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Sazantos awoke to the sound of singing.
He froze in place on the bed. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. He couldn't place the tune, either--the voice wordlessly fell up and down on a path that sounded more like a battle march than a hymn. Despite that, there was a certain...reverence.... in how the notes were shaped. A battle prayer.
Sazantos's chest was cold. Hollow. That was not helping him process whatever was going on with the person near the fireplace. He turned his head slowly to see who it was.
At first, he thought it was Taigan. Then he blinked. Taigan's hair was not quite that red or that curly. He did keep it at a similar length and in a ponytail, though, and the person kneeling in front of the fire was wearing cleric robes.
The song cut off, and the person turned their head. Wide, surprised brown eyes met Sazantos' blue. For a moment, the naked shock on this man's face rendered him unrecognizable, but he quickly began reeling his expression back under control, and his identity finally clicked for Sazantos.
Prome. This was Prome, the Ringbearer Chosen's serene, quiet, second-in-command. Well, loosely. Millard didn't have much of a command structure in his little band, but Millard had once told Sazantos that Prome was the one he consulted for most of his decisions.
No wonder Sazantos hadn't placed his voice while he was singing. He had talked to Prome a total of two times, and both of those conversations had been about camping arrangements. The cleric didn't speak much among the group while Sazantos was present, either.
"You're awake." Prome still looked startled, but it was a much more subtle expression. "Good, if unexpected. The prognosis was at least three days of being comatose."
Sazantos blinked, processed that, and then scowled. "Whoever told you that must not know me well. How long has it been?"
"Eight hours, Flameguard." Prome rose to his feet, blanket folded over his arms. "Millard and the others have pursued Ceraphina to the Cave of Origins, as per your request. I stayed behind to watch over your recovery. They should return within the hour."
Sazantos' frown softened, but remained. The certainty in Prome's voice was...odd. "Eight hours is a long journey to the Cave of Origin."
"The bridge was destroyed." Prome walked over and effortlessly tossed the blanket over Sazantos. The fabric was warm. Almost hot. The cold hole in his chest shrank a little at the sheer amount of warmth surrounding him. "They had to take the long way around."
"...How do you know the bridge was destroyed?"
"News came in about twenty minutes ago." Prome moved to the nightstand where a teapot, water, and a few bars of... something rested. Sazantos sniffed. Chocolate. That was definitely the smell of chocolate. Prome began chopping up the bars of chocolate before he continued talking. "Rondo ignored my instructions to remain with Rinyuu and instead went to the Cave of Origins with Millard. The other two I asked to keep a close eye on her were no match for Ceraphina, and so Rinyuu has been abducted."
"...I assume that Ceraphina is nowhere to be found." Sazantos struggled into a sitting position. He shuddered at the chill that ran through his bones. The hole in his chest screamed for warmth. Begrudgingly...like a child...he wrapped the heated blanket around his shoulders.
His irritation with the action grew when the hole in his chest shrank. His shivering lessened to nearly nonexistent. The blanket was helpful, he could be grateful that the cleric knew how to help him through...whatever this was.
"She's gone, yes. She's likely on her way to..." Prome paused. He stared at the wall--beyond the wall, really. "...To Berecain." He began chopping the chocolate again. "That is where the scholar who opened the floodgates for the Accursed Flame and all the monsters who flock to it came from. The home of King Jennish."
"King Jennish?" Sazantos blinked.
"A cruel king who was fond of torture devices." Prome poured the chopped chocolate into the teapot and then poured a little water inside as well. "Auguste took inspiration from tales of Jennish's tyranny for his plays. I spoke with him about this when I asked him about the Jennish Gallows near his villa."
Sazantos blinked once. Then twice. Going further into the Auguste rabbit hole was not a line of discussion worth pursuing, so he stepped back to the previous line. Prome had brought up Auguste and Jennish as evidence for why he knew about Berecain, and why he believed it to be Ceraphina's final destination. The reasoning behind the theory was theologically sound. Given who they were dealing with, the theological line of reasoning was the best one to follow for accurate results.
Prome moved over to the chair next to the bed with the tea tray in his hands. He sat down, picked up the teapot and adjusted his hands so that they cupped the bottom of it. He then closed his eyes, and his lips moved in a quick, near-silent prayer. Sazantos caught the words "Flamebringer," "sustenance," "life," and "healing," before warmth pulsed from Prome's hands. Sparks of orange fire glowed between the edges of his fingers, and the warmth remained when that fire faded away.
"There's a perfectly acceptable hearth on the other side of the room," Sazantos pointed out. "You do not need to use your magic for this."
"This is easier," Prome replied.
"Holding concentration on your flame rather than using an available fire is easier?"
"Mm." Prome opened his eyes. "No, but it is the easier path to the results I want. My attention would be split if I simply placed the kettle over the fire, and the hot chocolate is medicinal. I am not giving you a mediocre batch. It will affect recovery time."
Sazantos eyed the teapot in Prome's hands. The smell of melting chocolate was infuriatingly tantalizing. "How is this meant to be medicinal?"
Prome gave a soft, contemplative hum and shook the teapot a little. Likely to stir the contents. "When Ceraphina blocked your attack, she extinguished your flame." Sazantos' throat constricted. He felt the cold, gaping hole in his chest widen at the acknowledgement of what that damn woman had been able to do to him. "Its absence is what ails you. Therefore, all of my efforts are tailored towards rekindling your flame."
Sazantos frowned. "Forgive me. I'm still struggling to see how hot chocolate is meant to help with that."
Prome's eyes narrowed. The expression was barely noticeable, but it was more of a reaction than the cleric had given during their conversation outside of the initial shock he had shown at the beginning. "Right now, it is for symptom management," he replied. "You're cold. You will continue to be cold until Millard is able to rekindle your flame, and having hot chocolate to share will make that process easier."
The part about Millard being able to rekindle his flame made more sense than anything else Prome had said so far. Millard held the Ring of the Flamebringer, after all. If anyone could restore a Flameguard's extinguished flame, it would be the Ringbearer Chosen.
"Why are you so certain that he will come here tonight?" he asked. "He should rest if he traveled through the Valley of Flame."
Prome silently stared at him for a long moment. His expression was still neutral, but the sudden fire in those brown eyes screamed that Sazantos had just said something incredibly stupid. He blinked, and the fire was gone. "Millard will need to check on you himself in order to rest at all."
"Is he afraid I wouldn't pull through?" Sazantos scoffed. "I wouldn't--"
"No. He knows how strong you are, Flameguard. He knows this won't kill you." Fire flared around Prome's hands again. He took a deep breath before he extinguished the magic and placed the teapot down on the tray. There was an edge of frustration woven through his words, underneath a tone of absolute certainty. "He deeply cares for you, and if there was anything he could do to ease your suffering, he would want to know. He knows better than to trust mere reports of the welfare of someone so important to him."
Sazantos outright stared at Prome. Those words did not sound like something that should be declared so...openly. He supposed this was a private room, but those feelings were not Prome's and why had the hole in his chest dwindled--? Why did his face feel hot? This was--
Before anything else could be said or done, two knocks caught their attention.
Prome's body language and expression softened immediately. "Enter," the cleric called.
The door swung open slowly at first, then was flung open the instant that Millard met Sazantos' eyes. "Oh, thank the gods." The Ringbearer Chosen rushed over to the bed, guilt and relief warring on his face. The snow had not yet melted from his boots, though it had melted into his white cloak in large, wet patches. "I'm so glad you're awake. How are you feeling?"
Sazantos realized with a jolt that he barely felt the chill in his bones anymore. The hole in his chest was still there, but barely noticeable. Prome's warmth was physical, but Millard's mere presence in the room warmed Sazantos' very soul.
...As it often did.
"I feel better than I did when we last spoke," he replied carefully.
"Good." Millard's shoulders slumped with relief, and he looked at Prome, his brow furrowed. "Thank you for looking after him. The, ah...My portion of this..." he waved a hand. "It didn't go well."
"I'm aware," Prome replied as he began pouring the hot chocolate into one of the cups on the tray. "I already informed Sazantos that Ceraphina is still on the loose. She came back into Flamesgrace while you were gone."
Millard pressed his hand to his mouth, staring at the floor.
"It seems our enemy was more prepared than any of us could have known," Sazantos spoke up. "I'm not angry. This failure falls on all of our shoulders, Chosen One, not just yours."
Millard took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "What happened?"
"She took Rinyuu." Prome held out the teapot to Millard. "Hold this; you’re shivering. There's not much we can do about Rinyuu tonight. I'll handle Dmitri and Virosa, then inform the rest of the team." Millard took the teapot and opened his mouth. "Virosa is beside himself, but as I have told him multiple times, we will be able to save Rinyuu. We've done it before." Prome held out the cup of hot chocolate to Sazantos, who accepted it. "You're going to stay here with the Flameguard, Millard, since you need rest as much if not more than he does."
"Prome--" Millard's cheeks grew red, and he stared at the other cleric with a mix of panic and surprise.
At least the Ringbearer Chosen was just as baffled about this turn of events as Sazantos was. "We likely both need to be available for organizing the search part--" Sazantos began.
"I will handle it," Prome interrupted as he stood and put the tea tray back down on the nightstand. "We aren't leaving until tomorrow at the earliest. You are officially unavailable due to your injuries, Flameguard, and you--" he pointed at Millard, "--are exhausted. The duty that falls to both of you right now is to rest and recover."
...The absolute nerve of this man. Sazantos had thought that Prome was mild-mannered, but no wonder he hardly ever opened his mouth if it led to such flagrant disrespect. His audacity was so brazenly displayed that Sazantos was at a loss of how to respond.
"...Prome, you don't enjoy dealing with the church." Millard's tone was soft, hesitant. "I can't ask you to--"
"You are not asking me. I am not asking you to stay here and tend to Sazantos either. The weight of the Flamebringer's ring is not meant to be borne alone, and neither--" he looked at Sazantos, fire burning in his brown eyes again, "--is the weight of His Flame. Neither of you are strictly needed for the next twelve hours."
"There are those in the church who would vehemently disagree," Sazantos replied, tone more terse than he was proud of.
"Let them." Prome waved his hand. "They don't need to know you're conscious."
"Oh, dear gods, you're that serious about this." Millard squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his hands still wrapped the teapot. "Okay. Please let me know if I'm needed, though."
"Of course." Prome smiled. "There's a warm blanket by the fire for you. Rest well, both of you."
He walked out the door without another word. The door clicked shut behind him.
Sazantos arched an eyebrow. "I thought that one listened to you."
Millard chuckled awkwardly and a tired smile crossed his face. "He does, unless he thinks I'm being foolish, which doesn't happen often. And...I do feel foolish right now, for arguing with him." He glanced at the floor. "I would much rather be in here with you than out there with the crowd."
Sazantos' stupid heart lurched, and he mentally slapped himself, taking a sip of the (infuriatingly delicious) hot chocolate to give himself some socially acceptable time to respond. Of course Millard enjoyed his company more than his leadership responsibilities. That was not a high bar to clear. Sazantos felt the same way towards him.
...That was a good response, wasn't it? "While I feel the same about your company, it is still..."
Millard lit up. His smile shed the last of its awkwardness, and Sazantos' voice died in his throat. It was no surprise for him that Millard's small band was so loyal to him. He was certain that armies would follow that smile into hell itself.
"He did say he would tell us if we were needed," Millard said as he set the teapot back down on the tray. He began the process of removing his cloak and boots. "We can trust him to do that. We'll be no use to anyone if we don't get some rest, so...we should take his advice for now."
Sazantos drank more hot chocolate while he watched Millard move around. He frowned at some of the motions. "You're favoring your right side."
"Ceraphina corrupted the Guardian of the First Flame." Millard draped his cloak over the back of the chair. "We had to defeat it and set it to rights."
"Truly, nothing is sacred to that woman," Sazantos murmured. "It is good that you weren't seriously injured. Is your party in similar condition?"
"Wrath got the worst injuries, as per usual, but that just means he can't overuse his sword arm until his shoulder is fully healed." Millard picked up the blanket near the fire. "We'll have time to do further healing on the road."
Sazantos nodded. They were back to the issue at hand, it seemed. "...We do not know when we will be on the road."
"Once we have rested enough and the higher-ups are consulted, I would think." Millard walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. "...That does bring us to the subject of what happened before I left. How are you feeling?"
Flamebringer. What a question.
Sazantos stared into his cup. A tiny bit of hot chocolate remained. The blanket around him was no longer as warm--and it didn't need to be. There was still a small hole in his chest, but the ache and emptiness had faded drastically over the course of his conversation with Millard. "...Prome managed to mitigate many of my symptoms," he replied. "I'm not...injured, not really. I'm...cold."
"Of course you are. You're not used to being without your flame." Millard looked at Sazantos' hands. "I...don't think I've ever asked what it feels like."
"I don't think I could accurately describe it," Sazantos admitted. Millard held out his hands for the cup and Sazantos gave it to him. Their fingers brushed against each other, and Sazantos took a deep breath. "Its absence is much more profound. I don't think I have ever felt so empty in all my life."
That's not true, a soft, treacherous thought whispered. It's just not as easy to ignore without the warm glow.
"...I think...I can understand that," Millard replied slowly as he set the teacup down. "I've talked with a lot of amputees in my work and they described something similar."
"I would miss an arm less," Sazantos said immediately. "...Specifically the one I don't use for my sword. I would rather part with that arm than my flame."
Millard studied him for a moment then gave him a small smile. "That doesn't surprise me. You seem to hold your sword arm and flame in equal value, and you certainly wouldn't be as accomplished a fighter without your legs." He looked at Sazantos' hands again, and then held out his own, palms turned up. "That would be an awful choice to make, though."
"If I can fight, then that's really all that matters." Sazantos took Millard's hands, and winced when the hole in his chest suddenly grew. Not much, but...
"I don't think so."
Sazantos arched a questioning eyebrow.
Millard stared back at him, smile gone. "I admire how strong you are, Sazantos, and your skill with a blade is unmatched." He moved their hands up and wove their fingers together. Heat flooded through Sazantos' body, but it wasn't the flame. That was still absent. "But that's not all you are. If you were to sacrifice pieces of yourself in order to save only the pieces that obviously serve the purpose of the Flameguard, then...how can you share the entirety of your light with the land? It would be a hollow, lukewarm thing at best, and a scorching, pained one at worst."
Sazantos stared into Millard's blue eyes, his own eyes wide.
Their hands erupted with blue flame and they both startled.
"Oh!" Millard exclaimed. He looked years younger with shock and wonder open on his face like this. "Um! How...how do you feel now?"
"It's not burning you," Sazantos muttered. Intelligently. Of course his flame wouldn't burn Millard, he was the Chosen One.
"Were you expecting it to?" The flame flickered while Millard giggled at him.
"That...is generally what is used for. Its purpose is to burn my enemies and defend the divine." Sazantos stared at the flame that flickered in Millard's irises. It belonged there. "I'm unaccustomed to the divine touching me."
Millard's face turned bright red. His shy smile was the most beautiful thing Sazantos had ever seen...and he knew that bar was high.
The blue flame spiraled up both of their arms before it flickered and sank back underneath Sazantos' skin. He still felt a bit off-kilter, but...settled. Settled and warm.
He couldn't remember the last time someone had held his hands like this. He eyed the ring glittering on Millard's finger before he unlaced their fingers. "Thank you, Chosen One."
"I really didn't do anything," Millard replied softly as he folded his hands in his lap. "I was expecting that to take a lot more effort. The ring didn't react at all, so...I think you relit the flame yourself."
"You are far too humble to hold the responsibilities on your shoulders," Sazantos murmured. He was smiling. He couldn't help himself. "I didn't put forth much effort either."
"Hm." Millard looked down at his hands. "I'll consider what happened tonight...hopefully nothing like this happens ever again, but in case it does, I'd like a plan of action." He looked up at Sazantos again with another small smile. "But not right now. Do you want to finish the rest of the pot of hot chocolate?"
"It should be lukewarm enough for you now, right?"
Millard laughed.
They did not talk about business again. The pot of hot chocolate was finished quickly between the two of them, and they quickly noticed that Prome had trapped the two of them--both injured--in a room with only one bed. Sazantos offered to take the chair or the floor, but Millard shot him down immediately. Both of them knew that Millard couldn't take the floor, or he would be in a world of pain tomorrow.
They wound up lying with their backs to each other. Millard fell asleep quickly, as per usual.
Despite his exhaustion, Sazantos lingered on the edge of consciousness, listening to the Chosen One breathe beside him. He turned his palm up.
His flame sparked to life, the same way that it always did. Tomorrow, once he had recovered from his exhaustion, it would seem like he had never been through this trial.
He felt as though he and Millard had crossed a bridge tonight that could never be returned from. He didn't know what it was, but something within him, something treacherous and ever-hungry, whispered that the bridge was burned with vindictive euphoria.
Could desire truly be the root of all evil if it had relit his flame?