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He twisted out of the way of the incoming strike and threw a blade at the creature's head, causing a horrible gurgle and its body tipped sideways. Three more surrounded him, and with swift slashes in a mere second, their arms fell down their sides on the muddy ground, stunning them enough to cut their throats with one spin.
Hm, he supposed providing and protecting ought to fit in the same category, he mused dryly as he saw familiar military uniforms unleash a barrage of artillery at yet more creatures amidst the purple fog. Well, they didn't go after Avrelian and his people, so he supposed they had a truce for an evening.
As he blocked the incoming strike of a terrible battleaxe onto a Snezhnayan corporal with a kuuvahki shield, an identical body whizzed past him two steps away-
-causing a strained gasp and familiar, gurgling grunt-
Avrelian's heart dropped into his heel.
He grit his teeth and kept his eyes on the monster, though he found it hard to breathe. The soldier ran away after a quick incoherent sputter of words—no time for more, and he jumped back to put some distance, then threw a furious knife at the large chest. It embedded, causing its foul energy to start dispersing slowly into the air like dust, prompting a displeased grunt, but no more. Avrelian clicked his tongue, perhaps fury guiding his hand to rise and call kuuvahki into its palm, swirling and solidifying into a disc he could've barely held if it were metal, and swung it at the creature. Indeed fury, for it passed through its neck like butter, and he did not wait to watch its head fall.
He couldn't see clearly what happened behind him, but he recognized an all-too familiar body and a dark, terrible stain on the midsection of his uniform, two military guards shouting as they hauled his arms over one of theirs shoulders and began running through the monsters, soldiers and thieves to get him back to the barracks.
Avrelian allowed himself a single out breath before he returned to the chaos.
-
Perched on a high cliff, he watched Paha Isle through a pocket telescope, following the guard stretch and carefully, slowly walk out of the view to the back of the building, glancing over their shoulder. Hah, so easy.
Avrelian straightened and slid down the cliff—met with a standing, straight body that didn't give him enough time to stop himself from startling back.
Alia raised her eyebrow but didn't comment, merely saying, "Ready, sir?"
He just frowned in reply, tilting his head.
She mirrored his frown, "We are going to visit Mr. Solovei, no?"
Avrelian blinked, "I was about to come get you for that..."
He didn't like the knowing twitch of her lip, but she elegantly didn't say anything, merely gesturing that then their timing was impeccable. He huffed and nodded, and they set off to the Snezhnayan military barracks.
A shame and luck both that they had no reason to venture here often, due to the usefulness of Avrelian's nostalgic memories and intrinsic knowledge, even an odd familiar face back from his boyhood, none the wiser that their tragically passed former classmate was a few mere miles away. The thought made him smile, and they slowed when they reached it.
Indeed, the guard hadn't returned from their lazing away, leaving the main plaza embarrassingly vulnerable. Nevertheless, they stuck to the shadows and made a quick beeline to the medical ward, peeking in through the window to see a single nurse carrying out their duties, the body Avrelian was looking for on the cot nearest to the window, all dark splayed hair and ghastly pale in the dark.
He looked to Alia and gestured—she nodded and on quick, quiet feet opened the door to the ward, rushing inside towards the nurse who only had a moment to turn and let out a half-gasp before a cloth was pressed over their mouth and, a second later, their body sagged. Alia caught them and carefully carried them over to a nearby chair, positioning them so they weren't in danger of falling over. Avrelian stood from his crouch and followed inside, nodding to her again as she returned outside to stand guard.
He approached his dear friend and frowned further. Pale indeed, with lines of discomfort on his face, skin waxen and sweaty. Even asleep, his body was unnaturally still, giving Avrelian the impression as if he hadn't moved by himself in hours. Strange. The wound could have been severe, he supposed, but their response was quick and surely professional—Silve was a lieutenant after all, so this deterioration caused ceaseless worms to prod and poke at his chest.
He walked back and took the chart hanging from his cot into his hands, reading:
- Deep abdominal wound, caused by weapon impalement
- No damage to the internal organs
- Swift response in disinfectants and stitching, blood loss not deemed a problem
- Weakness, trouble breathing, trouble retaining fluids and sustenance, oral medication expelled
- Suspected abyssal poisoning, available allogenes to be summoned immediately
Abyssal poisoning.
No wonder then.
Avrelian sighed then tutted, reaching over to smooth back Silvestr's hair into a semblance of order as if looking better would make him feel better too. "You fool. What have you gotten yourself into," he murmured without heat—frankly, he was lucky compared to what else could have happened, both physically and…well. Ever since the disaster, they have had the unfortunate honor of familiarizing themselves with the abyss's power and its corrosive effects, yet have made only so much progress in understanding it, much less neutralizing it. Another sigh.
Silve has always had a lovely face, as a boy and now a man, but seeing it now pulled taut unceasingly almost made Avrelian want to look away, especially with the light of the moon shining on him through the window, making every shadow starker.
…Hm.
He slowly followed the path of moonlight away from Silve to its source. The Frost Moon hung in the sky as it always did, round and shining, lonely and elusive. Its silver surface familiar to Avrelian more than most.
Hm.
He raised his right hand and looked down at the bare palm, considering for a moment, before the other one reached down into his belt and pulled out a dagger—one of the few physical ones he carried with him and used rarely.
"Sir?" Alia's voice came quietly, a little uneasy. Right, an unfortunate timing for her.
"Look away," he instructed simply and pressed the blade on his skin, drawing it to himself.
The pain was present and tingling, but he was strangely distracted. He grabbed Silve's chin and opened his mouth, squeezing and unfurling his hand several times to make the silver blood flow—glinting almost snow-white in the moonlight—and drip onto Silve's tongue. He was uncertain of the quantity necessary or even recommended—Silve wasn't born in the land of kuuvahki so Avrelian cupped his hand to prevent more blood from pouring and propped his friend's head up, rubbing over his throat until a satisfying swallow came.
He let out a breath, a little more relaxed, though with a new undercurrent of tension and hope that it would help. He helped himself to the available bandages to wrap his hand, spending a few more moments staring at Silve, then traced his fingertips over the length of his forehead, before he headed to the exit.
-
Alone in the wilderness of the borderlands left him both at peace and tense. Only natural, what with his current nigh-complete inability to fight, and scattered, fragmented factions and their loyalties. Nevertheless, today was so far a calm day, and Silvestr enjoyed the fresh air of early spring even though it stung as he expanded his torso to breathe. Objectively still cold, but warmer than Snezhnaya's summers, so he let his feet slow and almost drag—here they had no danger of freezing and falling off.
The sparse wilderness of Lempo Isle was nevertheless more buoyant than up north close to the barracks, and Silvestr took his time to admire how the kuuvahki changed the scenery and even wildlife, casting everything in stark colors and clinging dampness.
Several minutes into walking along the line of the beach, he heard that familiar crunch of footsteps over grass and shrubbery. He almost laughed at himself for his body not reacting immediately—a terrible habit to have trained himself into, after years of purposefully looking the other way and ignoring thieving little hands scurrying along in shadows with their loot—sometimes the military's own weaponry and funds. A few seconds later and another crunch, however, prompted him to look up, nevertheless clutching the shaft of his spear tighter that he could use as little else but a walking stick.
A figure stood unmistakable and unhidden on top of the short cliff, head wrapped in a scarf, but Silvestr thought he could see long blonde strands swaying in the breeze. His hand reached behind him and Silvestr could see a string of kuuvahki forming and likely connecting to a plant out of view, and the person jumped and slid down the cliffside towards him—only making the string taut when he was a little above him.
Relya leaned on his side and extended his hand, holding a Frostlamp flower, out to him. "A pretty flower for a pretty face," he purred, as he had done millions of times before, and Silvestr snorted as he had millions of times before.
He walked over closer and reached out to accept the gift, but frowned when the leaves no longer hid Relya's hand from view. Before he could retreat it, Silvestr took it by the wrist, ghosting over the white bandages with his thumb, "What's this?"
"A scrape," Relya shrugged. Paused, strangely, then gingerly flexed the hand in front of his face, "We didn't want this valuable substance to spill over anything, now did we? It's potent stuff."
Silvestr blinked slowly, staring at the man.
Why, Lieutenant Solovei, your constitution must be something else, to have recovered as quickly as you did from the abyss!
Or the borderlands and this kuuvahki are more useful than we thought…It didn't waste time of our allogenes and healed him, so that's a win-win in my book.
Hm.
"…Indeed," he intoned. "It would be preferable if the inside fluids were to stay inside." Relya smirked at him and rocked his head with an easy hum; Silvestr paused. "Care to join my walk?"
Relya's smile spoke rejection, but was soft, "Sorry, not a fan of open spaces. Especially not in view of that," he jerked his chin to the barracks still visible across shallow water. "And anyway, should you be out all alone? Pretty sure you almost misplaced your guts a bit ago."
He huffed out an amused breath, then lowered his face a little so he could look up at Relya through his eyelashes, blinking slowly, "If I end up in trouble I can't save myself from, won't the Master Thief hear my calls for him and come save me?"
"Why, that would terribly tank his reputation, I fear," came an answering smirk.
Silvestr hummed, smile indelible as he let them sit in silence for a beat. "What if I call for Relya instead?"
The man blinked and his silver tongue (no pun intended) for once failed him terribly, for he was left staring blankly at Silvestr with ever-so-slightly wide eyes. Were he a less restrained man, his lips would be stretched into a grin up to his ears.
"…Get yourself in trouble, and I suppose we'll find out, hm?" Relya finally said, with a significantly less effective smirk than usual, and gave him a two-finger salute before retracting the kuuvahki string and ascending back up to higher ground.
Silvestr merely watched him go with a half-smile, twitching his fingers lightly in a wave.
-
—
-
"…Silvestr. Might you indulge a question of mine?"
"How polite," he drawled, but then waved a hand behind him.
"Are you attempting to make a fashion statement with those, or are your Lightkeepers simply too prone to hurting their hands?"
He strayed his gaze from the reports to his right hand, a black ribbon wrapped around his palm twice and thumb once, to keep it in place so it doesn't slip.
"…We shall use our blood as fuel to better this land," he replied slowly, deliberately.
A short hum and he turned to look behind him—Brahe stared at him with squinted eyes, lounging on the windowsill of his office, legs crossed and a notebook in his lap. "How romantic," he eventually said idly, sounding unsure of his own words. "No offense, but I did not take you as someone who fashions oaths into something…visual."
"Well, we do need all the volunteers we can get," he offered, returning to his work, pleased to hear a snort behind him; he sincerely doubted Brahe believed it to be the full truth, but in his line of work, truth was an unnecessary component. And the one thing he liked about him was that he treaded carefully in conversation about certain topics. Some, the companionship had granted him peace for. Some…well, privacy of one's own mind is sometimes the greatest upkeep of treasured memories.