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Nick can’t sleep. Despite the way his body aches and just how exhausted he is, he finds himself staring up at the roof of his tent.
Nick considers himself smart. While he very much prides himself on his athleticism and muscles, his real weapon is his mind. What he wields matters very little in combat, especially if it can be avoided altogether. He grew up amongst snakes that were better known as aristocrats and so, despite being knighted, Nick is a noble first and foremost.
As skilful as he wields his daggers and swords, perhaps even with more skill and precision, he wields his tongue and eyes in the battlefield known as court. His mind sharpening over the years as he kept track of characters, agendas, alliances and history; cataloging every minor backhanded insult or hidden challenge of authority, unraveling the truth to every spoken word and secretive shifts of the eyes.
This gave Nick an advantage in the battlefield- an actual one of swordsmanship and will. Not by much admittedly, but it was still an advantage nonetheless, one that almost certainly played a part into his many victories.
His mind gave him the gift of adaptability; made it so no matter the weapon he holds, he’d still at least stand a chance against his opponents. And considering honour was just a pretence for him growing up, Nick was far from above of playing dirty.
All in all, his mind is always running; constantly taking in, dissecting and planning. Very rarely, would Nick get a quiet moment to himself, even in his own mind. It’s not maddening as he’s long since gotten used to it.
But sometimes, that means his mind would just not, shut up.
Like right now; Nick staring at the roof of his tent.
It’s so fucking annoying.
Nick groans out loudly and haphazardly throws his blanket off himself; in a way that’d annoy him later when he’s more awake and less weighted by exhaustion. Right now though, he doesn’t care. He huffs out as he sits up from his bedroll, pushing his hair back with a hand as he glares at the ground.
Maybe some fresh air would do him some good… Calm his mind or something. His eyes flutter shut and Nick sighs, his shoulders sagging down as he just, breathes.
He lets himself sit there for a moment, just breathing.
Then, he gets up and opens his tent.
Immediately, the cold breeze of the night hits his face. It brushes against his skin, feels soothing against the aching of his limbs. Of course, Vernias’ magic would actually help any injuries he has, but his magic is warm; nothing quite like the chill of a night’s breeze.
Nick rests his eyes as he gently takes in the night, his body already relaxing at just the air. He lingers for a moment, breathes. Then he opens his eyes and leaves the suffocating air of his small tent.
He walks past the remains of a campfire, just ashes and burnt sticks on the ground by this point. Three other tents beside his sit in front of it, some bags are thrown around in front of them messily; Nick knows that Brent would be annoyed by it in the morning and the thought gets a snort out of him.
They’ve made camp in the middle of the woods, buried deep inside and far away from any prying eyes or towns. And after the battle they had earlier, it was the upmost priority that they stay hidden. Life as wanderers isn’t too bad, but Nick would be lying if he says he doesn’t miss having a place to come home to.
Still, Nick would rather live this life than stay inside that castle of snakes.
Glimpses of the star and moon peaks through the tree; and as his eyes adjust to the darkness, Nick can make out a figure standing at the edge of the camp. He debates going back into his tent and bringing out a dagger for a moment but with how deep in the woods they are, he really doubts it’s a stranger. Still… the idea of approaching a potential threat unarmed leaves him anxious.
The decision is made for him when the figure turns and he recognises their face, his face.
Sophist gives him a weary, close lipped smile; It’s a comforting sight. Nick relaxes, even if just a minuscular amount.
(He ignores the awful magenta glow from his forehead and the shadows perturbing from it, as he always does.)
Nick returns a crooked grin to him, whatever else it reveals is completely lost to him as he gives a halfhearted wave and joins his friend’s side. “What you’re doing up, Eevster?” Nick asks once he’s by his side, eyes staying on his friend’s face. “I don’t remember us agreeing on watch.”
All of them were too exhausted after the battle to even consider it. Brent had immediately set to pitching their tents while Vernias worked on at least patching up any injuries and Sophist filled the air with pointless rambles; Once everything was set and no one was in any immediate danger of dying, they all collapsed into their tent.
Though evidently, not all of them manage to fall sleep.
Sophist shrugs, gives him a smile that seems a bit more real before turning back to what he was looking at earlier. “Couldn’t sleep so I thought why not just… look at the stars or something. I don’t know… but I figured it’s better than just staying in the tent.”
It’s just woods stretching across woods, Nick knows this. Still, he decides to turn and join his friend. He’s fairly taken aback when he actually sees that there’s enough of a clearing, enough space between the leaves for the stars to shine through; His breath is knocked out of his body and he stares in a sort of awe.
Sophist clearly had the right idea.
“Sometimes when my thoughts are too loud and I can’t sleep I just… go out and stare at the stars, the idea of Kisurra watching over us… it comforts me, just a little bit.”
His heart freezes for a second.
It’s stupid, it’s ridiculous; Nick reminds himself that Sophist had always been religious. Back when he was an inventor in the castle; an apprentice of the royal mage, he had worshipped and prayed to Caepestris, The Goddess of The Sky, Storm and Sea despite the how far the kingdom was from the shore.
Maybe it was for courage, wisdom or strength; Maybe he simply grew up worshiping her. Either way, Sophist had always been religious even if he didn’t practice every ceremony or tradition.
This isn’t a new thing, and Nick has to remind himself that Sophist had always been religious.
He calms his heart down, dissipates the pit in his stomach, and breathes. “I mean the stars are definitely beautiful, I can’t deny that,” Nick huffs out. “But I’m not so sure I like the idea of any gods watching over us… no matter how benevolent.”
While Sophist worshipped, Nick did not. Even with Fecassis’ blessings, Nick absolutely refused to worship any gods. He did not believe that most, if not all gods are worthy of worship.
He can understand paying respects as they hold the universe together after all, but worship?
He does not believe even the most benevolent of gods deserves such a thing.
Sophist laughs and it’s a pleasing balm to his unease. “I know.” It calms down into chuckles. “Didn’t we have this conversation before?” It does feel familiar, like an echo of a memory of sorts.
In a small room of a tower of a castle, the moon peaking through the window and shining down on the four of them together, spread out yet locked in conversation with each other nonetheless.
That memory… it has to be almost a year since then, yet his heart still aches with longing.
It feels longer, so much longer since they were last all huddled up together in Sophist’s laboratory, accompanying the sleep deprived tinkerer and just… basing in each other’s presence.
He does not miss the castle, the lies and the snake pit. But god does he miss the warmth, the quiet moments shared between them four in those walls.
Nick sighs wistfully, “Yeah. We did.”
He remembers how the conversation started: In a moment of quiet, Brent had asked, “Do you really think the stars are Kisurra’s eyes?” And Nick paused, finger hovering over an unmarked book in a shelf, probably a journal or something of that nature. “If they are,” He had breathed out after a moment of composing himself. “That’s really creepy of her.” Benevolent goddess or not, being constantly watched by one regardless… the idea was, still is frightening to him.
“I’m pretty sure it’s Ningasmu that watches over Earth, not Kisurra,” Vernias pointed out then. “At least, when it’s night,” He added in as if in afterthought, as if anyone in the room didn’t share his belief or care enough to argue against it. “I like to believe they’re Kisurra’s eyes,” was Sophist’s answer. “Despite her titles when she’s Ningasmu, she is still The God of Passion and, well.” The laughter that comes after is laced with nerves. “You’ve heard the tales of Gazbil’s anger.”
Nick had smirked as he turned around to look at the Sophist. In one hand was a machinery that Nick had no idea what it was meant to be but he at least knew it was a work in progress, and in the other was a screwdriver. Sophist was turned around to face the rest of the room, away from the window which casted a shadow over his face. Despite it however, Nick could still easily make out the gentle smile on his face and the glint of enjoyment in his eyes.
(Back when Nick could still see those eyes.)
“Follower of Caepestris, The Challenger of Courage, The Heart of Wisdom and Strength, afraid of Gazbil? That Caepestris?” Nick teased, getting a scoff and eye roll from Sophist as the inventor turned back to his table. “Shut up.” Nick snickered as he went back to the shelf, eyes scanning the books.
The room fell into silence of a comfortable kind. That was, until Brent spoke up and asked Sophist more about his beliefs. By then, Nick had let the conversation fall into background noise as he continued to snoop through his friend’s things.
Nick stares at the stars, tries not to think of eyes as he closes his own and breathes. Within the oppressive walls of that wicked castle, there was the gentle candlelight of their camaraderie. There was a time where he believed in the king and queen, in the future of their kingdom.
And then, and then…
Well, it doesn’t matter.
In hindsight, in hindsight, the only good thing about his previous place in that palace were his friends.
“How long has it been since we had a quiet moment like that?” Nick sighs out longingly, his eyes fluttering open as he stares at the moonlight peaking through the leaves and casting the scenery in an almost ethereal glow. He hears a gentle chuckle from beside him, then in an almost whisper, Sophist points out, “Like right now?”
Nick pauses at the realisation.
After a moment, he barks out a fond laugh.
Sophist soon joins in with quieter snickers and Nick turns to face him with a soft grin. “Yeah…” He chuckles, his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, like right now.” Sophist smiles at him, it’s a tad bit awkward but it’s just so… him that it just makes Nick feel all the more fond (makes his heart long all the more). An awkward crackle escapes his friend’s lips as Sophist turns away from him and back to the scenery, softly whispering out, “It has been a while though…”
“Too long if you ask me,” Nick huffs out as he joins his friend, returning to admire how the soft light of the night washes the forest blue with its glow. Stars twinkling above as the leaves gently sway with the night’s breeze; The trees, bushes and rocks looking as if out of a painting with how they bath in the crystal night.
A comfortable silence falls over them and… it’s nice. Nick finds himself relaxing as his mind finally quietens down, no longer lingering on the day’s events or even everything that led them to this point in the first place.
Just himself and his dear friend, enjoying a beautiful night.
Nick remembers being a knight, a noble- a man in the palace; He remembers being there and holding, at least, more power than the average guard.
He remembers how Sophist was then, a powerful mage with a knack for innovation; the prince’s closest confidant. There were hushed discussions about his mind and creations and being the royal mage’s apprentice of course, but the nobles were much more interested in his companionship with the second prince.
And while Nick was captivated by his brilliance, he’d be lying if he says he wasn’t interested in the whispered talks of his relationship with the prince. Even once he learned it was the second prince and not the crowned prince, Nick still found himself intrigued by their relationship.
After all, Brent would often drop his duties on a whim if he saw Sophist; vanishing at events together and often being found in the mage’s tinkering room.
Even if it wasn’t the crown prince, he was still interested in what kind of person could captivate a prince enough for them to so blatantly disregard the quiet rules of court.
Turns out, Sophist was the type of person that Nick would throw away his life for.
The doublespeak, subtle challenges, boisterous laughter and spark in his eyes; Sophist was…
Sophist is someone refreshing and exciting to be around, there’s always something interesting bound to follow after him.
Nick will never forget the day he met Sophist.
“Hey,” Sophist calls out to him, gently pulling him out of his reminiscence; his voice soft and gentle, unlike how he is now but familiar to how he was then. Nick’s about to turn to face him, offer a shining grin or a quiet smile and chat away the night the way they used to- when Sophist completely plunges a sword into his stomach with his next words.
“I’m not dead, you know.”
It’s like the world comes crashing around him once again.
The peace of the night shatters and suddenly the cold feels as if it’s digging into his skin. Time comes to an abrupt halt as the whirlwind of the last few months crashes into him.
Sophist’s eyes glazed over as if in a trance and blood dripping from his nose. Vernias suddenly disappearing for months on end, leaving them alone to slowly fall into hopelessness; Then like the sun rising after a long night, his sudden return giving them a ray of hope. Brent’s eyes wide and frantic, trembling as if he’d break apart at a moment’s notice- Yet his voice was still as clear as ever when he screamed in terror, “EEVEE-!”
Barely grasping onto the back of Sophist’s shirt as he pulled him away from the window- Eyes glazed over with magenta enshrouding it- Blood trailing down his chin- That horrible magenta glow of that stupid-
“Nick.” It’s like a bucket of ice has been dumped on him and suddenly he’s forced into remembering the reality of his situation.
He stumbles as Nick whirls around to face- His heart rate spiking as he turns and finds… Sophist looking at him.
It’s hard to tell under the shadows of the night but… his eyebrows look to be furrowed downward in worry with his lips dip subtly into an almost frown. Even with the panic rising within him, Nick can recognise the hint of anxiety in his-
Sophist’s eyes were weird; Nick had spent endless, sleepless nights trying to remember them and he thinks he’d never not have a sleepless night trying to remember them ever again. They’re green, at least that’s what Brent claims but they look more grey most of the time. Then there were times where they look like a faded, baby blue.
Sophist’s eyes were weird and something Nick never paid too much attention to until they were gone; until he saw them glazed over with a magenta tint, until he spent endless nights trying to memorise every small detail about Sophist.
Sometimes Nick hates Vernias for disappearing because he never had to see the whirlwind of emotions running in Sophist’s eyes: He never had to see the anxiety brewing in them, the worry for them and not himself because- because he was resigned to this cosmic bullshit.
He gets to remember the soft worry, the gentle way his eyes would crinkle, the secretive smiles, the mischievous glint without thinking about dread creeping up on him as he noticed the grave resignation in his pearly eyes because-
Because Sophist had resigned himself to this, to being marked by a god because- Because what? What the fuck could he had done to capture the attention of Arbisaliq out of all gods?! He… He must’ve been a child. He had to have been a child for how casual Sophist’s acceptance of his fate: chosen by a deity to become its agent.
Nick hates that more than anything in the world sometimes, the realisation that so many people must’ve not even bothered trying.
Nick never believes that gods are worthy of worship in the first place but- Faburia hexes did he finally understand why people could hate gods so vehemently with their entire soul.
So many people-
So many adults who didn’t even bother trying-
And now his eyes are gone and when Nick stares into them, all he sees is a white pit of nothingness.
Like Sophist is dead.
And there is a thing wearing his skin.
Standing right in front of him.
Yet Nick doesn’t move as he watches the thing wearing his friend’s face sigh and glance away from him, back to the scenery they were staring at before. “I know it’s been… hard, these last few months. Fuck- maybe even a year now.” The voice that sounds like his friend pitches with anxiety as it gives a nervous laugh that sounds so much like Sophist that it makes the pit in Nick’s stomach sink further down.
It almost looks like him.
Caught off guard, exhausted and vulnerable in the middle of the night, something in him cracks as his lips tremble alongside the rest of his body; With Nick finding himself frozen in place and staring at the thing masquerading as his friend.
“But… I need you to understand I’m not dead. I, I know that’s hard to believe but…” It sighs exactly like how Sophist did. Or… or does it? Did Sophist ever sound like this? Did Sophist ever look like this? Dear Faburia please- “Caepestris- This is hard to explain.” -don’t let Nick forget his friend. “I know you Nick. I, I don’t know wh, what’s going through your head right now but… I know you enough to know that you got something in your head and you’re so convinced of it and-” His voice titters off as it raises in pitch, his expression cracks and.
And Nick’s heart flatters as doubt seeps into his mind.
Sophist’s eyes were wide with a brewing panic, a tint of what might be maniac mixing in together to create a thundering storm in his eyes; His lips wobbling and barely holding that horrible smile in place, as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his mouth. It’s too reminiscent of the days after that stupid fucking rock-
Sophist takes a shaky breath in and shuts his eyes tightly. “And I just… I don’t know how much longer I can go with talking to you and looking at you and just knowing that you’re convinced you’re talking to some… some…” His smile breaks and when Sophist looks at him, Nick feels as if he’s been pierced by his those white nothingness and he’s plunged back into doubt that this is his friend. “What do you think I am, Nick?”
His legs feel like they’re anchored to the ground, a gnawing void in his stomach and his arms feels as if they’re weighted down.
Sophist’s eyes were a strange kaleidoscope of blue-grey-green that Nick never realised he could miss until Sophist is looking right into him without them.
…Until the face of Sophist is looking right into him without them.
Because Sophist is…
He’s…
He…
Nick remembers the growing desperation, the spreading hopelessness and how it was casted into the shadows when Vernias finally returned to the castle. For a moment- For a brilliant, glimmering moment, he had dared to hope that maybe, just maybe they could actually go against Arbisaliq and save Sophist.
For a moment, Nick had forgotten the kind of tales that Faburia weaves.
They were quick to remind him however, when they soon crashed into a frantic and teary eyed Brent and…
Well…
There’s a reason, Nick refuses to remember their days at the castle.
Glazed over eyes caught in a possession like grip while blood dripped out of his nose. What else was Nick supposed to think?
In the end, one thing remains: His friend was taken from him, and no one before them ever tried to help him.
Brent threw away his crown, Nick threw away his status and Vernias threw away his studies because what worth did those have in a snake pit?
“Nick,” It- He? The thing- Sophist says his name like a plead, he sounds dangerously close to breaking into tears. “I’m not, I’m not whatever you’ve gotten in your head, I’m me, Nick. It’s me, it’s me, Nick. Please.”
The voice of his friend is begging and pleading; It immediately makes Nick want to run far, far away because even in all his quietest and most vulnerable moments, Sophist had refused to stoop to begging.
But it’s also what Nick had wanted to hear- in some way, in some form, when he discovered Sophist’s fate. Some push back, some fighting, some resistance; not resignation, not melancholic acceptance.
Sophist was someone who, even if subtly, pushed back and fought against restrictions; He was someone who refused to be bound by others.
So to see him so easily accept what was to come? It broke Nick’s heart in a way he previously wasn’t aware it could.
In their final days together, Nick and Sophist weren’t the men they were when they met; Nick’s regretted that ever since the day Sophist was claimed.
As Nick stares at the echo of his friend, he remembers the last few days before the castle became insufferable, the air became unbearable and everything turned grey. He remembers abandoning his pride and ego, letting them fall to the wayside as he screamed and pled and begged through sobs for Sophist to try.
In the back of his mind, the side that’s always analysing and thinking, notes with bitter irony of this role reversal.
“I’m alive.” The world collapses and whatever- whoever- some form of Sophist stumbles forward and despite the way his body had froze earlier, Nick immediately moves to catch him. “Caepestris’ might- I’m alive, Nick.” The body is warm. Sophist has never been a touchy guy, he’s almost… shy, in that way. It’s why Nick likes to wrap his arm around his shoulders, bump shoulders, roughhouse- Just. Small touches.
Nick has never been good with emotions, especially when they make him feel so vulnerable and soft and so very fragile and easily hurt. But he wanted Sophist to feel loved, or at least, warmed. So he’s given Sophist all this light brushes over the years and hopes he can feel the love and care Nick feels for him in these quiet touches.
It occurs to Nick suddenly, with how tightly he holds onto Sophist, that he’s practically just hugging him; He holds onto him tighter.
Sophist’s hands, gloved even at this time, balls up as he grasps at Nick’s tunic tightly. “It’s still me. I’m, I’m not a fucking- corpse or ghost or whatever you have in your head right now. I’m still alive, it’s still me, Nick.” His voice wobbles and trembles and Nick pretends his throat does not clog up at the rapidly growing distress in Sophist’s voice. “I’m real,” Sounds like a desperate plea. “I’m me, Nick. Just… just a bit different, now.”
Then quieter, weaker, so much so that it would’ve been lost to the wind if it weren’t for how closely Nick is holding onto Sophist. “Please believe me, Nick… You have to. Please.” He sounds exhausted and it’s so starkly reminiscent of the final days they had together that it makes Nick doubt again.
“…Please Nick… please tell me you believe me…”
Nick doesn’t say anything; He just holds onto Sophist like a lifeline, like how he should’ve before… well, this.