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It had been a difficult situation since the sky was invaded by black clouds threatening to sweep everything away with a storm of cold raindrops. Lightning flashed on the horizon while thunder rumbled throughout the place. Quite a dramatic scene, Altare thought to himself.
The hero couldn't help but imagine an alternative scenario where he wasn't here, in this disaster. He could clearly visualize himself, sitting next to his loyal comrade Axel, enjoying a hot meal in the comfort of the guild, the comforting aroma of homemade dishes filling the air and the warmth of the fireplace combating the cold outside. But instead of that tranquility, he was stood under the storm, with the wind whipping his face and his clothes soaked by the rain.
Before him lay the injured and unconscious body of his nemesis and "enemy," Jurard. The prince's face, normally so arrogant and defiant, now displayed an involuntary calm in his unconsciousness. The blue-haired hero felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders and knelt beside him, water dripping from his hair and clothes.
It might not be entirely right to think how foolish the redhead was for throwing himself in front of him like that, covering him with his own body and risking his life to save him. Altare couldn't help but question the reasons behind that action. Wouldn't it have been better for Jurard to see him defeated and declare himself the winner? Or did Jurard's selfishness go so far as to not allow an external force the satisfaction of leaving Altare in ruin?
As these thoughts assaulted him, the hero moved a bit closer to the prince, his soft and worried gaze scanning the body of his fallen enemy. Gently, he examined each wound, each bruise, searching for signs of serious damage. He couldn't just leave him to die there, not after he had abruptly decided to be his human shield.
Fortunately, there were no major wounds. There was no profuse bleeding nor any head injuries. Altare deduced that the excess of adrenaline and the stress of the last moments had probably led the bounty hunter to faint.
In the midst of his inspection, he saw a rather peculiar communication device slide out of his adversary's pocket and fall to the ground. The device's appearance was as extravagant as its owner, with golden details and a shape reminiscent of the ancient crowns of dinosaur kings. Altare picked it up, observing it with curiosity as he pondered what to do next.
Since Jurard was not seriously injured, there was no need to take him for more advanced medical attention. Altare decided to use a small bottle of blue liquid he had taken from the guild's abandoned laboratory, a carefully crafted potion known for its healing properties. Carefully, he opened the bottle and let a few drops fall into the prince's mouth.
The glowing liquid shimmered faintly as it touched his lips, and Altare knew it would be enough to heal the wounds and allow Jurard to regain consciousness soon.
Altare straightened up and turned his attention back to the communication device. He knew that directly contacting the rest of the bounty hunters could present a new problem, but he refused to leave Jurard there without ensuring that someone would come to pick him up. So, with determination, he manipulated the device until he found the emergency signaling function. He sent a discreet signal indicating the need for a pickup, hoping that the prince's companions would recognize it and come to his aid.
Amid the sound of the rain that was gradually ceasing, the hero, without realizing it, cradled the redhead's face with one hand. The contact was surprisingly tender, an instinctive gesture that contrasted with the usual hostility between them.
It would be good if the prince could forget what had happened as soon as he wakes up. Against his will, he knew Jurard too well and knew that if he remembered this moment, he would become very noisy about it and wouldn't leave him alone until he considered that they were even.
The hero could imagine countless demands the bounty hunter would make in exchange for his sacrifice. Maybe he would demand half of the guild's funds for this month. Or perhaps he would insist in Altare turn a blind eye when Armis has to carry out some illegal operation within Elysium. He might also demand that Altare take on the heaviest and most dangerous jobs for a while, as a way to keep the Tempus leader under his control and supervision.
Each of these possibilities deeply disgusted Altare. The idea of compromising the principles he had sworn to defend by yielding to Jurard's demands was almost unbearable. What bothered him even more was how terribly predictable these scenarios were. He knew that Jurard wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of any opportunity to gain an upper hand.
Despite this, as a hero and leader of his guild, he understood that his own principles prevented him from denying any request from the leader of the bounty hunters, as long as it did not compromise the safety and well-being of the innocent. His sense of justice and commitment to the welfare of all, even those who tread dark paths, compelled him to take those demands seriously.
But he also considered that Jurard’s action had been somewhat unnecessary, which allowed him to think about compensating him in a way that only he would find satisfactory. Altare gently stroked Jurard’s cheek with his thumb, brushing away some of the soaked hair that covered his face. Why did he feel so lost just from having touched him for a few moments?
The redhead, with his eyes closed, frowned when he felt a few drops of water fall on his face. Then, he remained still again, beginning to show signs that the potion was finally taking effect and that it wouldn’t be long before he woke up. Still, the blue-haired hero did not move his hand from his face.
It was then that Altare came up with a way to reward Jurard. A rather...generic way, perhaps one that only the beautiful damsels in distress from fairy tales know how to reward their heroes. The idea amused Altare, as he was the one who carried the title of “Hero,” not Jurard. However, just this once, he was willing to grant him that honor.
Altare began to slowly lean his face towards Jurard's. As he did, he tucked a lock of hair behind Jurard’s ear with unusual tenderness and whispered a gentle thank you. The rain had almost completely stopped, and the first light of dawn filtered through the scattered clouds, illuminating the scene with a soft, warm glow.
Then...
The dinosaur prince finally regained consciousness. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the faces of his companions, who looked relieved but clearly annoyed. Worry and dissatisfaction were written on their faces, as if they had been waiting for a while for their leader to wake up.
Jurard sat up abruptly, agitated and disoriented, trying to understand what had happened.
The first to speak was Ruze, with a rough and irritated tone that broke the silence.
"Have you finished your nap, or are you going to keep sleeping there all day?"
Octavio, with an exasperated smile on his face, followed up.
"We were debating who should carry you if you didn’t wake up."
Then GB approached with a raised eyebrow.
"What the hell did you do to end up like this, Jurard?"
Although the leader of the bounty hunters was greeted by the lively chatter of his companions, he couldn’t clearly hear what they were saying. A strange and bewildering sensation filled him, one he couldn’t quite describe or fully understand. The most unsettling thing was that his entire body was cold and wet, except for his lips, which were surprisingly warm. Jurard could swear there was something ethereal about them, a kind of specter he couldn’t identify. Confused, he brought a couple of fingers to his lips to touch them silently.
As his mind struggled to clear the fog of disorientation, the sniper noticed the lost look on his leader’s face and his unusual silence. Concern reflected in his eyes again as he reached out and waved his hand in front of Jurard’s face, trying to capture his attention. It was at that moment that Jurard began to come back to the present, his consciousness finally focusing on the here and now.
"Alright, I think this bastard is acting disgustingly weird, let me tell you..."
Ruze quickly commented with a sharp and mocking tone.
"You mean...the usual?"
The puppeteer said with a melodious laugh.
Finally, Jurard, still swaying and with a sharp pain in his head, became irritated and responded with a mix of anger and desperation.
"Yeah, yeah! Shut up! My head hurts like hell!"
He shouted, with a bit of stuttering from the pain.
"So like it or not, you’re going to have to carry me back!"
The vandal gave a pat on the back to the smallest member of the group.
"All yours, buddy."
Octavio, without missing a beat, quickly replied with a look of disdain.
"Why should it be me who carries him?! You and Gibby are much stronger, and besides, I'm not going to use my strings just for this."
GB, with a smile that showed a touch of amusement and maternal authority, intervened.
"Now, young man, it seems you've earned the obligation to carry our leader back for being so cheeky. So, go ahead, do your part."
The puppeteer sighed in resignation and moved closer to his leader to help him get up from the ground.
"Hold on tight to my shoulder and do your best to walk, okay?"
He said in a softer tone than usual. Jurard, accepting the help with both pride and need, clung to Octavio’s shoulder and began to walk, swaying slightly. Then, everyone started moving forward together.
However, just a few minutes had passed when the strange sensation on the prince's lips again demanded his attention. The persistent warmth and vague memory of a soft touch deeply puzzled him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to dig into his memory. What he found were flashes of a beautiful blue color and a very sweet voice whispering something incomprehensible.
Intrigued and confused, Jurard could no longer contain himself and decided to ask. He looked at Octavio, who was holding him with effort, and asked the question.
"Hey, Octavio, did you do something to me before I woke up? Maybe...kiss me?"
The trace of blue made him associate it with the puppeteer, as it was also characteristic of him. It seemed like a clue, though he wasn't sure of anything at that moment.
Octavio looked at him with a mix of confusion and displeasure, frowning at the strange suggestion.
"What? No! Definitely not. You must be delirious from the headache."
He replied firmly, his tone reflecting both his surprise and disapproval, along with a note of concern for his leader’s mental state.
"If he suggests something like that again, just drop him."
Ruze suggested, unable to resist the opportunity to add more fuel to the fire. This provoked an immediate reaction from Jurard, who cursed him under his breath, though with less force than usual due to his weakened state.
Definitely that was a day...