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The situation in the Kipumaki Cliff region had been significantly alleviated through the joint efforts of the Nightmare Orioles and The Traveller, with their destruction of the Evil Eye that kept watch over the desolate, abyssal land greatly contributing to that progress. However, the battle against the Abyss was far from over, and the Lightkeepers at the Cliffwatch Camp had to remain vigilant, always keeping an eye on the Wild Hunt activity in the Ashveil Peak region. For the most part, it was run-of-the-mill regular – although far from trivial – battles against small uprisings or any monsters that may have been possessed; maintenance, really.
Recently, though, squad leader Illuga had sent word to the headquarters in Piramida to inform them of an anomaly that needed investigating, adding that, regretfully, he was busy with camp renovations and could not go himself. Since Flins and Varka were already in the area on a trip to see Starshyna Nikita, the old man decided to send the pair to aid his adoptive son.
While Varka was more than eager to spring into action, his dual claymores at the ready, Flins was far from as eager as the knight. It was not that he did not want to fulfil his duty as a Ratnik; it was more so the area to which they were headed that put a damper on any excitement at being out in the field at Varka’s side.
Kipumaki Cliff, as was the case with most of Nod-Krai, had seen a rather copious amount of death, and this region, more so than others, was deeply tainted by the Wild Hunt. Flins, with his curse of hearing the voices of the dead, was well aware of the possibilities of encountering spirits wherever he might go and spent a lot of his time at Final Night Cemetery in the company of the dead. However, unlike the peaceful spirits on his island, who respected the faerie’s space and only made occasional amicable conversation, the souls trapped at Kipumaki Cliff had been twisted into cruel, perverse shadows of the people and creatures they had once been by the heinous influence of the Abyss.
Flins often sensed the presence of the dead before he heard them. The temperature would drop just the slightest, and the atmosphere would thicken ominously. Then he would feel the heavy and disquieting sensation of many eyes fixed on him. The feeling grew stronger the further Varka and Flins traversed the desolate land until Flins began to hear the whispers. They were indecipherable at first, more curious hums as the spirits considered the two figures who intruded upon their territory, but as they gained awareness of just who was making their way through the area, the voices grew in volume. Many voices layered over one another, creating a disturbing cacophony that rang in Flins’ ears.
Lightkeeper. Knight. Disturbers of peace. Bootlickers.
Flins wanted to argue that there was most certainly no peace to disturb, but he kept his lips sealed and his eyes fixed forward. After centuries of suffering with this cursed ability, he had quickly learnt that the single worst mistake he could make was to make the dead aware of the fact that he could hear them. It was best to just endure and let their taunts and cries breeze right over his head.
The voices followed them as they investigated their surroundings, hurling insults at them. Flins did his best to ignore them, focusing instead on the task at hand. Yet, the spirits persisted. While Flins could not see the source of the voices, he could certainly feel their growing presence. He felt surrounded and felt the uncomfortable prickle of eyes trained on the two of them. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The spirits were close and the tension in the atmosphere taunted them with the threat of suffocation. For Flins, the tension in the air was tangible and no matter how many centuries he lived, the sensation would never become any less uncomfortable.
Lost lambs, do you seek death? Surely you know that you will find it here.
Despite centuries of similar experiences, despite the sheer strength and power residing within the faerie, a shiver still ran down his spine. Varka, cheerful and seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were surrounded by clouds of contemptuous death, fished out a map from his coat and consulted it.
“If I'm not mistaken, we should be approaching the area that Master Illuga marked out for us.” He looked over at the Ratnik, showing him the map. One large hand pointed out the spot in question, and the knight looked almost proud of himself. It was almost comical, and Flins couldn't help the small smile on his face in response.
“An astute observation, dear knight.” Flins was well aware that they were nearly there; the thickening static in the atmosphere told him as much.
Varka, not catching the amused sarcasm in Flins’ voice, grinned. “Why, thank you, dear lightkeeper.”
Strange, Flins mused, that the younger man could shine so brightly amidst such darkness.
Smile while you can; joy will soon evade you. None will be found here.
Flins ignored the spirits, even as their voices scraped harshly along his mind.
Our brethren are near; your lifeblood will soon seep into the earth upon which your comrades perished. Cowards. Idealists. Obsolete.
The acute qualities of cruelty and condescension in their words pricked at Flins, stirring righteous indignation and pain within him. To make light of his fallen comrades and the battles they fought did not sit well with him in the slightest. He instinctively stepped a little closer to Varka, and he wondered distantly when seeking comfort in the knight had become second nature to him.
Varka slowed his pace and eyed Flins with concern.
“You alright, love?”
Flins nodded and offered him a tight smile before focusing on scanning the surroundings. Illuga had reported Abyssal rifts opening along some of the pathways, some of them so potent with abyssal energy that they extinguished the lanterns set up at checkpoints. Flins surmised from the buzz of energy in the air and the increase of ghostly presences that they were approaching their destination.
There was a chorus of patronising laughter: Did you hear that? Love – he called him love. A Favonius dog and a filthy Ratnik. What a pair.
Perhaps it was because he was a little distracted by the Varka’s presence and the afterglow of the peaceful and affectionate weekend they had spent together. Perhaps he had just lost his touch. Regardless of the reasoning, Flins made the very mistake he had been intent on avoiding: he let his irritation show on his face, alerting the spirits to the fact that their words had managed to get through to him.
The layered voices instantly lowered to a bubbling murmur, and Flins could feel countless eyes on him, scrutinising his features.
Lightkeeper. Filthy Ratnik. You hear us, don’t you? You hear our words.
Flins focused on the security of the polearm strapped to his back and the crunch of dirt beneath his feet. Listened to the sound of Varka's steady breathing beside him.
Did we upset you? Do we not speak the truth? Sycophants, the lot of you, serving others in a battle you'll never win just for a little praise.
Flins gritted his teeth, blue flames beginning to blur his edges.
Oh, my. Did we hurt your ego? What are you going to do? Exactly what your cowardly little friends died trying? The words were delivered in a mocking sneer.
Flins’ sharp canines bit into his bottom lip, and a thin line of shimmering blood trailed slowly down his chin.
There was a growl: You dare ignore us? Do you consider yourself better than us? On what grounds, filthy Ratnik?
Flins felt the shadows pull in closer. He wiped his chin and focused on keeping his breathing steady, focused on the comforting presence of his knight beside him.
Varka slowed his pace to a stop, sensing something was amiss with the older man. He reached out to place a hand on Flins’ arm, stopping him in place. “What is it?”
Flins shook his head. “Nothing. The atmosphere is just…not appealing.”
Not appealing? There were cries of livid outrage.
Varka laughed. “Well, you can say that again.”
Stupid dog. A shadow spat.
The Ratnik had officially reached his limit.
“Enough!” Flins whirled around to face the shadows with a growl. “You have made your point.”
In the heat of the moment, he had yelled out in the language of the Fae, his words ancient and eerie, crackling like a bonfire. Flickering blue flames blurred his edges and the whites of his eyes, and the lantern at his hip shone bright.
Varka, unable to hear or see what Flins could, looked around in total bewilderment, searching for corporeal threats.
“Kyryll? What is it?” His voice was urgent and laced with concern.
There was yet another chorus of laughter, and the shadows pressed in closer.
He thinks you have lost your mind. Insane. Unsound. You are crazy, the dog thinks.
Flins took a deep breath, unneeded biologically but great for steadying his nerves, and turned to face Varka, snuffing out his flames.
His face must have betrayed his inner turmoil because Varka’s gaze softened when he caught his eye.
He took Flins by the hand. “Come.”
Flins tightened his grip on Varka's hand, icy cold meeting perpetual warmth. Varka guided them to a nearby alcove where a Lightkeeper’s lantern lit up the space, temporarily dispelling the Abyss. He guided the Ratnik to take a seat on a wooden crate, resting a warm hand on his shoulder. It was comforting. Everything about Varka comforted the faerie.
“Alright, talk to me. What's eating at you, love?”
An odd choice of words, Flins thought distantly. Humans never ceased to fascinate Flins.
“It's of no consequence.” The Ratnik deflected, shame at his outburst creeping up on him.
Varka sighed and squatted down before Flins, nearly eye level with him now. “Don't do that.”
Flins stared at him unblinkingly, his yellow eyes faintly reflecting the lantern's glow. While most found his gaze unsettling, Varka had learnt to love it.
“Don’t do what, exactly?” Flins replied. He knew the answer, though, knew that he was sinking into a centuries-old bad habit, one that Varka had been working tirelessly to undo.
The knight fixed him with a look that pinned him in place. Flins felt like a butterfly, pinned to velvet with its wings outstretched and fixed in place. Vulnerable, delicate. Held open to be perceived without being able to hide.
“Don't hide behind your walls. Not with me. Please,” Varka murmured.
Flins took in his soft, sincere expression and sighed. He always folded far too easily where Varka was concerned.
“I don't wish to appear mentally unsound to you, my dear knight.” Flins hesitated.
They had never discussed this issue and had never discussed the events that led to this curse. It was a heavy topic, and Flins knew that it would pain the knight to know this particular part of the faerie’s history. He had never managed to find an appropriate moment to even begin to unpack the topic with Varka.
“Kyryll, I've seen plenty of crazy in my years, and you don't come close.” Varka smiled kindly. “Not even top ten, I’ll add.”
Flins’ lips twitched, amused despite the heavy topic looming over them. “You have a ranking list for mentally unstable individuals?”
Varka grinned, seemingly pleased that his attempt at easing the tension seemed to be working.
“Of course.” He leaned closer. “I'll tell you all about it if you tell me what's wrong.”
Crazy. Only crazy people hear voices. We know you can hear us.
Flins winced and shook his head slightly, doing his utmost to ignore the voices, to shake off the feeling of eyes on him. Varka noticed the movement and raised a thick brow, his gaze imploring.
Flins offered him a wry smile. “I am not sure you would maintain that image of me if I were to be honest with you.”
“Try me,” Varka challenged.
Flins’ eyes scanned his features, finding nothing but persistent, blazing affection there. Flins trusted a very short list of people, enough to count on his fingers. Living hundreds of years does that to a person. Varka, however, had weaselled his way to the top of that list.
And so, Flins allowed himself to be honest.
He swallowed thickly before speaking. “I'm afflicted with the ability to hear the voices of the dead.”
By the way Varka's eyes widened infinitesimally, that had not been something that he had expected to hear. He was quiet for a moment, weighing Flins’ words in his mind. Each second of silence saw Flins’ flame-heart growing all the more nervous.
“...Has it always been that way?” Varka finally asked after a heavy beat of silence.
Flins shook his head.
Varka’s brows drew together ever so slightly. “Since when, then?”
Flins thought for a moment, considering just how honest he wanted to be with the knight. This information was something that he kept safely guarded behind those walls within him that Varka had mentioned earlier. Then Flins remembered who he was talking to. A man he loved, a man he had gotten to know intimately. The first person in centuries to take the time to carefully and patiently peel back Flins’ many layers. The man he let in despite having shut so many others out.
“Since I died.” Flins finally replied in a whisper of vulnerability.
Varka's eyes widened again, not so infinitesimally this time, and a flash of confused pain passed through his features.
“You're… dead?” There was a devastated quiver to that final word.
Flins shook his head with a small laugh, but there was no humour behind it. “No, not really. My flame burns brighter than ever.”
“Then?”
Dead. You died? How? We sense immeasurable strength within you. Surely…
Another ghost piped up with a laugh: Oh my, dear Lightkeeper, was it by your own hand?
Flins paused, his flame-heart flickering anxiously within him. He was centuries old– this should not affect him as deeply anymore. And yet…
Varka must have seen the nerves and pain in Flins’ eyes because he reached out to cup the faerie’s face tenderly.
“If it hurts, you don't need to tell me, love.”
Flins shook his head and swallowed thickly, ignoring the frenzied murmur of ghosts surrounding them.
“It happened centuries ago. It was…by my own hand,” he admitted quietly.
Varka's breath caught, and his face crumbled. “You took your own life?”
The look on Varka’s face was the exact reason that Flins had been avoiding this topic. Despite Varka’s reputation and appearance, Varka had a pure heart. He cared deeply about his loved ones.
“It was… a difficult time for me.” Flins continued. “I had lost my home, my family and my faith in the world. The Lightkeepers found me and brought me back.” Flins’ voice was but a whisper, his usual even tone wavering.
Varka sniffed, and Flins was unsurprised to see tears pricking at his lash line. His heart ached at the sight.
“This is not the place, but I'd like to discuss this further sometime if you don't mind, my love.” His thumbs smoothed along Flins’ cheekbones as he spoke.
Varka was right; this was not the place. Flins could hear a chorus of cruel laughter surrounding them at this new information.
Flins offered him a weak smile. “Of course.”
Varka looked at him for a moment before leaning in to press his lips to his. It was a brief but tender kiss and Flins smiled softly into it.
Varka pulled back and blinked a few times before looking around, as if to spot the phantoms that were terrorising his lover. He glared at nothing in particular before turning to Flins again. Flins nearly laughed.
“Are there many of them in this region?” Varka inquired, looking around them again.
Many. So many. You'll never escape us, Lightkeeper. Not truly. Death lurks in your shadow. Always.
Flins nodded in reply, and Varka sighed and stood, reaching a hand out to help Flins up.
“Well, let's return to camp then,” Varka announced with a tone of finality.
“But our investigation is incomplete.” Flins protested weakly, watching as Varka collected their supplies.
Varka heaved a sigh at his words and stepped closer to him, reaching out to place one large hand on his waist. The touch was welcome and grounding.
“As a knight, I am bound by duty. While I may have a duty to this land, I also have a duty to you.”
Flins ignored the murmur of voices hurling insults their way.
“Hm, and what duty might that be, Grandmaster?” Flins teased.
“Wouldn't you like to know.” Varka grinned, kissed Flins’ forehead and stepped back. “Come, the investigation will still be here another day.”
Flins acquiesced, knowing that he could do little to change Varka’s mind, and followed Varka back the way they had come.
The voices persisted, and the heavy gaze of the shadows pricked at Flins. Varka took Flins’ hand in one of his to keep him grounded as they walked and kept talking so that Flins could focus on his voice instead. It was trivial conversation, Varka mostly just talking for the sake of talking, but Flins clung onto each word gratefully.
Relief flooded Flins’ system once they finally arrived at the Cliffwatch camp, the Lighthouse a welcome sight. He relaxed his tense muscles and schooled his features into his usually calm demeanour.
Varka gave his hand a quick squeeze before dropping it. “I'll report back to Master Illuga; you head to our room.”
“Are you sure you do not want me to accompany you? After all, it is my fault that we have returned early.”
Varka gave Flins a look, firm but kind. “Kyryll.”
Flins chuckled lightly. “Alright.”
Varka offered him one last grin before disappearing to track down Illuga.
Flins felt his sense of comfort dissipate along with the disappearing knight but did as he was asked.
By the time Varka had returned and closed their door behind himself, Flins was halfway through undressing. He stood in the centre of the room, his pants undone and hanging low on his hips, and his unbuttoned shirt in his hands.
“Ohoho, what have we here?” Varka teased, approaching him.
He wrapped his arms around Flins’ bare torso and kissed the curve of his shoulder with a deep exhale of contentment. Flins smiled and turned his head a little to glance back at him. Varka gently pushed some of Flins’ violet-blue hair from his neck and kissed the pale skin.
A small shiver ran through Flins, and he laughed lightly. “You are insatiable, dear knight.”
“Hm. Can you blame me?” Varka hummed, kissing his neck again. “Do you have any idea how lucky I am?”
Lucky? Flins turned the word over in his head. If anything, Flins was the lucky one in this scenario. His world would be a lot darker without the knight in it to dispel the shadows.
Flins swallowed, willing his heart's flickering to still, then turned in Varka's grip to face him, wrapping his arms around his neck.
Varka grinned broadly at him, boyishly almost despite his age. Despite Varka's lightheartedness, Flins knew from the way that his smile didn't entirely reach his eyes that he was still thinking about Flins’ earlier confession.
Flins offered him a weak smile. “I am sorry, truly.”
Varka frowned at him. “What for?”
The Ratnik gave him a look. “I allowed my…weakness to stand in the way of our work today.”
Varka was quiet for a moment before he stepped back, releasing his hold on Flins. Flins’ eyes widened and his flame-heart flickered nervously within him.
“Have I upset you?” Flins asked quickly, astounded by just how small his voice sounded.
“What?” Varka paused, realising how his response came across, then quickly shook his head. “Oh, no. I'm not upset, at least not with you.”
“Then what is it?”
“Oh, I just wanted to get undressed so that I can take you to bed.” Varka replied, fingers already working at undoing the fastenings of his coat and shirt.
Flins huffed out a laugh. “Take me to bed?”
Varka flushed. “Well, yes, but I also want to talk properly, somewhere we'll both be comfortable.”
Flins almost wanted to roll his eyes. He was completely in love with the silly man, though. Instead, he stepped forward and helped Varka strip down to just his pants as well.
Varka hooked a finger into Flins’ belt loops and tugged him over to their bed. Flins allowed himself to be lured into bed with the knight, his yellow eyes sparkling with affection and amusement. Varka collapsed among the bedding and pillows, unmade after their morning activities, and tugged Flins down after him. Flins landed half on top of him, his cold hands spread out on the broad expanse of Varka's chest. He shifted onto his side, resting his head comfortably on the knight’s chest. He could hear the beat of his heart beneath his ear, steady and sure. He closed his eyes and focused on the sound. Varka wrapped his arms around him and pressed a firm kiss to his hair.
The topic of Flins’ admission hovered persistently over them, and they lay in silence for a moment, neither of them truly knowing how to start the conversation.
Eventually, Varka spoke up. “Do you still think about it?”
Flins lifted a hand, tracing his fingers along Varka's arm in an attempt to ground himself, feeling the hair and scars beneath the pads of his fingers.
“You mean, extinguishing myself again?”
He heard Varka swallow thickly and heard his heart jolt in his ribcage. “Yes, do you still think about it?”
Flins shook his head. “No, not for a very long time.”
Varka knew that the Fae were incapable of lying, yet he still held him tighter, as if afraid that Flins would disappear. “Do you… Are you happy? I mean, you said you lost your faith in the world. Do you still feel that way?”
Flins thought for a moment. Was he happy? Had he regained his faith in humanity?
“You don't have to answer,” Varka murmured after a moment.
“No, it’s not that I don't want to answer; I am just considering your words.”
“Oh.” Varka rested his head comfortably against the top of Flins’ as he waited patiently for a reply.
Earlier, the ghosts had called him a stupid dog. Flins hadn't appreciated it one bit. They spat the words with negative connotations. Flins liked to, instead, occasionally, think fondly of Varka as an oversized puppy—an oversized puppy that drank with gods and could level a battlefield if need be.
“I am… regaining my faith. My friends and the Ratniki have assisted greatly with that development. I will, however, not lie and say that I have regained it completely.”
Varka hummed, mulling Flins’ words over. “And are you happy?”
Flins smiled to himself before his body disappeared in a flash of blue light, reappearing half a second later, perched in Varka's lap.
Varka's widened eyes creased into a smile. He reached up to hold Flins by the waist. “Trickster.” He murmured affectionately.
Flins grinned, flashing his pointed canines. Varka's smile only broadened, and his thumbs stroked along Flins’ bare waist.
“Are you happy, Kyryll?” Varka repeated his question, and Flins’ hands slid up over Varka's stomach and chest to cup his face. His gaze softened as he looked down at the knight.
“Yes, I would like to think that I am.” He lifted a hand to brush Varka's golden hair from his forehead. “And I have you to thank for that.”
Varka stared up at him, his gaze sincere and heart-achingly loving. “I know that we don't say it much, but I love you, Kyryll. So much.”
There was a light flush to the knight’s face that had the faerie’s flames burning bright within him.
“As I love you.” Flins whispered, cupping Varka’s face again.
They held each other's gaze for a moment, the atmosphere peaceful and warm, and Flins felt the last of the tension leave his body.
Then Varka spectacularly shattered the atmosphere. “Keep looking at me like that, and I'll be giving you another reason to love me.”
Flins noted with amusement that he could feel the way the knight was already half-hard beneath him.
“Oh my, you truly are insatiable.” Flins laughed warmly but he did not take his eyes off of Varka's.
Varka stared at him a second longer, pupils blown, before gripping Flins’ waist tighter and flipping them.
“That's it, now you've done it,” Varka announced, pinning Flins beneath him.
Flins smirked up at him, his yellow eyes shimmering with mischief. “I am not sure what you mean, dearest knight of mine. Done what, exactly?”
“Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins!” Varka laughed heartily. He slid a hand down Flins’ thigh, lifting his leg to wrap around the back of his.
“Yes, I believe that is my name.” Flins teased.
Varka squeezed Flins' hip with another chuckle. “Ohoho, you're in it for now, mister!”
Flins’ laugh was swiftly cut off by a choked noise as Varka rocked his hips forward into his.
“I'm sorry, what was that?” Varka raised a brow and repeated the action, smirking chuffly when Flins eagerly met the movement with a rock of his own hips.
Flins didn't dignify Varka’s comment with a verbal response, choosing to instead tug Varka in for a kiss. Unlike their brief, tender kiss at Kipumaki Cliff, this kiss was heated and ardent. Flins nipped playfully at Varka's lips, and the knight grinned into the kiss, a large hand cupping Flins’ jaw as he instantly deepened the kiss.
Soon enough, Flins was lost in a world of love and pleasure, the unpleasant experiences and tension of earlier a distant memory.