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Who the hell would willingly subject themselves to fire water? The taste was neither excessively bitter nor sweet, but still unpleasant. The Fatui soldiers seemed to put up with it just fine though. Most of them insisted on drinking it over the much more delicious sprayfeather gill liqueur specific to Natlan.
In the past, Ororon would have teased particularly friendly Fatui about their drinking habits whilst dining together under the starry sky. As the last of them left, a few of those who’d grown fond of him had left him their own flasks along with words of encouragement. He didn’t get it. They were the ones who’d lost their leader and whose future looked uncertain. Ororon himself had seemed to have lost something much more precious - at least that’s what a particularly mouthy lieutenant had shot back in turn. As usual, Ororon had feigned ignorance, though for those who knew what to look for, the glint of pain in his eyes would have been easily noticeable.
Fortunately, only his granny, Ifa and the Captain himself seemed to know him that well. After realising he was truly in no mood for socialising, the first two had decided to leave him alone for the time being.
And, well, the Captain was gone…
That was, in fact, the source of Ororon’s current anguish. That was the reason why he’d made his way to the ruins of Ochkanatlan, that was why he was more than halfway through a flask of fire water whilst sitting on the stairs that led to, well… To the Throne of the Primal Fire. To the grave of the man he loved. All he wanted was to feel a little closer to him, at least once more.
“Why the fuck isn’t it working?”
Cursing felt weird. He never really did it - Ororon was too gentle a man for such language. And yet, right now, as tears were streaming down his face, nothing felt more right. He didn’t even have the guts to face the Captain’s corpse. Perhaps if he continued to keep his back turned, he could pretend the other was still alive, that he was merely waiting for an answer.
“So fucking impolite of me,” he mumbled, voice apologetic and head spinning because of the alcohol coursing through his system. “You get it, don’t you? I just… Can’t, just can’t…”
He was gradually breaking down in front of a corpse. Ororon felt pathetic. He hadn’t even found the courage to confess before he’d been informed of Capitano's real plans and forced to face the sad reality. He was an optimist though. Even in the face of such a loss, his first instinct was to revel in gratitude for the trust the man had shown him when revealing his ultimate intentions and, well, before that too. It was, however, incredibly bittersweet that he was the one to have to lead his first love to his death.
At some point, the flask rolled down the stairs as Ororon curled into himself and continued to sob his heart out.
Eventually, he was able to pick up the sound of footsteps. Had his granny gotten worried? Had she sent Ifa to drag him back to the tribe? Had she come herself? Sober Ororon would have been quick to figure out that those steps belonged to neither his best friend nor Citlali. His senses were that sharp. Drunk Ororon had an inkling, but was too overwhelmed to put his mind to good use.
“You, child…”
At that, his ears perked up. That voice did not belong to either Ifa or Citlali. That deep, comforting voice he wished he could have listened to for hours…
“Archons- Does this shit cause hallucinations? What the fuck is wrong with Snezhnayans? How is this their national drink?” he mumbled with a bitter laugh. Around him, there was nothing but silence. Even the ever flowing winds of Ochkanatlan had briefly ceased, as if out of respect for his grief.
“You’re fond of a cursed man, Ororon…” the voice could be heard once again, a certain softness to it that Ororon had only managed to pick up during a few select moments. “Don’t… Don’t do this to yourself, please…”
Another beat of silence.
“But I’m the one who did this to you, aren’t I?”
Oh, the irony. Those words got yet another bitter laugh out of him, one that quickly morphed into a coughing fit. His head felt so, so heavy. His body spasmed as he continued to cough his lungs out, only to then fall back against the cold ground. It was perhaps a little too cold given that the sun rays had been warming up the stone throughout the whole day. Weirdly enough, there was also considerably less light around.
Ororon forced himself to open his eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of the Night Kingdom. As a child of the Masters of the Night Wind, he was oh, so familiar with the land of the dead. And yet... Panic briefly rose in his heart. Had he accidentally drunk himself to death? Citlali would find him and kill him all over again for this. He wouldn’t hear the end of it.
“You’re still alive, my child,” the voice of the Lord of the Night echoed in his head. “Consider this… A favour, for both of you.”
Fear was quickly replaced by confusion. Ororon sat up, perhaps a little too fast for his still inebriated state. A dizzy spell washed over him, prompting a pained groan to spill past his lips. Before he had the chance to properly take in his surroundings, two cold hands tentatively touched his shoulders, then gently grabbed his arms, as if to steady him. His gaze was met with a pair of dark blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through his incomplete soul.
“You really need to stay away from alcohol,” the Capitan spoke, the slightest hint of an amused smile playing on his lips.
Ororon blinked once. Twice.
“I wish I could have seen you without that stupid mask before," was the first thing to come out of his mouth. Embarrassment washed over him in an instant.
The man lowered his gaze and gave the slightest shake of his head, though it was accompanied with a tiny, almost unnoticeable huff. Ororon was perceptive enough though.
Back then, when he’d asked about the mask, he’d been met with an evasive answer. Time had taken its toll on the hero. Although the other had been cursed with immortality, his body had been left at time’s mercy.
Ororon didn't care. He found the Captain beautiful anyway.
His once olive skin had turned an earthy shade, blood vessels clearly visible underneath. The abyss corruption had eaten at him, leaving considerable patches of skin darkened and covered in something akin to scales. And yet, that dignity and righteousness he expected were written all over his face, along with something Ororon had sensed deep inside his soul - a certain gentleness he’d been forced to hide during five centuries of arduous battles.
Before the Captain had the chance to speak, Ororon once again broke down in tears.
“I’m s-so happy to see you, you don’t even know…”
He wanted to reach out, pull him in, cling to him as if he’d never had to let him go again (he would eventually have to, that he was sure of). Certain boundaries had not been crossed when the both of them were alive though. Now, said boundaries felt like they’d grown the size of an ocean. Or maybe he was simply a coward.
For his part, the Captain too looked uncertain. However, after a couple of moments of pondering, he shifted his weight, sat next to him, then pulled Ororon against his chest and let him bawl his eyes out. That was all he needed, really. One shaky hand grasped at the man’s shirt, as if in a poor attempt to prevent him from leaving. Ororon cried for what felt like an eternity, and though he could not see beyond his own pain, the other’s eyes were misty too.
“You’re in love with a corpse, Ororon…” the Captain eventually spoke again, voice laced with that softness he’d only grown to reserve for the younger. “Forgive me for being so blunt. I just… Thought it might be best to rip the bandaid sooner rather than later.”
Ororon's sobs had grown quiet, replaced by small sniffles. His cheeks still felt warm and only grew more heated with that remark.
“No. I’m in love with you, Captain,” he somehow found it in him to retort.
Had he turned his head a little, he would have seen the man’s lips curling into the softest of smiles. But alas, Ororon was still fighting an inner battle, still terrified of potential rejection.
“Thrain,” the man murmured after a brief pause. “My name, my Khaenri’an name, is Thrain. You can call me that, if you’d like to. And unfortunately, I'm still nothing more than a living corpse, little bat.”
“Thrain…” he tentatively tested the way the word rolled off his lips and immediately decided he liked it. He didn't have it in him to find a witty response to the Captain's observation though.
One large, bony hand shifted up, fingers running through Ororon’s dark locks before guiding the younger to look up. When their gazes met, they both fell silent for a moment. Realistically speaking, he knew Thrain was right. He was in love with a ghost. And yet, his memory felt so painfully alive, even after what, two months since his sacrifice?
“I know grief is unpredictable and all,” Thrain once again began speaking, still as considerate as always, “but you’ve been showing up in Ochkanatlan for, what, weeks?”
“Two months…” Ororon reluctantly supplied the information.
“Two months,” the man corrected himself with a small huff. “Two months of watching you cry over my death every day and being unable to do anything to comfort you. It’s causing me great anguish to know you’re in so much pain, Ororon. A soul as beautiful as yours deserves to know nothing but joy.”
They both fell silent for a moment, though it was clear both had so much to say.
“I’m sorry…” Thrain eventually continued. The younger’s expression immediately morphed into one of panic, though the Captain was quick to silence him. “No, please. Let me finish.” He’d never been a soldier - his loyalty had been earned rather than imposed by the rules of war. Still, Ororon bit back his words just like a good soldier would have.
“I’ve always known my final battle against the Shade of Death would have to take place, for both mine and my fallen comrades' sake. The time and place were mere variables. I’m sorry I was the one to break your heart. You’re young, Ororon, so young and full of promise. Please, don’t let grief take over. The beautiful life you wish we could have lived together… It’s still within your grasp.”
“It’s so unfair…” Ororon interrupted him, his expression briefly void of any emotion. His half a soul, however, was full to the brim with anger - anger at Celestia itself, at the fate that needed to be defeated, at everything that had pushed them apart.
“It is,” Thrain sighed in response. “But you are a true warrior, and warriors stand strong in front of life’s lack of fairness.”
“It’s so unfair that you had to suffer so much,” the younger continued, tone now a little more contemplative.
“It is…”
For a couple of moments, they both fell silent. Ororon, who had averted his gaze, once again looked up at the man he loved. Thrain’s hand was still gently running through his hair in an attempt to soothe him.
“Could you have loved me too?” He had to ask, really. “Forgive me for being so blunt, I just had to rip the bandaid,” he mirrored the Captain’s earlier words rather playfully - a small attempt to lighten the situation in preparation for the rejection that was to come. The man, however, fell silent for another moment, his expression morphing into something hard to read.
“Ororon… I hoped you would never ask, but yes, I could and I do. I love you,” he eventually retorted with a sigh, an admission of defeat. The Captain would never lie. Withholding some parts of the truth? Sure, that was a necessary strategy at times. Still, he was too honorable a man to actually lie. “And now, please, forget about it.” It was an impossible task, sure, but Ororon had to try. His deep blue eyes were full of such desperate sincerity, of pain and fear… The one who’d stood fearless in the middle of countless battles, in front of death itself, who’d sacrificed himself for Natlan without an ounce of hesitation, was now allowing himself the chance to show a sliver of vulnerability. It made sense. Thrain had always trusted Ororon with his vulnerable side, ever since he’d saved his life… Suddenly, the younger one felt so stupid to have never seen it.
“What if there’s a chance?” His heart was suddenly pounding, as if he were a little bat trapped in a cage. “For us, I mean - What if…”
“Are you going to deny yourself a good life whilst searching for that?” Thrain frowned.
“I can live a good life and still look into it!” Ororon attempted to defend himself, though it was like a weight had fallen off his shoulders. He didn’t mean to, really, but his lips had curled into a tiny yet incredibly fond smile. “I can live, you know, a life worth living or something... Just like you want me to! And I can still fight fate, just the way you did! And still... I can still come here to see you. The more training I complete, the more I can stay too!”
“You…” the Captain’s expression softened. Though he didn’t know, Ororon had had that effect on him all along. “Youth and hope go hand in hand, I suppose,” he murmured with a little smile. “You know I can’t refuse you… But I don’t ever want you staying here so much you forget to live your life in the real world. One day, the Night Kingdom awaits you too anyway. Your time hasn’t come yet.”
Ororon’s mind was running with potential avenues to explore. Above all, there was the knowledge that Thrain had agreed though. His plans were not hopeless.
“Still, little bat… Would you deny yourself the chance to fall in love with someone who can live by your side? Someone you can truly share your life with?”
Thrain already knew the answer.
Bidii was Ororon’s ancient name. Devotion.
“I want to fight for us, like a true warrior would.”
Oh, how the Captain wanted to put up more of a fight. He knew it was selfish to accept - knew it was selfish to place such a burden upon the younger’s shoulders. In truth, his biggest regret as he had made his way towards the Throne had been leaving the one he’d grown so fond of behind when he too wished they could share that sweet, peaceful life they both dreamed of. And yet, in death, he finally allowed himself a little bit of selfishness. Perhaps what made it easier was seeing Ororon so confident and determined - something he’d missed dearly when he'd been forced to gaze upon his crying form every day for the past two months.
“Truth is, I’m not sure I could ever deny you anything…” he eventually spoke, though unknowingly, his own expression was mirroring the joy written all over Ororon’s face.
“Then may I please get a kiss?”
When he awoke, the sun had set over Ochkanatlan. Strangely enough, there was no headache to speak of, despite the fire water flask laying almost empty next to him. In the distance, he could hear a very familiar voice.
“Ororon, you, idiot! Do you want granny Itztli to kill us both?”
The flapping wings of a qucusaurus grew louder, only for Ifa to show up moments later, riding said saurian and grinning despite the very real threat of an angry Citlali probably waiting for the both of them the following day.
“Sorry, bro! I just needed some alone time!” Ororon retorted with a soft laugh. Though he hadn’t realised yet, on one of his fingers was now comfortably sitting a rather large silver ring. A few feet higher, the hood he used to wear was barely peeking out from underneath the Captain’s cloak, one fist clenched around the coarse fabric.