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Some two years ago, from the ashes of a man named Raoul Léblanc, a gentleman thief who stole from the undeserving, Rumi was born.
Raoul Léblanc was a storyteller. A gentleman. The son of a baker. Nobody too remarkable. He would make for a poor thief if he was. Despite grand ambitions to steal from the Holy Family, he was a commoner. Someone who could blend into the crowd.
Rumi was decidedly not.
Rumi came to be in the halls of the house of the Holy Family, though not as you might expect. He’d planned the heist for years, but had never anticipated what he would find in the depths of that mansion. The harp-blade that seemed to call to him.
And then the gods fell. And the visions started.
Of the future – a deadly warforged and a bespectacled man fighting by his side. Triumphing over some unknown foe. Power flowing through the sword and into him, trickling through his veins. The temptation of something more. An alluring prospect, not too far out of reach. His, should he choose to fight for it.
Godhood.
Rumi was not someone who intended to blend into a crowd. Raoul had lived and prospered in a small town, out of the reach of the Holy Family, and had seen poverty and hunger and strife befall his neighbours and his friends, all while those with power did nothing. While the gods did nothing. Rumi was not meant for the same fate.
He knew it, because he dreamt of it. Rumi was destined for divinity.
The visions showed him his path to godhood. A way of righting a centuries-old injustice, by the gods to the people, for their negligence. And Rumi in their place, finally capable of healing the world.
(The quietly crafted idea that was never voiced aloud, that would bring eternal happiness for all. Every single person living their perfect life in their dreams, in an everlasting sleep. And it would be possible with his ascension to godhood.)
The warforged in his visions turned out to be Thanatos, a ruthless killing machine made of black steel, with glowing red eyes. He cared for little other than killing the gods, and was not one for niceties or consideration of others, in a manner that grated at Rumi’s usually aloof composure. Yet somehow, he grew to be one of Rumi’s closest friends.
And the bespectacled man of his dreams turned out to be Peter. Peter Sqloint.
(“Peter. Mr Peter Sqloint. We were meant to be together.”)
It was hard to find the words to describe Peter.
Peter was brought to tears at even the slightest hint at kindness. He shied away from social situations, and held a very low opinion of his own worth. The bags under his eyes gave away the fact that he hadn’t had a proper rest in a long time, and his general unkempt state made Rumi suspect that he also hadn’t had a place to call home in a while. He startled when addressed by name, and went pale with fear if Thanatos so much as looked in his direction.
He was the most remarkable individual Rumi had ever had the blessing of meeting.
Peter was humble. He hadn’t chosen the archangel that possessed him when the gods fell, but he downplayed the strength necessary to host him. Sometimes, just after killing a god – when Rumi felt that divine energy coursing through him, he would look to Peter, and just for a moment, he could recognise that same divinity within him. Unlike Rumi, who could feel himself changing with each intake of godly power, Peter was just a human. He wasn’t meant for this. In those brief glimpses of Peter, he could see the archangel, Exandroth, staring back at him, a hundred fiery eyes blinking at him, sending chills right down his spine. And then Rumi blinked and it was just Peter, ordinary Peter, carrying the weight of an archangel in his body.
Peter was selfless. Loyal. Countless times, he insisted on placing himself between Rumi and danger, despite the fact that the only weapon he had was a poorly balanced broken sword that wasn’t even his. Even if Rumi had proven himself more than capable of looking out for himself. Even if Peter still stumbled at the weight of the sword and tripped over his own feet at the best of times.
From the moment he’d constructed Rumi, he designed himself to be flawless. Long, opalescent hair. Crystal horns protruding from his head, one chipped for the perfect touch of humanity. A flowing cloak hugging his shoulders, and billowing sleeves caressing his wrists. His skin and clothes embellished with swirling celestial patterns. He was otherworldly. Divine.
Even after months spent travelling, hunting down the gods one by one, he never let his appearance waver. His hair wouldn’t tangle, his clothes wouldn’t tear, his wounds wouldn’t scar. It held him apart from others. He was ethereal and he knew it. A soon-to-be god, walking among men. And that soon was only growing closer.
And then Peter died.
All of a sudden, all his ambitions and dreams of godhood, of divinity, didn’t seem to matter. The perfectly curated character of chivalry and generosity didn’t seem to matter. He summoned the god of charisma, the same god that had tried to strike a deal with them, and demanded he bring Peter back. And when he couldn’t, Rumi destroyed him. He gave no thought to his appearance, to the tears in his cloak, to the blood matting his hair, to what anyone else would think.
He had held godhood in the palm of his hand with the death of that final god. Power unlike any other, surging through him, electricity in his veins. And he took that power and pushed it into Peter.
And
Peter
opened
his
eyes.
“You know, you’re a lot prettier when you’re not trying so hard.”
And he’d kissed Rumi.
In hindsight, it was really no surprise that he’d fallen in love with Peter.
To say Elena was born from the ashes of Rumi would be a poor metaphor. No, it was more akin to peeking out from his shadow. Stepping out of shoes that were comfortable enough, but hadn’t quite fit him. Elena, chosen after his mother, was a collection of all his truest parts. Those that had stayed with him, with each life he’d lived. Those that he’d learned in all those days spent travelling with Peter and Thanatos.
Rumi had dreamed of transforming the world for the better. Bringing happiness to everyone. He had looked to godhood for the answer, and he’d given it up to save Peter.
Elena lived a quieter life, in a cottage on the outskirts of the small town that Peter had grown up in. He settled for bettering the world one person at time, spending his time travelling to nearby towns and helping those he could. And at the end of the day, Elena would always return home to that small cottage, to his husband Peter, and he was happy. A deep contentment that sunk into his skin and wrapped him in warmth whenever he caught sight of their house, or heard Peter talking to his lizard from outside.
It was not a dull life by any means. Not with all his time spent helping the community in different villages, or the small joys of finding the perfect gift for Peter in each one. Not with the increasing threat of lizards becoming an invasive species in their town, for reasons that Elena knew linked back to Peter’s pet.
And certainly not when Peter kept finding ways to surprise him.
1.
When she bumped into Peter on a busy corner in town, she hadn’t been expecting him to immediately recognise her in this form. Not when she’d shifted just before entering town, without much thought to her new appearance, without Peter present.
“Elena!”
A smile on his face as he pushed up those thick-lensed glasses that were always sliding down his large nose, exposing the heavy indents the frame had left in his skin. Peter’s pet lizard, Lizard, was sitting motionlessly on his shoulder, staring up at the sun.
The almost automatic smile that had come to Elena’s face at the sight of Peter dropped in her shock. “P- Peter!” she stammered out. “What are you doing here?”
Peter beamed up at her. His pants were dirty, the knees covered in grime like he’d been searching for something on the ground, and his shirt wasn’t tucked in neatly like it had been when she’d seen him off this morning. “Well, I came into town to get a cricket for Lizard. But the shopkeeper that I usually buy crickets from said that because crickets are getting so much more popular, prices had gone up. He asked me how much money I had on me, and I was really lucky, because I had ten gold, which was exactly how much the cricket cost. But after I bought the cricket, it hopped away before I could give it to Lizard. I tried looking for it, but I couldn’t find it, so I think Lizard is mad at me.”
Elena narrowed her eyes at Lizard suspiciously. “Ten gold is… a lot for a cricket.”
Peter nodded sagely. “I mean, I thought so too, but it was all the money I had on me, so I couldn’t buy another cricket after the first one hopped away.”
“I see,” Elena said slowly, still a little caught off-guard.
Peter seemed to finally notice her expression, blinking owlishly up at her through smudged glasses. “Is everything alright, Elena?”
“I- yes. You just startled me. I wasn’t expecting to bump into you in town.”
Not even her own family had been able to distinguish her from a crowd when she’d changed forms. That was the purpose of their familiars – as an indicator to each other, no matter what body they were in. But she hadn’t seen her little three-tailed fox pup in a week or so.
Peter cast a nervous glance around them at the people bustling past. “Oh, I’d understand if you didn’t want me to come up to you in town. I mean, it doesn’t really make sense that someone as pretty as you would be seen talking to me-”
“No, Peter!” Elena cut him off before he could continue, stepping closer and reaching out to take his hands in her own. “That never even occurred to me, I swear it. If people see the two of us together and fail to understand that you are the remarkable one in this equation, then that is their own ignorance. You startled me, is all.”
Peter blushed bright red, and Elena couldn’t help dropping a kiss on his brow.
“Now, why don’t we see about getting Lizard another cricket? I have money on me.”
The vendor that Peter usually bought his crickets from was only a block away, and Peter spent the whole walk there apologising in a fluster about taking up her time, only stopping when Elena pressed the silver into his hand and a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Elena approached the vendor with a polite smile. “Good day, sir. How much for a cricket?”
The vendor, a burly man with a newspaper in one hand and a sandwich in the other, raised an eyebrow at her, as if surprised by her choice. “A cricket, eh? One silver.”
“Wonderful,” Elena said warmly. “Peter?”
Peter stepped up beside her, eyes wide. “Oh man, are you guys having a sale? That’s awesome!”
The vendor looked startled at the appearance of Peter, dropping his newspaper on the stall counter. “Yeah! It’s- we’re having a uh, sale. It’s uh, so lucky that you came back.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Elena said smoothly. “Ten gold is so… pricy for a cricket, wouldn’t you agree?”
The vendor was wide-eyed, looking apprehensively between Elena and Peter. Elena smiled, a razor-sharp little thing that felt all too natural on her lips.
“Yes,” the vendor said, after a moment. Elena remained silent as the transaction took place, watching with affection as Peter bought the cricket and immediately dropped it, quickly trying to scramble after it.
With Peter not looking, Elena’s hand snapped out, slender fingers encircling the vendor’s wrist in a vice-like grip, leaning in. “I’m sure we won’t have any more issues in the future with the price,” Elena inquired softly.
The vendor nodded rapidly, eyes wide with terror and sweat pooling on his brow. “N-no! Of course not! I-”
“Because Peter is very dear to me,” Elena murmured. “And I would hate for anyone to take advantage of him.”
The vendor shook his head so fast Elena thought it might fall off. She smiled brightly, releasing her grip on the vendor’s wrist just as Peter let out an exclamation of delight at having located the cricket, climbing back to his feet.
“Wonderful,” she purred. “Have a lovely day, good sir.”
She linked arms with Peter, who seemed briefly surprised before turning bright red once again, glancing shyly around the market before looking back at her with a smile. In that moment, it was all too easy to forget her earlier bafflement.
Elena remembered when they arrived home and she caught a glimpse of herself in the window. And she suddenly realised how much she’d unintentionally crafted her appearance in the likeness of Rumi.
She was dressed much more humbly than she ever would have as Rumi, of course, and didn’t have the tattoos or thin frame. But there was certainly a similarity in the short messy hair, blonde this time, instead of white. And in her facial features too, from the thin arc of her eyebrows, to the familiar small smirk.
She’d woken up a bit nostalgic, perhaps. Catching a glimpse of that black steel helmet that sat on their mantelpiece as she left for the day. Thinking about Thanatos, who had perished in the final battle against the king of the gods. She must’ve been thinking of Rumi when she’d left that morning. Honestly, it was a surprise that Peter didn’t call her Rumi when they’d first bumped into each other earlier.
(She’d always have a fondness for the name Rumi. It was how she’d met Peter. It was the same name that Peter had spoken with reverence before they’d gotten together. It was the name an old friend knew her by.)
Nowadays Elena only changed her form when she wasn’t home. She didn’t reinvent herself each time anymore. It was more akin to changing clothes for work – a different form each time, without excessive care for each facet of her appearance. Unlike before, when she was Rumi, she wasn’t seeking reverence or worship as she went from town to town, helping where she could. It was better to assume many appearances, to help instil faith in humankind. Let people be inspired by ordinary people. Peter had taught her that.
When she was home, she assumed her natural form. The form that she’d hidden all her life. That she’d been raised to hide. The same form that Peter had seen when he’d cast the spell witchsight, right before he’d proposed. I see you, Peter had said softly, and I love you.
She was little hideous maybe, to some, but it was the form she kept at home. The one that she trusted only Peter with.
After that first time, Peter never cast witchsight again. And Elena didn’t bother disguising herself.
Pretty, he’d called her earlier, in town. Peter, who’d seen every single part of her, ugly and all. Pretty, he’d said, blushing and stammering. Not Rumi, not Raoul, not any other character she’d created that never seemed to fit. Elena. The name she’d chosen after her mother, that felt closest to hers.
Elena was a frail-looking thing really, in her natural form. A little too gangly, with pure white eyes and no eyelashes. Ghoulishly pale, almost grey, skin and stringy silvery hair.
Pretty, Peter called her, all the same.
(She could get used to it.)
2.
The second time, Elena caught a glimpse of their husband just as he entered the marketplace, all the way across the square from them.
They’d just turned away from vendor that they’d bought some sewing supplies from (because upkeeping real clothes instead of just transforming them when they changed forms was surprisingly difficult). They had only decided to stop by the market on the way home when they’d noticed the button coming loose on their shirt.
If last time they had looked similar to Rumi, today they were the complete opposite. They were stockier and taller today, with a crew cut, dark eyes and a rounder face. Still not anyone deserving of extra attention.
When they caught sight of Peter, all the way across the marketplace, he was clearly chatting away to Lizard on his shoulder as he wandered through the square. No one bothered Peter, though several people bumped into him in passing, causing Lizard to climb onto his head.
All the way across the square, in a body that Peter didn’t know, it felt safe to give into the urge to just watch him for a few moments. The way he was rambling away at Lizard, trying to coax him back down onto his shoulder. The adorable furrow to his brow at the problem.
It was moments like these where it should’ve been easy to forget who Peter was. What he’d done. He looked so innocuous there, standing in the same brown shirt tucked into dark pants that he always wore. His neat bowl cut and thick glasses askew as he tried to negotiate with Lizard, who was firmly planted on the top of his head. Elena almost marvelled at how mild Peter seemed there.
But Elena would never forget the truth. When Peter turned, his back facing them, it was almost as if they could see the scars laying just beneath it. The twin jagged scars, beginning at his shoulder blades and running down his back, like two broken branches. Tokens from the archangel Exandroth, and the shadows of wings Elena sometimes thought they saw to this day, sprouting from Peter’s back.
To this day Peter still woke up writhing from the pain that never seemed to stay gone. A human’s body was never meant to hold an archangel, after all, especially not one that treated it with such little care. Peter would bear that lesson for the rest of his life, but he would not bear it alone.
Peter was one of the bravest, most incredible people on this earth and none of these people knew it, save for Elena. Beautiful, humble Peter, who never wanted credit for his heroics.
There would always be that part of Elena who wanted to scream all of Peter’s accomplishments to the town. None of these people knew who walked among them. They didn’t know that the very first god had fallen to Peter’s hand, nor that the last god could not have been defeated without his aid. They didn’t know that the very sky above their heads had only been saved from its eternal night because of one Peter Sqloint.
Elena may have reached the point where they realised that godhood should not be in their hands. But they doubted there would ever be a day where they believed that Peter Sqloint didn’t deserve worship.
Alas, that would never be something that Peter desired.
Elena would gladly spend the rest of their days showing him that he was worthy of it, nonetheless.
As Elena watched, Peter finally managed to coax Lizard back onto his shoulder, before crossing the square to approach a small florist stall. The store was teeming with life, vines encircling each support, and carefully wrapped bouquets awaiting purchase. Peter briefly conversed with the vendor before buying one of the bouquets.
Peter turned to cross the bustling square again, and Elena watched as he bumped into several people, Lizard climbing back onto his head as he apologised to each one. He tripped on uneven stones in the paving thrice, dropping the flowers the second time, which were immediately stepped on by a passer-by.
And before Elena knew it, Peter was standing in front of them, offering up the bouquet with a bright smile. “Look Elena.” He sneezed into his elbow. “I brought you flowers!”
Elena blinked. “Peter, how did you-?”
Peter sneezed again, his eyes watering, and Elena quickly accepted the bouquet of slightly trodden dahlias, a slow warmth unfurling in their chest even with the surprise. They were beautiful, even half crushed, a collection of red, purple and pink that had clearly been grown with much care.
“They’re” – sneeze – “almost” – sneeze – “as” – sneeze – “pretty” – sneeze – “as” – sneeze – “you”. Peter sniffled, blowing his nose loudly into a handkerchief. “Sorry, my allergies are acting up.”
How did you recognise me? Elena wanted to ask. In the crowded marketplace, how had Peter possibly recognised them in this body that they’d made while travelling out of town?
There wasn’t even any resemblance to Rumi this time. Except-
Elena glanced down at their clothes and suddenly realised that they were wearing one of Peter’s shirts. Instead of transforming their own clothes, Peter had been teaching Elena how to pick out and buy clothes, and even make clothes, which were much more comfortable on their skin than those they’d been constantly morphing over the years. It was an orange shirt that Peter didn’t wear that often, and a pretty generic one at that – it was impressive that Peter had managed to identify it all the way across the square, really.
Elena wanted to ask. Wanted to confirm. But-
Peter sneezed again into his elbow. “Do you like them?”
Elena switched the bouquet into their other hand so they could rest a hand on Peter’s back, guiding him back through the marketplace while trying to angle him away from the flowers. “Of course, I do, darling. They’re lovely. Perhaps we should find a place for them somewhere that isn’t our room, though.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” Peter sneezed so hard Lizard gave up on using him as a perch, swiftly climbing onto Elena’s shoulder. “I can manage.”
“Of course, you can,” Elena agreed. “But I think they’d look beautiful in the kitchen. Perhaps on the windowsill.”
“Oh, well if you think so.”
3.
The third time, Elena heard Peter before she saw him. The distinct nasally voice of his husband, and another, irate feminine voice.
They were on a quieter street, near the outskirts of the town, so Elena made them out before she rounded the corner, and her eyes immediately landed on a nervous Peter and a heavyset woman shouting toward him as she crossed the street to approach.
Elena quickened her own pace at the sight, reaching Peter just as the woman did. “Good morning, sir, madam. I couldn’t help but overhear the yelling – is everything alright?”
The woman huffed at her, thick eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. Peter was already pulling out his gold pouch, holding it out to the lady.
Elena pushed Peter’s hand down gently. “That won’t be necessary – I don’t believe this woman intends on robbing you.”
“Oh, that’s great!” Peter returned the gold to his pocket.
Elena needed to be careful about how she handled this interaction. Obviously it would be a lot easier to stand up for Peter if this woman thought they were partners, but Peter had no way of knowing it was her. She’d changed forms after they’d split in town this morning. And Peter had no reason to trust some stranger interceding on his behalf.
“I want to know what you were thinking, walking the streets with that thing on your shoulder,” the woman demanded.
Peter blinked, looking at his shoulder. “Who – Lizard? Oh, he’s just my pet lizard.”
“Your pet?” the lady sounded affronted. “They’re an invasive species! They’ve been destroying my poor apple tree!”
Okay. So. Maybe this woman was right. The lizards in this town were rapidly increasing in population. And in large part, Lizard and his lizard partner that Peter had also found, were to blame for that. But this woman had no way of knowing that. It was still possible to deescalate this situation peacefully.
“I’m, um, sorry to hear that, miss.”
The lady jabbed a finger into Peter’s chest, snarling at him. And suddenly it was like her words were underwater. Elena blinked and she was reaching out and grabbing that fucking finger and feeling the snap of bone under her hand and relishing in it, because this woman had dared to lay a finger on Peter, to insult him and intimidate him, and then she blinked again and she was standing perfectly still as Peter uncomfortably stepped away from the lady, putting a few feet between them.
(Peter wouldn’t like it if Elena hurt this woman for him. He hadn’t liked it when Elena had threatened that vendor a few weeks ago. They’d had a long talk about it. Elena was trying to do better.)
(Gods, she wanted to hurt this woman.)
“It’s hardly fair to blame one man for an entire invasive species,” Elena reasoned, even as her hands curled into fists at her side. “After all, he’s hardly to first to have a lizard as a pet. I hear they’re quite popular with the kids these days. Are you going to go yell at them too?”
If the woman had been calming down at her words, the last sentence had her bristling with anger again. “Don’t you try and trick me! I’ve seen him walking around town before, a whole herd of lizards following after him!”
“A lounge,” Peter mumbled.
“What?”
“A group of lizards is actually called a lounge- never mind, I’m sorry.”
“See! I knew he had something to do with this lizard- lizard plague!”
“Calling it a plague is just a little excessive now, don’t you think?” Elena interceded. “I can’t say I’ve heard anything about the lizards eating people’s crops, but I am terribly sorry to hear about your apple tree. It truly is quite unfortunate that they seem to like your tree in particular, but I still don’t see how you can possibly blame it on this poor man.”
The woman let out a noise of frustration, gesturing wildly toward Peter. “Then how can you explain the lizards that follow him everywhere he goes? Do you think that’s just a coincidence?”
Elena blinked, letting her eyes trail over Peter once, from the wrinkled grey pants that were worn-out at the knees, to the now off-white shirt that was forever untucking itself at the front, to the thick-lensed glasses that made his eyes look much smaller. She looked back to the woman with a shrug. “He’s just a very alluring man.”
Peter went bright red, mumbling, “Oh, do you really mean that?”
Elena offered him a soft smile as the woman spluttered in indignation.
“Now if you’ll excuse us.” Elena took the risk of Peter rejecting her, and slipped her arm through his. “We’ll be taking our leave now.”
She guided the two of them away, waiting until they had turned a corner before letting go of Peter’s arm and stepping back. “Peter, it’s-”
“Thank you so much for standing up for me, Elena.” Peter smiled brightly, cheeks still reddened as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t helped.”
Elena stared at him with blatant shock. “I-”
No. This one was deducible. Peter was incredibly astute. He would’ve easily been able to deduce that it was her stepping in for him, instead of someone else, just from her speech patterns and mannerisms. A whole conversation between herself and that lady would’ve been more than enough for someone of Peter’s intelligence.
She shook off the surprise for admiration. “You’re welcome, Peter. Of course.”
“I don’t know what that lady was talking about.” Peter linked their arms again clumsily, as he always was when initiating physical affection, and they continued walking as he chattered on. “I know Lizard would never touch her apple tree. He doesn’t even like apples.”
Lizard finally shifted on Peter’s shoulder, instead turning to look at Elena. She narrowed her eyes back at him, instinctively trying, not for the first time, to cast speak with animals on him. She grimaced at the high-pitched whirring noise that immediately filled her mind and dropped the spell.
“I’m really proud of you for how you dealt with that, by the way,” Peter said hesitantly.
Elena paused for a second, attention torn from Lizard. There was that slowly unfolding warmth in her chest again, glancing at Peter’s expression before back at the ground. “Really?”
“Really.”
A pause. Lizard climbed onto Peter’s other shoulder.
“I really wanted to threaten her,” Elena confessed.
“I know. But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t like her touching you.”
Peter scrunched up his nose. “Me neither. She wasn’t very nice, was she? But I’m glad you didn’t threaten her.”
Elena was thankful Lizard had changed locations, because it meant she could give into the urge to rest her head on Peter’s shoulder, that warmth spreading throughout her whole body.
Really, if it made Peter happy, she was glad she hadn’t threatened that woman either. And maybe, she was a little glad for it for it for herself too.
4.
The fourth time was an unfortunate bit of timing.
Occasionally, he or Peter caught wind of a blight wreaking havoc in some distant or nearby down. He felt almost duty-bound to take care of these little remnants of the gods they’d killed. Usually it was Elena that went to defeat the blight, but Peter also did sometimes. He wasn’t as keen on fighting as Elena, but nowadays, killing a blight was no insurmountable task for either of them.
This time Elena hadn’t even been seeking out the blight. He’d just been passing through town when he’d heard the screaming and had hastened to the source of the noise, only to find a blight tearing its way through a street on the edge of town.
This time he was wearing a more androgenous form, with black shoulder-length hair and a more slender frame. A bit taller than his natural form, with deep violet eyes. He was wearing a long skirt that he’d picked out last time he was in town, and a dark blouse. He was just quickly visiting the shops to pick up some eggs, but it was all too easy to drop his groceries, summon his harp-blade and leap into the action.
It had been a while since the last blight they’d faced. Elena found himself delighting in the thrill of the fight. The blight wasn’t much of a threat, but it was a more than welcome bit of entertainment, and given that he’d gotten there before any real damage could be done, he allowed himself a little fun with it. He hadn’t expected so many onlookers, but, well-
“Truly, there is no need to thank me. I did what anyone in my position would do.”
“No one else could’ve done that,” someone declared. One of the boys he’d saved earlier, who looked a little worse for wear, but didn’t seem to have any visible wounds.
“Who are you?” someone else chimed in, from the crowd.
“Yeah, I’ve never seen you before.”
“Are you new in town?”
“Do you need somewhere to stay?”
“Do you need someone to stay with?”
“How can we repay you?”
“Please, please,” Elena insisted, stepping backwards. “It was no trouble at all.”
He hung the harp-blade at his belt, waving away the people crowding around him, clamouring to talk to him, curiosity and admiration in their words and faces. As he was attempting to back away, he caught a glimpse of Peter at the other end of the street, on the familiar route to their cottage, and a smile formed on his face at the thought of heading home to Peter – truly, the perfect end, to such an exciting day. And then Peter turned, catching sight of him too, and he was coming straight over.
“Elena! Look at this cool rock I found!”
Elena froze. The commotion of noise from the townspeople died down too. Peter held up the rock to him, a particularly large piece of grey granite, eyes bright with excitement. In his peripheral, he barely registered some of the townspeople nudging each other, pointing and snickering. He didn’t look away from Peter.
“That’s a very lovely rock,” he said warmly, a hand covering his smile.
(Of course he’d managed to recognise Elena again. Maybe he’d seen the harp-blade hanging at his side, or even just the crowd around him, and decided it must be Elena.)
“Yeah! I found it by the river on the way into town. Did you know granite’s mostly made up of quartz, but quartz is a lot harder? But granite is harder than iron and-”
A young lady loudly cleared her throat, stepping in front of Peter. “We apologise for… him. You know” – she offered a strained smile – “every town has one.”
Elena saw the moment Peter’s face fell. His sudden awareness of the crowd around them. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?” he mumbled, stepping away.
That dejectedness in Peter’s expression. That doubt, which Elena had been working on for so long.
Because Peter had spent a year sharing a body with an archangel who had always treated him poorly. Who had never respected him or his limitations, who had used him for his own revenge quest without a second thought as to what Peter wanted. Exandroth had called Peter worthless over and over again and Elena had spent every day since he’d first met Peter trying to convince him otherwise.
And he didn’t appreciate people who threatened that progress.
Elena laughed lightly, stepping closer and slipping his arm through Peter’s. “Not at all, Peter, darling. Why don’t we head home now? We ought to start on dinner soon.”
He smiled that sweet, saccharine smile at Peter, diverting his attention for just long enough to see the young lady’s jaw drop (and it wasn’t enough, but Peter was more important, always) before picking his groceries back up with one hand and refocusing on Peter’s brightening demeanour as they headed off.
“Now what were you saying about granite?”
5.
The fifth time they really couldn’t make any more excuses for it. It needed some explaining.
Elena had returned home early to an empty house. They figured it would be at least a few more hours until Peter was home, and worked on some chores around the house for an hour until the restlessness started to make itself apparent.
They couldn’t help stealing glances to the windows as they worked. It was a beautiful day and the woods were practically beckoning them to come. It was with a laugh that they abandoned their work and slipped out the house barefoot, darting for the tree line.
The shift felt as natural as breathing, and Elena didn’t fight it, feeling themself shrinking, the ground getting closer as they landed on all fours on the soft forest floor. A bushy tail curling around their back legs, keen ears pricking up as they took in the life of the forest. Birds chirping away to each other, high above, and the chattering of a neighbouring family of squirrels. The bubbling of a nearby creek and the whistle of the winds between the trees. They could sniff out the familiar path that they travelled every day with Peter, and the lavender and honeysuckle growing in their garden.
Elena let out a yip before taking off into the woods.
It had been a while since they’d let themself run in the forest. It was delightful, feeling the wind rushing past them, the smaller creatures rushing out of their way as they tore past, weaving around trees and bounding across rivers.
When they finally stopped to rest by a small river, they weren’t surprised to see a fox’s face staring back in their reflection. They used to run the forests with Sunny, their previous familiar. But it had been weeks since their three-tailed fox pup had stopped by for a chat. Elena missed their friend. Hopefully he’d come visit soon.
It was late afternoon now, and Elena knew Peter would soon be home, if he wasn’t already, so after a long stretch, they took back off for home.
It wasn’t long before Elena picked up on a familiar scent, a little too far from home, and followed it curiously to a small clearing a short walk from their cottage. They peeked out from around a tree to see Peter, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the clearing.
He was hunched over, eyes squeezed shut, face screwed up in concentration. Sweat trickled down his face. There was something in his hands – a rock. That piece of granite he’d found the other day.
There was that sense of calm that filled Elena whenever they caught sight of Peter. They felt content to curl up at the base of the tree, watching Peter curiously.
It was times like this, with the rays of the sun gently falling onto Peter, that he seemed to almost glow with magic. Peter had held the power of godhood in the palm of his hand, just like Rumi, and sometimes Elena felt they could see the remnants of it in Peter. An echo of it, for the man who was so utterly human, that he was more suited for divinity than Rumi ever was. They liked to think that the magic was just as fond of Peter as they were – that was why, in these moments, that they could still feel it lingering in him.
Peter straightened, and Elena swore they could trace the outlines of wings sprouting from his back. The same ones he’d seen when Exandroth had flown in Peter’s body, colossal in size and incomparable in beauty, if not for the man who shouldered them.
Peter suddenly let out a cry of delight, and when Elena’s gaze went to his hands, they saw that the granite was now a deep shade of violet. Peter looked up, eyes immediately locking onto Elena and holding out the granite.
“Look, Elena! I turned the rock purple!”
Elena only went still for a moment before a deep wave of affection and admiration swept through them. Even as a fox, their husband could recognise them, evidently. Elena didn’t know why they were surprised anymore.
They bounded over to Peter, transforming just as they reached him, kneeling in front of him in their natural form. Peter was beaming at them, eyes still full of excitement as Elena cupped their hands around his own. They couldn’t help dropping a kiss on his nose, then his lips.
“You’re incredible,” Elena vowed. “But I have some questions I’ve been dying to ask you.”
+1
“How can you tell?”
They were sitting under the giant oak tree in their garden, shoulders pressed together, hands clasped, resting in Peter’s lap. Lizard ran past them and Peter’s smile was bright as he pointed it out. Elena grimaced at the small army of young lizards that followed after him.
“Not even my parents could recognise me when I shifted,” Elena admitted softly. “And yet, you can. Always.”
Peter’s smile turned embarrassed. “It’s kind of cheating.”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s sort of a left-over ability from Exandroth,” Peter admitted, flushing. “When we were sharing a body, I could always sense when someone within a certain distance was looking at me. After I got rid of him, it never really left.”
Elena nodded hesitantly. “I remember you mentioning that when we fought one of the gods.” They tilted their head in confusion. “So does it tell you who is looking at you?”
Peter shook his head. “No. Just when someone is.”
Elena frowned. “I don’t understand. Then, how would you be able to distinguish me from anyone else that looks at you?”
Peter looked at them, eyes undeniably affectionate. “Elena. You might not have noticed, but people don’t usually like me.”
Because that damn archangel had spent a year filling Peter’s head with nothing but lies and self-doubt.
“Yes, I know Exandroth-”
“It wasn’t just Exandroth,” Peter cut them off gently. “It’s everyone. Or most people, at least. My whole life.”
Elena opened their mouth to argue, then stopped. They thought of that vendor that Peter had bought the cricket from. That woman who had confronted Peter on that street. The young lady who had dismissed him, belittled him, tried to hide him from sight, and the snickering crowd behind her.
“People tend to… forget about me,” Peter said haltingly. “Or make fun of me. I’m not a very interesting guy.”
“You’re remarkable,” Elena couldn’t help but interrupt.
Peter smiled at them indulgently. “To you. But to most people, it’s much easier to just ignore me. I can feel their eyes passing over me in town, but unless I’m buying something, or someone wants to make fun of me… Well, I can tell when people look at me. You’re the only one who does.”
Elena’s breath caught in their throat.
Peter looked away, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me. People are always so surprised to see us together in town. I know that compared to you, and especially without Exandroth, I’m nothing-”
“You’re not nothing, Peter,” Elena cut in, distress arising for the first time in this conversation. They’d let Peter speak – let him say his piece. But they weren’t going to just sit there while he belittled himself.
“Peter,” they said gently, trying their best to find the right words. “I don’t think you’ll ever be able to comprehend just how extraordinary you are to me.”
Peter. Mr Peter Sqloint. Who still carried scars and pain from the weight of an archangel long gone. Who sometimes under the moonlight faintly glowed, like there was starlight in his veins, from the divinity that could have been his. Who had been the one to slay that first god, all that time ago.
Somehow, between Rumi, who had been so set on their own apotheosis that they hadn’t spared a care for how the world wished to be saved, and Thanatos, an otherworldly creature of destruction, who had been irreplaceable in the downfall of the gods, Peter had been the best of them. He’d always been the most human of their group.
Peter was not the one who had pursued divinity. But he was the one who ended up shouldering it. Elena could now admit, he was likely the only one of their group that wouldn’t have abused the power. And maybe, just maybe, that meant that he was destined for it all along.
(Elena didn’t put much stock in fate nowadays.)
“You’re strong, Peter,” they promised. “I know I’ve told you before, but Exandroth would’ve been nothing without you. You were the one who slew that first god, not him. And you were the one we wanted fighting at our sides, not him.”
Elena’s voice became very quiet. “When you… died, Peter. I was so lost. It was like everything I thought I knew was crumbling around me. My pursuit of godhood… none of it seemed to matter anymore. Because it was a lie. Because I couldn’t even prevent your death. What kind of god did that make me? What kind of god can’t even protect the ones they love?
“And when you came back – when I managed to bring you back. You looked at me, a complete mess, covered in blood and sweat. And you called me pretty.”
Elena’s breath hitched. “Did you know,” they murmured, “that you’re the only one other than my parents that has seen me in this form? That I allow to see me in my natural form?”
Ghoulishly pale skin. Thin, stringy pure silvery hair. Features all distinctively a shade off of human.
“You have a habit,” Elena said quietly, “of looking at me – every ugly, broken piece of me – and still calling me pretty. You have a habit, of seeing all the worst parts of me, and loving me all the same.”
Tears streaming down Peter’s face. A tremulous smile. “I already told you, silly. I don’t care about any of that.” He placed a hand on their heart. “I love you for what’s in here.”
Just as gently. “I know.”
Elena took Peter’s hand in theirs. “Peter, what I’m trying to say is if I’m the only one who looks at you, you’re the only one who sees me. All of me. Whoever that is. Whoever you’re helping me figure out.”
“So I hope you’ll understand,” Elena said softly, “when I say you’re the most remarkable thing that has ever happened to me.”
Peter started crying heavily, and there were tears in Elena’s eyes too even as they let out a laugh, pulling him closer.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me too,” Peter managed between sobs, the widest smile on his face. Elena shushed him, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he continued to cry into their shoulder.
Elena Sqloint came to be after the death of Rumi, who had fallen off the very pedestal that they had built themself. Elena wasn’t quite as chivalrous as Rumi, but wasn’t as arrogant either, as to presume they alone knew what was best for the world. Elena was fiercely protective of those they loved, but was working on not being so at the expense of others.
There were some days when Elena didn’t feel like they knew who they were. Some days where they doubted every word that came out their mouth as something that they would truly say. Days where nothing felt like their own – not their hobbies, likes, personality traits.
But it was okay. Peter was helping them fill in those gaps, and Elena was teaching Peter to be kinder to himself.
Elena still wasn’t quite sure how they’d ended up with this quiet domestic life with Peter. The small cottage in the woods, with sewing supplies strewn across their dining table from Elena’s experiments with clothes-making, and the dozen paintings hung in their kitchen, all of the same blue mug that Peter was still attempting to recreate. The garden outside their kitchen window, filled with blooming flowers and herbs and a half battalion of lizards that Elena really needed to discuss with Peter.
It was not the life Elena had ever envisioned living. But it was not one that they would trade for the world.