediately hushed, a massive, calloused hand coming to cup the nape of his neck. He desperately leaned closer, little fingers gripped tightly around Ermano’s blouse. His lip quivered as he tried to stifle a wave of salty tears. He slumped against his brother, burying his face in the man’s shirt. The smell kept him grounded, pine and flowers mixing in with a sharp hint of blood. Rough hands ran up his back, his heartbeat a constant, steady thumping over his ear.

“Easy,” Someone muttered, voice rumbling from his broad chest. “I know, kid. That magic messes ya up, huh?”

A hand strokes over his forehead, whose hand? Their skin was warm, and he felt so cold. At least he thought he felt cold, he's shaking, shivering like frigid winter know that just won’t stop.

“Does your head hurt?” The voice asked, dripping with sympathy.

“Is he okay?” Another voice fretted, this one smooth, as if dipped in honey, yet discordant with worry. Hands fluttered around Rien’s frame, before pulling away with a sharp gasp. “Gods, he’s burning up…”

Rien tried to open his eyes but the light blinds him. He cried out and tried to turn away, but moving made his stomach jump again and he gagged. He tasted bile in his mouth, sour and horrible. He sobbed again as the hands catch him by the shoulders and gently sat him up, tilting his face down. One of the hands rubbed the back of his neck in gentle, soothing circles.

“It’s a common side effect,” Someone tsk-ed. Fabric rustled and glasses clinked. “There, he just needs sip of this.”

A cool rim of a bottle was pressed to Rien’s dry lips — urging him to swallow. Obediently, Rien let the liquid flow into his mouth, gulping it down needfully. He coughed at the wretched taste. Sputtering, he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.

The splotches of black pulsing through his vision slowly began to fade. Wobbly blurs of color swam before him. As he swallowed the potion, the feral agony clawing apart his head slowly oozed away. He gasped, slumping with relief as sweat trickled down his brow.

Fingers caught Rien’s chin, tenderly lifting his face. Rien blinked, blearily peeking up at Elwyn, who smiled softly.

“There you are,” He cooed. “Is that better?”

“Yeah,” Rien croaked, managing a shaky nod. “Lots. Thank you.”

Earring jingling, Ms. Brown placed back the empty potion bottle, guiltily chewing her lip. “Sorry about that, sweetie,” She winced. “That Enchantment can be quite nasty.”

“S’okay,” Rien’s lips weakly lifted into a shy smile. “It felt good for a little bit.”

Ms. Brown’s shoulders shook with laughter. “I’m glad.”

Her expression sobered, lips set in a thin line, reaching out to grasp Rien’s frail wrists. She eyed the pale scars that nicked the boy’s knuckles, spreading his little fingers. A shiver raced down Rien’s spine. He recalled that horrible, haunting first night spent in the dark with sickening ease. He could feel hot trickles of blood leaking down his arms. See bruises painted across his hands as he clawed uselessly at the stone walls. Feel pain knock his bones.

“I’m going to see if your wrists are healing right, dear,” Ms. Brown’s voice dragged the boy back to the present. “Can I see?”

Rien swallowed, ducking his head. “Mhm.”

Carefully, the elf peeled back the bandages that wrapped Rien’s wrists. Fabric tore, the smell of herbs drifting through the air, dull pricks of pain shooting along Rien’s arm. She weaved the fabric loose, setting aside the dirt gauze and leaving the raw skin naked.

Rien had seen his wrists very few times after they had been pried free from those iron shackles. And even then it was just brief blips of blurs he caught as a healer changed the dressing. He stared at the newly stripped skin, breathless, something hot sinking in his stomach.

The skin stretching from the joint to forearm was raw and sickly, shockingly pink in contrast to his pale peel, clean yet ripped and rugged. He wanted to gag. Ms. Brown trailed her fingers gently along the wound. And, as she turned his palm, she stammered a breathless gasp at the sight.

As Ms. Brown gently traced her fingers over the wounds, Rien felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes. He was so grateful for her tenderness. It made his heart want to burst. But as she turned his palm over, her gasp of horror sliced through him like a knife.

With creeping shame, Rien knew very well what she was so disgusted about. Lined below his wrists were jagged marks carved into his skin. A thick loop with a cross jutting out. They were perfect, flawless, scarred forever by Nauvu’s careful hand. They were a worthy punishment for Rien’s stubborn disobedience; a reminder of who he always belonged to.

Strangely, they were a comfort. Even as beads of sweat trickled down his palms and blood rushed in his ears. They were steady, stable. And Gods, their grasp was unshakable.

Rien’s family didn’t seem to share his claim.

Elwyn drew in a sharp seethe of breath, rare fury wild blazing in those soft, misty eyes. Raging curses that should make a sailor gawk sputtered from Rorey, whose hands clenched into fists, chest heaving. And Ermano’s burly hand came to curl protectively around Rien’s shoulder, thumb stroking the baby hairs along the boy’s neck, muscles tensing with silent wraith.

“What is that?” Rorey hissed, voice dripping with venom.

Words squeezed Rien’s lungs, head sent swirling, gut lurching dangerously. A shaky breath shocked from his throat. “H-He—“ The boy dug his nails hard into his palms, feeling faint. “He owns me. I-I…It’s a reminder.”

Rien had repeated various madras of those words countless times. In some twisted, dark way, they had dug into his mind like worms. Refusing to unlatch and damningly true. The scars were good! Rien was the one who was bad— he was so broken and dense that he couldn’t even remember who be belonged to. Nauvu had been trying to help him! He was reminding Rien of the rules, just like any good father would do, and the pain that had flooded his veins like acid had served as justice for his dead mother.

Crestfallen, Elwyn’s face pale. “I…” He clamped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, kid…”

Sparks of stubborn defiance bubbled within Rien, fiery and threatening to burst free. Unconsciously, he leaned back. His hand fluttered up to grasp his wrists, covering the exposed brand. “That’s not— It’s not what you think.” He raised his chin, ignoring how his voice wobbled. “He said— it’s to keep me safe.”

“How?” Ermano demanded. Rien flinched at the man’s icy growl. He fearfully glanced up at his brother, curling back as a whimper tickled his throat. Ermano’s lips were curled back in a snarl, causing his scars to stretch, face set in a stoney mask even as his stormy eyes swarmed with murderous malice. Muscles bulged under his skin, working his jaw as he struggling to rein his thundering emotions. His voice was low, all cold fury and ferocity. “How does carving his mark into your skin keep you safe?”

Elwyn placed a calming hand on his eldest’s arm, even if his cheeks were sickly washed of color. “Em…”

Gritting his teeth, Ermano ripped his gaze away, jaw eyes narrowed coldly.

Rien wanted to speak up — wanted to defend his father — but the words caught in his throat. A surge of fear twisted his heart, like a rabbit cowering under the jaws of a wolf. Shivers of terror skittered up his skin. Nervous knotted his stomach. He clenched his jaw, staring at his lap, eyes burning. They were wrong. Nauvu loved him. He was the one who would run his boney hands through the boy’s sunlight-spun hair, who would gently dry his tears and graciously allow him leftover scraps. Even if his words would be spat harshly in anger, blows painful and grip bruising, he would always dress Rien’s wounds and press adoring kisses to his forehead. They only saw the blunts of Nauvu’s love. They knew nothing. They were wrong.

….right?

Rien was cold, an icy chill froze his fingers and addled his racing thoughts. His gut was twisting. Ermano’s words rang in his head like static, jerkily glitching, sharp claws ripping at his brain. It wasn’t sure. It couldn’t be true because if it was—

The boy sucked in a shaky inhale. The frigid hair burned like thick smoke in his lungs. That sentence alone was enough to make him want to gag out bile. Selfishly, he wanted to cry, wanted to let himself wail and crawl into his big brother’s lap.

But it wasn’t true. It wasn’t. Nauvu loved him — Rien knew that for certain. Yet, he couldn’t crush down the doubt that swam in his gut. Shamed heat flushed his neck. Gods, he was so selfish. After everything Nauvu had done for him, after stretching his kindness endlessly, the very last thing he deserved was Rien’s doubt.

Ms. Brown placed her hand on Rien’s arm, a forced smile straining her lips. “I’m just going to rub some cream on your scars,” She explained softly. “Is that okay?”

Rien’s shoulders slumped in a weak shrug. “S’okay,” He croaked.

The ointment was cool against his skin, thick and silky, the watery smell of sharp herbs invaded his nose. He stared blearily as Ms. Brown smeared the cream along his peeled skin. It was sticky and oozing, raising the rain on his neck. Dim spikes of pain stung the raw flesh. A poorly stifled wince pinched his expression.

A large hand swiftly came to clasp his shoulder. Rien flinched, heart jolting, whipping up to stare at Ermano as his chest heaved.

“Shh,” Ermano rumbled, giving the boy’s back a pat. “You’re okay.”

Rien’s head swirled. Confusion hammered hot pressure under his temples. His family was so tense. Each lip lined with anger and eyes piercing. Yet not a hand was raised. Neither of their grips became too tight, nor did their sweet words rise into furious shouts. Even when Rien had snarled in their faces. It was like their wraith breezed past him harmlessly. Yet he was still there. Ermano’s hand was steady at his shoulder, warm and uncharacteristically tender, so stark in contrast to his seething demand mere moments ago.

But strangely, Rien was no longer dreading the halt to their patience. He had sobbed himself dry last night in Elwyn’s arms as the man reassured him of his love. They cared, and they always would.

…But did Nauvu?

Immediately, Rien shoved the thought roughly his head, boiling with self-loathing for even thinking much a dismaying thing. He had messed up, disobeyed, and fought, but Nauvu still loved him. He glued together the boy’s broken, selfish heart. He helped him. He sacrificed everything to steer Rien correctly. To fix him. Every blow plummeted by his fists was a mercy that Rien did not deserve.

Why couldn’t they see that?

“Didn’t you say your knee was hurting, sunshine?” Rorey spoke up, fiddling with the collar of his jacket.

“I—“ Rien gripped the him of his shirt, refusing to meet those bright emerald eyes. “A little,” He admitted quiet. “It’s—It’s fine.”

It wasn’t a horrible lie. Rien would often toss and turn in bed, tears of frustration stinging his eyes, as pain throbbed like dull knives up his leg. It would leave him staring hopelessly at the ceiling as the hours crawling by. But he didn’t want to worry his family with his nagging problems. They were already stressed with the weight of the crown, ears bleeding from the peoples’ complaints. Guilt made him squirm at the thought of adding to their mound of burden.

“Could you look at, just in case?” Elwyn asked Ms. Brown, teeth worriedly sinking into his lip. “It’d relive our worry.”

“Of course.”

Ms. Brown nodded, setting the ointment aside and shifting to inspect Rien’s knee. A shiver clattered the boy’s teeth at the sight. Ms. Brown carefully lifted the hem of Rien's leather pants. The skin was a patchwork of pink and white, the scars stitching across each other in a grotesque pattern. Gods, he would never get used to seeing that wretched stump. It was swaddled carefully in bandages, the snowy fabric layered thickly, bits of peeling skin flaying.

“Have you had any irritation with it, dear? What about…”

Ms. Brown’s voice floated emptily through Rien’s head, pouring through one ear and trickling out the other. He tried to answer as best he could, but words were thick on his tongue, heavy and lulling. Shame clenched him. He couldn’t sake it, it clung to him — suffocating — until his breaths were ragged and vision blurred.

Ms. Brown gently prodded around his knee, thoughtfully tapping her chin. A brilliant beam flashed across her face. “Well!” She cried cheerfully. “I think you’re ready for a prosthetic, deary!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Rorey laughed, smoothing back his curls. He grinned, seizing Rien’s hands and ruffling the boy’s hair. “You’ll be bale to walk again, sunshine!”

“Yes, yes,” Ms Brown nodded. She sternly wagged a finger. “I don’t want him to rush, although,” She added firmly. “It’s a long process. He’ll need much help.”

As the others excitedly chattered, Rien could feel his heart sinking deep into his stomach, mingling with sloshing dread. Humiliation wrenched the air from his lungs. A wheeze tore from dry lips. His thoughts had never crossed the idea of a prosthetic before. He had always figured he could manage with his stump, a worthy, visible price for his stupidity. But this— it was— it—

It was selfish. It was horrible. He wanted to scream. Wanted to yank out tuffs of his hair and let the sobs twisting his tongue burst free.

He was already such a weight to bare — crushing his family’s shoulders with his needs. And now this. Now he was useless, helpless, weak. A stupid cripple who had to beg for help. He had nothing to give in return. They were already doing so much. He couldn’t demand this of them now, too.

Words hitched worthless when the boy tried to refuse. Nothing but a pitiful whimper pried free. His chest was tight, as if strained and tangled, leaving him breathlessly gasping. A voice slithered through his head, oily and sly, such a mimic of Nauvu that it left him sick. Spitting words that slammed into him like a ton weight. Calling him terrible, disgusting things that would leave anyone gawking. But they were true. Without a ghost of doubt.

What would Nauvu say, if he was here? Surely he would scoff and swiftly boot away the very thought of the idea.

He wasn’t here. Those pale eyes weren’t boring holes in the back of Rien’s neck, but it hardly mattered. The boy felt shackled all over again. Chained to his owner like a dog to a master, a puppet helpless to fight against his creator’s strings. Nauvu wouldn’t approve, and the very thought made Rien want to vomit. He knew what would happen if he disobeyed. Title waves of panic flooded him at the thought, lapping at his head until he drowned.

He couldn’t— couldn’t— didn’t dare except. Wild fear ripped him at mere ponder. No, no, no, no, no.

He couldn’t, and the brands carved eternally into his wrists ensured that.

“You should have seen ‘im,” A smirk played Ermano’s lips as he blew on a spoonful of soup. He rested his chin on his palm, teasingly eyeing Rorey from across the table. “Couldn’t take his eyes off her.”

The four Ravens sat at their dining table, a grand crystal chandelier hanging over their heads, the cool tablecloth under his fingers lacy and smooth with silk. The chandelier was an intricate web spun with gold and crystal, its delicate filigree shimmering in the light. Windows shot to the arching ceiling as the wonderful sunlight poured into the room, plates plenty full, the rich aroma of freshly baked food settling pleasantly in the air.

Rorey groaned, taking a long sip of wine before thunking down his cup to glare at his brother. He gripped his fork, jabbing it threateningly at the man, brows furrowed in a scowl. “That’s not true!” He sputtered uselessly. A pink flush crept up his cheeks. Between his ribs he could feel his giddy heart begin to hurriedly flutter. Furiously, he cut his chops of lamb, ignoring the flurry of nerves that tingled within him like wildly flittering butterflies.

Rumbling a chuckle, Ermano arched a brow. “Really?” He drawled, a playful glint in his eye. “I doubt that. You were droolin’ over Lex.”

Rorey rolled his eyes, though the heat in his cheeks only intensified. He took another bite of lamb, chewing slowly as he tried to compose himself. "I was not drooling," He muttered under his breath.

Well, he may have been. Although he would never admit it, that would be unsurprising. Often, he would find himself staring at the warrior, breathless, captivated by her glory and power. From her wild locks of fiery hair, those steel gray eyes, to the bold way she held her chin high. He’d seen her thriving in the chaos of the battlefield, axe ripping through her foes, cheeks smeared with blood — truly a goddess he had the mercy of staring up to.

But, of course, Rorey would never give his brother the satisfaction of knowing that. Gods, it would be a mercy if he ever heard the end of it.

“Fate,” Elwyn warmly laughed, exasperatedly shaking his head. “What is it this time? The fourth occasion one of you have swooned a member of my hired staff?”

A cunning grin flashed Rorey’s teeth. “Those woos weren’t always mine,” He mirthfully sang, kicking out under the table to nudge Ermano’s ankle, evilly chuckling. “What was the name of that stableboy again?”

Rorey smugly smirked with curling satisfaction as Ermano choked on his next bite of soup. The soldier coughed into the corner of his napkin, a flush of scarlet tinging his cheeks, clenching his jaw. He cleared his throat, throwing Rorey a murderous glare.

“That was one time,” He bit out through gritted teeth, still fumbling to recover his composure. “And it wasn’t a stableboy, it was a squire.”

“Who quit the day after you kissed him—“

Rorey yelped as Ermano launched a napkin his way, cursing as it bounced harmlessly off his head.

Elwyn shook his head in amusement, taking a sip of his own wine. “You two are hopeless,” he chuckled. “I hope you know that.”

“But we’re your hopeless sons,” Rorey said, raising his glass in a mock-toast. “And you love us for it.”

Elwyn snorted, shaking his head. “I suppose I do,” He huffed, a fondness in his voice. “Even if you are both incorrigible.”

As they laughed, Rorey casted a glance over to Rien. The boy sat hunched, shoulders crumpled, eyeing his food warily as he pushed it idly with his fork. His cheeks were pale, near ghostly so, as if he was about to be ill. Lips pinched, those big blue eyes were almost murky as he blankly stared at his untouched plate. Rorey’s face drew together with concern.

Ermano and Elwyn began to dive deeply into a ramble about the upcoming Fencing Championship, but their words meaninglessly trickled from Rorey’s ears. He fiddled with the silk hem of the table cloth, stabs of sorrow wrenching his heart, watching as Rien poked at his cold bread.

Gods, that defeat didn’t belong on such a young face.

He leaned towards the boy, gently placing a hand on Rien’s elbow. “Are you okay?” He whispered, dipping down to softly breathed into his brother’s ear.

Rien flinched, jolting violently in Rorey’s hold with a hitch of breath. “I…” He weakly shrugged. Staring blearily at his lap, he refused to meet Rorey’s gaze, thin chest heaving as a ragged breath wheezed from his throat. His throat bobbed as he thickly swallowed. “I’m okay,” Came the scarce whisper. “Just not hungry.”

A frown creased Rorey’s face, thinned with concern. He softened, thumb stroking tender circles to Rien’s chilly skin, ignoring the heavy feeling in his gut. “If you’re sure,” He murmured.

Chin raised in defense, Rien scowled. “I am.” His words wavered wetly, lip wobbling, little hands clenched into trembling fists.

Rorey pursed his lips. Cold doubt sank a pit deep among his gut. He forced a smile that achingly strained his cheeks. Settling back in his chair, he began cutting his mutton into strips again, yet he couldn’t help but notice that Rien’s cream bun remained untouched.

Chapter Text

Candlelight illuminated the halls, a fine replacement for the sparkling sun that had yet to peek its rosy rays above the horizon. Their warm, flickering glow cast a golden shimmer of light along the rich wood, crackling softly with the floating smell of burning beeswax as if they were hushedly whispering to each other. The brilliant sky out the towering windows was written lovely colors of the early morning, dark hues of purple mingling with rich pinks to spun a beautiful web of twilight.

The soft carpet under Ermano’s feet muffled his footfall. Hairtie clasped between his teeth, he ran his fingers through his draping strands to pull them into a loose braid that spilt over the nape of his neck. He adjusted the collar of his shirt with a grunt, scratching at an itch prickling his shoulder with a huff, still fuzzily blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes.

Gods, he was never going to get used to waking up before Dawn himself. He would much rather slave away in the late hours of the night rather than to stumble blindly out of bed just as the stars tucked themselves away. It was the pampering of being a Prince, he supposed.

He approached the common room doors, a small smile tugging his lips at the thought of what was behind them. The carpenters had finished the carving of Rien’s prosthetic leg swiftly. Now, the boy was finally ready to begin walking again. Ermano — silently swelled with joy — had gladly offered to assist his younger brother, more than happy to help the kid get back to carelessly racing the halls.

Fate, the fact that this wonder was even possible still left him gawking in shock.

As his scarred hand brushed over the handle of the door, his eyes sagged a glimpse of a tapestry hung on the wall.

Shifting, he gazed at the elaborate painting, a sudden heavy sense of cold dread sinking in his stomach as he examined the artwork. It was beautiful. Expert strokes lined a lovely picture of a glittering green snakes, its scales flourishing with stunning blooms of flowers, curling around the rich bark of a tree branch in looping coils.

And lastly, that haunting scribble of the painter’s name was scrawled in the bottom corner. Juno Phobus — written in neat, posh letters that sent Ermano’s heart wrenching with twisting pain. Cold anger gripped him like wildly tearing claws.

He remembered watching the canvas come to life, all those long years ago. Eyes wide as he stared at the horribly beautiful artwork, a thunder of memories hammered his shoulders as he was thrown back into time. The sun had been blessedly warm on his skin, a splatter of paint cool on his cheek, quiet laughter rumbling from his chest. A slender hand slipped in his own, that snake’s brilliant smile as they teased lightly back and forth. Fine lips pressing tenderly against his own.

Ermano’s breathing hitched.

A fuzzy static of memories swam before him. Those bright amber eyes swam before him — as vivid and sharp as ever. A laugh that rang like silver bells. Light footsteps clacking across the floor as they raced hurriedly from guards with poorly stifled laughter. And, finally, the blinding shimmer of magic as a lean figure slank into the shadows.

Gritting his teeth, Ermano tore away his gaze, sharp breaths burning his lungs.

He ignored the deep, aching pain that dragged mercilessly at his heart.

That was years ago. Simply a graze in the past that should have flawlessly scabbed over by now. It shouldn’t still hurt. The horrible, wrenching grief that his lover had crushed him with shouldn’t still be crippling his shoulders.

It was over.

Done.

Gone.

He had seen that silver-tongued snake’s true colors. The lie-ful cracks had finally bled through.

It was done. A date marked down in the history books. A cold betrayal that should have left him cold and careless.

And it did.

He refused to acknowledge the longing gripping his heart that had nothing to latch onto.

Sharply turning on his heels, he grasped the door handle. His grip was bruising. Forcing a stoney mask to settle over his face, he drew in a shaky seethe of breath, rolling back his shoulders. He coldly forced those bitter memories to be banished from his head. There was no point. What was done, was done. This foolish attachment was a childish hope for redemption. Nothing more.

He would have the painting burned with the garbage tonight. A fiery, deserved farewell to that snake in sheep’s clothing.

Ermano shoved the painful thoughts sternly aside, twisting the door handle and strutting into the common room.

A fire crackled cozily in the hearth, flooding the room with snuggly warmth that drew him in like a laxing embrace. The room was so starkly different from that horrible night all those years ago, when the sharp waft of drink had been hanging heavy in the air, maids and guards alike bellowing cheers as their boots clacked in time to a lively tune. Now, the peaceful silence of the early morning was settled pleasantly. The gentle scent of roses drifted from their gorgeous vases, velvet drapes glowing richly in the beams of newborn sunlight.

Rien’s head peered up as Ermano shut the door with the bouncing of golden curls. He grinned at the sight of his older brother, blue eyes shining brilliantly. “Hi,” He murmured shyly, squeezing the lace pillow that sat in his lap.

The kid wore his newly fitted outfit, which he regarded with a wrinkle of his nose and a grumble. Ermano, on the other hand, thought his little brother looked adorable. A light blue blouse was fitted around him snuggly, laced with treads of gold, with a high color that he kept on scratching at. The tailors had dressed him in a fancy silk coat as well, but Rien had refused to even touch it.

Which, of course, had led to him and Rorey shrieking as the older horribly failed to rangle him into the button-up.

Ermano offered the boy a tired smile, smoothing back his braid. “Mornin’, kid,” He greeted. Stepping around the sofa, he settled on the cushions next to Rien, causing the frame to groan. He chuckled as Rien slumped against him, burrowing into his side with a long, suffering breath.

“It’s so early,” The boy grumbled, tucking himself under the soldier’s arm and clinging to his shirt. Ermano snorted. He ruthlessly ruffled Rien’s unruly har, huffing at the offended squeaks he received in return.

“None of that,” He lightly chided, flicking Rien’s forehead. Lips tugged into a rare smile, he snaked his hands under the boy’s arms and scooped him up into his lap. Shifting, he moved his massive hands to cradle the younger’s jaw, poking the furrow that creased Rien’s brow. Rien nuzzled into the touch with a soft puff of breath.

Ermano huffed, prodding at the kid’s dimples to form a smile. “C’mon,” He teased. “What’s with that frown, ey?”

He expected a jab to the ribs, a light kick to his ankle, or at the very least a few unhappy grains as Rien failed to smother a cheeky grin.

But the boy’s shoulders were curled closely, arms huddled tightly around his middle, with a faraway look muddling his eyes that left them unfocused. He picked mindlessly at his nails, breaths picking up an odd shudder. Maybe it was some trick of the candlelight, but Ermano thought Rien’s face was a shade paler, cheeks a bit ghosted.

Vaguely, past memories blipped in Ermano’s mind.

Before rising to the rank of General, he was deployed on countless cases to make the roads of Ruperta just a bit safer. Whether it be finding the cause of horrible, bloody casualties, or tracking down rings that would import illegal goods, he was no stranger to the dirtiest, most heart-breaking parts of the Kingdom. But the worst were always, without a glimpse of a doubt, those awful, countless instances of abuse.

The victims of those wrenching cases had been forced to learn that skill quickly. How to hunch over to appear harmless and small, driven by pure instinct to shrink back like a sheep before a wolf. Taught by pain and raw, terrifying experience.

Those cowering children bore a horrible resemblance to Rien, as the boy shrank back, gaze locked blankly on his lap.

Which, Ermano supposed, even though the thought swelled him with withering rage, the boy was one of those victims himself.

A rare spark of something as sweet as positivity fiercely clutched him. Seeing his little brother like this, so shattered by sorrow on such a wonderful day, sent spikes of sadness raking the soldier’s cold heart.

Ermano tsk-ed, reaching up to fix Rien’s askew collar. “Hush,” He murmured. He flicked up the flap, fingers moving deftly t  straighten out the fabric, lying it flat before leaning back to make sure the corners were perfectly alined. Cupping Rien’s face, he smiled softly.

“Today’s a great day, kid,” He hummed, stooping to nuzzle their forehead together. Rien’s eyes of sky blue poured into his own, glistening with unshed tears that Ermano tenderly brushed away. Chuckling, he pressed a loving kiss to the boy’s curls, running a soothing hand to trace the dips of Rien’s spine. “Ready to start walkin’ again?”

Briefly — so swift that Ermano pondered if he had imagined it — a flash of hesitance pinched Rien’s features. But the boy quickly strained a shaky grin, yet it was far too frail to let Ermano naively hope it was genuine. “Yeah,” Rien whispered, a hitch of breath bobbing his throat.

Ermano patted the boy’s knee. “Why don’t I take a look at yer leg then, yeah?”

Teeth sinking anxiously into his quivering lip, Rien managed a nod. Ermano didn’t fail to notice the dull fear that shook tremors to his hands. “O-Okay,” He stuttered, gripping the fabric of his shirt into twisting fistfuls.

With a grunt, Ermano rose from the couch that creaked in protest. He swept his braid over his shoulder, hands hanging over his knees as he crouched to gaze at the boy’s leg. He slipped his fingers between the cuff of Rien’s slacks, carefully folding up the fabric. Instead of being met with snowy skin and jutting bone, he revealed smooth, expertly carved wood that was sheen under his fingertips. It was strapped securely to Rien’s stumping knee, polished so that it shined in the sunlight, curving to crudely form the shape of the limp.

Carefully, Ermano ran his thick fingers down Rien’s knee, endlessly gentle as he checked for any sign of infection. He found none, but didn’t miss the way that Rien timidly curled away from his touch. A sharp shudder crept down the boy’s spine. His skin under Ermano’s palm was cold and riddled clammy. Ermano pursed his lips, concern fighting to strangle his lungs into a knot of worry.

“Looks good, kiddo,” He rumbled, giving the boy’s knee a squeeze. “We oughta get ya a cane or somethin’ as well.”

He chuckled, offering a hint of a grin. “Guess you’ll be gettin’ a cane before Dad,” He nudged Rien’s ankle. “Who woulda thought?”

Rien threw himself back against the arm of the sofa with a long suffering huff. “Nooo,” He groaned, draping a hand over his forehead, lip stuck out in a pout. “I don’t wanna be old.”

Ermano snorted. “Yeah, yeah,” He rolled his eyes heatless-ly.

The thought of Rien being able to walk again swelled him with happiness that he had once had to scrape for. Fate being merciful to follow his little brother to live was unfathomable, it sent his head looping in furious tangles, but this grace was nothing sort of favor. No one was this lucky. This damned world was cruel, escaping Death with such little scarring was unheard of.

Never once in the last two years did the warrior dare foolishly hope they would wound up here. With Rien sitting before him, alive and somewhat well, brightened with the realization that he could once again be racing through the palace, given time. It was shocking. Such mirth squeezed rare warmth to Ermano’s hardened heart.

Of course, healing always took time. Ermano was no stranger to that fact. He’d helped countless soldiers shattered by war begin the trudging road of recovery, all of which he knew would never truly reach the end. He had always found that truth sorrowful. Crushing, to know that their war would never truly be won.

But, as he was thrown into the other’s shoes, he now saw it as a brilliant beam of hope.

Rien could heal. Never fully, of course, but even the journey’s start was wonderful. These first steps — both metaphorically and genuinely — were a mercy he had never been able to imagine.

“Well,” Ermano rose, meeting those big blue eyes with his own eased with endless love. “Whadda say we get ya off yer feet?” He gripped Rien’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. A hint of humor tugged at his lips. “I bet your are is sore from sittin’ down so long.

The boy drew in a shaky breath, flicking his gaze up to stare at Ermano, eyes glazed with piercing fear. Under Ermano’s heavy hand, a riddling shiver hitched his frail shoulders. “I…” His teeth ground hard against his bottom lip. Throat bobbing, Rien swallowed thickly, little fingers tightly grasping the pillow in his lap. “M’kay.”

Ermano frowned thinly. Childishly, he wanted to believe that his brother’s fear was just fluttering nerves. But a hot, sinking feeling in his gut dreadfully mourned otherwise.

Tender, Ermano slipped his massive hands to cradle Rien’s ghostly-thin wrists. He coaxed the boy carefully to his feet, keeping close in case Rien stumbling and settling a sturdy hand on his back. “Easy,” The man murmured, firmly gripping the blonde’s shoulders. “Nice and easy ,now…”

Horrible tremors violently raked up Rien’s legs. He wobbled dangerously, lurching forward as his knees suddenly buckled, clinging to Ermano’s sleeve with a ragged cry. The boy sucked in a breathlessly gasp, eyes wide with fear. Sharp wheezes of breath tore crudely from his lungs. He desperately clutched fistfuls of Ermano’s shirt, a whimper crawling from his throat.

“Em,” He whined, words spilling free and stumbling over each other. “Em, Em. I— I don’t— can’t—“

Ermano stroked back Rien’s stray curls, hushing the boy softly. “Hey,” He murmured, crouching to steadily meet the kid’s wildly darting gaze. “Easy,” He ran a soothing hand over Rien’s tight knuckles. “You’re all right. Nothin’ to be afraid of.”

Rien sniffled, ducking his head. “O-Okay.”

Giving the boy a reassuring smile, Ermano gripped the younger’s hands firmly, taking a careful step back and leaving Rien wobbling unsteadily before him. “Try to step towards me,” The soldier coaxed. “Nice and easy.”

Shuddering, Rien placed his prosthetic foot forward, wheezes rattling from between his lips. He lurched a step, knees trembling, feet tangling over each other as he stumbled with a sharp cry.

Ermano lunged forward, falling to his knees on the velvet carpet he swept the boy swiftly into his strong arms, yanking Rien safely to his chest. He uttered a heavy exhale of relief, one hand pressed firmly to the back of Rien’s head and his fingers tangled in his hair. He went to ask the boy if he wanted to take a break, lips parting to speak, when suddenly he realized the hysteric heaving of Rien’s chest and the ripping, rasping breaths that puffed hot against the man’s neck.

Heart hammering, Ermano grasped Rien’s shoulders, hands fluttering with worry. “Hey, hey,” He hurriedly looked the boy up and down, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Tears welled up in Rien’s eyes, salty as they trickled numbly down his cheeks. He frantically shook his head. “I-I can’t,” He whispered, shaking like a leaf under Ermano’s grip. “Can’t…I can’t. I-I—“

“Kid,” Ermano bit out sternly, ignoring the worry knotting his stomach. He firmly clutched Rien’s shoulders, drawing him close as he gritted his jaw.

“Kid.” It may have been harsh, but he caught Rien’s chin between his fingers, cupping the boy’s face with warm, callused hands and leaning close to meet those fearful, teary eyes. “Look at me,” He ordered quietly. “You’re fine. I gotcha, everything’s fine.”

A strained, broken keen tore between Rien’s clenched teeth. “No, no!” He cried hoarsely, struggling futilely in Ermano’s grasp. “I can’t. I-I can’t, you— I can’t do this—“ A breathless sob choked from his throat, cutting off his wild spill of nonsense.

“Yes,” Ermano cut in sharply, stormy eyes boring into Rien’s ones of blown blue. “You can,” The man murmured firmly. “You can.”

Worriedly, he lifted a hand to clasp the crook of Rien’s elbow, unmeaning to grip as tightly as he did but the furious brood slammed endlessly against his ribs. The flash of fear that washed over his little brother’s face made Ermano’s gut sickly churn. But Rien’s terror was strainly twisted an instant later. The boy snarled, hands clenched into little fists that quiver as he shoved angrily at Ermano’s broad hands.

“No!” He yelled, thrashing uselessly, panting harshly as he shoved and squirmed. “No, stop it! You don’t understand!”

The boy’s efforts did nothing to Ermano but draw a seethe of breath from the warrior, blows weak and fumbling. Confusion squeezed Ermano’s stomach into a bundle of nerves, worry sending his heart thundering. Rien’s frantic struggle sent his legs trembling like a newborn fawn’s. Ermano jerked back, hands snapping to steady the boy with a sharp heave of breath. “Kid—“

With sudden, raging fire Rien shrieked and gashed his teeth, lashing out pointlessly. Panic rose in his expression, drowning him as he gagged for air. He wrenched and squirmed in Ermano’s grasp, a pained cry bursted from his lips as his stump slammed into the leg of the coffee table. Seizing forward with a jolting seep of panic, Ermano quickly grasped the boy’s wildly flying fists in a grasp of steel, heart skipping a beat when his thick fingers brushed the fresh drops of crimson damping Rien’s sleeve.

“Rien!” Ermano yelled, harshly, as Rien choked rasping screams. Each sounded horribly shredded. He thrashed, limbs a flaying tangle, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. Grinding his teeth, the warrior yanked Rien to his chest, looping his arms around the boy and pulling him close even as a wad of bile gathered in his throat. “Calm down—“

A broken sob wrenched from Rien’s throat. “Don’t touch me!” He shrieked, thrashing uselessly in a stubborn fit. But Ermano remained immovable. His ears bleedingly rang as the boy heaved a hoarse scream. “No! Stop! I can’t— can’t—“

Even as Rien’s desperate, exhausted pleading send hot knives slicing down Ermano’s heart, the man shoved aside his guilt and firmly caught the flailing boy by the waist. Sinking to the floor, he wrenched Rien into his lap. He tucked the boy firmly to his chest. Rien stuttered in his thrashing, jolting with a sputtering wail. He weakly strained his captured wrists, which Ermano briskly bind together with a hand and held the kid close.

“Shhh,” He murmured. Jaw sat atop the boy’s head, he ran a soothing hand through Rien’s messy curls. “Calm down.”

“Let go!” Rien stubbornly cried. “I hate you! St-Stop it!”

He sobbed, tears dampening the fabric of Ermano’s shirt, fiercely struggling between the man’s caging arms. But Ermano held firmly.

“Hey, hey!” He ground out, chest vibrating against Rien’s back. “Calm down.”

And, as if the words had been uttered in a spell, Rien did.

He sagged, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, crumpling limply in Ermano’s grasp. His head lolled back against Ermano’s collar as his fight seeped away. Still, pleas fell from his lips, slurring yet frantic.

“I-I’m sorry,” He whispered, burying his face into Ermano’s shirt with a whimper. He curled up tighter into a miserable ball, trembling. “Please,” He begged desperately, voice wobbling and wet. “I-I don’t— I didn’t—“ He gasped, shuddering. “I’ll be— I be good. I p-pro-promise. Jus’ don’—“

Ermano softened, tight grip loosening marginally, huffing back a fallen strand of auburn that dangled over his face. “Hey,” He murmured, thumb brushing soothing circles to the boy’s pale skin. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, kiddo?”

A deep, painful hiccup jolted Rien’s trembling form. “I-I can’t,” He choked. “Can’t do it. H-He do-doesn’t want me to, and—“ He looked sick, curling close with a creeping shudder and thick swallow. A frustrated whine strained past his throat. “H-He do-doesn’t want me to, and—and he owns me! I—I can’t, I can’t I— I—“

Gagging, the boy trailed off, huddling closer to Ermano’s chest in a desperate, defeated seek for safety.

Slowly, the dark, twisted pieces began to sickeningly click in place.

The healing visit just days ago came slamming back to Ermano like a weight ton of bricks.

‘He owns me.’ Rien had shakily whispered. ‘I-I…It’s a reminder.”

And just like those horrid, disgusting brands carved into the boy’s wrists with sickening care, Nauvu’s clutch was like a cold shackle of iron chaining Rien like a collar. So twisted, so crooked that the boy was loyal to him like a kicked puppy. Even after that rat had Rien had been left to starve, to rot. That bastard had such a bruising hold on him that Rien couldn’t muster the strength to think for himself.

As Kimiko would bound loyally at Ermano’s heels, Rien was leashed to Nauvu in the same way.

Yet it was so, so much worse.

“He does not own you,” Ermano growled, a murderous gleam darkening his stormy eyes. His lips curled back in a baleful snarl. “Understand? He does not.”

Guilt stung up his skin in sharp prickles as Rien shrank back, teary eyes staring up at the man with glassy terror. A high whine keened through his teeth. His fingers curled to clutch Ermano’s blouse, thin chest stuttered with a rattling wheeze. Remorse heavily rolled Ermano’s gut, but it leaked away with vigor when the boy clenched his fists and shook his head.

“He does!” Rien cried angrily, squaring his shoulders. “B-But he loves me! He’s good— he- I— he loves me!”

Ermano grinded his teeth. “Listen to me,” He muttered lowly, pulling back and firmly squeezing the nape of the boy’s neck. Anger fumed within him like raging rivers of boiling flames. “He does not love you, kid. He was horrible to you,” A shudder riddled his spine. “What he did— that-that wasn’t love.”

“You don’t understand!” Rien protested, lip trembling. Blood was rushed to his flush face, Ermano could feel the boy’s heart racing between his ribs like a thrashing bird. A broken, dry sob bubbled from his chest. “! I-I’m selfish! I’m broken! He— He was— was helping me!” Each helpless, exhausted plea was a shard of ice piercing Ermano’s heart. Frustrated tears trickled down pale cheeks. “He loves me! He…he does.”

Sniffling, Rien clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a choking cry. Ragged wheezes ripped from his teeth. Furious, he scrubbed uselessly at his wet eyes.

Raw anger shredded frantically for freedom against Ermano’s ribs like the claws of a rabid animal. He earned to unsheathe his sword and to drive it into the heart of Nauvu. To beat him until his skin was a disgusting shade of oozing blue, slap off that sneer until his rings dug into the rat’s cheeks, rip him limb from limb until his voice shattered from tearing loose agonized screams.

But Rien trembling beneath him, coiled with tense fear that arched his spine rigid. The last thing the kid needed was Ermano’s wrath.

So, he wrenched down his fury and sucked in a sharp breath. He quelled his rage, lips pressed into a thin line. Not unkindly, he eased Rien from his lap, rising to his feet with a grunt. He clasped the boy’s arms, mindful to keep his grip soft, steering Rien back to the sofa. He steadied him with muttered apologizes when Rien would stagger on weak knees. Ermano coldly clenched his jaw, pointing sternly to the couch and leaving no room for argument. “Sit.”

Sickeningly, Rien obeyed immediately. He collapsed against the cushions and hurriedly scooted back, lowered his gaze to lock on the curls in the hardwoods, floundering for the hem of his shirt. Ermano ignored the sting of guilt he felt as Rien risked him a wary glance.

Ermano thunked down on the coffee table. He clasped in hands, letting his eyes drift shut and drawing in a slow inhale.

Rien’s words stabbed hot pressure under his temples. They pounded against his skull, churning in unending loops that made the auburnette want to gag. Bile was sour on his tongue.

Gods, no one should ever utter those damning words. No one should be bound to anyone like a twisted chain stringing a puppet. No naive child should be treated like some misbehaving pet to ‘help’ and ‘fix’.

He dragged a wary hand down his face, blinking his eyes open to catch Rien’s fearful stare. His throat bobbed with a rough swallow.

“Hey,” He murmured, lips tugging into a weak smile. A heavy sigh whistled from his nose. “I’m sorry, kid. Shouldn’t have raised my voice at ya. But,” Firmly, he lifted his chin. “That rat does not own you, okay?” Tings of desperate, broken pleas leaked to crack his voice. “He was a terrible. He does not own you, little one,” Seething rage seized him at the mere thought. “No one does.”

Rien sucked in a rasping croak of breath. He stared at his lap, eyes welling with tears, utterly silent omit a few sniffles.

“Rien, this is important,” Ermano’s broad hand cupped Rien’s cheek and guiding the boy to meet his steady gaze. “He doesn’t own you,” Ermano’s grip of Rien’s cheek tightened marginally, an ill shiver creeping up his back. “He never did, and never will.”

Tears spilt from Rien’s lashes, hot as they rolled down Ermano’s hand that caressed his temple. His face crumpled. With a hitching snuffle his bottom lip began to tremble.

“I-I’m sorry,” He croaked, a distressed whine climbing up his throat and choking on his lips. Wrenching his eyes shut he burrowed desperately into Ermano’s palm, sucking in frantic gasps of air. “I- don’t— I’m sorry. I-I don’t— I— please—“

The boy wracked with a hiccup, deep and painful ones that sent him jolting. “M-My head, Em— I—“ Those baby blue eyes stared up at Ermano, pleading, so hopelessly leaking with tears as he gagged a breathless sob. “Storm clouds.” He gasped.

Sorrow crinkled Ermano’s stormy eyes. “Aw, kid…”

Wordlessly, he leaned forward, tugging Rien into a strong, wonderful embrace. He was knelt to his knees, Rien clutched tight to his chest, one hand pressed firmly to the back of the boy’s head and his fingers tangled in his hair. Horrible, shattered wails choked from the shaking blonde, chest heaving with stuttering gasps. He tried to force back the tears as they threatened to leak from his lashes, squeezing his eyes shut with a jarring tremor and clawing at Ermano, desperate to get closer, seeking safety in his elder brother’s arms.

Ermano held him fast. He tucked Rien securely under his chin, murmuring sweet nothingness into the boy’s ear as he wailed. His nails traced tenderly down Rien’s back. Tears were smeared messily along his shirt but he couldn’t find a single ounce of complaint. Sturdy, he cradled Rien in his lap, gentle fingers tubbing away his stream of tears.

Slowly, the coiling tension seeped from Rien’s spine, leaving him slumped against Ermano as his lashes drooped. His crushed cries were now mere sniffles. Ermano ran his fingers soothingly though those gold curls

“Feelin’ any better?” He whispered.

Rien nuzzled closer, little fingers clinging to Ermano’s sleeve. “Mhm,” He fiddled nervously with his fingers, closely drawing his shoulders, ducking his head to avoid the man’s gaze. “No hurts?” Rien dared to mumble. He hid his face in the auburnette’s chest, sniffing.

Ermano let out a sharp breath through gritted teeth, resulting in Rien flinching, but the his hold only tightened. “No,” He promised, scarred lips pressing firmly against Rien’s curls. “Never.”

A sigh of relief passed through the boy’s lips, tension easing from his body as he slumped against the man. Ermano uttered a raspy hum under his breath, hands dipping to slip under Rien’s chin and lovingly cradle his face. His rough thumbs rubbed away the traces of tears dried on those rosy cheeks. Rien’s brow furrowed into a scowled, grumbling as he slapped at Ermano’s wrists.

“Stoppp,” He whined,  giggles tittered from his lips. A smile eased Ermano’s face at the dear sounds.

“You,” Ermano chuckled, patting the blonde’s head. “Are adorable.”

Rien nose scrunched up as the man’s hand cradled carefully through his unruly tangles. “No!” Rien whined, shaking his head as he struggled upright. He craned his neck to look up at Ermano’s hand, shoving away the solider’s strands of ashy red locks. “M’not.”

A soft laugh was uttered from the door, mirthful and honeyed. Rorey’s hand rested on the door handle, an amused grin quirking his lips as he arched an eyebrow at his two brothers. His mocha curls were still raveled from sleep, and Ermano took keen of the deep bags sank under those emerald eyes. “Why are  you tormenting the child?” Rorey huffed, weaving into the room.

Ermano snorted drily. “I’m not tormenting ‘im—“

“He is!” Rien, the traitor, cut in shooting upright and nearly whacking Ermano soundly in the face. Giggling, he kicked out of the man’s arms. “Save me, Ro!”

Chuckling, Ermano flicked the boy lightly on the forehead. “Little gremlin.”

Rorey’s laughter rang like silver bells as he swifted across the room and swept Rien into his arms. Tender with the same hands that could scrawl words of damnation, he riffled through Rien’s hair, nails scratching at his scalp. Rien snuggled closer with a content hum, pressing his nose to Rorey’s neck.

“Good morning,” Rorey greeted. He grinned, settling Rien on his hip, he pressed a kiss to the boy’s temple. Excitement sparkled in his eyes. “I have a surprise for you, darling.”

Rien gasped, eyes agape. “Really?”

Rorey brightly beamed. “Oh, yes!”

Ermano rose to his feet, flicking back a stray autumn strand. “Hmm,” He tsk-ed, smacking his lips together as he tapped his chin, brow pinched as he thought deeply. “I dunno…” He rested his elbow atop Rorey’s shoulder, poorly smothering a grin. “I thought ya wanted to started walkin’?”

“No!” Rien cried out, craning up at Ermano with pleading eyes. “I wanna see it!”

Ermano threw his head back with a bark of laughter. “Are ya sure?”

The boy sputtered furiously, crossing his arms and sticking his lip out in a pout. “You are mean,” He declared seriously. “An evil, bad meanie.”

Snorting, Ermano raised a brow with amusement. “Am I?”

“Oh,” Rorey tutted, rolling his eyes and jabbing his elbow ruthlessly into Ermano’s ribs. Ermano shot him a murderous glare. Rorey simply smirked at the older, twirling one of Rien’s gold curls between his fingers. “Don’t listen to him,” He whispered into Rien’s ear, glancing around as if telling a dire secret. “Wanna come see?”

“Yes!” Rien squealed. Rorey had barely began to nod before Rien was scrambling up his shoulders, feet digging into his ribs as he climbed up his older brother. The brunette grunted as Rien yanked on his hair, rolling his eyes fondly, settling a steadying hand on the boy’s back. Rien urged him on, legs kicking excitedly as a brilliant grin shown brightly on his face.

“Onward we go, then!”

The two darted off, bursting through the doors and clambering through the halls to probably give some poor maid a throbbing headache. Huffing a tired sigh, Ermano strutted after them, careful to step over a pillow they had flung off the sofa in their great decent. Despite quite the tortuous mess, he couldn’t plummet down on the fond joy that squeezed his heart with rare rays of warmth.

It was good to hear them both laughing. Even if it was for such a troublesome cause.

After these last two tears of mournful silence, they deserved it.

“Don’t run down the stairs if you’re holdin’ ‘im!” Ermano called after the two, strolling through the flung open doors.

“Did they run off, again?”

Flicking his gaze over his shoulder, Ermano found Lex leaning back idly against the doorframe, burly arms across over her chest. Her coiled mass of fiery hair was thrown carelessly over her scalp, broad shoulders rolled back with a steel air of competence. Even out of uniform — with clothes plain and functional, but well-kempt and clean — she moved stoutly, with a powerful grace, like a predator on the prowl. There was a curtain wariness that never fully seemed to relieve her back. Tiredly tinged those eyes of iron, but was a fierceness in them too, a stubbornness that refused to be broken.

Ermano ran a hand through the auburn roots of his hair. “Aye,” He nodded, then huffed. “Givin’ me much more respect for your position, I’ll say, Captain.”

Lex barked a round of laughter. “Someone’s gotta keep your brother in line,” She blew a breath wryly through her nose. “And it ain’t no easy feet.”

Snorting, Ermano agreeably nodded. “He’d burn the castle down if unsupervised.”

Lex pressed her mouth into a thin line, something deeply furrowing her brow, wringing her knuckles. Ermano had seen that expression on the warrior countless times, from late nights spent pondering over battle plans, to calculating expert attacks that would send entire armies to their knees. Rare concern trickled through the cracks of the guard’s stoney facade. Scarce bursts of vivid emotion shining through like light squeezing between cracks.

“I’d keep an eye on him, General,” Lex murmured, sniffing and causing the scarring ripping her face to twitch.

Ermano raised a brow. “So he doesn’t burn down the castle?”

But Lex’s cold gray eyes were stripped of any ounce of amusement. “Somethin’ like that,” She clenched her jaw. “Rorey’s head’s a bit…”

She drew in a shaky seethe of breath, sharp and brief, worry so genuine piercing her eyes that Ermano nearly recoiled. The soldier rolled her shoulders stiff, rigiding her back with a thick swallowed.

“He feels guilty,” She muttered gruffly at last, chest heaving with a sigh. “Thinks what happened to the kid is his fault.”

Ermano’s heart wrenched with sorrow, like a massive weight slamming under his ribs, threatening to crush him to the ground. His expression fell, like a miner swinging through rock and shattering it as jagged stones hopelessly crumbled. Cold realization sent chills riddling his spine. Grief hammered him, mercilessly, squeezing in a tight coil of horror that lodged itself in his lungs.

He had known of Rorey’s guilt, of course. From that damning moment after he had hauled his brother out of that frozen lake, to doubtful whispers passed between them in fear.

But that was when they thought Rien dead.

Now, he was well and alive, Ermano could hear his laughter echoing from down the hall. All was — somewhat — fixed, everything was beginning to right itself.

But he knew Rorey. And, as horrible as it now was, his brother was stubborn — refusing to see sense until his actions damned him, whether it be a silly dare or  a wild theory. Ermano wanted to storm up to Rorey and shake him, as harsh as it was, to sink to his knees and beg him to uncloud his mind.

With a shudder Ermano lifted a hand to cover his mouth as bile gathered in his throat

“Keep him close, yeah?” Lex’s voice broken through his thoughts, those steel eyes grimly met his gaze.

Ermano managed a nod. “Of course.

Shrugging, the guard straightened, turning to stride back through the halls. “Just make sure he’s safe.”

Ermano drew in a whistle of breath, coldly gritting his teeth. He tossed his braid to spill over the nape of his neck, striding down the stairs to follow his brothers, footsteps clacking against the polished tile floors.

Moments later, Ermano strolled idly behind his brothers, strands of hair splaying around his face where it came loose in the chilly bite of winter’s wind. A thick cloak was thrown over his shoulders, weaved with golden lace, irritatingly brushing against his scruffy jaw. The wheels of Rien’s chair creaked as Rorey rolled the boy along the path of cobblestone, smooth and stripped of pesting weeds, that wound its way through carefully tended gardens. Leafless trees cast twisted shadows across the grass, and the air was filled with the scent of wood smoke from the castle's chimneys. Rorey and Rien’s voices drifting cheerfully through the crisp air in light banter. Clouds of dreary grays were plastered in the sky above, smeared facades that locked away the sun’s gold-spun rays.

The slight snowfall obscured his vision slightly as they trotted along. Ermano brushed a few powdery flakes from his ashen locks, wrinkling his nose.

“Are we there yet?” Rien chirped, squirming excitedly in his chair.

Rorey huffed. “Nearly, gremlin,” He pulled down on the tassels of boy’s snuggly winter hat, grinning wickedly.

Squawking, Rien shove his hands away, wrinkling his nose as he grumbled. His nose was tinged pink from the chill, bundled tightly in the thick coat Ermano insisted he wear. He kicked his feet along gleefully.

“So what is it?” The boy tumbled on happily, curls bouncing as he waved his hands dramatically. He gasped, eyes comically wide. “Is it gonna be a sword?”

Rorey notched an eyebrow in amusement. “Why on earth would I give you a sword?”

A cheeky grin dimpled the blonde’s rosy cheeks. “So I can swing it around and be cool!” Rien exclaimed, a giggle bursting from his lips. He peered up at Ermano with those round, adorable blue eyes that stared at the warrior as if he had hung the stars in the sky. “Just like Em!”

Kicking a clump of slushing snow from the path, a small smile tinged Ermano’s lips, pulling at his scars. “Ya got quite a while before you can do that, kid,” He scoffed fondly, reaching down to ruthlessly fluff the boy’s hair “If ya were to go swinin' a sword around you’d kill us all.”

Rien stuck his lip out in a pout. “I would not,” He protested indignantly, ducking his head in a feeble attempt to worm free from the man’s mercilessly torment.

“Mhm,” Ermano snorted.

Rorey rolled the kid along, wheels creaking with every turn, laughing at Rien’s merry rambling that brought some life to the grounds. Even as the icy nap of winter sank heavily among the garden — trees leafless, casting twisted shadows across the wilting grass. They rushed into the stables, causing a poor maid to drop his mop, calling an apology before hurrying through the lined stalls. Horses knickered, pausing in their munching of hay as the Princes came bursting through the halls. Ermano trailed in their wake, doing his failing best to ignore the hot guilt that sat uneasily in his gut.

Was it just his wildly flitting head, or was Rorey’s ringing laughter strained?

Was paranoia twisting him sick or was there a dimming malaise leeching the color from those emerald eyes?

Was there a certain droop to those slender shoulders, or had he finally gone mad?

Lex’s gruffly uttered words still drove restlessly in his head, winding round and round to an unending halt. He had seen Captain Alexander steel herself in the midst of tragedy, like any soldier should, rigid her spine at loss and firmly, relentlessly, shoved her way to victory. He had worked beside her for years, he had seen those scarce moments when her cold front was lowered and raw emotion bled through, but through that long while he could count those occasions on one hand. Lex scarcely allowed herself to bellow genuine laughter, and that true concern that had leaked through her eyes…

It was jarring. It left Ermano cold with shock and faint with fear.

He thought back to that one banter he and Rorey had exchanged cross the dinner table. He had teased his brother lightly, tongue loose with wine. But he saw the way the two glimpsed at each other. Lex’s chilly sneer would lift into a knowing smirk, stoney veneer sinking into something that was almost warm, causing Rorey’s ears to tinge red and write a boyish grin across his face.

It was genuine — caring — in a way Ermano had never seen Lex display. If she thought of this important enough to briefly lower her guard, it wasn’t just some mere hunch.

Ermano heaved open the stable doors with a grinding creak, allowing Rorey to weave Rien through. Finally, the brunette led the two down the trial that looped to reveal a small yard, surrounded by a beautiful wooden fence that kept tame the clucking chickens running about. The old coop was still holding sturdy, to Ermano’s surprise, even if its ruby paint was peeling. A palace cat was lounging lazily on its roof, tongue splaying with a long yawn, tail coiling in irritation as the brothers approached.

“Here we are, your Highest Majesty!” Rorey crowed, lifting the hinge of the gate. He rolled Rien to a stop, ducking under the stooping hood for the coop and plopping down on a stack of hay. A few curious hens pecked at the buckle of his boot, flapping their wings with a chuckle of outrage when the brunette shooed them away.

A radiant beam spread colorful cross Rien’s face. “What is it?” He trilled eagerly, gaze darting as Ermano stooped to help him from his chair. The warrior huffed as the boy squirmed restlessly in his arms, little hands batting at his face, a boney knee catching his ribs. Ermano grunted, leaning away to avoid his already crook nose being snapped yet again.

“Easy,” He murmured. Gently, he lowered the kid to sit on a bundle of straw, making sure to settle his legs comfortably before he rose, giving his head a brief pat.

A rousing smile tugged Rorey’s lips. Rolling up his sleeve, he grasped the latch of the coop’s door, hefting it open. Chickens squawked, nestling protectively over their eggs, feathers sent flying as Rorey quickly scooped out a hen. She was a pretty thing. With steak canary feathers and a sparkling beak.

“This,” Rorey hummed, slender fingers stroking the chicken’s back. “Is Tally, sunshine.”

Tally bobbed a cluck, flapping her wings and thrashing from the brunette’s arms. She wobbled long, small feet scratching against the ground, wings rustling softly as they brushed her sides. She pecked up to Rien’s legs. Cocking her head to the side, she rubbed her head against the boy’s boots, a purr rolling from her break.

Rien’s bright blue eyes were wide, shining in wonder, hands hovering before timidly scratching the hen’s head. He gasped in awe. “She’s so pretty,” He breathed.”

Cloak whipping at his heels, Ermano heavily leaned back against a post, crossing his ankles with a hefty clank of metal. “Finest hen in the coop,” He agreed, chortling: “Accordin’ to all the roosters.” A scarce blip of warmth squeezed his hard heart as the boy giggled,

Rorey rolled his eyes, lacking any real heat. “That’s not all,” He sang. “Look.”

He shifted aside strands of hay, wrinkling his nose, to gesture to a roost tucked soundly into the snug corner of a nesting box. Laid carefully inside were eggs, each as white as pearls, tallied up to twelve. Ermano raised his brows in surprise. The cooks would be most pleased — if the kid didn’t latch of to them, that was, he thought with a snort.

Rien’s jaw fell slack. “She’s gonna have babies!” He cried happily, scooping up Tally and squeezing her tightly.

“Twelve of them, we hope,” Rorey agreed, brushing snow from his mocha locks. “I thought you’d enjoy looking after them.”

“Yes, yes!” Rien cheered, overjoyed, nodding fervently. His cheeks flushed pink shyly. “Thank you.”

A warm smile eased Rorey’s lips, laxing the furrow in his brow, yet Ermano’s caught clear sight of a flash of guilt wrenching those emerald eyes. “Of course,” The Prince murmured. He slipped a hand to caress Rien’s rosy cheek, pressing a tender kiss to chilly skin. He drew in a shaky breath. “D’you wanna feed her?” He asked softly, gesturing to Tally.

Ermano thunked down with a grunt, watching with a fixed gaze as Rien offered the hen a handful of seeds. He stuffed his hands into the fold of his cloak, chasing away the frosts nipping his fingers and poking a pebble idly with the toe of his boot. Rien’s light laughter bubbled as Tally’s feathers tickled his nose, followed by a fond scoff from Rorey. Unease clenched Ermano’s gut. Perhaps he was being dubious, but a wary air hung around his brother like a draining leech. There was a tremble to his voice. A dimming ruse to his eyes and a hitch to his breath.

Despite Rorey and Lex’s stark contrasting, there was at least one thing they had in common. A front. A gate — locked, leaving the inside visible to only few. Tucked away behind bars of iron.

And now Ermano loathed the way he could easily peer through them.

Rorey stooped over, leaving Rien to snuggle happily with Tally, sitting down next to Ermano and brushing off his pants. His gaze lingered on the boy. A thin frown plagued him, something sorrowful hollowing those once wonder-fulled eyes.

“We’re never gonna be able to eat any of those chicks once they’re grown,” Ermano huffed, a mock-annoyance to his tone, in a desperate attempt to lighten the tense air.

“Oh,” Rorey groaned, smirking a grin that didn’t quite ease his shoulders. He pounded his fist harmlessly against Ermano’s arm. “Shut up.”

Not an ounce of amusement lulled Ermano’s worry, simply serving to swell his tangle of worry, straining it again their restrictive coils. He gazed at his brother, deep concern swimming in his storm eyes. Rorey’s knuckles were worn as pale as snow as he tightly clasped his knees. He stared at his feet, brow pinched, glance as empty as a gaping pit. Ermano clenched his jaw. He folded his arms, shifting to lean down close to his younger brother.

“You okay?” He muttered, hot breath brushing the hairs of Rorey’s neck.

Rorey jerkily tore away his gaze. A shuddering wheeze rattled from his lungs. He set his shoulders, arms coming to cage his middle, throat working a rough swallow. “Yeah.” His reply was a ragged croak — utterly defeated, chin drooping as if it was flimsy to his own ears.

Ermano pursed his lips. He squeezed the crook of his little brother’s elbow. “Ro…”

A livid fury curled Rorey’s mouth. He snarled, wrenching his arm from Ermano’s grip, whipping around with a raging gasp of breath. “I’m fine,” He spat. He shivered, gritting his teeth, curling in close with a harsh drag of breath. “Fine.”

Concern yanked viciously at Ermano’s heart, relentless, sending aching throngs of pain biting at his stomach. Placidly, he raised his hands. His dark eyes were softened, something within him curling mournfully at the glistening unshed tears burning Rorey’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, to beg for even a smear of trust, when hurrying footfall echoed in his ears.

A servant poked her head through the door, breathless, hair tossed by the wind. “Oh, your Majesties!” She exclaimed, brushing off her apron. “I’d get back inside if I were you,” She clicked her tongue. “We’re in for a nasty storm.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Rorey briskly rose to his feet, roughly dragging his sleeve at his wet eyes. He gave the women a twisted smile that painfully strained his cheeks. “We’ll come right in.”

Then, he scrambled over to Rien, icily turning his back to Ermano as he helped the boy up. Rien’s pleas to stay trickled numbly from the warrior’s ears. The man sat there, unmoving, as if his flesh was replaced with solid stone, until the two had ducked out of the coop. Even then, as he rose to follow, his knees wobbled, dread heavy in his gut.

Chapter Text

A chilly breeze sending icy prickles down the Elwyn’s neck, the three moons casting their silver rays from where they glittered high above in the inky black sky. The wondrous smell of freshly baked bread drifted through the winding streets, mingling with the sharp, resinous scent of billowing smoke. Silence was settled over the town at such late hours. Gentle laughter flowed from open windows, leaves rustling as they idly skipped along the dirt. The guards’ armor clanked as they marched along the frosty brick path, just a mere handful, pressed closely around the royals in a protective facade.

A steam of foggy air curled from Elwyn’s mouth with every puff of breath. A shiver riddled his spine. He gripped his flowing winter robe, wrapping it snuggly around his chin with a breathless shudder. Flakes of fresh snow obscured his vision with its steady fall, tousling his tawny locks and flushing his cheeks, lightly chattering his teeth.

Rorey’s trailing warmth lingered by his father’s side, snow crunching crisply under his boots. His golden-rimmed glasses were fogged from the cold, warmly wrapped tight in his jacket, emerald eyes gazing round distrustfully. His lips were pursed. A grim weight seemed to warily roll his shoulders. As much as Elwyn loathed that dread dimming his boy’s bright eyes, he couldn’t blame Rorey’s vexation.

It was not often that the Ravens were found carelessly strolling the streets. Although they cared endlessly for their people and would waste away countless nights hunched over a desk for their sake, mindlessly ambling in the open was not a risk Elwyn was willing to take. Even now, with trusted soldiers loyally marching close, a tangled coil of nerves folded restlessly in his gut.

And their reasoning did little to tame his fretting.

“So,” Rorey huffed, kicking aside a stray pebble. “Really believe this fairytale is meaningful enough to drag us out into the cold, old man?”

A soft smile pried from Elwyn’s lips with an icy puff of air. “I wouldn’t agree quite yet.”

Unease gripped him harshly, a lump wedging hard in his throat. Just hours ago he was curled up peaceful by the fire, a thick blanket draped snuggly over his legs, reading a rather dowdy romance novel. As he had flicked a page, Rorey had hurried through the doors, scrambling to explain that the man’s presence was requested urgently.

Elwyn, perhaps childishly, had assumed it was yet another ridiculous complaint about a matter he had no hand in. So, with a soft sigh, he had risen and settled his crown upon his head.

Yet, here they were.

An entire neighborhood and rushed to the palace in panic, babbling frantic pleas for Elwyn’s aid. After what seemed like ages of soothing, they finally managed to make some sense of the conflict, and it wasn’t just some rash demand seething with hatred. Instead, it was almost a warning, a heeded cry for the family’s safety. Although, despite its rather sudden entry, it wasn’t one easily believed.

According to the townspeople, a Seer had collapsed unceremoniously in the market, smoke curling from their mouth as screams ripped from their throat. Their eyes had blasted a blinding purple. Mad mutters had dizzily slurred from their lips. People had thought them manic, at first, a witch — a danger to them all. But what they had Seen had whipped the cruel snarls briskly from their faces.

The Seer had seen something that made sour bile gather in Elwyn’s throat.

They had claimed to See the Royal Family collapsed limply against the ground, pools of crimson blood slicking the floor beneath them. A chance. A flickering possibility of the future.

A younger, foolish Elwyn would have scoffed and declared such claim a rouse.

But he had seen this world naked. From its chilling horrors to its wonderful possibilities.

Now, after all these years, this was tame compared to the senseless fantasies he had seen.

Rorey raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He asked, surprised.

A shudder crept down Elwyn’s spine, the breeze sending cold prickles racing along bare skin. He pulled his cloak closer, glancing up at his son with a resigned defeat mournfully gleaming in his misty eyes. “I’ve had the misery of walking this earth for years, love,” A rueful smile strained his cheeks. “I’ve learned the hard way to never out-rule something that seems impossible.”

Yet, even so, part of him demanded to refuse this was even a concept of reality. It was stubborn, selfish. He wished he could simply turn his back on this and leave it to rot. It was too terrifying. Terror made his hands tremble, mind barely clinging to sanity, a brush of fingertips away from plummeting helplessly into a haze of mad loops of unending thought.

He could almost see it now.

His sons still, lulling coldly on the ground, chests unmoving and pulses halted. Countless blades wedged in their flesh as crimson poured hot rivers beneath them.

If that was truly a glimpse of one of the million possibilities their future held, Elwyn wanted to turn round and bolt the other way.

But, among all the failures the man had stumbled throughout his years, he was not a coward. These were the lives of his sons — his three wonderful, perfect sons. They were all that he had. To him, they were now all that mattered. He would set the world on fire and call it rain before even a hair on their heads was hurt. Because he was their father and now, he supposed, their mother. He would do any and all it took to keep them safe.

He wasn’t going to fail.

Not again.

Harlow grumbled a curse under his breath, amber eyes flickering between the paths. “Fate,” He murmured, digging the butt of his spear into the dirt with a grit of his teeth. He pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from the pouch fastened at his hip, gloved fingers fumbling as he smoothed out wrinkles. He squinted at the map.  “Which road is it, again?”

“Ah,” Rowan huffed, gripping the hilt of his sword and leaning over Harlow’s shoulder to glance at the map. He twirled a strand of the other’s pale hair between his fingers, tsk-ing. “All the dust looks the same to me.”

Dark eyes creased with mirth under the hood of his helmet as he brought a hand to cup Harlow’s face. He dragged his thumb over the elf’s temple, a teasing grin playing at his lips. “Ye’re cheeks are a bit pink, darlin’.”

A scarlet blush tinged Harlow’s face. He furiously blinked, shoving at Rowan’s face as the other cackled with laughter. “Shut up, you fool.” He sputtered.

Finally, a guard called them from around the corner. They approached a narrow streets, with water trickling down the stone road and piles of garbage littered carelessly. Elwyn’s spirit sank sorrowful at the sight. The houses cramped among the alley were pitiful. Paint peeled and wood rotted, a horrible stench plaguing the air, rats scurrying along.

Sadness squeezed Elwyn’s bleeding heart. No citizen deserved to call such awful, miserable place home. It made him ill.

But, even as King, this was a problem he was in no position to solve now. So, he clenched his jaw, sucked in a shuddering breath, and followed his men through the disgusting street.

“Your Majesty,” A guard called. Elwyn turned, robes swirling at his heels, brows raised in question. A guard wiped sweat from their brow, gripping their spear as they heaved breathless pants. They gestured to the house behind them. Elwyn lifted his gaze to stare up at the twisting structure, brushing back a tawny strand that was caught in the wind that rushed icy jabs against his face. It was a small, feeble thing. Stairs stretched up to a rusting door, cracked and crooked, its roof slouching, desperately held steady by a torn tarp. Plants hung from the porch, wilted and dry, the windows smeared with so much filth that even the three moons’ reflection could not be seen within the glass.

“I believe this is it, sir.”

A warm hand brushed against Elwyn’s wrist, thin fingers treading with his own. Elwyn lifted his head to meet Rorey’s worried gaze, jade eyes glittering bright with raw fear. The Prince bit his lip, a quiver jolting through his crushing grip. “Are you sure about this?” Rorey whispered shakily.

Elwyn shook his head, breathing a soft laugh. “No.”

He slipped his hand from his son’s grasp, snow crunching under his boots as he timidly grasped the railing. The stairs groaned under his weight. He stumbled a bit, porch slick with icy, gripping the doorknob hurriedly to steady himself. The knocker stared back at him — a simple ring painted gold, metal muddled with flakes of frost. An inhale rattled his lungs.

Grabbing the knocker, he lifting the rusting ring and thudded it against the door.

There was a spilt second of silence. Then, a loud clatter bled through the thin walls, hurried and frantic. Elwyn jerked back, heart racing between his ribs. Fabric rustled faintly. Soft footsteps creaked. With the rattling of the handle, the door was gingerly pried open.

Elwyn expected to see an elder hunched over, clutching their cane, with wild hair and scruffy old whiskers. Pale, wise eyes that perhaps gleamed a bit madly. Dangling beads that clinked as they hobbled along. Swaying old garments that were frazzled with age. A thin face that was lined with deep wrinkles. And a foul, sour smell that would take ages to scrub clean from his robes.

Not…this.

A young face stared back at Elwyn, stripped of wrinkles of any kind, with childish dimples and skin richly dark. Eyes of a brilliant, dazzling purple pierced Elwyn’s own. The young man stood stooped over to avoid striking his head against the frame, lanky and long. A thick, ruffled tuff of hickory brown hair glittered like crystal rivers of syrup. He laced his long fingers together, rocked with a nervous tremor, shoulders curled. A faded red tunic sagged from his frame, trousers skimming his shins and adorned with patches.

This wasn’t a man. Not a mere fuzzy edged his jaw. Shock slammed against Elwyn, a rushing wave sent to buck his knees. A young boy stood over him, huddled against the door warily with wide eyes.

“I—“ He stuttered, a gasp ripping from his lungs. Long legs trembled, he staggered back, a hand flying to slap over his mouth. “Your Majesties—“

Fumbling, he dropped into a deep bow, kneeling at Elwyn’s feet. He hitched sharp, ragged wheezes, shoulders shaking.

“No, no,” Elwyn took a step back, shaking his head. He smiled kindly. “Please. That’s not necessary.”

The boy nodded frantically. He rose to his feet, knees shaking, clutching the door until his knuckles strained pale. His gaze darted nervously from face to face, eyes pried wide with fear as he fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve. The closer Elwyn peered, the more pity relentlessly tugged his soft heart. His cheekbones were jutted far too sharp for such a painfully young face. Hunger seemed to wrench him, long limbs too thin and startling eyes hollow even as they glittered like shards of amethyst.

Stairs groaning, Rorey trailed to Elwyn’s side, long coat whipping at his heels in the gusting wind. “We were asked to visit a Seer,” He chuckled humorlessly. “Do you happen to randomly know any?”

“O-Oh,” The boy sputtered uselessly.. “Yes, I do. I-I’m Latif, yes, I—“ A shudder seized his shoulders. Swallowing thickly, he shakily managed a weak nod. “That would be me.”

Elwyn’s breath fell from his lips in a throttled gasp. Misty eyes swimming mournfully, his head surged into a stumbling race of looping thought, bile lurching to his tongue. In his long years of life, he had been exposed to the raw power of magic on countless occasions. From a Mage’s incredible power of healing to nasty cuts from darkly shimmering blades. He was no stranger to magic, whether it be its beauty or its horrors.

Out of all the countless forms sorcery took, the might of a Seer was — while immeasurably powerful — by far some of the most horrible, disgusting magic there was. Randomly, sudden visions would slam into the Seer, leaving them helpless as Fate cruelly proclaimed what terrors lay before them. Sometimes it was good fortune. But those blips of luck were scarce and few. The horrors Seers saw, wars, massacres, death, were enough to drive them mad.

That was a fate deserved by very few.

Let alone this young, broken kid who stood before him.

“Where are my manners?” Latif breathlessly laughed, pulling open the door, hinges creaking. “C-Come in.”

Feet floundering, he scurried inside, hurriedly gesturing for the others to follow. Hesitance crept up Elwyn’s spine like riddling chills. His teeth sank into his cheek, the coppery tang of blood bursting in his mouth. Creeping unease loomed over his shoulders — hot and heavy. He flicked his gaze to catch Rorey’s narrow stare, lips pinched tight. He didn’t mess the dreary, vivid uncertainty creasing those emerald eyes. Rorey licked his lips, shoulders slumping in an uncaring shrug, before slipping through the door.

Elwyn followed, timidly treading after his son and brushing open the door.

The floorboards creaked under his weight, dust floating through the air as his shoulder grazed the wall. Paint peeled, light dim, a rather hefty smell of syrupy sweet, starkly sharp herbs wafting his nose. The curtains were torn, yet few rays of moonlight bled through due to the mire sooting the windows like grime caking a miner’s nails. A beaten sofa was shoved against the wall, with stitches desperately closing tears. The rug at his feet was a blinding lime. Steam curled from a kettle atop an old stove, shelves cramped with clutter and random nick-nacks.

Latif yanked open a cabinet, thunking down cups with shaking hands and rushing to grab the boiling kettle. “Fate, I’m so sorry, sir,” He frantically gasped. Glass clinking, he poured the tea as he rattled on. “I wasn’t expecting you— I—I’m dreadful sorry for the mess. Tea’s all I have, I hope that’s okay—“

His feet tangled together in his hurry, sending him sprawling forward with a startled yelp. Elwyn lurched, a cry on his lips, just managing to cling to the boy’s arm before he fell flat to the floor.

“Goodness,” Elwyn breathed, heaving a relived sigh.

Brushing off his knees, Latif staggered back, a hand clamped over his heart. “Th-Thank you.” He wheezed.

“Of course,” Elwyn smiled kindly, concern crinkling his eyes. “Are you all right?”

The boy briskly nodded. “Yes, yes,” He assured, waving a dismissive hand as he turned back to pouring tea. A cacophony rattling of clinks and clanks scraped along with each of his hobbling steps. A shiver found itself jagging up Elwyn’s spine in a frigid jolt. That eerie chorus of rasping rings pulsed a hammering pressure under his temples. His gaze drew to his feet, heart beginning to pick up in pace with throbbing fear.

A shackle was stretched tight along the floor. Its links were worn and weathered, each scraping against each other, resonantly dragging along. Weaving around the legs of furniture and caught in corners, it was clasped fixedly around Latif’s ankle, sharp metal biting into skin and stained with dry trickles of blood. The Seer hissed painfully through his teeth, foot coming up to rub at the cuff.

Elwyn’s lungs burned, begging for air that seemed to uselessly slip from his grasp. What— what was this? This was a kid, a kid, who was chained in his own home like a mutt left to die—

“Here, here,” Latif’s rambling snipped Elwyn’s sickening loops of thought. He tripped over the chain, gesturing over to the sofa. “Sit down. I’m sure you’re tired from the uh,” He smacked his lips, sputtering. “Travel.”

A forced, aching smile hassled Elwyn’s cheeks. “It was nothing.”

He sank onto the stiff sofa, the cushions thin and prickly, having to catch himself from gaping at the chain. Rorey dropped down beside him, crossing his legs and watching keenly as Latif paced. The boy flashed a nervous smile. He offered each older a cup of hot tea, which sloshed dangerously in his quivering grip. Elwyn grateful accepted. The mug was pleasantly warm in his hands, chasing away night’s lingering chill. It was sweet going down his throat.

“You know,” Rorey cleared his throat, fingers drumming against his knee. “I wasn’t expecting a Seer to look like, well,” He took a slurp of tea. “I was picturing a mad old hag with gray hair and wrinkles.”

Latif laughed, sinking into an old armchair, the shackle rattling. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

Elwyn gnawed at his dry lips, nails tapping the rim of his cup as a tangle of worry clenched his gut. “Your ankle….” He murmured, gesturing to the rusted chain. “Is it okay?”

Face cringing into something sour for a brief spilt, Latif nodded, gaze blankly trailing the ugly rug below their feet. “Yes,” He whispered curtly. “It’s fine.”

He was pale, something dimming haunting those glittering eyes, throat working in a rough swallow. Fingers shaking, he gripped his arms. A shudder ripped his thin frame. “I tend to…” He let out a huff. “Wander when I have Seeing,” Hanging his head, he laced a nail over the cuff locked around his leg, wrenching a wince. “I didn’t want to give anyone the fright I did in the market.”

Blood roared in Elwyn’s ears, boiling with churning anger, hot anger clenching his fists. This was a kid, who looked as if a strong gust of wind would send him crumpling, who was no only burdened with such a horrific curse but had also chosen to be chained like some rapid dog. By his own will. What cruelty had he been shown to muster the thought of deserving this?

Sorrow seeped through his anger like trickles of leaking water. This wasn’t too far from what harsh, inhuman treatment Rien had been shown.

“Your tea’s great,” Rorey eased the tense silence with his witty quip. He arched an eyebrow, tipping his mug to Elwyn with a sly smirk. “He should give Ermano lessons.”

Elwyn noticed how to boy’s hands trembled, sloshing tea to drip from his fingers, breaths puffing in ragged gasps. His cheeks were tinged with a stricken, sickly flush. Something wild — fearful — widened his scintillating eyes, staring down at his lap, horribly empty yet swimming with panic. A hitching wheeze rattled his lungs. His muscles were coiled tense, back arched and throat bobbing. Like a small, helpless rabbit pointlessly shrinking away from a snarling wolf.

“Th-Thank you, sir,” Latif stuttered, shifting restlessly in his chair. “You’re too kind.”

Concern furrow Elwyn’s brow. He placed down his cup, folding his hands and leaning forward with a frown. “Are you okay, mate?” He asked softly. “You look a bit pale.”

Latif flinched, timidly raising his gaze. Tears glistened in his eyes. “I—“ He choked. “I—“

A wet, shuddering sob bubbled from his chest. Heaving, breathless, sending him desperately gulping for air. Salty tears rolled down his cheeks. He shakily gasped, cowering back. Breaths came in ragged rips, glazed eyes wild and blown with hysteria. He scrubbed furiously at his leaking eyes, chest heaving with shuddering wheezes. Tears streamed down flushed cheeks as sobs spilt from his throat.

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesties,” Latif whispered, words tumbling over each other in a wild rush. “I-I couldn’t control it,” His fingers curled to clutch his hair and yanking. “I-I couldn’t control it. D-Didn’t mean to— I— please,” A ragged cry tore from his lips. “I would never betray you— n-never—“

Riddling horror skittered up Elwyn’s spine like sharp shards of ice piercing his skin. Something sickly sank in his stomach. As a King who had sat high on his throne for hundreds of years, he wasn’t a newcomer to citizens who feared him. Although he despised it, the cruel monarchs that had come before him had crushed their people to their knees with their harsh, unfair treatment. Even as Elwyn proved time and time again he was contrastingly different, fear was not easily soothed. He knew this.

But that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

The thought of a ruler — who was supposed to be a firm rock for their people to lean on — vigorously punishing someone so young for an uncontrollable, measly feet such as this sent bile to the back of his throat.

Although, as he recalled his family’s sufferings over the years, perhaps that was for good reason. Betrayal was something twisted and awful — sickening. He could still hear Ermano’s piercing sobs as his son’s tears dampened his shirt. He had been forced useless to watch as the great warrior was crippled into something hard yet broken after that one mournful night. Could only wrap Ermano in his arms when he would jerk awake from nightmares about that treacherous snake with a silver tongue.

He would gladly lay down his own life if it meant saving his son from having to writhe with that agony yet again.

But this wasn’t his life. It was the one of a boy — young and innocent — who couldn’t control these darkly deeds.

“Hey,” Elwyn leaned forward, a smiling gently and resting a tender hand atop Latif’s elbow. “Shhh sh,” He soothed, patting the boy’s arm. “You’re not to blame, kiddo.”

Latif sniffed. He dabbed at his teary cheeks with the corner of his sleeve, drawing in a shuddering breath. Tentatively, he lifted his gaze to meet Elwyn’s eyes, gems of glittering purple pouring into misty gray pools. The man gripped the brunette’s shoulder.

“If anything,” Elwyn huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m glad you saw it. If what you saw has even a chance of happening…” He inhaled sharply, an old, familiar pressure hammering under his temples like a playful beat. A long sigh whistled from his nose. “Well, I want to prevent it as quickly as possible.”

A weak smile strained Latif’s dimples. “I’m happy to aid you, my King.”

“What did you see, exactly?” Rorey jutted in, a narrow frown thinning his lips, yet his voice was not unkind.

Latif hunched his shoulders, picking at a patch sewn into his trousers with a thick swallow. “Well…”

Suddenly, his hands flew to his throat, eyes blown wide as ragged, labored wheezes ripped between his teeth. He gagged, clawing frantically at his neck, fingers fumbling. A rasping, guttural sound escaped his lips. His face flushed crimson, contorted in agony. His eye bulged. Violent coughs wracked his body. He struggled to draw a desperate breath.

Elwyn cried out, jerking back. He stared at the boy in horror, panting for breath, heart thrashing like caged bird. “Latif?” He breathed.

Latif’s eyes rolled back. Mouth open wide, strained, gurgling his own spit. He lurched forward, cup sent shattering on the floor, nails racking bloody tracks along his neck, feet tangling in the jerking shackle. He slammed back against the shelves with a croaking cry. Glasses were sent shattering to the floor. Tears streamed down his cheeks, sobs breathless, hands clawing at an invisible vice around his windpipe.

“Hey!” Rorey scrambled to his feet, pale with horror. “Hey, calm down—

Latif clutched his head between his hands, movements jolting like a puppet dangling from strings. He wrenched his eyes shut. A horrible, scraping scream tore from his mouth in a guttural cry. By some sweeping force he collapsed and his knees thudded against the ground.

“Latif!” The man breathed. He tore forward, boots crunching over broken glass, falling to the boy’s side with wide eyes. “Kid, kid,” He gripped Latif’s shoulder, as if reining a spooked horse. Terrified unease sent chills racing down his back. “What’s wrong?”

A dry sob heaved from the boy’s throat. “Please—“ He frantically grappled with bloody hands, clinging to Elwyn’s shirt and staring at him with wide, hysteric eyes. “H— help me, help me, help—“

His desperate pleads were choked off at an abrupt halt. He slapped a hand over his mouth, wheezing, when suddenly wisps of smoke leaked between his fingers. The tendrils of vapor swirled like ethereal ribbons, garishing a sickly purple, writhing into the air from his agape mouth. The smoke twisted and contorted, its ghostly coils like gnarled fingers clawing their way to freedom. They seemed to be alive. Whispering dark murmurs, writhing and pulsing, cloaking the room in a thick haze.

Its terrible, heavy smell plagued Elwyn’s nose. Acrid and burnt like lingering decay. His eyes burned. He gagged, vomit sour on his tongue.

The world seemed to swim. Hot pain throbbed at his skull, vision fuzzy, everything a mess of colorful blobs. He felt faint. Sizziness seizing him in a churning wave. The vibrant colors of the world blurred, fading into a hazy fog. Blood rushed in his ears. His legs wobbled, buckling under his weight. A ragged gasp blistered his throat. He staggered, sweeping out his hands blindly, grappling uselessly for support.

A feverish flush bit at his clammy skin. Spots of white swam before him. A piercing agony stabbed his temple. A high-pitched ringing clawed at his ears.

He staggered, knees weak. Vaguely, he could hear a worried voice calling his name, strangely muddled and words jumbled. He tried to slur a reply. But his lips were numb. A horrible dizziness swam him senseless. He weakly moaned. The world around him was plunged into darkness, a suffocating haze that shoved him under its roaring waves. Thick and heavy.

He wobbled, pointlessly, on his feet. His head felt empty, brain a mangled slush, nausea churning his gut as if he had been spun in circles. Burning breaths rattled his lungs. Where was he? Where was Rorey? He felt faint. Where was— where— where—

There was a sharp, piercing echo of chime wrenched his ears. He clamped his hands over his ears with a cry. A blinding flash pulsated before his eyes, like a brilliant star bursting in his vision. He gasped, hands flying to his eyes. Roaring wind rushed in his ears. Shadows plunged past him in blurs. Hushed murmurs breezed over his head, ruffling his hair and sending shivers skittering down his spine. A hot agony stabbed against his temple like dull knives biting skin. He screamed, feet swept from beneath him, slamming into something hard that sent spots of black dancing before him—

Suddenly, there was solid ground under his feet. Elwyn gasped, desperately gulping down air, stumbling forward on shaky legs. He clutched his chest. His heart hammered between his ribs. Sweat dripped from his brow. His shuddering pants echoed back at him. He tucked back his sandy hair, raising his head to warily sweep his gaze.

Slowly, his vision began to clear. Like drapes being pulled back to let the morning’s rosy sunlight pour through glittering window panes. Colors and shapes swam, dancing before him as an ethereal tapestry of whispers and echoes, a symphony of unseen wonders, denuding his searching gaze. Yet this wasn’t the cramped, cluttered room he had stood unseeing in. The world lay like a forgotten canvas, its contours and colors obscured by a shroud of darkness.

There was no ugly green carpet. No steaming kettle or rusting gas stove.

Instead, whims of amethyst hues cascaded from high above like a rippling veil waltzing among the stars. Curling shadows stretched up. Billowing high above in languid tendrils that clawing their way up to a void of unending nothingness. Eerie darkness sprawled for miles. Not a blip of color in sight. A wilting, empty word that lacked form.

Fear dragged harshly through Elwyn’s ribs. His misty eyes, wide with bewilderment, darted frantically. He twirled round, a gnawing sense of disorientation chewing at his core, searching for any scratch of familiarity. But there was nothing. A profound sense of confusion washed over him like a disorienting flood.

He stepped back. Knees shaky, cold air whooshing into his lungs that tightened in a tangle, as if invisible hands were squeezing his neck like a collar of iron. Vomit rose in his throat.

“Hello?” He cried out, his voice a strained whisper that barely escaped his trembling lips. “R-Rorey?  The emptiness stretched before him, a void that devoured his thoughts and replaced them with a creeping terror. He reached out, grasping at the ethereal tendrils that surrounded him, hoping for something solid to anchor himself to, but his hands met nothing but icy nothingness.

Elwyn shivered, grasping the tassels of his shawl and snugging it around his neck. Its intimate, sweet smell of warm apple cider drifted to his nose, yet did little to calm his spiking nerves. “Where am I?” He called.

“That’s a peculiar question, isn’t it?”

Elwyn whipped around, heart floundering in an uneven rush, a choked breath sucked from his teeth. The Voice wasn’t the gravely utter of a man. It was like the wind itself. Its words a murmured gust. An eerie breeze that riffled the leaves before a raging storm. Barely there, just a mere mutter. A thundering roar yet soft whisper that could have easily been a glimpse of his imagination.

A raspy chuckle scraped from overhead. From the sides— from everywhere . Swallowing Elwyn whole. “Defiantly worth quite a ponder.” The Voice hummed.

Elwyn shedded his scarf, shoving it back to vicely grasp the hilt of his sword. Sharp, ragged wheezes of panic huffed from his lips, echoing through the nothingness to slam back against his ears. His eyes of ethereal gray depths flickered around frantically, stripped of unspoken grace and swelled wide with panic. “Who are—“ He sputtered. “ Where are you? Sh-show yourself!”

Like tarnished metal groaning, a sigh wafted. “Ah,” The Voice muttered. “It’s not that simple, you see. I’m not like you, ” Mournfully, it huffed a hollow laugh that sent Elwyn chilled with unease. “Not anymore, I’m afraid…”

A tightness lodged itself in Elwyn’s chest. Choking air and relentlessly crushing. Hysteric terror shot through his head, dizzying, mind struggling to wrap around this horror. His hands shook. Palms clammy, fingers gripping the hilt of his blade. What was this? Some ruse? A cruel trick or elaborate trap? Perhaps another feverish dream that haunting his restless slumber. A string of bile sat sour on his tongue.

No. Gods, no. He couldn’t do this. Not now. No. No, no, no.

His weary soul was already trembling with burden. Shoulders nearly too heavy to trudge on. With such sickening sights he had already seen naked today, this would finally be the blow to break him. He couldn’t relive his horrific years. Now now. He had to wake up— surely this was all a harsh nightmare trusted from Fate. It— It had to be—

“And, as for who I am…” A silence settled heavily. Suffocating, madly, it mercilessly clawed apart Elwyn’s head. It was too still. Too restful yet damningly unsafe. Then, a rueful chuckle shattered it. “I’m not completely sure who I am, sometimes. Isn’t that amusing?” A tongue clicked. “I’m something more. Something great. Something different. Something your mind cannot fathom.”

A snarl curled back Elwyn’s lips. “Really?” He drawled bitterly. “There is little I cannot fathom, these days.”

“Now, I know that’s true,” Coldly, the Voice agreed, as if smugly sporting a sneer. “I know who you are, Elwyn Joy Raven.”

Icy tickles of terror prickled the man’s skin. “Stop,” He tried to command, but his words were a heaving croak. “I—“ He gashed his teeth. “What trickery is this?”

“You’re tired,” The Voice carried on, ignoring Elwyn’s pathetic begging. With its ghostly murmur came a chilling gust of wind that whipped Elwyn’s robes, twirling round his ankles and creeping over his shoulders like countless gnarled, clawing fingers. “You’ve seen much in your long years,” Its breath was hot on his neck. “You want it to stop, don’t you? You just want a simple rest.”

“NO!”

Elwyn drew his sword, swinging it in a wildly arch, brutal and fumbling. Sluggish, yet desperate to tear apart whatever demon haunted him. A furious cry tore from his clenched teeth. Breathless, brisk pants stuttered his chest.

“Don’t believe me, do you?”

“Never,” Elwyn promised in a spit.

A sickly humored chuckle fanned frigidly over Elwyn’s flushed cheeks. “Allow me to show you, then… ”

A powerful, roaring blast of wind rammed against Elwyn’s back. A yelp ripped his throat. He was hurled through forward, sent slamming forward and caught in the rushing gusts. His sword was torn from his hands. The world darted in lashing loops. He squeezed his eyes shut, nausea tossing his stomach, thrashing rashly yet there was nothing to latch onto—

Then, with a jolt, ground was thrown under his feet. He staggered, gasping, fumbling to grasp balance.

Clutching his rolling gut, he lifted his eyes to look round. He expected the same horrible, vast emptiness of void. An unending stretch of blank that crushed him in an invisible cage. Suffocating silence that pressed at all sides.

Yet what he found was much, much worse.

He stood on quivering legs in the busting market of a village. A path of packed dirt was solid under his boots. Horse hooves clacked as wagons were pulled along. Friendly chatter filled the fresh air that was alive with the mingling scents of newly baked bread, aromatic spices, and the earthy fragrance of brewing tea. Colorful stalls lined the square, displaying a cornucopia of goods and wares. Canopies fluttered in the gentle breeze, casting dappled patches of sunlight on the bustling scene below. Each stall held its own treasure trove, offering a diverse array of fruits, vegetables, and flowers. Voices intermingled, forming a symphony of dialects and accents, as locals and visitors alike engaged in amiable banter and haggling. Laughter erupted like joyful melodies, echoing through the square and bringing a sense of warmth and camaraderie. Footsteps mingled with the clattering of carts and the occasional braying of animals.

A furrow pinched Elwyn’s brow. He glanced around, hand lifting to grip a stall post. But his fingers phased through wood. As though it were nothing but coiling mist and slipping through his grasp like a phantom. A cool tingle riddled his fingertips.

He scoffed, throwing his arms in the air. “What is this?” He whispered, pacing in a circle with a scowl turned towards to the cloudless blue sky. “Is this just another ploy? It won’t work—“

In his treshing fit of rage he nearly ran smack into a framer’s back. Biting down a growl he jerked back, boots sending up clouds of dust, going to swift away when something caught his eyes like a hook would a fish. Something — unearthly, eerie — yanked mournfully at his heart. He dismissed it with a forceful grit of his teeth. Tucking back a stray hair, he turned.

Two women stood in the muggy noon rays of sun, draped in each others arms with pride gleaming in their eyes. One was tall and broad, with frazzled gray hair chopped short and teeth that glinted gold. An eyepatch was strapped round her head, a burly arm slung over the other. The other woman was small, with a kind smile, sleek dark hair pulled back in a simple braid, and deep dimples. A silver necklace of a gleaming star hanging from her neck, eyes the amber of crystallized honey.

They watched as a young man swung a leg up the saddle of a horse. His eyes were a bright, vibrant blue, with a cocky smirk dimpling a boyish face. Unruly dusty blonde hair fell in coils at his shoulders. His young features were scarless, hopeful, naive, teeth glinting in a grin. He held himself high, chin raised, doubtless as he mounted his steed.

But his gaze flickered back to the smiling women. Something wet glistened in those bright eyes.

With a grunt he leapt from the horse. He ran back to the elders, falling into their open arms and sinking in their warm embrace. They held him close. Pressed kisses to his hair and whispered him sweet farewells. For a moment of brief bliss, the three were the only ones of importance. The bustling commotion of the town was drowned out. As if this borrowed time had the mercy to pause for them, even if only for a moment.

Elwyn froze.

Everything fell utterly silent. Every breath that hung in the air was a deafening thunderclap. His thudded erratically his her chest, its beats thudding through his ears. He choked a gasp. Shock beat through his veins like the pounding of a war drum. Eyes wide, he gawked in disbelief. A hand slowly came to press against his quivering lips.

No. This couldn’t be— it-it wasn’t—

Elwyn’s eyes burned with hot tears. The damp prickles teetered on the edge of his eyelids, threatening to spill over his lashes and trickle down his cheeks. Heavy sorrow sank in his stomach, collapsing in a deep pit that sucked every drink of life from his soul. Leaving him empty. Hammering guilt slammed against him like a ton weight. This was— no. No. I couldn’t be…

But it was.

No one held their head as high as his Ma. No one could ever stand so strong yet have eyes so endlessly warm. He could almost feel her familiar, burly arms wrapped around him all those long years ago. Keeping him safe from the nightmares that haunting his dreams.

His Emma. No other eyes could be so deep, so wise, like swimming pools of honey. With fingers that could expertly weave even the messiest hair as well as throw knives with deadly accuracy.

And finally, the young man who now sat high on his horse.

No matter how hard — how desperately—  he tried to burry those memories deep down, he would never truly forget this damning day. The guilt would never seize. His cowardly actions would never be erased. Left to mercilessly haunt him.

“That’s you, isn’t it?”

The Voice’s icy murmur fanned over Elwyn’s neck, raising the hairs and spinning chills along his spine like a spider would a web. It was a mere gust of breeze, snaking around his unsteady figure like a serpent would its prey, its coils of wind far too frigid for this warmly summer day, looming round his neck in peroration to squeeze. Elwyn shuddered.

His voice was nothing but a wobbling whisper. “Yes.” He swallowed thickly.

A heavy hum rumbled in his ears, shaking his core. “So young,” It mused. “So bright.” A scoff that stenched sourly of the tang of copper. “So unbearably naive.”

Each word was a knife sent hurling at Elwyn’s heart, littering it with fractures. He tore his gaze away, drawing in a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around his middle. Yet it was a ghost of comfort compared to his Ma’s strong arms and Emma’s tender, lingering kisses. A horrible laugh of rue bubbled in his throat, stripped of any humor, nothing but hollow. He hadn’t thought that then, had he, as he had mounted his steed to leave his family for good? No, no. Quite the opposite.

He scrubbed roughly at his stinging eyes.

“This was before you realized pain your presence brought,” The Voice muttered. “Wasn’t it?”

Coldly, Elwyn let his lips in a thin line. “You know nothing .” He gritted out.

An amused chuckle clapped from above, like thunder booming through smeared gray clouds. “Hm. You see, Elwyn Raven,” The Voice rumbled. “That’s where you’re wrong…”

As it uttered those breezing words, an unearthly presence seemed to yank the world within its grasp. The warm summer air was chilled by an eerie whoosh of wind, shriveling the grass and sending Elwyn’s teeth chattering. The flooding rays of golden sunlight wilted into a dark gloom. A brilliant, snaking line of orchid light raced along the ground below his feet. He stumbled back, gasping, jerking up his gaze to stare as the word around him was sculpted like clay. As the glittering flash wrapped over earth, time itself seemed to mold.

The smiling villagers were blipped into ashes that were caught in the wind. The awful smell of thick smoke wafted the air, the town’s beauty stirring into something dark and dead. Stalls — once lively and burning with collar — now collapsed as fire gnawed at their foundations, flames unyielding, leaving devastation in its wake—a haunting dance of destruction and despair.. Mounds of ash littered the path, limp bodies still burning, the once towering buildings now nothing but smoldering ruins. Air was cloaked with ash and heavy with crushing grief. Cheers of mirth were drowned into a damning silence, safe for the crackling of flames.

Elwyn could do nothing but stare in horror. Even as terrible, burning guilt wrenched through his veins he found himself unable to look away at the mess of ruin. It hurt. Like the devouring fire was boiling hot over his skin and eating through flesh. He felt sick.

Those horrible memories throbbed against his temples, beating desperately to be freed.

He could remember riding back, shameful, with nothing but rags on his back and feet bare. The word had beaten his selfish pride dead, and now there he had been — crawling back to his mothers.

But he was too late.

In his damn arrogance he had led raiders right to his loved ones. Right to his home. To his family.

And, after thousands of years, it still didn’t hurt any less.

A chuckle boomed above, thudding like rolling thunder. “And that was just the start, wasn’t it?”

With a roaring thrust of wind, Elwyn was once again swept from the ground and rushed through the air. The burning village tumbled from sight. A cry escaped his throat as he was propelled through the air, forcefully flung forward and ensnared within the turbulent currents. The world spun in a chaotic whirls of blur. Something ill clenched his gut. Raging blips of fuzz screamed in his ears—

Once again, he was slammed back into place. Ground was thrown under his feet. He gasped, staggering, clutching his shirt as his heart pounded against his ribs. Heaving torn pants, a leeching, cold dread sank deep in his stomach. He raised his gaze.

Lively laughter rang round the room, drunken and mirthfully bellowing. Extravagantly dressed guests twirled between tables with the flashing of rich fabric, men in tailored suits and women adorned in dazzling jewels draped within each others arms with feigning smiles. Rebellious, vibrant notes of music soared. Trumpets blared boldly, with its ivories kissed by nimble fingers the piano was frolicked in tune. Glasses clinked. Effervescent champagne wafted the air. Chandeliers glittered high above, its countless shimmering crystals catching the dim flickers of candlelight.

Elwyn’s brow furrowed. Warily, he ducked away as couple came whirled his way, eyes sweeping the ballroom. Some troubled chill raised the hairs on his neck.

This, too, was familiar. Not in the horribly vivid way the wreckage of the village was, nothing too important or damning. No where near as far back, perhaps a few hundred years ago, give or take. A vague memory that sparked a strange mingle of emotions. Something that felt rather…routine. A common occurrence to ease stress.

With realization came a sharp tug of horror.

Years ago — before his sons, before Ruperta — when it had just been the two of…them. When no burdens hung over his shoulders and smiling wasn’t a forced strain. No mind-throbbing meetings or a mess of a Kingdom to rule. Just the two of them. Himself and Suri. Hand in hand with devotion gleaming in their eyes, delivering justice to tyrants to aiding the innocent as young, care-free lovers.

They would often be invited to parties such a these. By either well respected figures or those wanting to hire. He remembered chuckling as Suri grumbled on, unhappy to mingle with those drunk with power. Recalled her broad hands on his waist as they danced late into the night. Held in her arms, mind muddled with wine, fine lips pressed against his cheek.

His temple still lingered with a phantom tingle of warmth. Like a longing, desperate call for something that was far gone.

No. No. Oh, Gods, no.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t— he— no—

Suddenly, the music was booming, a blaring loud haze that made his ears ring. Transformed into a cacophony of twisted chords, a dissonant symphony that grated against his core. A string of bile lurched up his throat.

He stumbled, hands gripping a chair of balance. Clammy sweat dampened his brow. Frantic gulps of breath burned his lungs. His knees trembled under his weight. The awful, heavy stench of tart iron stung his nose. He whipped up his bowed head, chest stuttering desperately, dismay seizing him.

The guests' mirthful laughter morphed into deranged cackles, their cheeks stretched to the point of tearing, exposing rotting teeth and gaping sores. The old man at the center of the room, his eyes vacant and wild, chuckled maniacally as blood soaked his shirt. A young boy, barely recognizable under crusting layers of dried crimson, giggled uncontrollably as he pressed a blood-soaked handkerchief to his mangled stomach. A woman, her once pristine gown now torn and stained, twirled in a demented waltz with a decaying corpse.

Elwyn's heart pounded, the rhythm echoing the sickening dance of the room. Cameras flashed with a blinding intensity, their mechanical clicks reverberating like the sounds of bone shattering. The guests, their faces smeared with blood and grime, stumbled and twitched, their bodies marred by grotesque wounds that oozed.

Wide, his eyes darted, a horrified scream bubbling in his chest. But it was crushed silent. The air itself was whooshed from his lungs. The room was thick with the metallic stench of death, a sickly-sweet aroma that clung to every breath.

Pained screams melded with the elated chatter of the guests, creating a twisted symphony of agony. They grinned between breathless cries of anguish. They danced even as thick crimson splattered from wounds that soaked their polished garments. Yet, their smiles remained unyielding, their eyes empty voids reflecting a disturbing delight.

Elwyn’s hands trembled, coated in a mixture of sweat and crimson that made a wad of vomit sour his mouth, as he clutched his pounding head. Every fiber of his being screamed for escape, for release from this grotesque spectacle. Tears mingled with the blood on his face as he whispered a desperate plea for the nightmare to end. But there was no reprieve, no salvation from this waking hell. He wanted to scream. He wanted to beg that cruel Voice to bring him back—

A warm hand brushed the nape of his neck, stark in contrast to the frigid chill that plagued the air. Gasping, he jerked away, glacning up with wide eyes.

All too-familiar eyes of sparkling green gazed down at him. Crinkled with rare fondness, swelling with tender love that did not belong on such a warrior’s face. “Are you ready for our dance, darling?” Suri murmured softly.

Elwyn stared up at the woman, eyes blown wide, mouth agape. No. No, it couldn’t be—

But it was.

She was as beautiful as always, yet not like the lavishly dressed guests who twirled and giggled. Darkly, stunningly — like the pale stars that glittered in night’s inky sky, a gorgeous storm whose mighty power was far too great for this mortal world. A shaky gasp wheezed past Elwyn’s lips. Disbelief flooded his veins like burning drops of poison. He knew this was a trick. A haunt placed to cruelly play with his head. Yet, despite that sure knowledge, he found himself unable to look away.

Those shining emerald eyes pierced his own, an exact pair to Rorey’s if not for the unearthly pits of darkness that were specked across. That familiar, small smile lifted Suri’s lips, nothing but tender love creasing her cheeks. Scars kinked cross chestnut skin, like the weaving thread of a gorgeous tapestry, nose hooked and dotted with freckles. Shoulders broad, she towered over Elwyn, muscles rippling as she folded her arms. A flowing dress of snowy white spilt from her frame — one of her favorites, Elwyn would always remember. Suri had always cherished the way the collar curved to not brush against her jaw. An expertly twisted crest of braids weaved her brunette curls, and settled atop was her gold crown, adorned with priceless gems that glittered and gleamed.

A breath shuddered from Elwyn’s chest.

His head thudding in a stumbling race, its unsteady beats roaring in his ears like the wild rapids of a river. Strangled gasps hitched his lungs. He couldn’t tear his gaze — blown and unblinking — away, terrified that if he looked away Suri would vanish and crush his frail heart. To rot once again in that desolate void of her loss. But she was here. Her crooked nose whistled exhales, shadow casted against the floor, dress riffled at her heels.

It was unreal. It felt him winded with a profound sense of disbelief that gnawed him raw. How? How? For nearly thirty years he had wallowed in the dark sea of grief that had nearly drowned him. He had nearly tried to join her by Death’s side — as horrible and cowardly as it was — and would have if not for his wonderful boys. He had sobbed away countless nights to the point of spilling out his guts. Had screamed and collapsed to his knees. Grief’s suffocating gloom had nearly drained him dry. But now she was here. She was alive, unhurt, boring no new scars to show of that horrid day. She was here— she was— she

A choked sob wrenched free, wet and trembling, Tears burned his eyes, hot as they trickled down his cheeks. He clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a cry. “I—“He was shaking like a newly born fawn, hiccups wracking him, deep and painful. “Suri. Darling— I-Is it— I— Nn—“ A wail lurched up to bob his throat. He sucked in a trembling breath. “Is it you?”

Suri smiled, nothing but soft. “Always, my love,”

With the rustling of fabric, she knelt, emerald eyes steady as they met Elwyn’s tear-filled own. A gentle ease of uncharacteristic tenderness tugged at her lips. She lifted her broad hands to cup Elwyn’s cheeks. Callouses rubbed against the man’s skin, her hands warm, thumbs brushing away his salty stream of tears. Elwyn’s breathing hitched. He squeezed shut his eyes, shoving into her touch desperately.

Hot breath fanned over his neck. “But I’m not…really,” Suri whispered, nail tracing the jut of Elwyn’s cheekbone. A harsh seethe of air huffed from her nose. “And it’s your fault.”

The words were like a knife sent hurdling at Elwyn’s heart. Bile gathered in his throat. He gripped Suri’s wrist, glancing up at her with fear hollowing his misty eyes. “Wh-What—“

A ragged, gagging gasp cut off his frantic stuttering. Chills of horror raced down his spine as he stared, gut sickly rolling, horrified up at his lover.

Horrible, jagged burns ripped across once smooth skin, scorching her gorgeous features into some twisted pit of Hell. They were angry, raw, pulsing with a sickening crimson hue. Deep crevices and ridges tore flesh like molten wax left to harden in unnatural shape, the texture resembled a cruel landscape, with valleys and craters that whispered tales of searing torment. Those glittering green eyes were glazed an ill white, unseeing, dulled and lifeless. Nostrils were pulled and distorted, seemed to mockingly sneer, lips cracked and marred by the cruel touch of boiling flames.

Oh, Gods—

No. No, no, no. What was this? What trick of Fate? What had happened? Who had dared— why— no, no—

As if reading his rushing thoughts, laughter boomed above like a bolt’s deafening thunder. “This,” The Voice tsk-ed, profound as if upholding a smirk. “Is the fault of your own doing.”

Elwyn wanted to sag to his knees and vomit. “What—“

“Elwyn?” Suri asked sharply. Her lips were pressed into a frown, fixed thin with concern. Elwyn let out a shaky breath. He gripped her hands under his own, misty eyes lifting to stare up at her pinched face in awe as a tight tangle of nerves, trapped between his ribs, trashed like a wildly flaying bird.

“Y-Yes?”

She tucked a stray tawny lock behind his ear. “Aren’t we going to dance, darling?” She rumbled a light laugh.

“Suri—“ Teas spilt over his lashes, hot as they numbly trickled down his cheeks. A harsh sob tore through him like a weight slammed atop his shoulders, bucking his knees and sending his head spinning. “I— your…” A  wet hiccup forced itself free. He scrubbed at his eyes, gazing at Suri’s twisted face, a shudder ripping at his spine as he glimpsed over those horrid scars. He shook his head. “You…you don’t deserve this.”

A cold hum gusted over Elwyn’s hair, like icy murmurs that whistled winter air. “How shocking,” The Voice drawled. “You’re right.”

“Please,” He whispered, each sound a rasp that scraped his throat. Cowardly, he squeezed shut his eyes. It was a childish, weak act that would spark howls of mocking laughter, but he couldn’t summon in ounce of care. He couldn’t take the sickening sight of the warrior’s torn face for a glimpse longer. “Stop this,” He brokenly begged. “Stop it— STOP—“

A powerful gust of wind slammed against his chest. He yelped, bracing uselessly as its furious blasts howled in his ears, ruffling through his hair and whipping back his robes. Quick, tattered breaths tore from his lungs. His panicked cries echoed endlessly into the hollow of darkness that swallowed him. Wildly raging currents yanked him back, tossing him in their forceful tides. Desperately, he clenched his eyes shut.

Right as solid ground was shoved under his floundering feet, his legs bucked. Like a puppet cut from its strings he collapsed into a crumpled heap. A thud echoed through darkness as his knees hit the floor. Blurry blobs swam before his vision. His hands wracked with tremors as he frantically clutched the fabric of his shirt. He was too terrified to raise his sagging head. Too pitifully defeated to face what horrors this twisted memory would bring.

But nothing but empty darkness stretched for miles. Hollow yet suffocating — crushing at all sides yet leaving him with a dry, seeping ache.

Here he was. Back in this damned void of nothingness. Not a blip of life in sight. Stripped of any gleam of color. Just an emptiness that sprawled for endless ages, lacking any form, just a blank canvas that was wilting and dead.

There was no lingering evidence of the party. No clinking of glasses or friendly chatter. The soulful music of weaving tunes was only a mere memory, replaced by a defeating silence that made him want to claw at his ears.

And Suri—

Her steady warmth that had guided him like a solid rock in a billowing storm was stripped away, chills freely crawled up his neck in its absence. There was no flowing dress of snowy white. No gleaming crown of gold atop locks of mocha treaded into expert braids. Those sparkling emerald eyes were nothing but a blip of a dream. Sitting hauntingly at just the brush of his fingertips.

Yet again, she had been ripped mercilessly from his grasp.

Elwyn screamed.

It was a terrible, guttural cry that grated his throat.  It pierced the stillness, carrying the weight of his shattered heart and the depth of his despair. It sent searing pain tearing his lungs. Raw and scraping like hot knives. He shoved his fingers into his hair and yanked . Sharp pain exploded across his scalp. A cry of suffering that begged for an answer, for any explanation, yet was met with damning silence.

He was left grappling for breath. Pants heaved his chest. Crimson trickled from his abused hair roots. Dizziness swam his head, eyelids fluttering, collapsed in a slump heap.

“I’m simply showing you the truth, Elwyn Raven,” The Voice crooned, sickly sweet, with a tutting click of its tongue. “What tangled mess you leave behind yourself, the cost of your cowardly failures,” Elwyn hunched his shoulders, tearing away his gaze to fall numbly at his lap.

“You see, it’s simply the way history intended your meaningless life,” The words were utterly certainly, without a ghost of doubt and instead sneeringly sure. “To do one thing only,” A mocking scoff. “Inflict pain and suffering on the precious ones you adore.”

Elwyn’s face wrenched with a silent, mournful cry. Salty tears pooled down his cheeks, too exhausted to muster the strength to choke back a sob. “Stop,” He croaked.

“From your poor mothers to the woman you so foolishly loved,” Mercilessly spoken, each word was a rock hurled at Elwyn’s crumbling heart. “It’s a pattern, don’t you see? An endless cycle you don’t have to power to break.”

It hurt.

Most would gape in horror at the harsh charges, declare them blind slander and shake their heads. But to Elwyn they were like blows sent plummeting to litter him with oozing bruises. Knuckles that shattered his bones, kicks that sent agony flaring up his ribs, that slammed him back until bile was sputtered from his bloody lips. Those words were the very ones that were spat from the inky darkness of his nightmares. The curse sickly woven into his destiny that he tried oh so hard to escape. A claim he had tirelessly attempted to prove wrong.

But, in the end, no matter how much it hurt, it was undeniable.

He was too tired to argue. Lacked the spite to stubbornly refuse and the boldness to raise his chin.

He just lifted a shaking hand to brush at the tears trailing his temples and hung his head. Every drip of fight seeped out of him — he nearly choked on a rueful laugh — a once great King forced to kneel.

“Your life is just a continuous pattern,”

Elwyn shut his eyes tightly. Some eerie presence loomed over his shoulder, he flinched as that awful breeze skittered up his skin like the scampering legs of a dozen spiders. Like gnarled fingers caressing skin. “How long until it happens again?” The Voice whispered. Its mutters were a hushed as the breeze itself, yet they rang in his ears. Hot breath washed over his neck. “How long until you end up killing your sons?”

Elwyn’s gut dropped. Vomit rose in his throat and horror twisted a breath from his lungs.

“No,” He pleaded, frantically shaking his head. “No, please, no --“

Mad laughter boomed like thunder crashing through thick clouds. As if summoned by the crazed cackles, the void’s shapeless oblivion began to shift and contort, morphing into solid forms that seemed to mold without a carpenter’s hand. Light, faint flickers at first, emanated from the darkness’s core, like smears of paint stroked by a messy hand, casting dim rays upon the scene that emerged from nothing.

Out of the depths of gloom crawled silhouette of a grand hall — a place once exuded for fine dining with the clattering of forks and warm smell of freshly baked goods.

But now, the ravages of some deadly disaster ruined its former splendor. Broken chandeliers dangled precariously from the ceiling, their shattered crystals reflecting feeble light. Torn tapestries, once vibrant and regal, now hung in tatters, their threads weeping in mournful disarray. Long banquet tables, now reduced to warped and splintered remnants, stood as speechless witnesses to the chaos that had unfolded. Countless fragments of shattered china littered the floor under Elwyn’s knees. The once luxurious velvet drapes now laid ripped and frayed. The air itself felt heavy with the weight of tragedy. An unsettling combination of burnt wood, acrid smoke, and the metallic tang of blood lingered.

The sharp clashing of swords made Elwyn jolt back. Heart pounding, he whipped his gaze round and breathed a gasp.

Ermano yelled as he struck down in a wild arc, sword glinting in the frail rays of sunlight. Blood was splattered across his face, braid cascading down his back, frazzled cape whipping at his ankles. Heavy breaths hefted him. His gleaming armor was chipped and littered with deep dents. A furious snarl curled his lips as he glared with stormy eyes.

With a swift hurl, the warrior’s opponent ducked under his sword. They delivered a solid kick to Ermano’s leg, ducking away to avoid another strike and stepping into the pouring sunlight. Sleek hair was damp with seat. Rivers of crimson trickled from his nose and his breaths were seething. Yet a wicked grin cut cross his lips. Pale eyes glinted madly.

“I’ve already killed all of your troops,” Nauvu scoffed, gripping the hilt of his sword. “What good is one more soldier staggering in my path?”

Ermano spat a wad of blood from his mouth. “You’ll never win,” He hissed.

A ragged sob gashed wetly through the tensely stirred air. It was harshly hushed, cut off abruptly. Elwyn’s eyes darted to a shadowed figures huddling closely together, pressed cramp against the wall, clutched tight in each others arms. A stream of recognition flooded Elwyn, followed by the nasty aftertaste of jostling dread.

Rorey was shoved tightly into a corner, emerald eyes glazed with quavery fright. His wiry glasses perched thrawn on his nose, webs of cracks shattering the glass. An awful bruise smeared his cheek. Umber curls frayed like , singed with soot and   While wild hysteria sent unsteady breaths sputtering through his lungs in wheezy gulps, there remained a stubborn spark that strained his shoulders, refusing to be extinguished even as tears dripped down his nose.

Wrapped tightly in Rorey's trembling embrace was Rien. The boy shook with wrenching wails, stifled only by the firm hand that Rorey clamped over his mouth. His little fingers clung tightly to Rorey’s shirt. Terror sent fat tears welling in those baby blue eyes. He buried his face into Rorey's chest, whimpering thinly. Tattered clothes revealed horrid scars that sliced through soft skin, and an inflamed burn marred his delicate ribs. So small, so frightened.

Elwyn scrambled back as Nauvu lunged forward with a raging cry. Splinters of wood scattered under his palms. Terror surged within him. “Em!”

Nauvu struck out with his sword in a lunge of shocking grace. His blade collided with Ermano’s, metal clanged as their weapons clashed. Jaw clenched with strain, Ermano pulled back and sliced at Nauvu’s open side. A dark chuckle snaked from Nauvu’s tongue as the weapon knocked uselessly against his armory. Fear frazzled Ermano’s gritted snarl.

“Coward,” He whispered, breathless. “What King leads his soldiers to their deaths to claim one measly life?” He snarled. “A child’s, at that.”

A cold sneer soured Nauvu’s features. “We’ll see who’s mad in the end.”

Ermano darted forward with a bellowing roar of rage, sword flung in reckless swings. A ghost of a grin flickered on Nauvu’s face. He swept back. Glass crunched under his boots. He raised his sword and with a yell thundered down a heavy blow. Their blades glinted in the sun, locked together as both warriors strained burning muscles. Ermano was wrenched back. He gritted his teeth, back knocking against a table, brow furrowed with fading effort.

Elwyn watched in horror, an utterly helpless witness as the two hurtled into a deadly dance. Worried keens fell silent at his lips. Concern gripped his chest like a vice, squeezing his heart into a wild drumroll.

He had seen his eldest thrive in battle. Nothing but refined and powerful as thrilling blasts of adrenaline thudded his veins. His brow would crease in thought. Would move like a dancer at his heels. These blows were brisk and rash. Footsteps lumbering and clumsy. He swayed, grasp fumbling, stormy eyes hazy.

Something was wrong.   

Before Elwyn could scramble to put the pieces together, Nauvu swept under Ermano’s blade and, ducking, snagged the corner of the warrior’s cape. He yanked Ermano back. Ermano stumbled with a cry, lashing out. Nauvu snaked a hand into his auburn locks and wrenched back the other’s head.

Ermano struggled wildly. He grappled for footing, boots skittering, twisting and trashing. Nauvu sputtered a curse. He shoved an arm under Ermano’s chin.

Horrible coughs hacked from Ermano’s throat. He spat a guttural wreckage of strangled groans. Choked strings of crimson leaked between his lips. Shifting his grip on his sword, Nauvu slammed the hilt against Ermano’s head with a wet thunk of flesh.

Ermano’s eyes rolled back into his head. Nauvu shoved him away and he collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud.

A stuttered gasp of horror knotted Elwyn’s lungs.

Nauvu stepped over Ermano’s deathly stilled chest, turning to Rorey and Rien with his teeth gashed in a sickly sneer. Rien screamed. He jolted with deep hiccups, clinging to Rorey’s shirt with a sob. Rorey held him close, even as he shook, scrambling back with spitting curses. Nauvu stalked forward, slowly, gazing down at the two and hungrily drinking in their terror. His shadow loomed over them. Seemingly drowning out any glow of light and swallowing them whole.

Something inside Elwyn cracked.

The invisible chains of shock shackling his limbs seemed to shatter, freeing him from his prison of uselessness. He scrambled from the floor with a primal scream of anguish. Tile pounded under his feet as he tore forward. The world raced by in whirling blurs. Air rushed past his face, tearing at his flowing locks like the tattered remnants of a battle banner. No. Not them. Not his sons. No, no, no—

He tumbled to his knees before his sons, shoving himself forward and throwing up his hands. His hammering heartbeat roared in his ears.

“No!” He shrieked. Hot tears gushed down his cheeks, yet a raging fire gleamed ablaze in his eyes.

A twisted smile gashed Nauvu’s lips, cruelty playing at corners. “There you are.”

Elwyn snarled. “Don’t touch them,” He seethed. “Don’t you dare touch them you piece of sh—!“

Yet his words were silent even as he screamed, falling upon deaf ears and echoless. As if he were not there at all. A ghost cursed to walk the wrong realm. Nauvu grinned, teeth gleaming in the sun, and lifted his blade. Elwyn cried out. He threw himself over his sons, squeezing his eyes shut. Darkness swallowed him. He was hurled through forward, sent slamming forward and caught in the rushing gusts. A scream, so pained — so young — pierced his ears. The world darted in lashing loops. He squeezed his eyes shut, nausea tossing his stomach, thrashing rashly yet there was nothing to latch onto—

“—jesty! Elwyn!”

Elwyn’s eyelids fluttered, flying open wildly. He jolted upright, a ragged gasp dragging harshly through his ribs. Cold sweat clung to his skin. Blood galloped in his ears like a feral stallion, trapped in a cage of flesh, eyes darting in wild sweeps. He desperately clutched at his robes, clawing at his poor heart that pounded. A blistering cry fell from his lips.

No, no— Strings of bile lurched to his tongue. No. His sons— his sons—

But, slowly, the pieces of reality began to slot in place.

Chaotic fragments of hysteria ebbed away in a sluggish crawl, allowing the familiar sights and sounds to steep into precedence. Colors regained their vibrancy, and the once distorted noises settled into recognizable sounds. Like roots burrowing into sound soil and sprouting its beset lush. The room around him solidified, grounding his racing thoughts. Emerged from the dark labyrinth of nothingness, reclaiming his place in the tangible realm of wakefulness.

“Deep breaths, Your Highness,” A steady voice coaxed.

Elwyn’s head spun in dizzying loops. He lifted a trembling hand to his temple, gazing round through sagging eyelids. He was jolted upright, legs sprawled on the floor, chest stuttering with heaving gulps. Worried guards crowded him, faces pinched with concern.

There was no dining hall wrecked into ruins, looming with the ghostly clashing of swords with the floor stained with crimson. Nauvu’s haunting figure was wiped from sight. Ermano’s crumpled form was no longer collapsed limply. Rorey’s panicked sputters and Rien’s horrible sobs were silenced.

The void was gone, it’s damning emptiness erased like a forgotten canvas left to rot. The Voice’s sneers were no more.

He sat slumped in the middle of that same, cramped room. That awful, ratty green carpet was scratchy under his palms. Dim light stabbed pressure under his temples. Paint peeled, light dim, that same hefty smell of syrupy sweet, starkly sharp herbs wafting the air. Floor boards creaked as he shifted, dust tickled his nose.

“Dad?” A worried voice floated to his ears, strangely muddled with blips of static. Warm hands grasped his shoulders. “Are you all right?”

Elwyn blinked. Everything swam blurry before him, like a thick fog lifting to reveal the piercing world in sharp clarity. A fuzzy figure hovered before him. Downy umber curls framed a narrow face, gold-wired glass sat perched on an up-tipped nose. Emerald eyes caught his own misty gray like a hook would a foolish fish.

Shuddering breaths whooshed into Elwyn’s lungs. He gasped, gripping his forearms until his nails prickled into his skin. “Oh—“ He choked. “Oh my Gods, I--I…”

Rorey was here. Well, alive, breathing. His face was stricken with worry yet dry of any trace of tears. Not a scratch nicked his face, cheeks washed of soot and rosily filled.

He was okay.

Elwyn stared in shock, throat bobbing in a rough swallow like a cork through raging waters. Frigid tingles raced up his neck. He raised his hands, fingers wracked with tremors. Timidly — scared that this was yet another trick — he cupped with son’s jaw. A shaky breath wheezed from his lungs. He ran a quivering thumb over Rorey’s temple, soft skin so crisply warm that his own cold palm burned, drinking in every ounce of his son in a stunned gape.

“Rorey,” He whispered, voice a scratchy rasp that stung his throat. “Fate…”

“Dad?” Rorey murmured. He tightly gripped his father’s wrists. “Are you—“ A nervous stutter gouged his words, shoulders curling close. “Are you okay?”

An awful, mournful chuckle gagged Elwyn’s tongue like thick bubbles of blood.

He had been whisked back to that terrible village, forced to watch as his foolish past self’s cowardly actions would cost the lives of anyone he had ever dared to love. Watched in horror as those flames scorched the wilted grass and crumbled foundations. Seen his dead lover scorched in blistering scars. Had her fingertips laced in his before being torn away. Had been rendered utterly useless as that dreadful rat slowly, leisurely, ripped his sons apart with that hungry, gleaming grin.

“Yes,” Elwyn replied softly, a ghost of a weak smile raring his dry lips. Reassuring and eyes empty. “I-I’m all right.

Someone dragged in a wobbling sniffle. The sagging couch creaked as Latif rigidly gripped his knees, knuckles paling with strain, drawing in rattling breaths that squeezed his chest. He scrubbed furiously at his nose and raising his ducked head. Elwyn caught a glint of wet glistening in those amethyst eyes.

“I am so sorry,” The boy gasped, long fingers yanking fistfuls of his trousers. “I didn’t think it would effect you, I swear— I—“ Latif shuddered. He squeezed his eyes shut, shameful heat flushing his cheeks. “Fate…”

Rowan stretched a hand over the arm of the sofa, reaching to steadily grip the kid’s frail shoulder. Latif trailed into silence with a choked hiccup.

Elwyn forced a thin smile to twiddle his lips, ignoring how it stung his cheeks “It’s quite all right,” He reassured the boy. The thought of beating down someone so young with such heavy guilt sickened him. He wanted to assure no soul was ever crushed as so, even if, clearly, he was lining right through his teeth. A shudder drew cold through his lungs. “I-I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Concern furrowed Rorey’s brow, a frown pruning his lips. He grasped his father’s hand. ”You’re bit pale…”

“Just shaken, is all,” Elwyn replied swiftly.

Harlow fitted his helmet over his head with a dull thunk of iron, rising to his feet and brushing dust from his knees. He blew back stray lock of sandy blonde. “It’s getting quite late,” He stated, gesturing a gloved hand to the darkness settled out the window. “Should we head back to the palace, my King?”

Like a parched traveler stumbling upon a refreshing spring, Elwyn was flooded with sweet relief, soothing his weary spirit. Weakly, he breathed a chuckle. “I would like that.”

Rorey stood, smoothing wrinkles from his blouse before offering his father a kind hand. Gratefully, Elwyn clutched it, poorly stifling a groan as he was pulled to his feet. His knees trembled under his weight. Faintness spun his head, a light waltz that lured him to sway like a leave caught in a breeze. Dull nausea rolled his gut. He pursed his lips. His clammy grip on Rorey’s hand tightened before he steadied him, draining a breath as he steadied his footing.

He turned to Latif. The boy flicked his teary gaze up to Elwyn’s face and the brunette nearly winced at the fear contorted in his bright eyes. He upheld a warm smile, folding his hands. “Thank you for hospitality,” He said, managing to scrounge politeness into his wary words. “I’ll make sure you’re rewarded well for your service to your Kingdom.”

Shock flashed across Latif’s face. Stuttering, he ragged a soft breath. “Th-Thank you, sir.”

Elwyn nodded kindly.

He would gladly pour out every ounce of gold from his pockets if it meant giving the kid a brighter future than his fate of suffering.

Moments later, they stood back on the porch as the door creaked shut. Frosty winds playfully tugged at Elwyn’s hair strands, teasing them into a wild dance, whipping chills through his sleeves. His warm breath colliding with the crisp night's winter air in a steamy puff. Snow slushed under his boots. The moons’ spilt from the night sky’s sprawling black canvas, painted with countless twinkling brushstrokes of stardust.

He sucked in gulps of fresh air like a dying man, desperate to soothe the ache throbbing under his temples. He clutched the railing as he trudged down the rackety steps. Unease spiked thorns along his skin.

With every brisk blink those same horrors would swim before him, clawing through the darkness to sink rotting teeth into his flesh. Memories buried deep under layers of stone would seep through cracks. Longing to drain him. To whip off the blinding veil he had tied around his head with his own hands.

“Gods, magic give me the chills,” Rorey grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets with a shiver. “Bunch of blasphemy.”

Elwyn rasped a tentative hum.

He wanted to pour out hollering agreements that bellow with passion, nod his head fervently and madly gesture along. He would give anything to muster just a mere spark of accord. To manage even the most hushed of replies. Yet the words wouldn’t come. Like something nasty gagging in his throat they refused to spill free.

He couldn’t.

It was as if vigilant eyes bore into his back. Watching. Waiting. As if Fate Itself was a looming burden haunting over his shoulders, steering his every move with an iron fist.

As if he was trapped in an unending cycle. Something he could not escape from, no matter how painful it was.

Chapter Text

“No,” Rorey jutted in sternly, a scowl pinching his brow. His pinning gaze fixed firmly upon his brothers, gravely furrowed with rather poorly stifled amusement.  “If you manipulate the child into naming the chicks after theatre characters I’ll hang you for treason.”

The three brothers were sprawled out in the soft bedding of grass that tickled Rien’s skin, golden beams of sunlight bathing them in warmth, as its rosy rays danced over their faces. The air carried the sweet scene of newly blossoming flowers, while a gentle breeze swayed the leaves, rustling a soothing melody. Coils of white clouds unfurled across the beautiful expanse of blue sky. Rien laced his fingers over his stomach, rolled onto his back to stare up in wonder. Soft breaths rose his chest. Straws of hay pricked, stuck, in his blonde curls, fingers shifting idly through clumps of dirt.

Huffing, Ermano flicked through a page of the book stuffed under his nose. He lied comfortably on his stomach with Rorey’s ankles resting atop his back. The younger sat on a bundle of hay, slender hands weaving through Ermano’s silky locks as he hummed a vague tune under his breath. Ermano propped his chin up in his palm, easily drooping eyes scanning over the words of ink.

“Ah, yes,” He drawled. “I apologize for my thrillin' logic, it’s much worse than your bland, dry excuse for names.”

Rien rubbed at his eyes, muffling a hushed yawn with the back of his hand. Pickering steps puttered over soil. He flicked his gaze, watching with a fond smile as Tally wobbled along, spreading her wings to catch the sun’s warm rays. Her feathers of glossy ravens and splendidly hued browns richly gleamed. Seed crunched under her hocks as she strutted, wattle flapping and head titled.

Carefully, Rien reached out, insides blooming with peps of tingling joy, his fingertips grazing the velvety softness of Tally's feathers. Indistinct skitters twitched along his nerves. Baby blue eyes stared wide in marveling awe. His heart brimmed with bright beats of joy, he giggled as Tally let out a clamorous cluck.

The boy thought that very little was more pretty than his beloved chicken. Even when she nibbled at his ankles — and her beak was sharp. 

Hardly a day passed when he didn’t beg one of his brothers to bring him out to the barn to see her. His eager excitement had even managed to soften Lex into leading him to the coop just the other night, even if Rorey had raised a doubtful eyebrow at the story. 

He would sit for endless hours, lying in the grass as he stroked Tally’s head. It was nice. Peaceful. A blissful quiet compared to the lively, bustling palace. Yet so unalike from the suffocating silence that would tear his ears apart in the dark hours of the night. There was comfort, in an odd way he couldn’t place, in letting the tension seep from his shoulders, able to cuddle the hen to his chest and close his eyes without painful memories flying back to haunt him.

Rorey indigently squawked, furiously righting his askew glasses. “Glinda is not bland,” He protested. He knocked his heel against Ermano’s ribs. “You are just daft.”

Grunting, Ermano tossed back his hair, shooting his brother a deadpanned glare. “If you name one of the chicks Glinda, it is gonna end up murderin’ ya.”

Shoving his unruly curls from his face, Rien hoisted himself up. Dirt stained his trousers as he used the fabric to smear his hands clean. He squinted, throwing a hand over his forehead to block the spills of sunlight rushing into his eyes. Soft giggles tittered from his lips. Strangely, he felt no need to stifle them. Not like how he fearfully would shove his fist between his teeth to force back even a squeak, trembling under that baleful, pale gaze.

A rare smile tugged Ermano’s lips. Something uncharacteristically warm swelled in those darkly blue eyes, a gentleness that did not belong on such a warrior’s face eased his features as he settled his gaze upon the boy. “C’mon, kid,” He leaned forward, gently nudging Rien’s knee with a hint of a grin. “Back me up here. Ain’t Glinda,” His expression soured playfully. “A ridiculous name?”

Rien crawled forward, rolling over the grass to clamber to his brothers as Tally trotted away. He sagged against Ermano’s side, smushed his cheek on top of his older brother’s head and buried his fingers in the man’s smooth locks of auburn. Ermano rumbled a low chuckle. He looped a burly arm round the boy, roughly collused fingers squeezing his shoulder. A quiet sigh breezing past Rien’s lips as he soaked up the familiar, steady embrace. 

“It’s silly,” Rien agreed, head bobbing with frantic nods. He giggled and wrinkled his nose. “And a really bad name.

A huff blew through Rorey’s mocha curls. He pursed his lips, stiffly crossing his arms — not unalike a pouting child. “It is not.”

“It is!” Rien threw his hands into the air with a cry. A grin dimpled his cheeks, toothily gleaming with frisky mischief. “Em’s names are lots better.”

Ermano cocked his head to throw Rorey a priggish smirk. “See?” He rumbled. Clicking his tongue, he lifted a massive hand to pat Rien’s shoulder, the touch heavily grounding yet tender, in rightly the just the way that would soothe the boy’s mangled knot of nerves. Ermano’s lips smugly curled. “The kid’s got sens—“

Grinning, Rorey grasped a handful of the man’s long hair and sharply tugged. Ermano gave a pained grunt of surprise, whipping up his head and swiftly lashing out to catch his brother’s wrist in a vice, muttering a gruff curse. But the younger, lips playing in a teasing sneer, ducked away with a yelp.

“What’d you say about Glinda?” Rorey hummed, tapping a finger against his chin. “Hm? Care to repeat?”

The older rumbled a huff. He twisted free from his brother’s tormenting hold, slapping away the hands tangled in his hair and light knocking his knuckles against Rorey’s forehead. 

He chuckled as the brunette groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes and turning to Rien. Ermano’s eyes softened as he gazed down at his brother, mouth turning up in a rare smile. He riffled through Rien’s hair, blunt nails scratching at his scalp, wrinkling his nose as he brushed trickles of dirt from the golden curls. Rien snuggled closer with a content hum, pressing his nose to Ermano’s neck.

Ermano snorted, dark blue eyes crinkled with rare kindness, like rosy threads of sunshine pouring through swarming storm clouds. “Whatcha think about Beruthiel?” He asked, arching an eyebrow.

Rien scrunched up his nose. “Nuh-uh.”

There wasn’t a mere ounce of chance he was letting his brother name one of the chicks Beruthiel. If one of those precious chicks pecked free from their pearl-white eggs now and Ermano bestowed them with the name Beruthiel, the boy doubted he would ever be able to come close to forgiving himself.

Amidst a round of laughter, Rorey sat his chin atop folded hands and jabbed his elbow into Ermano’s ribs. “You said it yourself,” He sang with a wry grin. “The kid has sense.”

Rien giggled, fingers flying up to poorly stifle the adorable titters, rosy cheeks blushing pink as a bright beam creased his dimples. “You’re both terrible at names,” He huffed.

Rorey's emerald eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned in towards Rien. His voice carried a sweet tone as he softly cupped Rien's face, gently nuzzling his nose against the blonde's forehead. "What would you like to name the chicks, darling?"

A frown thinned Rien’s lips, a furrow pinching his brow. He hummed softly to himself. Nothing silly like Glinda or Beruthiel would be fit for the unhatched wonders. He would swaddle the twelve eggs in the fluffiest of blankets to protect them from the night’s harsh cold, taking thoughtful care to keep them warm and safe. Then, as the first rays of sun kissed the horizon, he would count them one by one and — carefully — add soft straw to the thins in their nest. Only the finest names would do for such priceless chickens.

But he would not want to know what would have happened if Rorey and Ermano had named the chicks without him. The poor babies would have probably ended up with something dreadful.

“I wanna name them after the months of the year,” The boy proclaimed proudly. “‘Cause there’s twelve.”

Rorey's voice filled with tenderness as he cooed in response. He drew Rien even closer, his fingers gently brushing the blonde's hair away from his forehead, and he placed a tender kiss on the crown of Rien's curls. "That's a lovely idea, sunshine."

A smile tugged at the corners of Rien's lips as he looked up at Rorey, his eyes shining. Something hurried deep in his chest, trapped in a cage of rib and flesh, rose warmly at the gentle words of praise that flowed from Rorey's lips.

The boy wiggled free from Rorey's grasp, playfully slapping away his hands with a mischievous grin. He crawled through the grass, soil smearing the knees of his pants, as he made his way over to Ermano. With eagerness, he flung himself at the warrior's side, his little fingers curling to clutch the soft fabric of Ermano's button-up shirt. Ermano, flicking a stray auburn strand behind his ear, gazed down at the child with a soft fondness swelling in his eyes. He reached out and gently tucked the boy under his scratchy jaw, his touch tender despite the hands that had slain countless foes in battle.

“Hey, kid,” Ermano murmured, lips up turned in a rare smile.

“What’re you reading?” Rien asked, gesturing to the thickly bonded book resting under Ermano’s nose. He snuggled closer with a content hum, letting his head roll to rest on his brother’s solid shoulder, breaths puffing against Ermano’s neck.

With a grunt, Rorey plopped down beside the two, his long fingers dangling over his knees, his chocolate curls tugged back by a chilly breeze. "Probably another one of those poorly written romance novels," he innocently teased. "Trust me, he has more of those than you'd think."

Rien couldn't help but giggle, his laughter bubbling forth. "Really?" 

A flush of scarlet crept up Ermano's neck, choking off any frantic protests as he hastily whisked the book to his chest, his expression a mix of stripped embarrassment and faltering temerity. He cleared his throat, lifting his chin in defiance as his brothers laughed at his expense. "I'll have you know," he spluttered, trying to regain his composure. "That this is an award-winning script that has been made into countless plays."

Adorable spills of laughter fell from Rien's lips, his arms clutching his stomach as he doubled over, breathlessly caught in the throes of amusement. His little feet kicked playfully in the air as he tried to reach for the book, but Ermano sharply swiped it away from his grasp. Rien stuck his lip out in a pout and crossed his arms in a display of faux indignation, while his brother just drily huffed a snort.

"And allow me to guess," Rorey clicked his tongue, a mischievous glint in his eyes. With a playful smirk on his face, he leaned forward and gently poked a finger against Ermano's temple, teasingly. "The main character has just the most dashing eyes, doesn't he?"

Ermano sputtered in surprise, his face turning a shade of crimson. In a flurry of embarrassment, he hastily tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, desperately trying to regain composure.

“S’cause you’re old,” Rien boldly proclaimed, brow furrowed as he soberly nodded. He scrunched up his nose. “Old people are weird.”

Throwing his head back, Ermano barked a laugh of surprise. “Really, now?”

"He's gotcha there, Em," Rorey chimed in, his voice filled with frisky camaraderie. Lightly bumping his shoulder against Ermano's side, he added, "You are quite old, I must say."

“Our father has been alive for over six thousand years,” Ermano scoffed, a hint of mock indignation in his voice. “And ye’re callin' me old?”

“Mhm!” Rien’s curls bounced with vigorous nods. “Old people do silly things.”

“Do you mean…” Ermano arched an eyebrow. “Like this?”

He lunged forward, teeth flashing in a warm grin as he swiftly seized a fistful of the back of Rien's shirt. Baby blue eyes shot wide open. The boy squealed, heels hauling across the grass uselessly as he was hoisted along. With effortless grace, Ermano easily hefted the Rien into his arms, tightly squashing him against his chest. The gentle squeeze of Ermano’s steady embrace cloaked a fast sense of safety round the boy, like a heavy blanket enveloping him in unfathomable warmth.

Rien shirked as Ermano threw him over his shoulder, laughter ringing like glistening bells and fabric rustling. The man’s thick fingers sank into his curls, ruffling the boy’s hair ruthlessly. Squawking, Rien squirmed and kicked, as Ermano’s chest rumbled with a chuckle. Rien slumped in his brother’s arms, clutching the man’s sleeve, giggling himself silly.

“S-Stop it!” Rien managed to squeal breathlessly between fits of laughter, his voice tinged with a playful plea. He batted frantically at Ermano's merciless hands, his attempt at resistance more for show than anything else. "Stop it, you meanie!"

A gravelly hum rasped from Ermano's throat, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he smacked his lips together, as if considering Rien's plea. He dropped his chin atop Rien's head, his nails gently scratching tender trails down the boy's back.

“Nah,” Ermano drawled. “I don’t think I will.”

“Ro!” Rien whined, his grip tightening around Ermano's neck as he mustered the strength to climb up the older man's middle. He craned his head upward, locking his pleading blue eyes with Rorey's that watched the scene with swelling amusement. “Save me!”

Rorey stumbled to his feet, letting out a clamorous cry of bravo. “Release the child, foul beast!”

“Rorey—“ Ermano yelped, snorting a laugh as he ducked back. “No, don’t—“

Rorey snatched the book lying forgotten on the grass, he lunged forward, shouting like a fierce knight thundering relentless protests in the face of a dangerous foe. If the knight’s cries in question were not unalike the furious squawks of an angry bird with comically puffed up feathers. He madly smacked the book repeatedly against Ermano’s shoulder. There was the coldly feared, beloved second Prince of Ruperta — stripped of all elegance and deliberateness as he beat his brother with a book.

Rien shrieked with glee, feet kicking with delight. “Get ‘im!” He crowed.

Realizing the futility of his resistance, Ermano raised his voice above the chaos, surrendering to Rorey's playful assault. "All right! All right!" he yelled, throwing his arms in the air in a gesture of surrender to block Rorey's wild attacks. "Jeez."

His gently grip around Rien’s shoulders loosened, allowing the boy to wiggle free. 

With Ermano's grip around Rien's shoulders loosening, the boy eagerly seized the opportunity to wiggle free. Rien hurriedly scampered away, puffing with tittering giggles. Rorey dropped his leather-bound weapon, swiftly scooping up the boy with a protective embrace. Rien nestled into Rorey's slender arms, allowing himself to be tucked into Rorey's lap as the older sibling enveloped him protectively. Shooting Ermano a mischievous smirk, Rien shoved his nose into Rorey's shoulder, still shaking with bouts of breathless laughter.

Rorey ran a comforting hand down the boy’s back to calm him down, pushing up his glasses. “Are you satisfied with your rescue, Your Majesty?” He panted, pressing a warm kiss to the crown of Rien’s head.

Rien grumbled unhappily. He squirmed, wrinkling his nose, shoving at Rorey’s cheek.

Rorey stuck his lip out in a mocking pout. “Not even a ‘thank you’ for your savior?” He teased, poking the furrow in Rien’s brow.

Giggling, Rien shook his head, ducking into Rorey’s shirt to hide a bashful smile. The warm scent of fresh cinnamon drifted to his nose, the smooth, sapphire fabric of Rorey’s jacket smelling sweetly of beautiful flowers blooming in a bright spring day, mingling with the delicate aroma of sun-kissed honey.

“You did not save ‘im,” Ermano scoffed. Groaning, he grabbed his book, frowning as he brushed dirt from the cover. “Ya beat me vigorously with the book I just got from the library.”

Rorey’s chest jostled under Rien’s cheek with a soft laugh.

Rien nuzzled closer to his brother’s warmth, leaning his head back against Rorey’s chest, eyes drifting to stare up as rolling clouds unfurled across the brilliant blue sky. Humming a light, vague tune, Rorey stroked through the boy’s curls. His fingertips brushed over the blonde’s scalp as he weaved through golden stands. A gentle breeze tugged back the collar of Rien’s shirt, sending tingling chills along his back. 

Lashes fluttering, Rien sank back with a sigh breathing past his lips. An easing exhaustion slipped tension from his shoulders. He watched as a coil of snowy clouds trailed laxly across the vast expanse of azure sky, waltzing gracefully in reminiscent of delicate petals floating upon a tranquil stream. 

Feathers rustled. Seed crunching under her hocks, Tally wobbled along, flapping her wings. She tilted her head, beady little eyes sparkling. Smiling, Rien reached down, scooping up the hen and hugged her close.

“Hi there, pretty,” He cooed, thumb stroking down Tally’s back. 

Clucking, Tally bobbed her head. She pecked at Rien’s nose. Rien sputtered a giggle. He ran his fingers up the chicken’s neck, brushing over feathers of glossy ravens and rich browns. 

“Oy, gremlin,” Ermano chided, scooting over with raised brows, wagging a finger at the boy. “Gently.”

Rien scowled, puffing out his chest indignantly. “I am!” He insisted.

Ermano huffed a snort. “Sure, sure.”

Sweeping his wavy locks over his shoulder, the warrior scooted over. With a gentle touch, he placed his broad hand atop Rien's delicate wrist His calloused fingers intertwined with Rien's smaller ones, guiding them with a steady touch to tenderly graze the downy feathers of the chicken’s back. 

“Like that, see?” Ermano murmured, scratching Tally’s head. He chuckled when the hen nuzzled against his palm. “If ya do it too roughly it’ll mess up her feathers.”

“That’d be bad.” 

“Mhm.”

As Rien's fingertips danced along the smooth surface of Tally's feathers, his attention was drawn to a subtle movement at the periphery of his gaze. A flowing fabric, dark and mysterious, fluttered in the gentle breeze, capturing his curiosity. Soft, slow footsteps were swept up by the cool breeze, timid clacks of heels against stone. Quiet, a mere whisper in the wind, hushed — as if lacking the strength to raise any notice. 

Curiosity piqued, Rien craned his neck, leaning against Rorey's knee for support as he strained to catch a glimpse of the enigmatic figure. His eyes, squinting against the rosy rays of spilling sunlight, drifted along the winding, brick paths of the castle grounds. Amidst the opulent vines that adorned the brick walls, this solitary silhouette stood out, adorned in humble shades of gray that contrasted sharply with the lavishness of its surroundings. The figure's hair, the color of caramel, was loosely coiled at the nape of their neck. Shoulders hunched forward, burdened by an unseen weight, their demeanor betrayed a sense of isolation amidst the vibrant tapestry of the castle's bustling life.

It was Elwyn. Walking silently with his head bowed and hands limp. 

There was something yanking the knot of nerves tangled in Rien’s stomach. 

Then, he noticed.

Elwyn strolled towards along the paths of winding cobblestone, snow crunching under his boots, gaze lifted to stare at a gate that loomed from atop an icy hill, its once fresh black paint faded into a dull gray, peeling away to reveal the raw metal beneath. Each twisted bar bore the scars of countless years, riddled with layers of rust. Snow splayed on the dry stretch of earth enclosed by the jagged iron spikes. Each blade of grass was drooping and wilted, the chilly eerily silent safe of the clamorous cries of crows. 

A lingering unease clenched Rien’s gut. Something squirmed in his stomach, something bad, like a cowering kitten mewling in fright. His little fingers clung desperately to Rorey’s jacket.

“Is Dad okay?” He whispered shakily.

A dimming uncertainty leeched the sparkling glint from Rorey’s eyes, a paling flush creeping up his cheeks. His teeth sank into his lip. “We’re not sure, darling.” He murmured softly. 

A furrow pinched Rien’s brow, throat working in a rough swallow. “I wanna make sure he’s okay.”

The boy squirmed in Rorey’s arms, pushing against his chest and wiggling free. He wanted to rush to his father’s side and clasp his hands. Such unearthly weight dipping Elwyn’s chin strung a flurry of wrong-wrong-wrong rushing through his ear in tune with his pounding heart. A deep ache settled in his gut. He didn’t like it. 

But Ermano placed a heavy hand on top of the blonde’s frail shoulder. A tight frown thinned his lips, thumb brushing easing circles into Rien’s skin. “Leave 'im be, kid,” He rumbled.

Confusion was a fist of cold iron gripped vicely around Rien’s throat. Crushing his lungs, sucking away any ounce of air, leaving his head spinning. His little mind struggled to grapple any sort of understanding. It was— it was wrong. Something wasn’t right. Sickly worry churned his stomach. 

Cool, slender fingers cupped his cheeks. Rorey brushed the boy’s hair from his forehead, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Dad’s just shaken, is all,” He whispered, caressing the delicates skin of Rien’s temple. A shaky smile twisted his lips. “Everything is gonna be just fine.”

But, even as he murmured sweet words of comfort, his jade eyes flickered to meet Ermano’s ones of stormy blue. Even if it was clouded, a deep sorrow was pasted between their glance.

Rien squeezed his eyes shut. He shoved his face into Rorey’s blouse, a shaky wheeze rattling his lungs.

Receiving letters wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for Ermano.

As one of the Princes of Ruperta, his desk was more often than not piled with towers of papers as he wasted away in the study chambers. Reports demanded to be filled, bills approved by the Council to scoff at, complaints to sigh over. All undoubtedly accompanied by a pounding pressure that stabbed ruthlessly under his temples. Ruperta was beginning to flourish — years of raging battles were slowing easing to an end. A flicker of hope had begun to glow golden at the end of this weary tunnel that they had soaked in blood. Finally, after all this time, they were somewhat unshackled from Aquilo’s cruelty. Their relentless efforts had been met with good Fate, settled by revenge that seemed to satisfy the Gods above.

Years of nonstop fighting, years of dragging war, were finally beginning to show a pale, yet steady shadow of prosperity. 

But with their newfound welfare came the crushing burden of responsibility. There were endless problems to solve. Unremitting demands that never seemed to slack. Even with their chains unbound Ruperta was left trembling on newborn legs. 

So, the warrior would work tirelessly. From hacking through foes with his blade until his muscles burned, to writing essays until his hands were stained with pigment and blistered. The only time he would halt to a brief stop was when Elwyn would drag him from his desk. But Ermano was ceaseless. It may have been unhealthy, but Ermano could not bring himself to disappoint. Despite the fatigue tugging him down, the hot pain stabbing tirelessly in his skull, he refused to stop. 

Even if he loathed the endless hours he spent flicking through piles of pages. He would stare blankly at the papers with muddled confusion until the words of ink swam. He would much prefer a blade gripped in his grasp, its hilt brushing against the calluses lumping his fingers as the familiar thrill of adrenaline thudding through his veins. Rorey was much more skilled with the quill than he. Often, Ermano would catch himself gawking as his brother swiftly poured out words in his untidy scrawl.

Yet, even if unenjoyable, it was still his duty to his people.

So, he would roughly shake himself to cast each letter a second glance. Force himself not to crumple the damned page. Carry the weight of his responsibilities, even as his shoulders bucked.

That was, until one peculiar paper founds its merry way to his desk.

Moonlight poured from Ermano’s thrown open window, a pleasant night breeze flowing through the velvet drapes. The three moons glittered high above, stars twinkling in the inky sky, bathing the room in its silvery fountain of glow. His hand ached as he looped words, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he scratched parchment. The candle’s dim light flickered in its brass holder. The faint scent of ink lingered stubbornly in the air. Papers were piled atop his desk, seemingly endless. Stray strands of auburn had splayed loose from his neat bread, tickling his neck irritatingly. His eyes drooped, but he forced them open, drawing in a sharp seethe of breath. He raised his chair as Elwyn’s chair creaked quietly. The older, tucked at his own desk, he idly scrubbed at an ink stain, dragging sluggish blinks. His chin sagged on his palm, the hollows under his eyes smeared a worryingly deep purple.

The sight knotted a tangle of worry amongst Ermano’s nerves.

Whatever leeching gloom sucked tirelessly from Elwyn’s weary form struck unease deep within him, a pain that ached and poked restlessly. His father was known for his wondrous efforts to steady his Kingdom. Ermano also knew the man to be notorious for refusing to rest while his people were in need of aid, shoving aside all self pleasures in a furious addiction. 

Seeing him slumped over his desk, eyes drifting in a blank stare, was an awry sight to see.

“That stupid farmer’s complainin’ ‘bout that blasted rooster,” Ermano muttered, rather desperate to ease the unsettled silence. He snorted. “Again.”

“Gods.” Elwyn groaned. He leaned back in his chair with a lagging sigh, rubbing at his temples. “That’s the third time this week.”

Ermano hummed a low note of agreement. A dry chuckle rumbled his chest. “Chicken soup’s soundin' real appealin’ right about now,” He shifted in his chair, grumbling under his breath. “And I’m a damned vegetarian.”

Elwyn smoothed wrinkles from his blouse, cheeks straining in a weak smile as he huffed a quiet laugh. It was shaky. Tinged with a hitch of breath that trembled. His gazed drooped down at the winding ridges in the wooden floor, misty eyes glossy and just…empty. It was an expression of something sorrowful, mournful, yet so hollow — such burden did not belong on his kind face.

Ermano’s lips pressed together in a frown.

His father had been clung with an eerie area that had cloaked the entire palace in a thick swam of clouds, smeared a deep gray with the promise of a dangerous storm, crackling with deafening strikes of thunder. Some looming force that grappled, unshakable, with gnarled claws. 

He had seen Elwyn in his lowest down-hill tumbles, had stood loyally at his side durning his lowest of lows. A somber shift in mood never happened so swiftly as this. He knew his father better than he knew himself. Elwyn was never one to be rash nor blindly cut quick turns. Above all else he would uphold a tender smile. Alike his sons, he was as stubborn as a tenacious bull, refusing to drop down his guard wall of lively spirits until he collapsed.

Such vivid remorse gripping Elwyn’s sagging frame was as a wilting flower in a garden of vibrant blooms.

Ermano sat his quell into the ink pot, concern pinching his brow. He pushed back his chair. Stormy softening a great margin, he casted a worried glance to his father.

“Are you okay?” He murmured, quietly — careful not to bristle the festering silence.

Elwyn’s fingers fiddled with the fabric of his trousers. Unfocused glaze glossed his eyes, as if trailing something that faded into the distance. He rubbed at his forehead, as if chasing away a piercing pressure. Exhaustion wrenched something dimming in those dove-gray eyes. He blinked, lifting his gaze to Ermano’s worried stare, hands falling limp in his lap.

Quickly, Elwyn hurried to raised his chin, drawing in a hitch of breath. “I-,” He stuttered, wringing his hands. “I’m fine,” His voice cracked; uncertain and flat with dreariness. His throat worked in a rough swallow. As if the words were as bitter as bile in his mouth.  “Why do you ask?” 

Ermano’s shoulders rolled in a shrug. “Ya just seem a bit—”

“It’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” Elwyn jutted in quickly. Trembling tension twisting the corners of his lips, he smiled, a desperate grapple for roasurrence that seemed to slip uselessly from his fingers. A heavy sigh slipped from his lips. “It’s nothing, Em.”

Ermano frowned as he watched his father's feeble attempt at reassurance. The stark contrast between Elwyn's visible distress and his dismissive words hung in the air like a mismatched puzzle piece. He parted his lips, going to pry further. But his elbow caught a stack of letters. With the flurrying of paper they were sent scattered to the poor.

Ermano knelt down to gather the scattered letters, grumbling a curse under his breath. He pushed away his chair and swiftly gathered the papers, blowing away the dirt from their branded stamps. He shuffled them into a brisk pile, going to dump them unceremoniously back onto his desk. However, something snagged his eye.

A corner of a paper stuck out from the untidy bundle. It was crinkled, stained with dark splotches of ink and its writing scrawled messily. In the flickering glow of the candlelight, the secrets of ink furled in its fold bled through, like sickly seeps of murky trickling dripping loudly in ringing silence. A churning sense of unease settled heavily in Ermano’s gut. 

With unsteady hands he slipped the letter free. He slid aside the pile. As blood rushed through his ears, he flicked open the envelope.

The parchment was smooth against his fingertips, its wrinkles rubbing under the calluses on his palms. His eyes scanned the lines. Each word was arranged in jagging paragraphs, sentences flooding his senses in a messy disarray of hurry. The pen was smeared. As if the writer’s wrist had carelessly brushed over their script. It was too disordered, too wild for its sleek envelope and rich ink.

It was addressed from Cesmuh Rhosteim. The Mayor of a village in the South on the island of Syla. Her name stood out particularly to Ermano, as she was an old comrade he had joined forces with a few years ago in their desperate swoop of the Kingdom to find Rien. She was easily one of the most well respected leaders in Ruperta, gaining mounds of trust after she had proved to most of the world that her beloved island did that hail the damning curse whispered in old stories. She had easily bore her responsibilities, allowing her people to prosper without any needed aid. 

A chill ran ragged down Elwyn’s spine.

If Rhosteim was reaching out…

His mind raced, churning in loops as information was spilt from the page, an unseen weight pressing heavily upon his shoulders. A breath caught in his throat as he fell to the end parting, eyes lingering on the final words.

“Look at this,” Ermano breathed, tearing his gaze from the letter and turning to Elwyn. He held out the paper, clenching his jaw stiffly at the quiver that jolted his hands.

He handed it to Elwyn, locking into those dove gray eyes for a spilt second before turning away, hands wracking with tremors. Elwyn unfolded it, biting his lip, glancing down hesitantly to skim over the words scrawled out.

Gaze flickering up, Ermano watched as Elwyn’s eyes began to scan the letter. Nausea slammed into him at the mere reminder of those words of ink. They didn’t contain the usual, dragging stories about the slightest drop in the stride market, nor the humorously ridiculous complaints. Instead, it was filled with news that made his blood hot with smoldering fury. More boiling than any gruesome battle ever had. He clenched his hands, desperate to shove down the seeps of loath that bubbled like a pot rattling over a stove. 

Elwyn’s face paled, horror crumpling his features, hands trembling. Nausea twisted him, tinging a sickly hue of green. 

“They found someone strung up in the middle of Zephyr’s town hall?” He whispered, swallowing hard.

Ermano nodded curtly. “Yes. And look.” He leaned forward, jabbing a finger to the picture plastered on the parchment.

It was a photo, one of rather poor quality and clearly taken by shaky hands, its outlines scraggily. Cut from a newspaper, it looked like. Judging from the blips of half-sentences underneath it that were chopped to a stop. It showed a fuzzy figure dangling by a rope wrapped tightly around their neck, hanging limply with their chest damningly still. Blobs of what could only be oozing blood soaked their ragged clothes, spilling down to the polished tile floor. A crowd of gaping people stared up in shock, mouths parted in forever silent screams.

But that was not what Ermano gestured at. Under his finger was the from the column the poor soul hung from, pointedly at the grimy mark smeared messily at their dangling feet. Blood was splattered in a loop, nasty grim atop of the polished marble, with a blotchy cross jutting towards the ceiling.

Realization flashed across Elwyn’s face. 

“Aquilo’s mark,” He whispered, spitting the words like nasty curses.

Soft pools of swimming gray flickered to meet ones of twinkling midnight blue.

Knowing dread plunged uneasily in Ermano’s gut. Swimming like bubbles floating through a thick sludge of soup. 

As the last few years had trudged by with dragging slowness, that horrid symbol had rapidly morphed into an omen of the damned for the Ravens. A harsh promise of tragedy just round the corner. Of Fate’s careless cruelty. A sickening vow that disaster would soon slam against their shoulders and shatter their knees. Chills crept down Ermano’s spine, a riddle of fear piercing his heart more sharply than any battle of havoc ever had. 

It meant one thing — one name, one man. 

The man who was responsible for drowning Ermano’s family in years of grief. Who would one day bear the burden of Ermano’s seething fury for every ounce of agony he had caused.

Nauvu.

Ermano gritted his teeth together until dull pain rocked his jaw. He clenched his hands into fists that shook with dark rage, nails biting into his palms, tingling with longing to raise his sword and run it clean through Nauvu’s ribs. His stormy eyes blazing with the swelling intensity of smoldering clouds moments away from raining down in clashes of clapping thunder. Thrilling lust coursed through his veins in thudding pounds. 

What he wouldn’t give for a mere few moments alone with that bastard. To have his fingers slick with his blood as its heavy, coppery tangy wafted the air, and his screams ring in his ears. To feel lavish satisfaction ease the pain Nauvu had so gaily wrenched him with.

How long did the list scrawl on now? How many oozing wounds had Nauvu torn through their flesh?

Too many.

Even long before Rien — bright, innocent Rien — had brought his joy into their family, Nauvu’s trail of wreckage and carnage had still ripped agony through their lives for countless years. He was responsible for the terrifying nightmares that would send Ermano jerking awake in the long hours of the night. He was the one who had grasped the warrior’s heart with his claws and turned it rocky and hard. Every ounce of pain was his doing. Every ounce.

Yet he still walked a freeman.

Disgust brought strings of bile up his throat.

“We need to launch some sort of prevention act,” Ermano gritted, words as sharp and chilly as sharp stabs of ice, each word punctuated by a bristling growl. A furious breath seethe through his nose. He grabbed the letter again, thunking it onto the desk and jabbing a harsh finger to the damned Aquilo’s mark. “This rat’s been slippin' through our lines for long enough.”

Rare seeps of anger steeled Elwyn’s face, a piercing frown thinning his lips, something dangerous and cold gleaming in his eyes. “Yes,” He nodded curtly, folding his hands over a knee. “I agree. If Nauvu has breath in his lungs, our people aren’t safe,” Something mournful wrenched his expression. “Let alone Rien.”

A shudder ripped down Ermano’s back.

The thought of that narcissistic worm laying his hands on Rien again made him sick. It had taken so long to see the boy brightly smile again, to hear his adorable titters of laughter spill freely. Just a mere ghost of that happy, beaming kid had just resurfaced from that hollow shell of sorrow. A slight yet cosmic chance for healing. 

He would be damned if he let Nauvu take away that chance.

“I’ll rally my troops tomorrow,” Ermano cleared his throat, stormy eyes gleaming coldly as he drew back his hair into a loose knot, strands spilling from the nape of his neck. His tone was stripped from any wedge room for argument, dropping from his lips like lead. “We’’ll scout out the ruins of Aquilo’s castle, see if there’s anything remainin' that might be useful we can sniff out.”

Elwyn nodded, quickly rising to his feet and whisking aside the empty envelope. “Of course,” He hurriedly agreed. “I’ll have the stable boys prepare your horses.” 

As Ermano gazed down at his father, a serrated stab of sadness yanked at his heart. The man’s lazuline eyes were painted with a the heat of the strongest fires, but also by the abysses of the greatest seas. Vast depths of misty gray that crinkled back into a smile, unwavering yet tainted by sadness. Always a gaze of unending fondness that was darkly tinged with swallowing grief. Always a stare of profound love when he would gaze at his sons, as if they were the only things left in the world.

And maybe, Ermano sorrowfully mused, to Elwyn, that was simply truth.

Easily, his father was the strongest man Ermano knew. Over his thousands of years, Elwyn’s heart had been beaten like an anvil’s head — vigorously, continuously. Until he was nothing but a bent and broken mess that was clinging together by flaying tethers. Forced to watch as time passed by as he drowned in grief. 

Yet, here he was, left alive by some mercy of Fate and shoulders held high.

But, the unnamed, dangerously fragile that twinged twisted his shaky smile did not go unnoticed by Ermano’s keen eyes.

Ermano’s hand twitched. A plea to reach out, to grasp Elwyn’s arm and reassure him that he would fair finely. Maybe even offer him a brief embrace and clasp a firm hand to his shoulder. He fished down to summon the will—

The door was flung open, bustling footsteps pounding against the floor. Ermano’s poor heart nearly leapt free from his chest. A sharp breath dragged ruggedly through his ribs. But, to his spiking nerves’ relief, it was just Rorey. His younger brother hurriedly stumbled into the room, beaming a broad grin, Rien wrapped in his arms. They panted for breath, joyous laughter tumbling from their lips.

“Dad!” Rien squealed, blue eyes shining brightly as he squirmed in Rorey’s arms. “Em! Guess—“

Suddenly, Rorey yelped, tripping over one of the many messily arranged stacks of paper that littered the office floor with a sputter and quite nearly toppled over. But Ermano was quick to catch him, hand flying to clasp round his elbow.

Rorey gasped, scrambling to get his feet beneath him and turning to Ermano with a breathless chuckle. “Thank you.”

Simply shrugging, the older kicked away the troublesome pile of parchment. Ermano gave his brother’s arm a pat, eyes keenly scanning over Rorey’s face with his lips pursed into a thinly tight frown. When he found no scrape nor bruise, he brushed the brunette’s askew, mocha curls from his eyes. Gently, he shoved Rorey’s glasses up his nose and rumbled a low chuckle. “Don’t thank me,” He snorted. “Just help me clean it up.”

Rorey’s face twisted sourly. “Oh, Gods, no,” He batted wildly at Ermano’s hands, the older barking a laugh.

“Goodness!” Elwyn tutted. He briskly hasted across the room, stepping over stray books and discarded papers, taking Rorey’s arm. “Don’t drop your brother.”

Rien giggled, shaking his head. “He won’t,” He huffed. 

Elwyn turned to his son with soft eyes, spreading his arms as the boy reached for him. He scooped up the small blonde, settling him on his hip and pressing a kiss to his hair. He hummed, running a gentle finger over the shell of Rien’s ear, watching warmly as the boy’s little fingers clung to his shirt. “Now,” He tsk-ed, cracking a smile and giving Rien’s curls a ruffle. “What’s all this fuss about?”

A grin toothily flashed across Rien’s face. He clutched fistfuls of Elwyn’s blouse, excitedly clambering up to his father’s face. “I-I took my first steps!” He cried. Adorable bouts of laughter shook his shoulders. “And— and Rorey didn’t even needa help me.”

A soft, wheezing breath was whooshed from Ermano’s lungs.

Surging disbelief rocketed within him, like a damn splintering as roaring rushes of water thundered past in sweeps of foamy waves. Yet these rapids of water were seemingly tainted with something far too sweet, too fresh for him to accept. A blessing of bliss that sent his head reeling in incredulity. Even as some unnamed force crushed down deep yearned with brilliant bursts of joy.

Ermano whipped his gaze to Rorey, pouring into those emerald eyes, searching desperately for reassurance. 

His brother laughed, grinning brightly with fervent nods.

A choked, hitching sob wrenched from Elwyn’s throat. Salty streams of tears streaked down his cheeks. “O-Oh,” He hiccuped. He tucked Rien tight to his chest, scrubbing at his eyes as shaky cries tumbled over each other to pour from his tongue. His grip was a desperate, trembling grapple as he tugged his boy close. “Oh, my Gods…”

A deep tremor jolted through his form. He drew in a wet sniffle, pressing his face into Rien’s golden curls.

Like beads of light slowly beginning to spill from cracks, wonderful realization began to dawn upon Ermano with rays as rosy as the first kisses of morning sun. A blinding light that chased away all seeps of darkness and dried all sorrowful tears. So great, so awing that the warrior sat, frozen, lungs stripped of air as he could only stare in wild shock.

It was a blessing that he could not understand.

A mercy too great to comprehend.

Part of him stubbornly stiffed this as a foolish trick. Something that was— that was too kind. It left him stumbling back in a mad, sudden strike of whiplash.

Tears burned his eyes, salty and stinging, chest stuttering with a drugging breath. He didn’t bother to blink them away. They dripped numbly down his temples. A rich, warm laugh sprung from his throat. Even as his stormy eyes wetly glinted a shaky smile lifted his cheeks. His grim spirits were greatly lifted until they soared through the clouds high above.

Rien— Rien was walking. He was walking. He was walking, he was walking.

Ermano swallowed roughly, wringing his hands. Gods. How so quickly? How so fast? It didn’t make sense, yet strangely he didn’t seek the need to know reason. He was too grateful to even summon a smidge of care. Such mercies weren’t to be unwound. This was— it— oh, good Fate.

Throughout all these hard, darkly lit weeks, Ermano’s hopes had begun to sink in waves that shoved him limply, helplessly to the seafloor. Although kept carefully hidden from the world’s watchful eyes, he begun to gaze at Rien sadly, heart wrenching in two as he stared at the broken mess that had replaced his brother. Despite his desperate attempts to stomp down his sadness, hope had slipped from his fingertips. 

Mournfully, he had started to wonder if the first steps of healing would ever be taken.

But here they were. In all their iconic glory. 

After all this— all this damn pain they had been drug through — a flickering chance for hope was a bright light at the end of this dark tunnel.

Elwyn sucked in a shuddering breath. He drew back, smiling tearfully, dabbing at his eyes with the corner of his sleep. “I think,” He murmured. “That a celebration is in order.” He laughed, twirling in a circle as Rien giggled, sank snuggly in his arms. Elwyn pressed a kiss to his son’s head, fingers threading through those precious gold curls. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes!” Rorey swooned, clasping his hands. “A grand, banquet to celebrate the return of our boy.”

“The finest,” Ermano agreed. “Fit for our wonderful Prince.”

A rosy blush crept up Rien’s cheeks, a sheepish smile of his own tugging at his dimples. He giggled, ducking his head to hide against Elwyn’s neck.

“Can there be cake?” He asked, turning up to his father with wide, pleading blue eyes.

The man laughed. “Oh, yes, darling,” He cooed. 

Ermano leaned forward, poking the boy’s cheek with a knowing grin. “We’ll have all the cake ya could ever want, kiddo,” He whispered into Rien’s ear. The blonde sputtered an adorable giggle. Ermano smiled softly, stormy blue eyes easing with a tender warmth, palm caressing over the boy’s delicate skin. 

He was beyond revealed to hear that precious laughter again.

Chapter Text

Noon’s boiling waves of muggy sun hammered heavily on Ermano’s back, sending trickles of sweat dripping down the hook of his nose. Hot breaths puffed from his dry lips. A blissful ruffle of breeze curled between his legs, tugging back his cape to whip at his heels, stray auburn strands flying loose from his sleekly-weaved braid. The scintillenscent steel of his armor caught the sun’s beating rays, casting them back in blinding glitters. His helmet was pulled over his face, shaped to form the looming skull of a bird of prey, bone faintly brushing against his temples. Its razor sharp beak dangerously glinted in the moonlight.

Petrous marble was solid under his boots — the crumbled remains of a collapsed column, yet it was like a steadfast boulder of hefty resistance in comparison to the ruins around. The remains of the castle were nothing but hunks of shattered bricks and crumpled walls. Ermano stood above a stretch of a clearing, a scarce sight in deed among such rubble. A steady howl of wind swept from the gaping hollow in the palace’s once sturdy facade, allowing his stormy blue eyes to scan across the scattered remains of the battlefield. Long tendrils of grass curled up to the cloudless sky, splattered with dried oozes of dark blood, dusty skeletons swarmed with flies rolled limply along the damningly silently valleys.

His forces had set camp in the clearing that stretched below his feet, some kicking at stray pebbles, as others collected shards of splintered wood to spark a fire for dusk. They had profoundly agreed once Ermano had reported their mission. The ride from Ruperta was filled with brilliant ideas and vigorous courses of action as their horses galloped across grassy planes.

The troops idly chattered below, murmuring voices carrying out over the ruins like booming bellows. Yet little found its way to the man’s ears. As if crawling sluggishly through thick molasses, the world seemed oddly muddled. Dulled and bleached colorless. Wrapped in fuzzy that left only his thoughts to ragingly rush through his head.

Never had Ermano been so close to this once looming castle, merely a shadowy silhouette that served as another burden to crush his back. A reminder of his failures that swept fierce chills down his back. Simply known to the warrior as the solitude of safety Nauvu lounged lazily in, mind clouded to the horrors his little brother had faced inside those cold brick walls.

Now, the musty air carried a certain heaviness. As if densely clouded with memories too heavy for its dusty mien.

Ermano’s mind loosely wandered, like a mule cut stray from its lead and left to stagger on its own with clumsy hooves. A fierce ache wrenched pain at something that burned deeply. Dimmed by gritting force yet still present. 

Had Rien been led limping through this once rich ballroom? Whether it be as some twisted prisoner of war or a spat-at slave. Had the boy’s blood been spilt to stain the floors? Had his screams echoed through the halls?

The warrior’s rickety trail of thought was churned to a stop as something grew hot in the pouch that hung from his belt. 

Huffing a low chuckle, Ermano fumbled with the sack’s string, untying it and fishing inside. He pulled out an unadorned slate of porcelain. It was an old thing. Riddled with cracks and roughing at the edges. A piece of chalk dangled from a thread knotted at the corner. Yet the webs of cracks dully glimmered with a purple hue — radiating some aura of something impossibly ancient. A theory that was easily correctly proved as messily looped handwriting was scrawled on its surface from, seemingly, no where.

Is all going smoothly?, was the written scratch. So brisk and careless that it could only be from no other than Rorey. 

Gods, it was the worry-wart’s third message within the quarter hour.

Ermano had hardly been out for two days.

He twirled the chalk between his fingers and swifted back a reply of reassurance, eyes rolling fondly.

Rock shifted to Ermano’s vague side, crunching under footfall and curling tendrils of dust from the ground. He turned to see a familiar head of flaming choppy locks of hair. Lex’s cape furled at her heels, axe clinking against her leg, a brow raised at the slate resting atop Ermano’s palm as she came to the man’s side.

“Ro worrying off your ass again?” She huffed, jerking her chin to the slate with amusement crinkling her iron eyes.

A snort blew from Ermano’s nose. “‘Friad so,” He grunted. Sparks of warmth bloomed in his chest, tugging his lips into a small smile. “Ya’d think that after all these years he’d realize he’s the stupid brother.”

Lex barked a laugh. “I dunno,” She hummed, clicking her tongue and socking her fist against Ermano’s broad shoulder. “Wouldn’t take your word for it.”

Ermano threw the soldier a heatless glare.

His gaze of stormy blue drifted, heavily falling like led to his troops scattered below, lightly ringing amusement stripped into something dark and sober. A fist of cold iron seemed to roughly seize his heart in a crushing vice. Lips pressed into a tight frown. Muscles coiled tensely, a crude swallow raking his throat. He scratched idly at his jaw, knuckles grazing the bone of his helmet.

This was not their ideal remit of duty, not a common task to simply whisk to before marking it off in a careless stroke. 

Fate, no.

What would happen if they returned empty-handed? What horrors would be allowed to unleash if every upturn of a rock revealed nothing? Nauvu’s head would not have a mere chance to be cut from his neck. He would be allowed to roam the Kingdom, like a great risk unable to be prevented, free to either live his years in undeserved luxury or to cause nothing but suffering. Their efforts to hunt him down would be blind. Useless, helpless, even after so many victories. 

Ermano would gladly allow himself to be slaughtered like a bound pig before such.

He knew, wholly with his heart, that death was far too good for that rat. Nauvu was a smear of nasty scum that deserved an entirety of endless agony. 

But Rien…

Ermano’s little brother would never be safe. Not as long as Nauvu’s heart still thudded. Rien had already been beaten sickening shades of blue, broken, nearly snapped beyond repair. All because of that man who dared to call himself the boy’s father. Every horrible nightmare that sent Rien jolting awake was always a cruel reminder of that. 

Even when the kid’s cheeks would dimple into a bright smile, those sky blue eyes were never quite the same. Always muddled. Always…shattered. Like a frail pane of glass that had been glued back together.

And Ermano was terrified of what horrors would take place if Nauvu got his hands on the boy again.

This was their chance.

Their chance to find the beginning of a rope that they could weave into a snare that could ring Nauvu’s neck. It had to be. Buried deep under the ruins was their chance.

A slow sigh blew from Lex’s lips. “Think we’ll find anything?” She muttered.

“Hope so,” Ermano murmured, hardened gaze falling to lock on the toes of his boots. Ash clung to leather, dirt smearing the soles. “Not sure what we’ll do if we don’t.”

Lex nodded curtly, rumbling a grunt of agreement.

An eerie silence settled over the muggy air, hushing all sounds, as if even Fate itself had leaned in close. Ermano’s heart hammered raggedly in his ears. A bubbled thrill surged through his veins, bitter and stinging like rivers of acid. Like a nauseating buzz of adrenaline that pounded under his skin. Leaving his fists clenched and gut rolling with a disgusting tasty lingering on his tongue. He wanted to wish his mouth with slaver and spit it out. He grinding his jaw tightly, bites of sharp breath seething between his teeth, knees bucking with the slightest breeze of weakness.

With a swish of his cape, he stepped from the column. He wounded along the mounds of rubble that served as makeshift steps, strutting down to their poor excuse of a camp.

“Rowan,” Quin was snarling, thunking her head back against the crumbled wall she leaned against, eyes glaring daggers at her comrade. “If you don’t shut up, I swear to Gods I will happily shank you.”

Rowan paused in his rambling of nonsense, arching an eyebrow. “Really?” He drawled, tossing back a bushy curl. “You and what, all three inches of yeh?”

“Still tall enough to wedge her foot up your rear, I’d say.” Harlow hummed.

“Now, darling,” Rowan looked aghast, hand flying to his mouth that curled into a teasing smirk as Harlow’s cheeks flushed scarlet. “That would be unlawful, I’m already taken.”

Ermano thunked down heavily upon an old, wooden post Evans had drug out, fingers lifting to rub desperately at his throbbing temples. He sucked in a deep breath. His eyes drifted shut, the cloaking darkness that greeted him slightly soothly the hot ache drilling against his skull. Some unseeable presence felt as if it was leering over his back. Grave memories refused to uncling, their hot breath tickling the hair lining his neck.

The last time he had set foot upon the damned grounds he was caught in a relentless tangle of peril — swinging his sword to strike down enemies whilst frantically shoving Rorey away from harm. 

A rueful laugh bubbled in his throat.

Gods, he had thought that was it. His naive mind had fallen under he illusion that just seizing that victory would just magically erase all their worries.

And look where they were now.

“-uor Majesty?”

Ermano’s lashes fluttered in rapid blinks. He rubbed at the hollow bags that sank deep under his eyes, raising his bowed head to blearily cast up a questioning gaze. He found Evans standing before him, brow worriedly creased. The bantering of the guards’ had died away, leaving every eye lingering on the warrior, silence settled heavily. 

Evans cleared her throat. “We asked what we were aided for, sir.”

“Ah,” Ermano fumbled to brush back his askew auburn bangs, hurriedly standing up and brushing dirt from his knees. “Yes, yes.”

He folded his hands at the small of his back, rolling back his shoulders and sucking in a shuddery breath.

“We are here,” He began, his normally lowly murmuring words rising into a great rumble that boomed across the ruins. “To do one thing,” Gods, this pathetic show of good faith made it seem so effortlessly easy. “To discover a start for a way to’ the breath from Nauvu’s lungs.  Ya find anythin' — whether it be a book they just happened to write down their evil plan in or an old pair of moldy socks — that could be a lead, we’re gonna follow it’s strings until we can’t no more,” His stormy eyes swept over his troops, a muscle working in his clenched jaw. “Am I clear?”

Every head dipped in immediate nods.

Evans flicked two fingers to his forehead in a salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Quin’s teeth flashed in a dark grin. “Let’s find this rat’s poison, eh?”

Long, dragging hours later, Ermano muttered a flurry of sputtering curses as water seeped through the leather of his boots. He took a jerking step back with a splash. Squinting through the dimly lit darkness, he shook out his shoes, droplets dripping back into the murky gray depths with wet thunks. A breathless exhale was sputtered from his lips, hot and dry against the air that was clouded thick with dust. It seemed to swarm inside his helmet, trapped in the bone and leaving its mugginess forever grazing his lips.

“Anything?” Lex yelled, voice echoing off the closely curled walls.

Ermano clenched his jaw boots squelching as he edged away from the foggy puddle, sparing a glance over his shoulder. “No.”

It was the same loop that churned round over and over again.

Even as the sluggish hours ticked by, the answer was always the same. No matter who voiced it. Always either a flatly dropped mutter or a reply strained with forced hope. Yet no matter which form it took, regardless of tone or pitch, it never failed to only further plummet Ermano’s spirits.

At the moment, he stood ducked in what he believed was the crumbled remains of a tunnel winding under the palace floors. Walls were stacked of hard stone, so closely twined that the man felt a vague wave of nausea, clearly burrowed for secrecy over comfort. Perhaps they had been simply and innocently used for servants to more briskly scurry along. Perhaps a group of rebels daring for a cause would meet inside the gloomy shafts. Or, perhaps, they had just been abandoned so many years ago. It sure seemed like it. A horrible stench plagued Ermano’s nose, like hundreds of rats laid rotting under the creaking floorboards that were flooded with scattered puddles of roily water. Tendrils of vines crept up the walls, ceiling littered with leaking cracks.

Regardless, it seemed to be the perfect place to scan for hidden secrets.

Seemed, at least. 

To Ermano’s piqued irritation, it was proving to be a falsely declared ruse with every passing moment of emptiness.

They had found nothing. Not a single scratch of paper inked with hushed secrets, a marked map, nor hardly a trace of breathing life. Their hands remained empty. Nothing was found, other than a torn page from a likely dusty spell book Harlow had so propitiously stumbled across. Even then, neither of the guards knew the nearest ounce of knowledge about sorcery, so it was deemed useless until they rode back to Ruperta and through the palace gates.

Ermano wanted to allow himself to swell with furry. To shake his fist at Fate and spit curses. But he knew this was his own doing. It had been his idea to load the cannons with tons upon tons of gunpowder. He had even watched, lips proudly curled into a cold smirk, as their enemies’ palace had been blown to bits. Then, the lust for revenge had clouded his head. He had been set out to split blood and cared nothing of the consequences. 

He had not even the blindest clue what miracles the future would uphold. And knew even less of the price that would could with his cloaking rage.  

The explosions he had so arrogantly watched fall were now twisted into a curse. Because of their destruction, little of use remained. Not a trace of Nauvu was found. 

Gods, it was almost amusingly ironic. 

Rien’s so called ‘death’ had surged him with seething anger. Even if he was much better skilled at masking it than Rorey, it had slowly clawed his heart apart until it was a ragged, wounded mess. He had longed for nothing more than to rip his foes limb from limb. 

In all brutal honesty, he still did.

He still would lie awake in the late hours of night, basked in cold sweat as some dangerous monster locked inside of him wished he had done so, so much more. Allowing those pitiful rats the bliss of death wasn’t justice enough. He wanted to sniff Nauvu down like a hound on a hunt and tear his nails into the worm’s flesh until he shrieked and bucked.

But Rien’s safety was more important. Ermano knew that. 

And now, because of his own foolish action, the chance of ensuring his little brother’s welfare was snuffed out like a breath would a candle.

Ermano suddenly stilled. He cut off the long sigh that had nearly slipped past his tongue, rigidly tensing, an eerie chill skittering down his back as hot swear sheened his brow. His knuckles brushed the hilt of his sword. He held his breath, straining his ears—

Pounding footfall shook the ceiling above his head. Stone rattled, pebbles clattering to the floor and dust raining down in trickles. Ermano stepped back. 

“Alexander?” He barked, fingers gripping shaft of his blade. Stormy eyes flicked wildly, jaw clenched, heart beginning to thud between his ribs.

With the quick scraping of boots against stone, Lex whipping round the corner, battle axe swung over her shoulder and steel eyes ablaze. A thin frown pressed her lips. Rare twists of something raw and fearful cracked across her face. Soot was smeared on her cheek and a she scoffed a hitching breath. “What the hell…”

Ermano’s sword grinding against its sheath as he drew it with a dull clink. He locked his knees, positioning his blade with a twirl of his wrist and drawing back his shoulders. The rushing footsteps boomed through the tunnels. Now breathless pants echoed. Heels grated across the ground, a whoosh of blonde hair was flashed—

“General!”

Harlow gasped, frantically grasping against the wall as he sucked in ragged wheezes. His light locks of hair were in matted tangles, face pale, leaning heavily against his knees. Ermano noticed a tremble to his shoulders. Something shown hauntingly in his wide eyes. He fumbled with his sword, throat working in bobbing swallows.

“There’s—“ He coughed, tattered coughs hacking from his throat as he struggled for breath. He choked down desperate gulps. “There’s something you should see. I— we—“ The elf shook his head, sputtering trailing off with muted, rapid shakes of his head.

Ermano swiftly sheathed his sword, striding forward with concern tangling a knot of his nerves. “What is it?”

A shudder wracked Harlow’s form.

“You must come see, Sir,” He shakily said. “It’s…”

Amber eyes were pools of swimming conflict, the lines etched on her forehead spoke of a raging war fought within, as if the weight of the world rested on his quivering shoulders. He looked torn— shocked. Face ghostly pale to the point of sickly, legs wobbling and lashes fleetly fluttered.

“They found some in the dungeons,” He managed to whisper, voice hushed, scarce. “Someone alive.”

Moments later, the weathered wood of a latter’s tottering rungs rubbed under Ermano’s fingertips, worn with a texture of peeling grains. The old thing groaned under his weight, echoing in the gloom in their hurried haste, creaking and dangerously shuddering. The corner of his cape fell to brush his ankles. He pulled himself up, sparing a gaze through his dangled curtain of hair to glance up at Harlow as the elf climbed up the rickety rungs.

The Sargent was silence, safe for a shaky wheeze of breath as he led them through the darkness. It was a tense quietness that pricked the hairs on the warrior’s neck. 

It was stifling — heavy in a way that muddled all else. In a way that choked down the many demands Ermano wanted to spew. 

He caught a tremble wracking Harlow’s hands, wavering his balance to teeter in a way that was simply wrong. Ermano had worked by the elf’s side for years; whether it be idle patrols of aiming down the palace halls or long weeks spent staking out with nothing but a thin blanket and a fire of smoldering embers. Harlow was a soldier with a sharp snark of wit and a spine of steel. A trustworthy ally to turn a bare back to.

Now, a ghostly glaze glossed his face. Crumbled like the ruins they stood in, fraying and thin, able to be swept away in the slightest breeze. 

But Ermano’s mind was too spiraled and stunned to summon an ounce of care. Not when Harlow’s sputtered words seized his head in a dizzy coil that replayed with the pounding of a war drum. 

Someone had been found alive. Breathing with their chest rising and falling, blood pumping, moving— alive. Alive, alive, alive. It was mad. A wild claim that winded him like a harsh blow to the chest. As sudden and stunning as an awful bout of whiplash. Gods he— he struggled to understand. To even begin to comprehend this insane turn of luck. An abrupt shift that nearly swooped the ground from beneath his feet.

There it was, finally — he could see that dim glimmer of hope.

A witness, a chance. A pair of eyes that had seen Nauvu’s every move and, no matter how deeply crushed down, secrets to spill. 

Maybe this trip hadn’t been a useless chase of blind faith after all.

“Up here,” Harlow muttered, elbow knocking against an old, rotten door that was screwed into the ceiling with rusted hinges. He grunted and gave it a hefty shove. It fell open with a dull thunk. Trickles of light flooded down in gold beams of warmth, causing Ermano to squint through the newly spelt shadows. Harlow was a blurry blob above him as he heaved himself to the surface. Heels sorely aching upon the knobby rungs, the General followed close behind.

As he pulled himself up, his eyes were met with a flood of brilliant sunlight, a sharp slam that hammered his senses. Blinking rapidly, he squinted, attempting to adjust to the sudden burst of radiance. The world around him appeared hazy, shapes and colors blending together in a dazzling daze. Gods, curse that murky gloom. Slowly, his vision cleared, black splotches swimming before him as he casted a glance around. 

They were back at their makeshift camp once again. The late afternoon sun still wafted down in beating rays that poured through the shattered holes in the shielding stone facade, looming shadows beginning to cast across the ground as the three moon’s dim glitter shown through the sky that was painted soft hues of dying light with careful strokes. Shards of shattered marble crunched under his feet. Flying bits of ash clung to the wet leather of his damp boots.

He glanced over their start of a small fire and the drug out logs, darting to the left as lowly spat words pierced the muggy air. 

Evans’s lips were curled back in a snarl, kind face contorted in a spittling hiss of rage and eyes gleaming, towering over the hunched figure that was wrenched in her brushing grip. Her hair was a frazzled mess of slick sweat. Furious breaths dragged from her chest. Smears of soot stained her steel armor, veins bulging in her forehead, muscles ripped back in tight coils.

Her fingers were bands of iron, clawed around the figure’s frail shoulders and forcing them to their knees with a shuddering cry. Their clothes were nothing but rags that hung from their sickly thin frame by splitting treads. Their skin was as pale and disfigured as oozing candle wax, ribs jutting as they choked on desperate gulps of air, so horribly thin that Ermano could see every curve and corner of bone. Dark tuffs of ragged hair hung to limply brush their shoulders, matted thick with patches of dirt, little, terrified noises slipping from thier lips.

“What witchery is up your sleeve?” Evans spat. She gripped the prisoner’s arm, harshly twisting the bones until a pained cry was brought from their lips.

“No!” They rasped. “No, no it’s drained. My Glamor, I can’t—“

Evans delivered a rough kick to their back. With a rasping yelp they sagged to their knees and held up trembling, skeletal hands. 

Sparks of curiosity rose within Ermano’s chest. With a tilt of his head, he strode forward, cape whipping at his heels in a light breeze.

“What is this about?” He asked coldly. 

Evans parted her gritted teeth to reply, something sour pinching his brow, when a cracky laugh jaggedly rang.

The figure shook at Evans’s feet, wracking as mad cackles scraped from a raw throat. Strangled wheezes of laughter heaved from their lungs — a horrible imitation of even the most crazed giggles, broken and cracky, sputtering with something sickly wet. 

“Always so direct,” They croaked. While rough from disuse, their voice was as smooth as carefully treaded silk, as if their words could woe the wildest of riots and tinged with a posh, lilting accent. They swayed, their head bowed. A vague glint of teeth flashed from under their matted raven locks. “So close-minded in such few, uncaring monotonous words.”

Evans ripped a hand into their hair, harassing yanking the frazzled strands and cutting off their smug drawl with a sharp gasp. He stomped down on their hand with the heel of his boot. Bones crunched. A guttural scream was ripped from the figure’s lungs. Evans leaned in close, breath ruffling the collar of their torn tunic as they stifled a breathless cry.

“Not a word,” He hissed.

Ermano’s lips twisted into a thin line. He strutted forward until the a pebble brought up from his steps hit the stranger’s leg. They jerked back, trembling, clutching their wounded hand to their chest as their throat worked in rough swallows. Ermano worked a tick in his jaw, eyes boring into the dirty smear of shadow that was the figure’s face. A heavy weight sank in his gut — a leech that sucked the hope from his heart and replaced it with something that brought acid up his throat. In the hot sun a chill crept up his spine. Something yanked at his heart, painful, as if trying to snare him in bonds of rope and force him back, as if terrified of this ragged stranger and begging him to flee.

The warrior lifted his eyes to fix Evans with a stern gaze. “Who is this?”

The figure slouched, thin arms wrapping around their stomach, looking through their limp locks to stare up at Ermano with something strangely mournful twinkling in their eyes. “Do you really not remember me?” He whispered, voice stripped of any snark and nothing but a sorrowful, meek breath. 

The thin cord Ermano’s patience had been teetering on went snap. With a cold stride he stalked forward, glowering down his nose at the figure who sat frozen at his feet. He knelt, reaching back to tear off his helmet, clasping its bone between his knuckles. Leaving his stormy eyes ablaze in the sunlight, braid spilling from the nape of his neck to brush the ground and he roughly clasped the stranger’s jaw between his fingers. A fearful wheeze smothered from their lips. Grip brushing, Ermano yanked up their chin.

Sun spilt to caress their features, chasing away the long shadows and leaving their face naked in the light. 

They — or he, judging by the soft fuzz lining their jawline — stared up at the General with wide eyes, sharp and narrow, that glimmered a luminous sorrel, speckled with flecks of gold, swimming with frantically locked away terror. Waves of raven hair draped over each side of a thin face in choppy, tangled curtains. Olive skin sagged like soaked, wrinkled parchment. Light freckles were scattered across hollow cheeks that were sunken with gnawing hunger. 

A furrow creased Ermano’s brow. Cold claws of confusion seized his heart, mingling with a hammering sense of horror and recognition that flooded him like a dam rattled as water shoved against it.

He—

This— this was— no, no it couldn’t be.

This was a face he had grown knew so dearly well as his fingers had traced delicate strokes down those familiar temples, a sheepish smile creasing the cheeks under his palms. Fine lips that would press against his own after exhausting days, a cup of steaming hot chocolate huddled between his hands as lingering kisses cased away his rushing race of thought. A silvery voice that could soothe even the most troublesome of his worries, ease the tension from his coiled shoulders and calm him effortlessly with just a mere coo. A slim yet unfaltering shoulder for his head to slump against.

Slender fingers that would link into his own and nuzzle a cheek into his scarred knuckles, easing a smile to his lips as he would reach down to cradle that gorgeous face. A familiar, slender form snuggled under his chin under cool sheets, whispers and stifled laughs passed back in forth under the cover of darkness. He would brush back those silky locks of raven, midnight blue eyes staring into ones of russet that he had once found dazzling, as he drew his lover close under warm basks of sunlight.

A heart that would be pressed against his side, so close the he often imaged he could reach out and hold it. The beating piece of his cold soul that completed him in one perfect, final fit.

A face that would haunt his nightmares.

A face he had long put firmly in the past after years of wrangling grief, fully accepting he would never set sight on it again.

Ermano choked on a sputtering gasp, stripped of breath, lungs left burning. He lifted a trembling hand to press against his lover’s sunken cheek, savoring the lingering warmth like a dying man would water. Movements desperate, heart thrashing between his ribs, blood rushing in his ears and eyes wide. Prickles jolted up his nerves in riddling pins and needles. The sour taste of disgusting bile stung his mouth. 

He sucked in a breathless wheeze. “Y-You.”

Froze like frosted over drips of water forever halted in time, he stared in shock at Juno Phobus, mind unable to make sense of this utter madness. How? How? After all these years of hurt clawing him from the inside out, of just barely splashing to the surface in the downing pit that was grief, just for Fate to flip around and trust this back into his hands—

Juno shrank back under Ermano’s stare, yet was locked stiff under the warrior’s grip on his chin, fingers frantically grappling against the ground as shallow breaths drug rapidly from his lips that trickled Ermano’s chin. Breath. Breath was in his lungs. Swells of terror flooded those gleaming ochre eyes. The sight of him — his tangled mess of hair, hollow cheeks and awfully thin chest — sent Ermano’s gut rolling. How was this the polished gentlemen he had once loved? What horrors had he faced to crush him to the Earth’s—

Then, the memories trickled back.

With them came flooding waves of scorching rage. It started as a flicker, a spark of irritation, barely noticeable as dim recognition unclouded his eyes. But with the memories came hot fury that swelled like a raging blaze, consuming every thought, every fiber of his being. Raw, boiling anger coursed through his veins, , an unstoppable torrent that threatened to break free from its fragile confines like a torrential flood bursting through a feeble dam.

This wasn’t the cunning, compassionate partner he had reserved his gentle love for. Wasn’t the flustered servant he had locked eyes with so long ago.

No.

This was a snake; one whose silver tongue spat words laced with venom, who knew nothing of loyalty and had heartless betrayed their Kingdom — betrayed Ermano — without so much as a flinch.

A ghostly tinge glossed Juno’s face, cool cheeks paling under Ermano’s rough palm, frozen like a rabbit under the jaws of a wolf. He sucked in a shaky breath, straining a weak smile. “Hello,” He rasped.

Ermano snarled. Fingers tightening into a grip steel, he harshly released Juno’s chin, giving him a cruel shove as fury boiled under his skin. Juno hissed a weak cry. He flinched away, back ramming against Evan’s knees, sucking in a pained scoff as he swiped at the fresh bruising painting his jaw.

Ermano swiftly rose to his feet, glowering down at Juno with stormy eyes that swarmed with loathing hate. Nothing but cold, stoney indifference hardened his face. A chilly breeze swept loose strands form his hair. He loomed over that piece of traitorous scum, boring into those gleaming amber eyes and drawing a seething inhale through his nose. Nails pierced his palm as his hands clenched into trembling fights that stretched his scars. 

Juno gaped up at him, pupils pin-pricks of wild terror like an animal kneeling before the butcher before slaughter. Pounds of dark, sickly pleasure thudded from Ermano’s veins at the sight. His sword was a tempting weight at his hip. 

It would be so easy.

A single, mere swing of his blade and the lying snake would be dead at his feet.

All of the agony Juno had drug him through, every mournful wail from Rorey and pained hitch from Elwyn could be avenged in an instant.

An unceremonious, insignificant, fitting end to this endless loop of grief.

But he could not be rash. Juno had been a pampered, glorious servant of Nauvu for years. Undoubtedly, there were secrets locked under that silver tongue of his, useful and rich, just wanting to be spilt free. 

And such a brisk death was in no way suiting. This traitor deserved to rot in the darkness of cells until he was frail and gray.

“Tie him up.” Ermano ordered sharply, giving a curt jerk of his chin. He was calm and collected. His breathing was strained steady. “We’ll escort him back to Ruperta at daybreak to carry out his justful sentence.”

Glinting a dangerous grin, Evans grasped Juno’s arm as Harlow unraveled a coil of rope from his belt with a sneer. They yanked their prisoner upright, grip like vices that tightened to leave imprints on pale, soot-smeared flesh. A rough gasp tore from Juno’s throat. He was snapped from his haze of stupidity, crying out and twisted in feeble struggles. He drug his heels into the ground, writhing like a rapid animal as his hands were wrenched forcefully behind his back. 

“W-Wait!” Juno yelled in a scraping rasp. He turned to Ermano, stifling a pained noise, in a desperate plea. “No. No! Em, please—“

His frantic begging was cut off into a choked wheeze as Evans cramped a cloth between his teeth. The guard’s lips curled back into a smirk, hands weaving a tight knot with the cloth’s corners behind Juno’s head.

“Not another filthy word from you,” She hissed. “This is the end of your lies, silver-tonged snake.”

Harlow huffed. “Thought he could escape justice,” He tutted, tying his loop of rope in a tight knot to bind Juno’s wrists. “Didn’t he?”

Lex barked a chilling laugh, cape whipping behind her as she strode forward. “About time he paid for his crimes against Ruperta.” She leaned in close to Juno, razor-sharp nails grazing the prisoner’s cheek in a haunt. “Can’t wait to get a moment with your pretty little face later.”

Ermano clenched his jaw. He coldly turned away, even as those amber eyes stared holes into his back, ignoring his hurtfully tugging heart.