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The moment he stepped inside the reception room, Dion could tell who the Phoenix’s Dominant was. There were few children of his age present to begin with, and only one soul in the room radiated the warm aetheric aura that Bahamut recognised as one of its kind. Dion’s eyes met with a boy with hair the colour of firelight, and the look he received suggested that he had recognised Dion as well.
Dion could not entirely conceal his surprise. The boy was smaller than him despite being a few months his senior, and looked nothing like the dark-haired, broad-shouldered Archduke leading him across the room. Even the ceremonial rapier looked comically large hanging from his hip. He sooner resembled a fresh hatchling than the fierce firebird.
Then again, they both were still young, and Dion did not necessarily feel like he matched the image of the great Bahamut, either. One of the cardinals had suggested as much one evening while deep in his cups mere days before being summoned outside the capital in urgent imperial business, his seat replaced by another.
The two Dominants exchanged a practised greeting, both repeating steps drilled into them by rigorous etiquette lessons. Dion was informed that the boy was called Joshua Rosfield—he had known this already, but finally having a face to the name solidified both in his mind.
After all participants had gathered, the ceremony was opened with a Greagorian mass as all Sanbrequois state functions should. The mansion, one of many estates that Lord Byron Rosfield owned across the realm, was located close to the Crystal Dominion and had no chapel of its own, so the imperial entourage had brought a statue of the Holy Goddess and enough copies of the Book of Hymns for the company. From his spot next to Father, Dion could hear that there was some stumbling in the melody among the Dhalmeks and Rosarians, but the Archduke and his wife were carrying the tune confidently. Joshua was obscured by the figure of his father, so Dion had to give up on observing him and turned his attention back to the book.
The service was followed by a banquet in the adjoining room. The meal was accompanied by a stage play depicting one of the many legends of Dzemekys, likely chosen because it was considered sufficiently far removed from each country’s recent history to not insult anyone or dig up any old grudges. With the final applause, the atmosphere became less reserved, servants bringing in a new serving of wine and the volume of conversation rising in accordance. Dion had been casting furtive glances towards the Rosfields throughout the evening, and his attention was captured by Joshua turning to say something to his father and, permission of the Archduke seemingly granted, vacating his seat and slipping outside the hall.
Dion looked at his own father, who gave him a slow nod.
Make use of your position, Dion. Approach the Dominant and find out as much about him as you are able.
Father’s unsaid words echoing in his ears, Dion politely excused himself from the table and made for the same exit.
There was no one to be seen in the corridor outside the banquet hall, so Dion began to search for Joshua while trying to calm his nervously fluttering heart. Whenever he encountered people close to his age, he usually had Terence, or Father, or one of his tutors at his side, providing comfort and guidance or at least a script to follow. Now, he was on his own. If he was the one to approach, it would be up to him to strike up conversation and try to lead it in a direction that would yield the type of information Father was hoping to gain.
He found Joshua standing in front of a window, leaning against the windowsill and gazing up at the moon. Dion stopped in the shadows, gathering his courage in the face of the opportunity before him.
It was now or never. What would be his first move? What to say, what to–
“Oh…hello.”
Dion’s breath hitched in his throat as Joshua was suddenly looking at him with a slightly startled expression. So much for making the first move.
“May I join you?”
“Of course. I was just…thinking.”
“What about?” Dion asked as he settled next to Joshua.
“The play was very good. I wish Clive had been here to see it…”
“Clive?”
“Oh! My brother,” Joshua’s face lit up as he turned to look at Dion. “He’s five years older than me, and he loves reading tales. His favourite is The Saint and the Sectary…”
Any concerns Dion may have had about his ability to maintain a conversation with Joshua proved entirely unwarranted from then on. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and the boy’s seriousness had given way to a joyful energy that made him mesmerising to look at.
Joshua’s words painted little scenes—of watching Clive train and cheering him on from the sidelines, of Clive reading stories to him in bed, of Clive’s favourite treats that Joshua would charm the kitchen maids into giving him to smuggle into his brother’s room. The episodes were inconsequential on the surface, but they emanated a strange warmth that made something stir in Dion. The feeling reminded him of the faint memory he suspected to be of his mother. He did love his father and wished for nothing more than his approval, but the Emperor only ever praised him from atop his throne, distant and venerable. Stories of affection so freely given and received…they felt alien, yet alluring.
Would it be like this to have a brother?
Perhaps sensing Dion’s mind wandering, Joshua snapped his mouth shut and his face flushed a charming red.
“I’m sorry…I’m being rude, talking so much.”
“Not at all,” Dion shook his head. “But I would hear of you, as well.”
After all, Father had not requested stories of the other Rosfield brother.
Joshua seemed taken aback, his expression retreating into a peculiar shyness as he turned his back on the window and cast his gaze at his shoes.
“There’s…there’s nothing very interesting to tell about me. I don’t go outside the castle much.”
“Surely there is something,” Dion prompted. “You’re the Phoenix, are you not? Tell me about your first priming.”
It was a topic Dion had greatly hoped to have someone to talk about, someone who could understand. His burgeoning optimism was quickly deflated when he saw Joshua suddenly look frightened.
“I…um.”
The silence stretched on.
“I apologise, I didn’t mean to make you–”
“No, no,” Joshua shook his head so that his downy curls swayed, “I just…I don’t want to lie to you, but you have to promise me to keep it a secret. Mother doesn’t want me to…discuss it.”
“I promise,” Dion agreed without a moment’s hesitation.
“I…haven’t primed yet. The physickers say it would be…‘untoward’ to my health,” Joshua made a dismayed face and his hands grasped the front of his red overcoat. “I want to get stronger soon, so I can protect the duchy, and the people, and my brother.”
“I thought your brother was the one protecting you?” Dion teased, eager to lead the conversation somewhere happier.
“Only because I’m still practising!” Joshua huffed, but did not seem truly offended. Then, his face lit up as a new idea struck him.
“Come on, there’s a place I’ve wanted to see.”
They made their way onto a stone terrace on the eastern side of the mansion overlooking the gardens. The direction had clearly been chosen for the magnificent view, for the outline of Twinside could be seen in the horizon even at night, Drake’s Tail towering over the city and emitting its quiet, shimmering light.
“It’s amazing,” Joshua sighed. “Are all Mothercrystals so big?”
Dion tilted his head, considering.
“Drake’s Head is, I think. The Fang’s shape is different if the paintings are to be believed, but I don’t suppose it should be much smaller.”
Joshua nodded without taking his eyes off the crystal.
“This is the first time I see one with my own eyes,” he said. “Even if we still held Drake’s Breath, the low clouds over the Boiling Sea cover the view from Rosalith.”
“The Iron Kingdom captured it,” Dion muttered, more to remind himself than to Joshua. The thought of Rosaria not having her own Mothercrystal was so strange, so used he was to the sight of Drake’s Head whenever he looked out of the window, the steady hum of its aether always surrounding him and making him feel at home.
“Yes. Father says we shall reclaim it.”
Joshua’s jaw was set in a way that did not suit his youthful face. Dion knew what the other was thinking about: contesting the ownership of the crystal meant war, and a nation going to war meant that its Eikon would be put into the test. Dion’s father had spoken of this many times, telling Dion that it would not be long until the unrest in Waloed would lead to a clash between it and Sanbreque.
“Dion?”
Hearing his name in Joshua’s soft voice made Dion’s heart skip a beat—he was so rarely addressed by name by anyone but his father.
“Y-yes?”
“Would you…tell me about your first priming?”
Joshua shuffled his feet uncertainly.
“Usually when I don’t know something, I ask Clive…and if he doesn’t know, I go to Father. But neither of them can tell me what I should expect of this.”
Dion took a deep breath. He had not been able to talk about the burdens of their Eikons with Joshua quite like he had hoped to, but this was an opportunity, as well. Perhaps he would be able to ease some of his fellow Dominant’s anxieties.
“It was…difficult,” he began. “It feels like losing control, like something is taking over you. Your hand is not your hand, and yet it feels like it should be.”
“Does it…hurt?” Joshua whispered.
“It does…at least at the start. The aether just flows so quickly, it takes you a while to get used to it.”
Dion closed his mouth to roll words on his tongue, wondering which of them he should let escape into the night air. He had many to describe the pain, the fear, the complete abandonment he had felt as his father and tutors had simply watched him scream, looking on as the aether swallowed him whole. Yet he found himself hesitating to speak those experiences into existence when Joshua was watching him with unease flickering behind his blue eyes. Would knowing about the horrors in advance help or hinder?
After a long pause, he settled on his answer.
“It’s frightening, but you shouldn’t be afraid. It’s who we are—the Eikon and the Dominant are one. We were made for this.”
The last of his words were not his own, but they had provided him with strength and hopefully would do so for another.
Joshua nodded gravely.
“You’re right. We have to do our duty.”
Something in his voice told Dion that these were not Joshua’s words, either.
They continued their walk towards the gardens, conversation trickling towards lighter topics. The peaceful moment was cut short when Joshua’s foot slipped over an uneven step on the stairs, sending him into what would surely be a painful tumble down. Dion moved with swiftness he had not known he was capable of, sweeping Joshua in his arms and throwing himself sideways against the wall to stop them both from falling further down the stairs. His shoulder collided with the stone, but otherwise nothing felt too bad. A peculiar floral scent was tickling his nose.
“Are you alri–”
His question was cut off by a gasp.
“Dion, you’re hurt!”
It was only then that Dion registered a stinging pain near his mouth and a wet sensation on his chin—a touch of his finger confirmed that he had split his lip, likely from Joshua’s head hitting it when he pulled the boy close so suddenly. Father would be less than impressed if he ruined his fine white clothes…
Suddenly Joshua’s hand was right in front of Dion’s face.
“Hold still.”
From a swirl of aether in the air came a soft glow emanating from Joshua’s palm, and a most peculiar feeling took over Dion. It was warmth and bliss flowing into him, like feeling the sun on the first day of spring or witnessing a spark of light after wandering in darkness for a small eternity. He let out a sigh as tension bled out of his body. When it ended, he noted that the stinging pain was gone, and even the throbbing at the back of his head had vanished. He shivered when Joshua’s finger ghosted over his now unmarred lower lip.
“All better.”
Of course. The Phoenix’s healing flames.
“...Thank you,” Dion said, still feeling a little breathless after the experience. Joshua withdrew his hand.
“There’s no need. I was too careless to begin with, so it’s not…”
Joshua’s words trailed off as he frowned and turned away from Dion, bringing a hand to his mouth like he was expecting to be sick. Dion extended a hesitant hand towards him.
“Joshua…?”
“It’s nothing,” the boy shook his head. “I think it’s time to return, before we will be missed.”
Dion was tempted to argue, to find a reason to not let the night end so soon, but he swallowed his selfish desires in favour of pleasant agreement, as was proper. They returned inside and bid good night to their parents before retiring to bed.
Joshua did not participate in the second day of festivities. He was said to be feeling unwell, which made Dion anxious. He expressed a wish to go see Joshua, but the Duchess waved him off repeatedly, insisting simultaneously that there was absolutely no cause for concern and that her son must not be disturbed for any reason.
“I believe you should make the visit regardless, Dion,” Father said after Dion had told him of the matter.
“But the Duchess…”
“After the midday meal, I expect the good Lady Anabella to be occupied in the western trophy room.”
Dion paused. His father meant for Dion to go despite the lack of permission obtained.
“Very well, Father.”
Joshua was sitting in his bed, leafing through a book that fell closed into his lap as soon as he saw Dion.
“Dion! Why are you here?”
“I heard you were not feeling well,” Dion answered, standing uncertainly next to the bed until Joshua gestured for him to take a seat on it.
“It’s nothing to worry about. I told you I rarely leave the castle…traveling tires me out easily.”
Dion noticed the same floral scent he had detected the previous night. His eyes fell on the bedside table, where a chalice was placed next to several vials, some empty and some filled with green and yellow tinctures. Some type of medicine, then.
“I suppose you can’t do that…thing you did last night?”
At Joshua’s questioning expression, Dion gestured at his face, hoping the other would understand without him having to spell it out—something about it felt embarrassing to speak aloud.
“No, it doesn’t quite work like that,” Joshua laughed and shook his head when he pieced together Dion’s meaning. “Although the Phoenix is helping.”
This felt a bit unfair, in Dion’s opinion. The Phoenix’s magic had wiped away his injury without a trace, but he had no way to be of any help in return.
“Dion,” Joshua took one of Dion’s hands in both of his, “thank you for coming to see me. I’m really happy we met.”
He hesitated for a while before continuing.
“Could we…be friends?”
Joshua’s cheeks were dusted pink and his eyes were gleaming, although it could have just been due to the fever. Dion found his heart beating rapidly, feeling as though he was entering a pact more holy than any he had sworn to country or goddess.
He placed his free hand on top of Joshua’s, clasping them tightly.
“Of course. Always.”
Soon after their return to Oriflamme, Father summoned Dion to his study.
Behind the wooden desk so dark it was nigh black, was the seat of the Emperor, and behind the seat hung a painting of Greagor gazing down upon the room—a reminder that the Holy Emperor was the Goddess made manifest, that each missive penned and edict signed was Her Will.
“Before our departure, I gave you a task,” Father said without raising his eyes from the wax he was melting. “It is time to report on what you have learned.”
Dion stood before the desk, trying to decide what to say. Thoughts of Joshua came easy enough, but he doubted Father would care to hear about the boy’s smile, the way his hair danced like a flame in the wind, or how the soothing warmth of his fire had made a home in Dion’s chest.
“The Phoenix’s Dominant has a good heart,” he began slowly. “He is serious about his studies, and his wit is sharp. He cares for his family, most of all his older brother.”
Father dipped his signet ring in the wax and pressed it against the finished letter to seal it. The silence was so deep and long that for a time, Dion wondered if Father had heard him at all.
“And his power?”
Dion’s eyes were fixed upon the edge of the desk. He felt as though the wyrm at the Goddess’ feet was watching him, looking into his heart.
“The Phoenix…he trains rigorously. Despite his poor health, he has a courageous spirit and a strong will to fight for his people.”
Father placed the sealed letter on the side to dry.
“Is that all?”
The edge in his voice cut deep, the shame of disappointing Father burning Dion like a blue-hot flame. The fact that Rosaria’s Dominant had yet to prime was significant, exactly the type of information that would serve the Empire and please Father.
But Dion had made a promise.
“I witnessed his skill in curative magic,” he said in his desperation to say something. “Bearers and potions cannot compare to the firebird’s flames.”
The only response he received was the sound of shifting paper. When Dion dared to look up, Father had picked up his quill and begun another letter.
“You are dismissed, Dion.”
As the door of the study closed behind him, Dion found his hands were shaking. For the first time in his life, he had disobeyed his father.
A year later, the news of the incident at Phoenix Gate reached Oriflamme. Dion had been on his way to his lessons when he overheard the court discussing the news. His books had clattered on the floor and the edges of his vision had gone blurry from the shock.
It sounded like a lie, or a nightmare. It had to be! The Phoenix going out of control and burning his own subjects without a cause? A monster more fierce than a behemoth attacking and battling with the Eikon until no trace of either could be found? How could such horrors have anything to do with Joshua, the boy who wished to protect his people, who loved his brother, who smelled faintly of sweet flowers and whose small hands produced the gentlest of flames? The boy who had called him Dion and asked him to keep a secret and promised to be his friend.
The boy who was said to have burned in a fire so potent that not even bones were left behind.
Not long after, the former Duchess Anabella appeared in Whitewyrm castle. She wore the sigils of mourning, and was often seen in the chapel, knelt in front of Great Greagor for hours whispering her son’s name over and over again.
Joshua, oh Joshua…my darling boy…
Those who claimed to be well informed in matters concerning the fallen duchy said it was no surprise that the name of her firstborn son didn’t pass Anabella’s lips even once although he, too, was believed to have perished in the flames of Phoenix Gate. Supposedly there had been suspicion that the boy was born of the Archduke’s illegitimate affair, that Anabella despised the child for challenging her lineage that had indeed borne the Phoenix, but in a weak body that could not withstand the Eikon. Dion thought of his own mother, by now a fleeting image and a ghost of a memory, and his heart twinged with grief and longing.
He knew not if the ill-spirited rumours about the elder Rosfield were true, but for Joshua, it had never mattered. My brother Clive , he had said with such fondness, and with pride shining in his eyes as if the feats he described were his own. And yet, the two of them had suffered such a horrid fate. Dion had been taught that Great Greagor was merciful and just, but even She had not raised her hand to stop it.
The image of the painted wyrm’s eyes staring into his soul made him shudder. Had the Goddess seen his treachery, and delivered retribution?
As Dion turned these thoughts around again and again in his young mind, they threatened to overrun him. They pierced his heart as surely as a dragoon’s lance and dragged him in sorrow so deep it puzzled Terence and irritated Father, who reminded Dion it was unbecoming of him to be so affected by the fate of a boy he had only met once. It was well enough for a mere woman like Anabella to throw herself unto Greagor’s mercy in tears, but the Warden of Light must never plunge into such darkness.
Dion followed his father’s council, as he was wont to do in most things. He swallowed Joshua’s name, forbidding it from his lips lest it disturb ghosts that ought to be laid to rest. Thusly did Dion bury the boy who had been his first love, lovely and frail like the summer’s first butterfly.
In the end, the living cannot dwell in the ashes of the dead forever, for the torrent of life flowing through washes everything away, lightening the burden of sorrow in time. It was so with Dion as well, who continued on living and growing. He spent less time pondering Great Greagor’s righteousness, and more in the training grounds. The sweet affections he had experienced in that mansion along the Crystal Road returned and transformed into new and strange feelings as he became older, triggered by the sensation of being pinned down by a fellow dragoon trainee or the sight of the fetching outline produced by a young courtier’s fashionably tight garments, more alluring than the ladies the other youths admired. Such incidents demanded Dion’s attention, forcing him to confront his preferences even as he concealed them from the world in general, and his father in particular. Yet even in his uncertainty he was blessed: when he and Terence finally dared to speak aloud the nature of the devotion between them, Dion felt joy greater than any other in his life.
It was just as well to take joy where he could, for it was not easy to come by. Waloed’s aggression took him to the war front more than he cared for, and even in Oriflamme he could not quite feel at ease. Anabella had a child with the Emperor, yet Olivier could not have been more different from the affectionate younger brother Dion had dreamt of all those years ago. The child seemed strangely cold, staring at Dion with piercing eyes that unnerved him, and he found it hard to foster any great love for the boy. Perhaps the gulf of seventeen years between them was simply too large, or it was a fool’s errand to think the brotherly fondness he had witnessed that starlit night would be achievable to all in the first place, he mused before putting thoughts of the Phoenix away once more.
Until that day.
“Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness.”
Dion swayed on his feet, feeling light-headed for a moment as he subtly took a step back to keep himself from stumbling.
It could not be. And yet there was no other explanation to the familiar aether.
“I know you…”
Fire-kissed hair. Piercing blue eyes. A vision from days long gone suddenly transported through the years.
Even as he called Terence to stand down, Dion struggled to convince himself of what he was seeing.
“I thought you long dead. Do I address a ghost?”
For some reason, the notion brought a small smile to the Phoenix’s lips. He picked up the wyverntail he had inexplicably chosen to retrieve from the floor, rolling it in his hands.
“Many have told me that I look like one.”
The remark was delivered almost flippantly, followed by a pause as if waiting for a laugh. Dion was not particularly amused.
“But no,” the Phoenix continued again, not unbalanced by the other’s silence. “I am alive…just.”
He placed the flower on the table, and Dion felt a faint scent of medicinal herbs. It was not quite the same sweet scent he had known before, but something sharper. Shaking the thought from his mind, Dion focused on the Dominant before him, whose eyes had gained a determined shine.
“Prince Dion of the House Lesage. I have a tale to tell you.”
And what a tale it was. Inhabited by a malevolent god, a mother overcome by ambition—and the impossibility that was the second Eikon of Fire.
“Then…it was your brother who defeated you that night,” Dion mused quietly when the story reached a lull.
“Not by his own design,” the Phoenix said quickly, quick to defend his brother from the conclusions Dion might draw. “He was manipulated by Ultima…and I bear an equal share of the blame of what happened that night.”
His eyes wandered towards his lap, shame weighing on his head. Dion was tempted to challenge the words, but decided to pursue another avenue instead.
“This Ultima… You will forgive me for finding it hard to imagine such a being to exist. It pushed you and your brother into a conflict, but for what purpose?”
“I do not fully understand it myself,” the Phoenix conceded. “It seems that Ultima needs my brother for something, but I cannot fathom what.”
He sighed, and the sag of his shoulders conveyed his years-long consternation with the mystery.
“I take no offence in your hesitation to believe me. But I do come with proof that the being I speak of truly exists. I met him, or at least something of the like, in the Inner Sanctum of Drake’s Head the night the crystal fell, and I took it prisoner.”
To Dion’s confoundment, the Dominant began to pull at his clothes. Dion blinked rapidly but could not find words to stop the Phoenix before he saw what exactly lay beneath the layers of black and and crimson.
“Greagor’s gash…!”
The vulgarity escaped Dion’s mouth before he could even think to stop it. The thing in the middle of the Phoenix’s chest could only be described as an open wound of a crystalline shape, which did not bleed but seemed to ooze aether with an uncanny air.
“I alone do not possess the means to harm or defeat Ultima,” the Phoenix spoke. “He meant to claim my brother for himself that day, and this was the only way I could hope to prevent it.”
“That’s madness… ”
Dion’s mutter did nothing to perturb the Phoenix, who simply offered a sad smile.
“I believe I once told you I wished to become stronger for the sake of those I was to protect. The duchy has fallen, and I am no saviour of her people anymore. This,” he pressed a hand over the crystal wound, “is the one duty that remains to me. To thwart the fiend that covets my brother and puts all of Valisthea in peril.”
They spoke of a great many things, continuing upon their arrival at Twinside. Even as Dion was content to shake hands with his fellow Dominant as an ally at the end of their discussion, he felt compelled to stay his aid until he had completed what he deemed to be his personal task—to purge the Empire of the rot that had come to fester within. To save Father from walking them all into their doom.
He would spend the rest of his life wondering what would have been different had he joined the Phoenix’s cause wholly that day.
Returning from Stonhyrr, standing on the deck of The Enterprise, Dion found himself uncharacteristically idle. Thoughts rolled in his head without pause, restless as the waves—Terence’s wounded eyes as Dion had sent him away, flashes of the havoc Bahamut had wreaked over Twinside, disbelief at how quickly lives and Empires could crumble, turning into meaningless dust in the blink of an eye. Much like the Mothercrystals, once a cornerstone of all he had known.
The seascape swayed in his vision and he touched the railing to steady himself. What little sleep he had had since leaving lake Bennumere had been either the result of him collapsing in exhaustion or momentary drifts. Ample time on the war front had taught him to use moments like these to recuperate his strength—he could do nothing to make them arrive faster, so perhaps it would be best to ensure he did not disgrace himself by falling into the sea due to an ill-timed spell of fainting.
He descended the stairs from the main deck, heading for a quiet place below where one of the smaller cabins was—the one least likely to be occupied.
Just as he was about to reach for the door handle, he heard a sound from the other side.
“Ultima is a fool to think he can just take you for his own.”
It was the voice of the Phoenix–no, Joshua, Dion reminded himself. The fervour in his tone was similar to the time he had spoken with Dion in Twinside, when he had sworn to protect his brother. The other person in the cabin surely must be…
“Joshua,” came a gruff sigh that confirmed Dion’s suspicions.
The Phoenix Dominant barely acknowledged the interruption, continuing to speak in a tone that could surely convince boulders to roll out of his way purely of their own accord.
“None may claim you. None may have you. None.”
The words that followed were but quiet murmurs, too soft to decipher but leading into a suspicious lull that told Dion that the door of the cabin absolutely must not be opened under any circumstances if those aboard the vessel valued their life and dignity. Dion’s eyes darted left and right to see if anyone was watching, and he spotted a figure approaching the stairs he had taken mere minutes earlier.
“Ah, Lady Shiva!”
Dion’s voice was a touch too loud to be natural in his own ears, but it served its purpose: there was a dull bang from inside the cabin, as if a body had bumped into a piece of furniture, followed by a muffled curse and a sharp shush. Dion strode over to Lady Warrick to stop her advance towards the cabin.
“Perhaps you could accompany me for but a moment. There is a matter about which I wish to speak with you.”
Her puzzled expression was testament to his less than stellar acting, and he fervently wished he would come up with a suitable excuse by the time he managed to lead her back onto the main deck. He gave one last glance at the cabin door.
So you, too, walk a path of many thorns, Phoenix.
After he had stumbled upon the secret, Dion could not help but notice hints of it whenever he looked at the brothers Rosfield. If the Phoenix was not accompanying his brother on a quest or poring over endless tomes in the Hideaway’s library to learn of more ways to aid them in their quest, he could usually be found on a ledge from which he could see approaching boats, and could immediately spot anyone who emerged from the lift. When Ifrit returned, the man’s eyes would first wander to that spot on the ledge, expression clouded by visible anxiety if he did not find what he sought there.
The hands lingering a touch too long, the surreptitious glances across a room. To an uninitiated observer, much of it could be blamed on the closeness of siblings so violently torn apart in their youth, the lingering familiarity an echo of their shared past. But Dion could see much of himself in those actions, secret affections concealed in a shroud of camaraderie. The incarnation of the holy light must not be discovered in a tumble with his second-in-command, after all, and Cid the Second was likewise a man many saw as their beacon of hope.
The brothers had become more inseparable than ever after they each had acquired a ruby-adorned bracelet on their wrist—a family heirloom of sorts, Dion had gathered, thinking it was hardly his place to pry for details.
For that reason, it was a surprise to him to see the younger brother alone at the familiar spot, leaning against the railing and gazing out to the lake.
Standing in the shadows, Dion was reminded of that night long ago. But although he stood and waited, this time Joshua did not turn around.
“I was under the impression Ifrit and Shiva left for Sanbreque this morning,” Dion eventually said as he came closer.
“You would be correct,” Joshua said, granting Dion an amiable smile that nevertheless conveyed little cheer.
“And you are not joining them?”
Joshua pursed his lips, considering his words carefully.
“It’s something I…should not intrude on.”
Dion could not help his surprise. The sentiment was so greatly at odds with the behaviour he had witnessed of late, let alone the… proprietorial manner which the Phoenix had exhibited aboard the ship.
Before Dion could decide how to react, Joshua spoke again.
“I’ve been meaning to discuss something with you, now that our mission grows near.”
“Indeed?”
“Our chances of victory are slim, and those of our survival even moreso. Still, provided we are successful in our task, it is my intention to do all in my power to ensure my brother returns from Origin—whatever that may entail.”
Joshua turned to look at Dion, eyes glazed in steely resolve as if he expected to be argued on the point.
“I see,” Dion replied simply. “I assume Ifrit is not aware of this…priority.”
“Of course not,” the other shook his head with a sigh, “it would only be a hindrance were I to inform him. But…I can trust your cooperation?”
“I’ve already promised you my wings, and what little else I have. Whatever you believe is the course of action that most likely leads to our success, I will follow it.”
Joshua’s shoulders sagged with relief.
“That means more to me than I can tell. I truly am grateful, Dion.”
Dion was tempted to remind Joshua again that they had yet to accomplish anything worth gratitude or glory. Yet, after a brief lull in the conversation, he found himself saying something different.
“I believe I once had an…affection for you.”
“P-pardon?”
Joshua’s eyes had gone wide and he stared at Dion in open astonishment.
“Long ago, when we met at the Remembrance Ceremony,” Dion explained, gesturing with his hand vaguely. He was not exactly sure why he was talking about this now—perhaps there was something about the imminent end of the world that inspired sharing secrets meant to be taken to the grave. Perhaps he simply wished to chase away the air of loneliness that hung over his fellow Dominant.
Joshua’s left hand fiddled with the beads on his belt, eyes cast down bashfully.
“I…I never knew.”
“I hardly knew it myself at the time. Only much later, when I thought you were already gone…” he trailed off, not wishing to dwell on the thought. “If only we had had more time to learn to know each other. I would have made a great fool of myself, announcing my amorous intent.”
“I fear I would have burst into flames on the spot,” Joshua laughed. “But…it would have been my honour.”
He took a step closer and placed a hand on Dion’s shoulder.
“Thank you for being my friend.”
Followers and subjects, servants and shields…both of them had had these in abundance in their lives, but a friend, a true equal, was much harder to come by.
Dion reached over his chest and gripped Joshua’s hand with his own.
“Always.”
Though he had enough atoning to do to last several lifetimes, perhaps it was appropriate to start by honouring this one promise to the end.