Chapter Text
Nero was found Wingless.
At least, that’s what the Sisters tell him when he is finally old enough to start asking questions. Or rather, just old enough to realize that he is different from everyone else. For a 5 year old, it’s still hard to understand. All Nero knew was that he was the only one in the orphanage without wings.
Nero didn’t understand jealousy just yet.
He only thinks that everyone’s feathers, both the Sisters’ and other orphans’, are all beautiful and look very soft and comfy. With so many different shades of colors, some more earthy and muted like swallows and finches, to the bright eye-catching colors of parrots. How can Nero not be curious, mesmerized by them? And like any other 5 year old, Nero just wants to touch them.
One day, Nero finally works up the courage to do just that. It happens when one of the older nuns bends over, helping him tie his shoes because he still struggles to do so on his own. And without much further thought other than ‘they look soft’, Nero reaches out and grasps at a handful of brown dappled covert feathers.
And almost immediately, the Sister in question gives Nero’s reaching hand a firm, stinging slap. It’s more startling than painful.
“No, Nero.” Sister Camilla scolds him, her face like stone and words like ice. “It’s inappropriate to touch.”
“I’m sorry.” Nero apologizes, his eyes growing damp at the very thought of doing something bad. He remembers back to earlier that day, when he caught Sister Nina helping little Daphne realign her crooked secondaries. And how she showed Daphne how to do the same with her own. “I thought—“
“Don’t do it again.” Sister Camilla only further warns, standing up and beginning to walk away. Nero’s still untied shoelace is completely forgotten. “Other people won’t be as nice as me if you do.”
After that, all the nuns make a new habit of purposefully raising their wings, shifting them out of reach— or just completely folding them away, hiding them beneath their robes if Nero is near. They all eye him warily in a way that makes Nero think he’s still in trouble. Nero doesn’t know why; they already told him what he did was bad. He knows better now.
So why does it feel like he was still being punished over a mistake?
As Nero grows a little older— a little smarter and a little more observant— Nero learns why.
He’s the exception to the rules. All because he’s different. He is the one person in Fortuna unfortunate enough to be born without wings. And anything that is different, that sticks out like a sore thumb, Fortuna detests.
By then Nero is 7, and is old enough to pay attention to the whispers uttered behind his back. And it’s not just the nuns, but the townsfolk too. But unlike the nuns, they don’t even try to be subtle about it. Everyone in Fortuna seems to know about him, and it’s like they always want to talk about him when he can hear them. Calling him cursed, the freak with no wings, it’s no surprise why his parents abandoned him the first chance they got.
A walking bad omen.
A breathing insult to the Savior, and all He’s done to uplift them.
(The old, sacred teachings say that it was the Savior who granted humanity its wings. That when Lord Sparda fought and bested the Demon King, and sealed the barrier between the underworld and our world, He ascended to divinity, and in turn granted some of that divinity to humanity as a Divine Blessing.
“Wings are the reflection of one’s true soul,” Lord Sanctus’ voice drones during the early morning services every Sunday. “A manifestation of the intangible born into physical proof of the Savior’s love.”
So what does that say about me, Nero quietly thinks. And he doesn’t like the answer.)
Walking to and back from school becomes part of the day that Nero dreads the most.
Despite his friend Kyrie trying to distract him, trying her best to make him smile, Nero always hears at least one barbed comment at his expense. And it always leaves him confused and hurt. And embarrassed and angry. And by now Nero knows better than to voice or express how upset he is. Because being upset will only earn him a cuff on the head, or maybe being sent early to bed without dinner if he’s deemed disruptive enough.
That’s when Nero learns then that sometimes the biggest bullies are adults.
But it’s okay. The younger kids don’t treat him any differently.
To them, he’s still Nero. Still always a friend to play with. They always ask him to play catch, begging him to throw the ball as far as he can, and it’s a game to see if they can catch it before it could land. And if that fails to entertain, then there’s always something they could all do on the ground.
But sometimes Nero will just sit there, on top of the orphanage’s roof, and watch as Kyrie and some of the other orphans play and dance in the sky.
And he wonders what it feels like to be truly weightless.
Nero learns what it feels like, only a couple months later. When a group of older orphans— Arturo, Peter, and Félix, teenagers, who are old enough to understand the mean remarks and snide comments uttered behind Nero’s back by both the Sisters and townsfolk alike— promise to play with him up on that very same roof. Promise him that they’re big and strong enough to take him on a short flight, even if it’s just around the perimeter of the orphanage’s courtyard.
Instead, they throw him off.
It’s a 3 story drop onto the concrete plaza down below.
And while the fall only lasts seconds, to Nero it feels like the end of the world. He can do nothing but scream in terror, helpless as the ground rushes up to meet him. Pain swaddles him into an angry hug and the darkness greets him, accompanied by the sound of faint but crowing cruel laughter.
Nero wakes up two days later, bedridden with his vision blurred and his head cracked open, and with an arm wrapped in a cast.
Nero learns two more things that day: stay off the roof, and being different is bad.
The only good thing to come from that day is Kyrie and Credo’s parents deciding to foster him.
As soon as he’s deemed recovered enough to get off bedrest, Nero is told to pack his meager belongings. And he is then escorted to the front gate of the orphanage by Sister Nina. At first, Nero thinks he’s finally being kicked out, a wingless freak that causes too much trouble to bother with any longer.
But those fears are quickly forgotten when Nero spots Kyrie and Credo’s mother waiting for him by the entrance. Mrs. Lyra takes one look at Nero and gives him a soft smile even as her eyes grow sad. Before saying anything, she takes him into a full hug, bending over slightly to encompass him in warm arms and tawny beige wings. As if she’s shielding him from the orphanage.
“Oh, Nero. You poor thing.” Mrs. Lyra says as she runs a hand through Nero’s hair, a comforting motherly gesture.
Nero, still so hurt, only leans further into her side while trying to keep himself from crying. He must fail, because Mrs. Lyra wipes underneath his eyes with her thumbs, brushing his tears away. Nero can’t help but melt into the gentle touch. She then takes his small hand into her larger one, and leads them away from the orphanage, and towards the residential district.
“No harm will come to you again, for as long as my husband and I have anything to say about it.”
Although Nero has found a new home and a new family— people that love him and treat him kindly, there are still some things Nero knows he will never be a part of.
Preening is a bonding activity, one that's usually reserved for family, close friends, or mates.
Every week in the household, the whole family gathers in the living room after returning from the Vicar’s sermons, forming a loose circle on the floor, with their wings extended. And they go through the calming motions of aligning feathers, sifting out broken and old ones while popping open pin feathers. It’s done in comfortable silence, with only occasional conversation in equally soft, gentle tones.
This is the one activity that Lyra and Matteo will not allow Nero to join.
Nero tries to, just once.
He watches them one day, early on in his time living under their roof, hesitantly standing like a wallflower as the family of four settle down on the floor. Nero watches with a silent kind of curiosity as they flex and stretch their wings, and how their hands begin the well-practiced motions. Not knowing what to do, but knowing he wants to be a part of this, Nero walks over and plops down between Kyrie and Credo, intent to watch and learn. Maybe once he’s grown confident enough, they’ll let him help.
A stiff silence festers as the Eleisons all turn to stare at him.
“Nero, my boy.” Matteo breaks the silence, his confused but hard gaze never leaving him. His tone of voice isn’t stern, but Nero recognizes it as a precursor of a warning. “What are you doing?”
Nero frowns, confused. Wondering how he’s possibly mis-stepped. He looks over to Credo for guidance, because the older boy’s been nothing but a patient, helping hand as Nero settles in his new home. And Nero is surprised when Credo looks angry at him.
“I— ah,” Nero starts, stammering, suddenly very nervous.
He then turns to Kyrie. And that’s another mistake. Because even Kyrie looks uncomfortable with how close he’s sitting next to her, only inches away from one of her extended wings.
And then it hits Nero.
Oh.
Of course. Nero’s not really part of their family; he’s not close enough with the Eleisons for this bonding activity. They're just fostering him because he’s less likely to get hurt under their roof than the orphanage’s. He doesn’t even have wings. Savior, he’s so stupid. Nero is so angry at himself for stepping on a boundary he should’ve known about if he had just stopped and thought about it for a couple seconds.
Nero stands, and keeps his head tucked, eyes trained on his socked feet. He forces out a stiff, “I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.”
But the Eleison’s are kind, and forgive Nero for his faux pas, choosing to ignore it altogether and pretend it never happened. Nero is quick to follow suit, despite how much his face burns red, and turns to flee somewhere where he can wallow in his embarrassment alone.
From then on, Nero knows better.
When it’s time for family preening, Nero makes himself scarce. He hides away in his small bedroom until they’re done— when Lyra or Matteo knock on his door, if only to tell him that lunch is on the table. And Nero is thankful for the headphones Credo has gifted him, because he can put his music on and be lost in his own little world.
Of course, things cannot remain this way forever. Nero’s luck is too poor for that to be the case.
Still, those 3 years with the Eleisons are the best 3 years of Nero’s childhood. The only taste of normalcy he’ll ever get, before it all comes crashing down again.
There’s a demon attack, the first one within Fortuna’s walls in over a decade. The largest in over 50 years. It catches everyone off guard.
In the chaos of the attack, Lyra and Matteo are among those killed before the Order of the Sword can restore peace. With Credo and Kyrie now orphans themselves, Credo has to make the difficult decision of sending Nero back to the orphanage. Credo is only freshly 19 himself, and while just barely an adult, his first priority is taking guardianship over Kyrie. Between Kyrie and his ever growing duties to the Order, he’s already stretching himself thin.
Nero is upset, of course. He fights Credo about it, because Nero takes it like a betrayal to the heart. Nero is not kind when he lashes out to Credo, his words intentionally chosen to strike and barb at the older boy.
“Why?! Why can’t I stay with you and Kyrie?!” Nero shouts, hands balled into fists as he feels angry tears threaten to spill. He doesn’t care that he’s being loud, that others probably hear him turning this argument into a shouting match. “Just say that you hate me!”
Credo deigns to respond to Nero’s vitriol with a tired sounding sigh, “I don’t hate you, Nero—”
“Bullshit!” Nero cuts him off, too upset to keep himself from using language he’s forbidden from using. “You’re sending me back there!”
“You’re acting as if I’m throwing you to the wolves.” Credo shakes his head, clearly exasperated with his antics. Credo stands up from his desk, newly acquired along with the title and rank of 3rd Captain of the Order— his predecessor having died in the attack. He moves to stand in front of it, and in front of Nero. “The Sisters will take care of you, like they did when you were younger. You’ll still see Kyrie at school, and I’m still committed to seeing you through your training.”
“But you don’t have to.” Nero pleads desperately. “I can take care of myself; you won’t even know I’m there. I’ll do my homework every day. I’ll learn to cook—”
“With what food? You’ll buy it yourself? With what money?” Credo says, voice raised but holding firm. Nero recognizes how close Credo is to losing his patience. “I said no. That’s my final word on this matter, Nero.”
Nero feels how his hands are shaking by his side. Credo dismissing him is the final straw, and he’s speaking before he even realizes it.
“You just want me gone! You wish I died, instead! Everyone else thinks that too, so just admit it!” Nero snaps like a firecracker. “It’s the truth, I know it, so stop lying to me—”
Now, Credo has never laid a hand on Nero before.
But this is as close as he gets, as he grabs a hold of Nero’s shoulders tightly and forces the boy to sit still and look at him and listen. His wings are raised and puffed up, defensive and angry. Blocking the world around them. It only makes Nero feel more trapped in, much like a field mouse for one of the very raptors Credo shares his feather patterns with.
“Listen to me, Nero!” Credo demands, his words are a sharp bark that only further raises Nero’s hackles. There is anger, but also pain in Credo’s eyes. “I don’t want this either, but this is how it has to be!”
Nero is frozen, Credo’s shout so loud that it must echo down the Order post’s halls. The world seems to stand still, with only their panting breaths audible. Credo’s anger begins to break, and he searches Nero’s face for something.
His mouth opens to say something else—
But Nero is still angry, so he rips away from Credo’s hold, and storms out of his office, slamming the door behind him. It feels like it shakes the whole building. Nero is half-expecting (half-wishing) for Credo to call out after him, to order him to come back and finish the conversation. But Credo doesn’t, so Nero marches out until he’s on the streets.
His vision is blurry as he finds a quiet corner in an alley, and finally allows himself to break down. No one bothers him, so it gives Nero all the time in the world to cry himself dry.
Looking back at it, years later, Nero can see how poorly he reacted, and he regrets every mean thing he hurled at Credo’s face. Only when he’s older does Nero understand how there was no right answer that would keep all 3 of them together and happy.
Nero recognizes how much Credo sacrificed to care for Kyrie, and while Nero could no longer be housed by the remaining Eleisons, that didn’t make him any less family. Credo still did what he could, giving Nero an opportunity to join the Order when he’s finally old enough to apply (unaware of how many people Credo had to fight to even give a wingless freak like him a chance). And Credo continues to protect Nero, even when his growing attitude problem and short temper continue to cause him and the upper brass headaches.
But Nero chooses not to vocalize his apology, nor how he’s forgiven Credo for the old perceived betrayal. Because Nero thinks he doesn’t need to. Credo can see how grateful he is with his hard work for the Order, to his duty to the work assigned to him and his dedication to keeping Kyrie and so many others safe.
No, his apology is said silently, with actions rather than words.
(He will only truly apologize when it is far too late.)
Nero is 16, newly knighted (the youngest in Order history, he can’t help but brag— beating Credo’s own record by almost 2 years), and just coming to terms with his crush on Kyrie.
Nero doesn’t know how it happened. Well, he probably does. Because it’s probably from the distance forced between them since he moved back to the orphanage. During that time spent apart, he hadn't realized until just now how pretty she is.
Pretty, and kind, and gentle and— ughhh, he doesn’t know how to stop feeling like this. Like a tongue tied idiot whenever he’s around her. He thinks he shouldn’t feel like this about his friend. It’s a good thing that Kyrie has an endless bout of patience too, or else she might’ve stopped putting up with his bullshit a long time ago.
(Thank the Savior Kyrie hasn’t completely noticed how suddenly awkward he is whenever she’s near. Because then she’d start to suspect him. And he can’t be having that.)
But even with his newly mounting duties to the Order, Nero still tries to find any excuse he can to spend time with her. He’ll be the first to admit (but only in the safety of his mind) that he’s like a moth to a flame, drawn in by her light.
It’s summertime, and the heatwave making its way over Fortuna Island is baking everyone alive. So when a handful of orphans beg the nuns for a chance to go swimming in the slow moving Saren River just outside of the city’s walls, they only relent when Kyrie promises to chaperone the outing. Nero tags along, of course. Just to provide security detail.
No other reason.
It’s during that outing that Nero realizes wrangling 5 kids is more difficult than killing demons. With how eager the kids are to finally reach the river bank, it’s left Nero and Kyrie at the tail end of their little excursion group. It allows for Nero to keep them in his line of sight at all times, but the kids are a little too eager to race up ahead.
“Hey! What did I just say about flying, Hugo?! Feet stay firmly on the ground!” Nero calls out in a raised voice as soon as he hears the flapping of wings. Nero turns just in time to see the boy in question just about to take off. “That means staying where I can see you!”
Thankfully, the 8 year old does as he’s asked— albeit grumbling about being caught— and folds his wings back into place behind his back. “Sorry, Nero!”
Nero shakes his head and lets out a low, half-hearted grumble of his own. He pushes a branch out of the way of the trail they’re following as he grouses, “that kid’s worse than I was at his age.”
Kyrie gives a little hum as a response as she continues to walk by Nero’s side, taking the opening Nero’s created for them.
“He’s just excited, Nero.” Kyrie finally says. “I remember you never sitting still for the Sisters, either.”
“Yeah, but he gets away with it.” Nero says with a roll of his eyes.
“Some things, yes. And there’s things you get away with, too.”
Nero fights off the urge to scoff at that. They’re remembering their childhoods very differently. But then again, Kyrie is probably unaware of how often the Sisters running the orphanage liked to punish him for even the smallest infractions.
So instead, Nero decides to retort with, “oh yeah? Name one thing I got away with in the past.”
“Let me see… how about every single time Credo goes easy on you?”
“Credo doesn’t count.” He absolutely does, since he’s technically now Nero’s boss. But for the sake of proving a point and winning this argument, Kyrie can’t use her older brother as a frame of reference. “He disciplines me if I don’t make my bunk in the ‘correct way’. Sometimes it feels like he goes out of his way to give me a hard time.”
Kyrie is silent for a moment, her wings giving a faint little twitch as she thinks, before she asks in a strange non-sequitur, “did you remember to bring your swimsuit, Nero?”
“No? Why would I?” Nero asks in return, surprised. This is an unexpected turn in their conversation, but not unwelcomed. “I’m only here to make sure nothing happens to you or the kids.”
“Because you look a little hot.” Kyrie points out, making a point to stand on her tip toes, brushing Nero’s long bangs away from his face, and pressing the back of her hand against his temple. “It can’t be comfortable wearing all of that.”
Nero tugs at his uniform’s collar under her scrutiny. The thing is, Kyrie is right. Nero is hot. This uniform is so damn uncomfortable; and not just today, but every day. He can’t believe Credo forces him to wear it, Order regulations be damned. It doesn't help that the thick material does nothing to combat the sweltering heat.
Maybe he should take a dip in the river too, if only to avoid getting heatstroke.
But that also means stripping down to his boxers in front of Kyrie.
Savior, help him.
Nero coughs, clearing his throat, “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”
The corners of Kyrie’s mouth quirk into a smile; there’s a gleam in her eyes and somehow Nero feels like he’s fallen into a trap. So he’s caught completely off guard as Kyrie leans in to whisper, “don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone if you decide to join in.”
Nero sputters, taken back. “K-Kyrie?!”
That must be the reaction she was hoping for, because Kyrie smiles as she lets out a loud, ringing laugh.
Her head is thrown back as her shoulders shake. The sunlight from above catches Kyrie’s red hair just right and it shines like an ethereal halo around her. And Nero’s heart stutters as he can’t stop himself from staring at her. Because her laugh is such a beautiful sound, and she’s beautiful, and Nero doesn’t know what to do or how to feel, other than happy that he caused that.
And maybe a little guilty, because Kyrie is his friend, and at one point had been like a sister to him. And Nero feels like he shouldn’t feel like this around her, because she doesn’t deserve having a freak like him leering at her.
(She could, and should, do so much better than him.)
Nero rubs at his nose, hoping that his embarrassment isn’t causing his face to flush brilliantly (fat chance with his pale complexion), and then tries to pull the conversation elsewhere.
“M-maybe next time. So— ah, how’s choir practice going?” Nero asks, purposefully looking anywhere other than at Kyrie.
That seems to do the trick, because Kyrie stops her teasing and practically beams with excitement. She claps her hands together once as she fills him in. “Oh, it’s wonderful! The choirmaster says I’ve improved a lot since last year; he even thinks I should audition for the lead role for next year’s Reclamation Day!”
“Really? That’s great, Kyrie! I’m sure you’ll snag the part.” Nero says with a smile, happy for her. He pauses before adding nervously, “we should do something to celebrate.”
Kyrie frowns, confused, and tilts her head to look at him questioningly. “Why? Auditions won’t be until September.”
Nero only blushes harder at that, angry that he still managed to put his foot in his mouth. “Ah— well, I mean. It’s probably a shoo-in. So I don’t see why we should wait. Credo would probably agree with me.”
“Well… I don’t know. Isn’t your birthday coming up next month, Nero? That’s something that we can actually celebrate, instead.” Kyrie suggests instead, giving him a gentle smile. “You know, if you’re looking for an excuse to spend more time together, you can always just ask—”
—A cold, gut dropping shiver rises up Nero’s spine, pulling Nero away from their pleasant conversation until it bleeds away under the roar of his spiking heartbeat. Goose flesh pricks at his skin. It’s all horribly familiar to Nero. He always feels like this right before—
—The idyllic silence in the glen is broken by the screams of a terrified child. It sounds like little Marisol.
“Fuck.” Nero mutters.
Demons.
At once, Nero’s attention falls off Kyrie and onto their surroundings. His hand reaches and pulls his standard issue Order sword from its scabbard, and his eyes dart between the forest’s thick foliage. Already he’s running ahead, trying to find the girl and whatever is threatening her. The other orphans are screaming now, too, as they run back towards him and Kyrie, wings outstretched as they begin to take off.
Nero finds the bastard cornering Marisol. It’s a small little thing, mostly bloodstained eyes and slimy skin the color of puss. But the important thing is that the girl has managed to stay out of its reach. Nero doesn’t hesitate and gets between them, slicing the small demon in two before it can make another leap at her.
Marisol is a whimpering wreck, muttering Nero’s name as he grabs her and forces her to her feet. Nero quickly inspects her wings, so very afraid that they’ve been damaged. But after a quick inspection, Nero is relieved to find that while Marisol is a little scratched up from falling into a bush, she is otherwise unharmed. He heaves out a quick sigh of relief, but knows this wasn’t the end.
That unnatural coldness that clings to Nero whenever a demon is nearby is still smothering him. That only confirms what he fears: there’s a hell of a lot more demons coming for them. And they’re coming fast.
“Go!” Nero shouts, pointing up to the blue sky; there’s enough space between the trees’ canopy for Kyrie and the children to take off and get to safety. “Get them back to the city and find Credo! I’ll hold them off for as long as I can!”
“But Nero—” Kyrie begins to argue, even as she takes Marisol’s shaking body from Nero’s hold and into her own.
A demon breaks through the undergrowth— much larger than the first one, sending an old tree toppling down in a cacophony of splintering wood. It bellows out a horrible sound before thankfully choosing to charge at Nero instead of Kyrie and the children. Nero just barely manages to avoid its gorilla-like arms crashing down on him, side stepping it before stabbing it. That only earns him a savage snarl in retaliation, and another too close whiff of its large fists.
Two more demons follow through the opening Big Ugly left, followed by even more.
“Go, now!” Nero orders, his panic turning his tone almost angry. He needs Kyrie to listen to him, damn it! “You’ll be sitting ducks if you stay on the ground!”
After all, wings are just another pair of limbs demons can hold onto.
And tear off.
And Nero would rather be demon chow than allow that to happen to Kyrie and these kids.
Kyrie finally listens to him, leading the flock of kids up through the canopy, and into the open air. She looks so very afraid for him.
Nero only spares a half second to make sure she’s made it to the sky— a spec that grows smaller as she flies further away, before returning his attention on Big Ugly. After that, Nero is lost to the battle lust. He fights with the kind of ferocity that comes to him so naturally; no need to hold back like he does whenever he spars with other Order knights. Nero can attack with all the strength he can muster, fueled by his panic and fear— his need to ensure everyone is kept safe.
Big Ugly goes down, choking on its own blood after a few more expert slashes of Nero’s blade. Another 3 follow soon after, blood and demonic ichor staining both his uniform and the ground beneath him. Nero is still technically outnumbered, as there seems to be a never ending stream of the damn things. But he’s not at all worried about his odds.
That is, until one manages to get the jump on him, and tackles him from behind. The next thing Nero knows, he’s face down on the ground, and vulnerable. His sword is jostled out from his hand, and tumbles just out of reach.
(He’s always had a problem when it comes to watching his 6. If he weren’t about to meet a grisly end, Credo wouldn’t ever let him hear the end of it.)
Nero only has a second to panic and get his bearings before there's a sharp pain that sets his whole forearm on fire, like nothing Nero’s ever felt before. The demon on top of him has managed to sink its nasty teeth into his flesh, and is determined to mangle whatever it can as it tries to feast on him. Nero can’t help it, he cries out in pain before his fury reignites, tunneling his vision before it bleeds red as his blood. And then Nero retaliates with a sloppy but swift kick. The demon unlatches; Nero’s blood drips from its disgusting maw, and it snarls back.
Pain still radiates from the new wound, his right arm hanging uselessly by his side as he stands back up and readies his sword. But the pain only seems to boost this second burst of adrenaline as Nero beheads the damned thing. And just for good measure, Nero lets out his own furious snarl as he stomps on the decapitated head, caving it in a messy splatter, if only in petty retribution.
“Take that, you piece of shit!” Nero shouts, loud enough for his voice to feel raw.
Nero holds onto that hot fury like a lifeline. The seething pain shooting up his arm keeps him rooted in the here and now, just enough to focus on keeping himself well defended. Nero fights. And fights. It could be for only minutes, but it feels much longer with each haggard breath, each strain on his muscles. The roaring of his heartbeat in his ears is deafening now.
At some point, the blade of Nero’s sword splinters and breaks from the ferocity of his attacks. No matter, there’s still enough of a sharp point to put the damned beasts down.
And like a mantra, Nero reminds himself that he only needs to hold out until reinforcements arrive.
Until, finally he hears the flapping of far off wings, quickly approaching. The horde of demons has been thinned by Nero’s efforts, but that doesn’t stop Credo from swooping in like an osprey, followed closely behind by 3 other knights.
Nero can’t help but heave out a sigh of relief as the last demon finally falls by their combined efforts. He allows himself a moment to catch his breath before turning to Credo. Credo is currently preoccupied with wiping his sword down, and hasn’t looked up at Nero, even as he approaches.
And for a brief moment, Nero panics as he closes the distance.
With the age-wise wisdom of a 16 year old, Nero makes a hasty decision and does his best to tug his uniform’s sleeve down, so it covers his bloody hand completely. The aching pain of his injury pales in comparison to the horrible likelihood that Credo will bench him for this fuck up. This was technically one of Nero’s first solo missions— and it wasn’t even supposed to be that. He doesn’t want Credo thinking he can’t even hold his own during babysitting duty.
(He’s always been a remarkably fast healer. By the end of the week, the bite wound won’t even be noticeable.
No one has to know about this.)
“Is Kyrie okay?” Nero asks before anything else, half-breathless. “And the kids?”
“They’re all very shaken, but otherwise fine.” Credo answers. He’s then stepping forward as if to examine him. He notices the state of Nero’s uniform. “Your arm. Are you injured, Nero?”
Nero bites back his surging panic, and lies. “No. They didn’t get me; just my uniform.”
Credo raises an eyebrow, still not convinced. “And the blood?”
“Not mine.” Nero says through gritted teeth, hoping that his pain isn’t showing through. “It’s just demon blood. Things got a little messy before you got here.”
And to further prove his point, Nero motions to the surrounding dead demons with his broken sword.
That’s enough to sate Credo’s inquiring mind, and he turns back to the task at hand. He barks out orders to his subordinates, but Nero is only half paying attention. The fight took a lot out of him, and now he’s finding it hard to stay on his feet, now that the adrenaline is starting to leave him.
Credo must notice how he’s swaying where he stands, because the hard lines on his face— grown there by being promoted to Supreme General at such a young age, always weighed down by the ever mounting responsibility the Order demands from him— lessen a little when he turns to give Nero his own task.
“You did good work today, Nero.” Credo says, clapping a hand onto Nero’s shoulder. Nero bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to flinch as the motion jolts his arm and bite wound. “Get some rest now. I’ll expect your report on my desk tomorrow morning.”
Nero is newly 17, and he’s beginning to worry about his arm.
Okay, scratch that. He’s been worrying about his arm for the past 3 weeks. But only now is he finally allowing himself to realize just how scared he is.
Yes, the bite wound closed up just as quickly as Nero suspected it would, only taking a matter of days after the incident at the Saren River. It did leave Nero with some nasty looking scabs in the shape of the bite mark. But at the time, Nero thought that would leave him with an equally nasty (or rather, badass) looking scar. Something that would really impress the older knights, maybe even get them to back off and think of him as an equal.
Except… the scabs never fell off.
They only hardened into something that looks like scales. And no matter how much Nero tried to pry them off, they stubbornly remain where they sit on his skin. Nero’s been forced to wrap the area around the old bite wound with gauze. So far he’s been able to hide it underneath long sleeved shirts without a problem. No one has noticed it yet, even with Nero living in the Order’s barracks.
But for the past month, it's been spreading. Slowly, but steadily.
Now, a large patch of scales covers an area roughly the size of Nero’s palm. And it doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon. If he keeps ransacking the Order’s infirmary, someone is bound to wisen up to Nero’s predicament. He doesn’t want Credo learning about this, or Savior forbid, any other high ranking member of the Order. Head Researcher Agnus already looks at Nero like he’s a cadaver ready to be carved up for being Wingless; he doesn’t need another reason to be on the older man’s radar.
…Are demon bites supposed to cause this? Is this contagious, like rabies? If it is, then why hasn’t Nero heard about this before?
Nero is terrified at the possibility that this problem of his will continue to grow and grow, until Nero’s nothing but scales. And what if he loses his mind, too? Then, he’ll be completely indiscernible from a monster. A demon. And if anyone finds out, they’ll put him down like one.
That thought scares him more than anything.
No. Nero can’t let anyone see him like this.