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“I swear, I’ll get to the bottom of this,” Miles Edgeworth promises. The nobleman is clad in mulberry robes, and he’s a stark contrast to the dingy, dark jail cell Bronco’s been chained in. “We have a week until your execution, Sir Bronco, and I intend to see things through.”
Bronco wants to come up with a quip about how he’ll haunt him for eternity if he doesn’t uncover the truth, but his situation is far too dire. Two days ago, King Di-Jun Wang had fallen to his knees, coughing up blood and ichor. Dark magic was in the air, and scrolls with similar enchantments were found in Bronco’s living quarters.
There's a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. His friend, Simeon, has always had a hidden interest in the arcane. The thought of him playing a role in the king's death is ludicrous, but what if the investigation leads to him getting tangled up in this mess?
So, instead of a witty comment, Bronco gives Edgeworth a grave nod. He mutters that if death claims him, there’s a letter in his quarters for Simeon. He has shielded him from their history for as long as possible, but his friend deserves to find out the truth about their past before it’s lost forever.
Night falls and Edgeworth departs. There’s a glimmer of hope in the air, but unknown to them, tomorrow is destined to be Bronco’s final sunrise.
The storm howls, a grim portent on a fateful evening. Simeon’s red cloak billows in the wind as he strides through autumnal leaves, up a hilltop path that twists and turns. It leads towards the cemetery where Bronco was unceremoniously buried two weeks ago. The knight had been found innocent, but his pardon came too late.
Simeon has visited the dour excuse for a grave many times since Bronco’s execution. At first, his grief was a clever disguise so ingenious he could almost believe it himself. But each day, the sense of loss deepens. He's shadowed by bitter dreams that turn into torturous nightmares, a savage reminder that Bronco is no more.
If only that nobleman hadn’t brought him the letter. He could have let anger reign, instead of the truth winning out. His own deception led to Bronco’s execution, all because of a tragic misunderstanding, and…
…And tomorrow, the circus leaves. He’ll be wrenched away from Bronco’s grave. The distance between them will be greater than mud and earth, and when they return, Bronco will be nothing more than bones.
The grey streaks of rain finally cease, but wind still engulfs him as he reaches the hill’s summit. On a night like this, Bronco would have insisted on giving Simeon his own cloak, swamping him in the deep blue fabric. What right does the knight have to haunt every moment?
Withered trees border a low stone wall, the only defence the graveyard offers against intruders. He effortlessly steps over it to reach Bronco’s resting place, an unmarked grave surrounded by ravaged wildflowers. Their rot is another sign that winter will soon be here.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Simeon asks as he stands before the unmarked grave. Gone are the days of denial. He finally knows the answer, but it’s a bitter pill to swallow.
Thanks to Bronco’s letter, Simeon learned the name of his own long lost father. He was a man called Carmelo Gusto, a chef who had slain Bronco’s father. The guards had tried to bring him to justice years ago, but the murderer had vanished without a trace. Regrettably, every document Simeon fought to uncover confirms the tragic story.
“I keep trying to find another explanation! My father… he abandoned me. I never even had the chance to meet him. And now… and now you’re both gone."
His memories are a mess. When they were six, Bronco had led him through the forest on a snowy evening. Eventually, Simeon realised Bronco was leading him further from home, and soon they were lost among the barren trees. Apparently, Bronco’s ominous father had plans, and they needed to stay away.
Simeon had run into the night, desperately trying to retrace his footsteps.. Bronco had chased after him, and eventually they agreed to find their way home. But it was too late. Frost and amnesia claimed most of their memories, and what little remained led Simeon down a dark, vengeful path. His father was missing, and he blamed Bronco for it all.
It’s too much. Reality has come crashing home, tearing his world to pieces. Resentment lurks, but he can see now that Bronco's actions were that of a bruised, scared boy who’d been terrified of his own father.
“You should have told me. If you were my friend, you would have trusted me!” Simeon shouts, despite the hypocrisy of his words. The wind shrieks, but there’s no answer from the dead. He kneels down to touch the cold soil, before shrugging the heavy backpack and accompanying shovel off his shoulders.
He can shout that Bronco wasn’t his friend until his lungs give out, but the past says otherwise. There were too many tender moments. Bronco helped calm him down, despite not knowing lurking danger. He insisted on taking Simeon to festivals, and each one was a glimpse of celebration and warmth. Whenever he was sick, Bronco would cook him food and tend to him, no matter the risk of contagion.
“If I’d known…” The king would have died, it was the only way he’d find peace. But the knight would have lived in ignorance. “I won’t let this be the end. This can’t be the end.” There are so many words left unsaid, and each day he grows more riddled with doubt as grief crushes his soul. He was never prepared to miss Bronco, but now he’ll do anything to rid himself of the demon that taints even the brightest autumn leaves with shades of grey.
Simeon grabs the shovel and starts digging. It’s hard work, but soon the blade hits a cheap wooden coffin. A shallow grave is all criminals are granted, and Bronco’s lucky to have been blessed with a casket. Prying open the coffin lid would be simple, but Simeon doesn’t want to witness his decaying corpse.
Instead, he draws an intricate chalk sigil upon the coffin lid. He also wedges candles into the ground, shielded by rocks to protect their flickering flames from the wind. Each one is scented with herbs rumoured to bridge the gap between the living and the dead.
Is he doing this to save Bronco, or to spare himself from the misery he feels?
The stage is finally set. Simeon steps back and retrieves the ancient book he stole from his elderly mentor. The blind man taught him once that certain spells should never be uttered, but Simeon is prepared to take the risk.
The pages creak as he searches for the incantation he needs. Wounds can be healed, life can be restored, so long as time hasn’t ravaged the remains. And, if he needs it, he has a dagger by his side. He can break his own spell, sending Bronco back to where he came.
Slowly, Simeon mutters the dark enchantment. Each syllable has a promise of power, but words are not enough. He drags the dagger across the palm of his hand, spilling fresh blood as he touches the coffin lid. A gale swirls around him, while sparks of pale green light surge from his skin and into the casket below.
At first, he feels a surge of power. But then it evaporates as his energy is slowly yet steadily drained. Surely the bloody offering will be enough? Simeon tries to withstand it, but terror overcomes him. He never intended to sacrifice himself.
He stumbles backwards, but the magical energy connecting him to the corpse arches through the air. It’s beyond his control, and the powerful force tries to wrench the breath from his lungs.
He lets out a long, shuddering gasp, and finally the bright light fades. The wind eases to a soft whisper, and the air is heavy with magic. Simeon takes a few deep breaths as he clutches his aching palm.
Nothing happens. Hesitantly, he steps towards the open grave.
A fist slams against the coffin lid.
At first, there’s only pain. His entire body aches, but his neck is the worst of all. It’s an agonising throb, but somehow, it slowly begins to ease. Strange, green energy surrounds him in the dark as his decaying wounds are sewn shut.
The man in the coffin chokes and tries to breathe, but oxygen doesn’t reach his lungs. His memories are disorientating, and the only one he can focus on is the moment his neck snapped thanks to the hangman’s noose. He has no name, no past. Just half formed words that turn into terror.
He should be dead. And they buried him, didn’t they? That’s why he’s lying prone in the dark. He slams his fist against the wood, desperately hoping that someone will hear and free from his tomb. The casket splinters and gives way, revealing a night sky lightly sprinkled with clouds.
It’s a glimpse of calm in a strange world. The moonlight illuminates him, and he’s caught between fascination and horror as his decaying flesh heals, leaving thin scars behind. The magic fades, but his skin is sunken and pallid.
His wounds and memories cry out that life was ripped from his lungs. Even now, he doesn’t breathe. But what does that make him? A living corpse? An abomination?
He strikes the coffin lid once more, before pushing aside the broken wood. The crooked trees are a welcome sight, but his attention is drawn to the red cloaked stranger who stands above him, clutching a book in his hands.
…But he isn’t a stranger, is he? There’s a connection between them, both magical and mortal. The soft features and fiery red hair spark familiarity, despite his missing memories.
“It really worked…” the redhead whispers. His voice speaks of relief, intermingled with fear, and his words can mean only one thing. There’s a bond between them, a thrum of energy. He’s the one who brought him back to life.
Devotion washes over his reborn soul. His memories may have faded, but whoever this is, their friendship must have run very deep.
Simeon can barely believe his eyes. The ritual was a desperate bid, one he believed in yet still doubted. Although Bronco seems different than before. Instead of grey, his eyes are an eerie shade of green, and his skin’s an unhealthy hue. It doesn’t matter. I sickly visage is a small price to pay for being reborn.
His heartbeat pounds as Bronco looks at him as if he were his saviour. As if he wasn’t the one to help put him in the ground. His admiration is unearned.
Simeon’s palm still bleeds, spilling fresh blood onto the ground. He wraps the sleeve of his robe around it before hesitantly kneeling down to pull aside the remains of the fractured coffin. His trepidation eases as the undead man gives him an awestruck smile.
“You saved me, right?” Bronco’s voice is rough from disuse, but it’s still a welcome sound. He looks disorientated and lost, despite his gratitude.
“That’s right. I almost can’t believe it worked,” Simeon admits. He nearly recoils when Bronco grasps his hand. His skin is cold to the touch, and Simeon can sense the deep thrum of magic running through him. Before he can pull away, Bronco drags him into an unearned hug.
Simeon stills in his arms, accepting the unnatural embrace for now. He wanted to see him again, to talk to him, to hear his voice. But necromancy is a forbidden art, and the two of them could be in so much peril. And what if Bronco discovers the role he played in his demise?
“Thank you,” Bronco whispers. Simeon doesn’t return the hug, and he can see the confusion in the other man’s silvery green eyes. Instead, he offers a smile. Even he doesn’t know if it’s real or fake.
There must be few things more terrifying and confusing than waking up in your own grave. Pity is an emotion Simeon rarely feels, but tonight it itches beneath his skin as he helps Bronco climb free from his coffin. The undead knight is unsteady on his feet, and he looks at the world as if he’s seeing it for the first time.
One of the things that had struck Simeon during their embrace is how freezing his body felt. Perhaps he’s destined to be cold forevermore. He bites his lip, before unfastening his red cloak and draping it over the undead man’s shoulders. Bronco protests, but Simeon ignores him as he picks up the candles and shoves them into his backpack. An unearthed grave will draw no questions in this pitiful cemetery. Grave robbers and hungry beasts are far too common.
“Let’s go, in case anything else rises from the dead,” Simeon utters. Normally, Bronco would have replied with bravado, but he seems too lost for that tonight. Simeon retraces his steps towards the low, stone wall. Worryingly, Bronco stumbles as he climbs over it. He steadies himself and gives Simeon an awkward grin which reminds him of brighter days.
It all feels like a warped, twisted dream. Two weeks of anger, grief and unexpected remorse have culminated in the resurrection of the only man to call him friend. Will Bronco utter those words again? No doubt it would feel wrong, after all that’s come to pass. But, even though he sent him to the grave, he is the one who dragged him back out.
Perhaps that means something.
There’s a clearing at the bottom of the hill where Bronco used to practice archery, while Simeon regaled him with stories from the circus. Tonight, they gather fallen branches and create a small campfire. It’s not easy to ignite the damp wood, but eventually the flame crackles and smokes.
“...I’ve got a confession,” Bronco mutters as he inches closer to the flames. He’s barely spoken, but the silence has given Simeon time to try and construct his thoughts. “I don’t remember you. I don’t remember anything ‘cept for my neck snapping.”
“Wait, you’ve completely lost your memory?”
“Yeah. Maybe it’ll come back? …I recognised you. But I haven’t got a damn clue who I am, or who you are either.”
A sinister idea forms in Simeon’s mind, although he’d claim it’s born of kindness. He doesn’t have to tell Bronco the whole truth, does he? It could be a fresh start, for both of them.
He could take Bronco with him back to the circus, and they could leave the country together. The other performers know better than to ask questions, especially those who work with bizarre magic. The circus is a haven for the strange and unorthodox.
“...You’re called Bronco. You were a royal knight, until the King recently died. I, um, I think the other knights were jealous of you. They executed you for treason, but I think someone at the castle set you up. After all, you were always the one to win the tournaments, and everyone looked up to you.”
It’s untrue. Bronco did well, but Rook had always been the star of the show, even though he disliked the spotlight and attended purely out of duty.
“Hold on, they killed me because they were jealous?” Bronco asks. He shakes his head, a bitter smile crossing his lips. “Bastards. They should be buried instead. But I suppose I would be envious too, especially if I was the king’s favourite….”
Simeon hadn’t gone that far with his fabricated reality, but if Bronco wants to believe that then he won’t stop him.
“Anyway, who are you? I need to know the name of the man who saved my life.”
“I’m Simeon. I’m an animal tamer and jester at the circus. As for the two of us… We were each other’s only friend.” The word catches in his throat. Can he ever call Bronco that, when he secretly resented him for so long? “...I had to do something. I couldn’t leave you rotting in the ground.”
“I owe you everything, Simeon. I might be a dishonoured, amnesia riddled knight, but I swear I’ll protect you as if you were my king,” Bronco says as he places his hand across his own chest with a dull thump.
Once, Simeon would have internally scoffed at the grandiose sentiment. But it rings true, for now. Bronco questions him about the ritual and their life together, and Simeon carefully reveals information that won’t incriminate him. He tells him about their childhood at the orphanage, and about the memories they once shared. He continues to fabricate a story about the king’s demise, carefully omitting any mention of dark magic.
Finally, he invites Bronco to leave with him and the circus. The performers haven’t travelled for many years, but the ringmaster wants them to move on before the light of suspicion is cast upon their magical acts.
“Sounds good, we should stick together. I hate to say it, but I reckon I’d struggle on my own with so many gaps in my memory,” Bronco says. He frowns as he looks down at his scarred hands. “Besides, I feel like we’re meant to stay close.”
“Perhaps. You'll certainly be safer that way, at least. Necromancy is forbidden, but I'm sure circus will look past that and shelter you.”
“It’s strange. I don’t remember my old life, but it still feels sad to say goodbye to it. I’m missing something I never knew…” Bronco reflects. He rolls his shoulders back, and his bones creak.
“You’re not missing much. I mean, isn’t a circus more entertaining than a stuffy court full of pompous nobles?”
“Hah! You’re probably right,” Bronco gives him a crooked grin that Simeon never thought he’d see again. “Here’s to a new beginning. And friendship, too!”
His words are another knife to the heart. What would Bronco do if he knew the truth? And will the spell hold, or is he simply delaying the inevitable before he starts to slip away?
But those are worries for another night. For now, Bronco lives.