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Yuri has always thought he'll know the exact moment that Flynn dies. He thinks it will feel a lot like the world ending.
Of course, truthfully he hasn’t thought much about Flynn dying at all. He imagines that it will happen long after Yuri has died gloriously and in the midst of battle with a Giganto monster, grabbed by the hair that Flynn has always told him to tie back, and drawn into a slavering maw.
For Flynn, Yuri has pictured him tucked up in his bed, surrounded by loved ones. In his mind’s eye, Flynn has a wrinkled face that crinkles with a smile as he spends his last moments happily recalling Yuri’s incredible feats and cursing him for leaving him so young.
Yuri has always casually overlooked the fact that Flynn is a soldier and that soldiers go to war. He’s never stopped to consider that Flynn’s body is flesh and warm blood under the impervious armour, not even when he’s pressed up against him. He has occasionally, briefly dwelled on the fact that Flynn is a well-known public figure, but his unwavering, stoic presence has often made Yuri forget that his body is only human. Fragile.
When the knock comes, he is not prepared. Repede lifts his head moments before the sound comes which Yuri ignores, tossing another apple gel into his mouth and chewing slowly. If it's important, they’ll know they can come in.
It must be important because the door swings open. Beyond the frame stands Karol, face pale and tongue heavy, struggling with words. Yuri's first thought is one of concern, a belief that he's been robbed or hurt. Feelings of brotherly protectiveness swell in his chest and he’s ready to enact vengeance at Karol’s first tear.
A moment goes by and Yuri notices the knight standing next to him. Imperial. One of Flynn’s judging by the colours and the badge. He’s tired and haggard, out of breath as if he had run all the way from Zaphias to Brave Vesperia’s guild headquarters in Dahngrest. It's serious. Yuri feels the world sway underneath him and his next thought flies to Estelle.
Yuri’s mind instantly draws up a doomsday scenario, but it's quickly forgotten. No matter how afraid he feels, he still can't bring himself to think of the worst thing in the world.
Of all the things in the moments that follow, Yuri remembers the taste the most. How the sweet flavour of his last apple gel turns sour on his tongue before it turns into bland nothingness. Swallowing is mechanical, all enjoyment from consumption gone.
“He's dead, sir,” the knight pants. “Commandant Scifo is dead.”
In the end, his mind doesn't have to cook up the worst possible thing in the world; reality does a good enough job. The world doesn't end like he expected it to. It feels like it's stopped turning.
Less than an hour after hearing the words that freeze in time, Yuri is aboard their ship, speeding his way to Zaphias.
Judith took care of the travel arrangements. After Karol sobbed the news to her amidst the tears and snot, Judith shot one look at Yuri and left the room to summon Ba’ul.
Yuri chooses to sit alone, silent as his mind replays words that he barely caught. Flynn's knight had stood, breathless and devastated as he had relayed his terrible news, all sense of professional decorum gone as he fought back tears.
Flynn had been attacked by assassins. No one had claimed responsibility. Yuri guesses that they were either sent by organised criminals who did not tolerate Flynn’s sweeping law reforms, or dissidents intent on starting another civil war. They had been disguised as knights and caught Flynn off-guard in the corridors of the Royal palace of Zaphias. They had stabbed Flynn several times in the back and side, and two had died at Flynn’s sword for the pleasure of it. A third was grievously injured and refusing to talk.
Seven years ago, before Yuri and his friends had changed the world, blastia could have saved Flynn's life. In the present day though, there was no longer such a luxury. They'd rushed to fetch Estelle instead but it had been too late. Flynn had bled out on the corridor floor.
Even if he'd lived through the injuries, the blade had been coated in poison, Yuri had been told. A particularly nasty one that Yuri has only heard rumours of until now. One that causes suffering to the victim, burning them from the inside out before stopping their heart like a fist has closed around it, squeezing slowly. Yuri has to hand it to them; they'd been serious. It was almost better that Flynn’s death had been quick.
It's not really a relief. Yuri feels numb. The only emotion he can feel is anger, bizarrely directed at Repede. Their dog lies with his muzzle between his paws and seems unconcerned. Ludicrously Yuri has previously entertained the notion that Repede would let out a mournful howl the moment either of them fell. It was a silly fantasy, Yuri knows now. Whatever anger he does feel is distant and dull.
He hasn't cried yet. He doesn't feel enough for that. He feels like a voyeur to this terrible moment, hovering somewhere above his head and looking down at himself with feelings too vague to put names to.
Flynn won't be there when he lands. But it's not sad, or painful. It's just not real. It's the same as the knowledge that the ship is soaring through the air but nothing about sitting here in a quiet corner of the hull tells him that. So it's not real. He's not getting closer to Zaphias and Flynn isn't dead. None of these things are real. What's real is the feeling of wood under his hands and arse. It's the only real thing in the world.
It doesn't last forever. The world can't really stop turning.
But Yuri still feels nothing as the ship jolts and groans as it bumps gently onto the land beneath her.
They don't stop at the Lower Quarter as they enter the city. Yuri can't face the pitying looks and tear-stained faces. He wants to ask their grim-faced escort if there's been any outbreaks of violence, either from grief or from opportunism, but his mouth doesn't open.
Repede trots alongside them, sniffing at familiar scents and cocking his leg from time to time. Yuri still feels the dulled buzz of irritation that their dog seems unperturbed. It's a distraction at least. Paradoxically, Yuri feels almost grateful for it.
It still doesn't feel real. Yuri tells himself that this is all some sick joke. Ownback for all the times that Yuri has caused Flynn trouble. He knows in his heart though that that just isn't Flynn. Annoyed Flynn is grumpy frowns and adorable pouts that he won't admit to. He's wagging fingers and rising voice and chastising words. He's not a joker, much as Yuri suddenly wishes he was.
He settles instead on it being a mistake. A case of mistaken identity because Flynn is invincible. Some other poor blond sap in a blue uniform died. Some other best friend, lover or whatever else falls in between is grieving right now somewhere far, far away.
It's enough to keep him moving, one foot dragging in front of the other at a pace that’s both reluctant and eager. It takes him into the front entrance hall, sweeping staircases greeting him instead of a flustered medic telling him that they'd made a ridiculous mistake and that Flynn would be down shortly.
The illusion is shattered the moment that he sees Estelle. One look at her pale and drawn face is enough to make him forget how to breathe. His heart stops when her face scrunches in agony and she flings herself down the stairs and into his chest, arms going around his torso and squeezing tight.
As the sound of sobs and the damp of tears fill his senses, Yuri holds her and stares mutely at Raven. The ground falls away underneath his feet as Raven shakes his head and walks away.
Where the world stopped turning, it now feels like it's imploding all around him.
Yuri leaves Estelle once she's cried herself to sleep. All concerns about the propriety of a crown princess having a man in her room are too minute to care about.
Rita has been silent the entire time. Yuri is okay with that since he's not spoken a word either. Speaking takes effort. It means thinking. He doesn't want to waste his time on either.
The others have left them to it, moving out to try to find small ways to help. Karol is a mess. Flynn had been something of a hero to him and in the same way as Yuri, he had probably thought Flynn untouchable. Still, the kid still tries his best. He hasn't offered his consolations to Yuri and Yuri is grateful for it.
Rita joins him when he leaves, slouching back against the door, her usual defiant attitude gone. Yuri remembers in moments like these how small Rita is.
“She blames herself…” Rita says softly. “She feels like she's failed.”
Words feel foreign to Yuri. He can't remember the last time he spoke. It was a long time ago in a world where Flynn was alive. “It's not her fault.”
“I think she knows that, but it's hard on her... without blastia she's the only one who can heal anymore.” Rita breaks off to shrug helplessly. “And it couldn't save someone when she most needed it to.”
“Was it that bad?” Yuri says the words before he thinks about them. He doesn't want to know the answer, but somehow he needs to.
Rita shakes her head in response. “I don't know. I wasn't here. Even if I was...I'm still a way off creating anything that could have saved him. I…” Rita breaks off, looking away, eyes burning into the plush carpet of the hallway. “I keep thinking ‘if only we still had blastia’. I know that we did the right thing but sometimes it's just so hard…”
Yuri says nothing to that. He knows it was the right thing too, but knowing that if the blastia that sat at Flynn's breast was still active...knowing that he could have healed himself enough to hold on for Estelle… Yuri might have let the adephagos devour the world after all.
“Where is he?” Yuri's voice sounds odd to his own ears. It's dead and flat and gravelly, as if the life has been sucked out of him.
“Y’cant see him, kid,” Raven answers, stepping out of the shadows. His face is a picture of pity and gentle understanding. Even so, Yuri feels something nasty rise inside him at the words.
“Why not?” He snarls. He needs to see Flynn. He needs to see his face so that he knows it's not him.
“Kid…” Raven starts, voice kind. “The poison did some damage. We had to wrap him up because…”
Yuri doesn't want to know what comes next. The way that Raven trails off begs him not to ask. Offers him protection from himself.
But Yuri’s never been one for protecting himself. “But what?”
“Because the poison got into his system and it looks like his skin’s been part-melted off,” Raven sighs, closing his eyes. In that moment Yuri knows that he's seen it and that it's even more horrifying than the image that's being burnt into his mind.
“You have to understand, kid,” Raven goes on to say. “A Commandant gets a state funeral and a street procession. We can't have the casket open with his face the way it is...it wouldn't be fair to Flynn…”
“What does Flynn care?” Yuri spits. “He's dead.”
Raven looks taken aback for a moment before his mouth draws into a thin line and he nods grimly. “It's a fair point, Yuri. But the people of Zaphias will want to say goodbye. The people of the Lower Quarter deserve a chance to say goodbye.”
Yuri wants to tell the people of Zaphias to fuck themselves but he can't bring himself to deny the Lower Quarter their grief. Flynn was their boy as much as Yuri is.
“Whatever. He's dead. Show me to him,” Yuri says flatly.
Raven exchanges a look with Rita who shakes her head and turns around to re-enter Estelle’s room.
“Very well, kid,” Raven says at last. “I don't blame you, but do yourself a favour and don't let whatever you see be your last image of him.”
Yuri nods, but it's noncommittal. Once he sees Flynn he’ll know what to do next. He might even start feeling something again.
The smell is what hits Yuri first.
Growing up in the Lower Quarter, it had only been a matter of time before Yuri had come across a dead body. It was only a few short hours after the hapless victim had died, the result of a drunken tumble rather than anything sinister. The smell of death had been faint, swept up amidst the scent of the dirty alleyway and barely in his nose long enough before he and Flynn had run back home.
It had been worse on his travels. Entering the twisted dungeon beneath Ragou’s mansion had been a harrowing experience. It had been like stepping into a living nightmare. Nothing about it was forgettable but what stuck with Yuri most had been the stickiness of the blood-caked floors, and the cloying, pungent scent of rotting flesh.
There had been deaths since, both in battle and out, but those two experiences are the only ones that had stuck out in Yuri’s memories until now. On entering the room where Flynn is being kept, Yuri is sure that this one will stick in his memory too.
It's not a bad smell. It's not the stink of human decomposition. It's sterile. Clean. But with an underlying hint of rot that slides in through his nostrils and down his throat until he's sure that the decay from the body on the slab is filling his lungs. It's almost insidious. Yuri doesn't want it inside him. He doesn't want that sterile, faux cleanliness soured by death. Not for Flynn.
Raven waits patiently behind him as Yuri pauses at the door. They both know Yuri won't back down from this, but neither of them expect how long it takes him. He stands, frozen in time for long, drawn out minutes. His mind has gone blank, singing songs of denial that threaten to lure him in like sirens at sea.
A thread snaps. Yuri moves, feet propelling him closer to the casket on the table. His stomach drops with each step. His body becomes an unwilling accomplice to his feet as an alarm bell rips through him in warning. He needs to flee. He needs to get far away from here! His legs stay resolute though and before he's fully aware of it, he's sanding before the casket. His hands betray him too, rising to press against the wood. It's dark and smooth, lovingly polished to shine like a precious stone. It's expensive. Far more than the makeshift box that had been thrown together by their neighbour for Flynn’s mother. She’d be proud of him.
The wood is cold where Yuri faintly expected it to be warm. For the first time he realises that there is a chill in the air, emanating from the casket before him.
“Why is it so cold?” Yuri asks Raven in a rough, far away voice. It's accusatory. Flynn shouldn't be in the cold. He belongs in the sun where his flaxen hair and tan skin gleam and make him glow like a heroic figure from a saga.
“Rita mixed some chemicals to lower the temperature in the casket. We didn't want… we didn't want it to be any more unpleasant for the mourners… and for you.”
“You're stopping the body from rotting?” Yuri asks, emotionless.
Raven flinches. “Essentially… yeah, kid. We’re doing what we can. We were waiting for you, but we need to bury him sooner rather than later.”
Yuri neither agrees nor disagrees. He still hasn't accepted that it's Flynn in the casket. The idea is unbelievable. It's ludicrous. He just can't understand why everyone is so blind.
Even with his conviction, Yuri hasn’t opened the casket yet. His fingers trace the handle. His thumb circles the knob that adds simple embellishment. Still he doesn't open it.
Raven doesn't judge him for his fear. He stands, silent and sad off to Yuri’s right side. Yuri knows that if he were to glance over, Raven will be there to offer support and friendship. That's why Yuri knows that he can't look. If he looks at Raven he’ll break.
An infinity passes before his fingers twitch and clench, circling into a fist around the metal warmed by his hand. With a jerk he lifts. It makes the casket wobble so he eases up, gently pushing it until the upper half lies open.
The first thing Yuri sees is what's left of a face. His heart leaps in hope because it's unrecognisable and therefore not Flynn. The skin is mostly melted away to reveal the skull underneath. What's left of it is grey and stretched. The jaw is contorted, locked open as if caught in an anguished cry.
The surety that this isn't Flynn begins to fade at the tufts of blond hair. Not much of it remains but it's fair. Golden. Short above a neck that leads to broad shoulders encased in blue and white. One remaining blue eye stares heavenwards, milky in death where they had shone in life.
Yuri jerks his hand away, eyes fixing on the floor. He's lost. Nothing makes sense.
“I know what you're thinking and I'm sorry. It's him, Yuri,” Raven says, a gentle hand resting on his shoulder. “I wish it wasn't, but it's him.”
Yuri empties his stomach over Raven’s front, but Raven doesn't care. He just holds him tighter and doesn't tell him that it's going to be okay.
Yuri spends the next three days in a haze. He spends every moment he's awake with a bottle in his hand or between his lips. It numbs the feelings that are threatening to rear their ugly heads and keeps time blissfully stationary.
He knows he should be in the castle, helping with the funeral arrangements but he has no say in what Flynn really would have wanted. No grave in the Lower Quarter next to his mother, or small gathering in The Comet. Without any influence Yuri is just a man who knew the corpse. Better to come home to familiarity and lose himself in memories and the blissful oblivion found at the bottom of a bottle of the strongest alcohol he can find.
Ted comes to him on the second day of his return to his room above the Comet. He’s tear-stained but Yuri can see a familiar thirst in his eyes. Uncaring of Yuri’s unsteady state, Ted asks to join Brave Vesperia. Yuri takes a moment to consider the question. He’s always thought that Ted wants to be a knight like Flynn so the request is surprising. He asks Ted why he wants to join.
Ted knows him too well. He wants to join Yuri in his mission to enact revenge on Flynn’s murderers. Yuri hasn't even got beyond thinking about where his next drink is coming from, but dully he realises that yes, seeking murderous vengeance is exactly what he's going to do.
It takes every bit of Yuri’s willpower to refuse the request. It doesn't seem right to deny him but the boy is still only just fifteen years old and Hanks would never forgive him for shaping the rest of Ted’s life in such a way. Ted doesn't understand though. He spits curses at Yuri that he doesn't mean and runs from the room with a quivering voice. Somewhere beneath the haze Yuri feels bad, but he thinks that he probably did the right thing.
The intermittent outbursts of crying in the Lower Quarter cease by the third day of Yuri’s return, replaced instead by a sense of melancholy that settles over them all like a cloying blanket. Flynn is one of their own and their greatest source of pride. It doesn't feel fair that he's been taken from them so soon. It may have been a long time since Flynn lived amongst them, but his presence had always been felt whether it was through his frequenting The Comet, or his knights on the streets ensuring people’s safety.
From what Yuri can glean, they're grateful that the procession will allow Lower Quarter folk to have a special allocated space near to the catacombs. It's not as grand a gesture as allowing him to be buried next to his mother, but it's more than they would have got ten years ago. When Yuri is coherent enough to think about it, he considers it to be Raven’s doing. If he remembered what feeling glad felt like, he's pretty sure he'd feel it.
The day before the funeral, Judith appears in his room. She picks him up with a little effort and seats him on his bed, pulling the bottle from his fingers as she ignores his slurred protest. With a click of her tongue Judith surveys him, eyes resting first on the short beard he is sporting from days of neglect. With a gentle firmness, Judith tips his head back. A bowl of water materialises next to her and a knife appears in her hand.
For a moment, Yuri distantly hopes that she’ll slit his throat but is left disappointed when she starts shaving him instead.
Yuri doesn't know how long she takes. He finds himself lulled by the rhythmic sound and feel of the knife running against his skin, falling into a silent trance. Eventually she sits back and surveys her work, nodding in satisfaction.
“I’d like for you to take your shirt off, please,” she asks him as she moves to the sink to tip the water out.
Yuri doesn't quite get why. It's an odd request and he chooses to ignore it, hand reaching blindly across the covers for his bottle.
“Very well,” Judith says, moving back over to him.
The next thing that Yuri is sharply aware of is a gush of cold water cascading over him. It feels like a slap shocking him into feeling for the first time in days.
“The fuck, Judy?” He snarls, spluttering from the water on his lips and in his eyes.
“I did ask you,” Judith says, matter of fact. “You smell and your shirt has vomit stains on it.”
“Who gives a shit?” Yuri snaps, rubbing his hands over his face.
“You will,” Judith replies, passing him a bar of soap. “If you miss Flynn’s funeral because you're too drunk to stand, or if you turn up smelling and looking like you do, you’ll regret it.”
“I'm not going,” Yuri replies, pulling his shirt off and flinging it onto the floor.
Judith leans down to retrieve it, tossing it into his wash bowl. “You are going,” she says. “Despite what you're feeling now, whatever nightmare you hope you’ll wake up from or reality you want to escape, one day you’ll wake up and you’ll regret not having gone to his funeral.”
Yuri says nothing, clenching the soap, fingers biting into it and squeezing it until it's misshapen.
Judith moves, crouching in front of him, her arms resting over her knees. “You’ll go tomorrow and then we’ll find and destroy whoever did this.”
Yuri finds himself nodding in agreement. “Okay,” he replies in a scratchy, tight voice.
Judith nods and rises to her feet. “I’ll be back when you're done,” she says, understanding.
As soon as the door clicks shut, Repede walks over and presses his nose to Yuri’s lap. It's all Yuri needs to keel over, clutching Repede’s head and breathing rapidly. He's drowning. Only his hand is above the water, desperately grasping for help, but no one is there to take it. No familiar, strong grip pulls him out.
The moment passes. It's not time yet. Tomorrow he’ll let go, but not today. Time can stay frozen for just one more day. He’ll indulge himself in this none-state for just one more day.
Pulling himself away from Repede, Yuri gets to his feet and begins washing himself.
Yuri doesn't sleep that night. His hangover hits him early evening and it isn't until the moon begins sinking that it passes.
Yuri spends the time in one of his favourite ways, sitting on his windowsill and watching the world pass by. It's quiet, but not still. The Lower Quarter never sleeps. A homeless drunk wanders the street, picking at traces of food left in the gutters. Cats fight, mewling and screeching in an alleyway close by. Streetwalkers head home after a hard night’s work, tired and harrowed, but carrying themselves like soldiers. A knight completes his round, doing his best to keep the Lower Quarter safe- Flynn’s doing, no doubt.
Yuri loves this place. Flynn loves it too. It shaped them and taught them about injustice and although their opinions on what justice is may have differed, they had always been equally as passionate.
It was here that they'd pledged their fates to one another. They'd share their goal but get there in the way they felt best. Flynn with law and light and long-term change, and Yuri operating in his shadow, fixing the here and now with short term solutions. It had always worked so beautifully. They'd made huge sacrifices and gained enormous successes together. Yuri is so proud of Flynn and for some reason Flynn was proud of him too. He wishes so much that he could go back and tell those scrappy, grubby little orphan boys that their dreams really would come true. That against all odds, they'd do it.
There are many things Yuri would do if he could go back. He has so many regrets for one who has helped to save everything he knows and loves. He wishes that he could still pretend this was a nightmare. He wishes that he could have taken the blades meant for Flynn. More than anything he wishes that he could say the things that went unsaid. Too many assumptions made. Too many unfinished sentences. And now he has nothing to say any of it was real. His lack of action has led him to lose something precious once again.
The sun begins to peek over the tops of houses, and the sky bleeds pink. Yuri turns away and slides to his feet. Today he will weep and mourn and regret. Tomorrow he will make those who took his light away from him regret they had ever been born.
When he reaches the funeral procession, there's already a crowd waiting. He gravitates towards the Lower Quarter folk but hangs back, even though many of them part for him to make his way to the front. He knows he should seek out Hanks and provide support to the old man, but he cannot face the pain that seeing him mourn will bring.
His guildmates are likely about, paying their respects elsewhere. Estelle will be with King Ioder, no doubt, Rita stalwart at her side. Judith is likely comforting Karol and Patty, knowing that there is little more she can do for Yuri until the time comes to hunt. Yuri cannot guess where Raven will be, but he suspects that the man has done more than enough getting the arrangements sorted out. And Repede… Repede sits on his hind quarters and looks up at Yuri, bored and confused and Yuri finds himself unable to comprehend why Repede doesn’t understand once again.
Yuri watches as the time draws nearer and the crowd grows larger. The procession set off a while ago, but the people of the Lower Quarter will be the last to see him before he disappears beyond the gates of the Zaphias military mausoleum. The wait is horrendous. Time stretches minutes into hours as the air around them is choked with grief. The sense of loss is palpable. Yuri feels like if he holds his hands out and cups his fingers together, a pool of toxic scum will form in his hands and eat into his skin. His head pounds, lack of sleep and withdrawal from alcohol jarring him with every pulse of his heart.
Seeing the casket is worse than the wait. The sound of a woman breaking into a sob announces its presence. When Yuri looks up he can see that warm-coloured wood approaching between the bodies of mourners. It’s then that something in him breaks. Whatever threads that were holding him up fray and snap and it’s suddenly as if he’s landed back in his own body after days of floating. He’s aware of the weight of his bones and the thickness of the air in his lungs and the noise of an anguished bellow. At the second shout Yuri realises that the sound is coming from him. It’s a broken, agonised howl that reminds him of the noise that many a beast as made when he runs it through with his sword. He understands why they make it now. It hurts beyond words.
His knees buckle and give and he’s sinking to the floor, snarling and choking with tears. He’s so angry, so sad, so everything all at once and it feels like he’s dying himself. Like there’s only so much a person can feel before it comes to be too much and their heart gives out. Like he cannot possibly continue to exist. How can he? Who is he without Flynn? How can he live when half of him is lying dead and cold behind stone?
He’s dimly aware that two men help him to his feet, one at each arm. They let go of him when he finds his feet again, pulling away from them and pushing through the crowd to get closer to the front. Some people push back or scowl at him, but on seeing that it’s Yuri, they move aside and let him go with a pitying look.
Yuri reaches the front as the first blue-clad knights pass, faces grim and set like marble statues. For a moment he feels strong regret about not being up there himself, as he had Captain Fedrock. He’d shouldered that burden but hadn’t been strong enough to shoulder Flynn’s casket. It’s too late to do anything about it now though, so he adds it to his lengthy list of things that he needs to do to begin making up for the mistakes that he’s made.
The casket moves slowly enough to allow mourners to place flowers upon Flynn’s body, but for Yuri time stops all over again. Flynn’s face is covered, which isn’t unexpected. No one should have their memories of him tarnished by the horror that his face has become. He should remain their baby-faced, blond hero who clawed his way up to the top from the gutters of the Lower Quarter. It’s not fair to Flynn to tell any other story.
A sword lies upon Flynn’s chest. It’s only his standard issue sword. He was fond of it, but somehow Yuri wishes that they’d given him the sword that they’d saved so hard for as boys. There might be a chance to run and grab it before they lower him into the ground and cover him with soil, but Yuri’s legs aren’t ready to move yet. His eyes are the only part of him that do, vision waterlogged with tears as it slides along the rest of Flynn’s prone form.
They’ve somehow managed to make him look even more pristine in death than he did in life. His arms are crossed over his sword, hands raised to fall against his shoulders, encased in white leather. His blue formal uniform is pressed and starched. His armour gleams silver. Soft slippers, clean and unworn in life, sit beneath his greaves. All around him lie white flowers, providing him with a bed as beautiful and romantic as the poems and stories about him will surely be. He looks every inch the gallant knight that he did in life, perfect and shining. Precisely what he deserves and nothing else.
It’s what Yuri thinks he should think anyway, but something isn’t quite right. Something that he cannot quite put his finger on. The casket moves on, Yuri remains. People squeeze his shoulder and pat his arm in sympathy as they begin to disperse. Yuri pays them no heed. He stares at the spot where Flynn’s casket once was. His cheeks are tear-stained but his eyes have dried. His mind whirls but it is no longer crushed by an explosion feelings. He should be in the mausoleum by now, watching as Flynn’s men give him his final salute, listening to Estelle and Ioder’s kind words. He should be there as they slide the heavy stone into place and shut Flynn away from the light for the last time. Still, Yuri remains.
The crowd is lighter than it had been, straggling mourners are dabbing their eyes and blowing their noses. Yuri moves suddenly, turning to face an unconcerned Repede and finally he understands.
“Lead the way, Repede,” Yuri says. His voice is strong. It hasn’t been that strong since that night in Dahngrest a thousand years ago.
Repede gives him a long-suffering look and a snort of approval, getting to his feet and padding off, stopping to make sure that Yuri is following.
Yuri nods back and sets off.
It takes four days of hard riding to reach their destination. Repede's nose leads them to a small town just outside of Capua Nor. A little dance of his front paws and a sneeze of pleasure tell Yuri that they're at the right place.
Repede strides on ahead as Yuri dismounts, nosing his way into the local inn. Following, Yuri heads inside after him, eyes scanning the room until he catches a wagging tail. He watches as Repede moves to sit beside a figure at the bar, male and broad and sporting a head of shoulder-length red hair.
Yuri heads over as the man reaches down to fuss Repede’s muzzle. As he sits, the man turns blue eyes to him. Yuri needs a moment to process it. The world shifts and feels like it's started spinning again.
“Took you long enough,” Red comments, gesturing at the barman for another ale.
“Forgive me,” Yuri says dryly. “I was attending a funeral.”
“Sounds rough. Ah well, you got here eventually,” Red nods at him and takes a sip of his drink.
“It wasn't a fun experience, no, but I had to leave because a complete asshole was waiting for me.”
Red smiles ruefully and takes another sip. He looks ponderously at his beer before turning his eyes back to Yuri. “So what gave it away? Repede?”
“The shoes,” Yuri says. “Flynn Scifo is a man of practicality. He wouldn't wear slippers under greaves to his funeral.”
“Well spotted,” Red nods, impressed. “Rigor mortis had set in by that point and short of sawing his feet off, we couldn't get the damn boots on him.”
Yuri's pulls a face. “Gross.”
“Indeed. Covering the face might have been believable, but having no feet would have raised some questions,” Red shrugs, smiling helplessly.
Yuri punches him in the arm, hard enough to leave a bruise. “So glad you found it funny. I've been grieving, you asshole,” he snaps.
Red winces, rubbing his arm. “It had to be believable. Tricking Estellise, Rita and everyone was hard, but I knew you'd be the worst to do it to. At the same time, I also know that if my enemies had any doubts, they'd look to you first. You had to buy it.”
Yuri grunts. It makes sense, infuriating as it is. “Fine. I bought it, but you owe me one.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you were very nearly grieving for real.” Red lifts his arm and rubs gingerly at the flesh peeking out from under the chest guard. “They really did get me good.”
Yuri doesn't want to think about that. He's happy enough with this miracle and he’s sure he’ll see and touch the scars later. “How did you..?”
“Raven. Because his blastia is connected to his heart, he can still use healing artes. Estellise started my recovery and the Captain finished it up. In the chaos he managed to convince Estellise that she hadn't been successful. Poor thing… I hear they had to drag her away.”
Yuri winces. “That's pretty cruel.”
“I know. It's not what I would have chosen, but Estellise cannot lie to save her life.”
“Fair point,” Yuri concedes. “But why me? Why didn't you let me in on this plan?”
“Trust me, I didn't exactly plan to get almost stabbed to death. I won't forget that in a hurry.” He pauses to wince and Yuri finds himself believing him. “It was Raven’s quick thinking. Four men infiltrating the Knights order to kill me..? That's worryingly organised and smacks of good financing. Raven came up with a plan which might draw them out and trick them into revealing themselves. King Ioder agreed when I was recovering, although he knew I wouldn't like it much.”
Yuri shakes his head. “Damn that old man.”
“I know, it’s incredible,” Red agrees, eyes shining with admiration. “Somehow, amidst the blood and the clamour he managed to pull all this together. By the time I regained consciousness I was told the plan and it allowed me to slip out of the city undetected to start pursuing leads.”
“So,” Yuri says with growing understanding. “If these guys think they’ve succeeded…”
“They should grow more cocky,” Red finishes with a nod. “It's risky, but with how bad things are it seemed like it was worth a shot. The Empire is in trouble and we needed to do something unexpected and extreme. It was just a fortunate boon that one was blond and a similar build to me. I regret that we had to mess with his face though.”
At Red’s grimace, Yuri shrugs. “He deserved it.” That gets him a sharp look. “Well he does, but regardless, I'm sure he didn't care any more.”
“Fair point,” Red sighs. “But as for why no one told you… I'm sorry, Yuri. I didn't like that but Raven made a good point that they’d probably be watching you closely. If you showed anything other than grief they might have suspected since none made it back alive to verify it.”
“Don't forget anger too. Cold-blooded fury. Murderous intent?”
“Proactivity, a sensible strategic approach and level-headed investigation,” Red corrects.
“Sure,” Yuri responds without meaning it. “So what do I call you? I can't keep calling you “Red” in my head.”
“Luke,” He replies, offering his hand.
“Luke?” Yuri asks, taking the hand and shaking it once.
“It has a nice translation in an old language. I thought it quite a nice notion,” Luke blushes.
“Sure thing, Luke,” Yuri smirks. “I hope you're more fun than my old friend Flynn. He was a real nag.”
Luke’s reply is a punch to the arm. “I’m- Flynn Scifo is not a nag,” he snaps. He follows up with a huff. “And what do you mean friend?”
“I think that's something that can be answered on the journey,” Yuri smiles.
“Journey?” Luke questions.
“Well yeah,” Yuri says as if it's totally obvious. “We have to find out who murdered Commandant Flynn Scifo.”
“So you're coming with me?” Luke asks, sounding hopeful.
“Duh,” Yuri responds, picking up his ale and taking a swig. “Luckily I’m part of a guild which excels at saving the day.”
“Huh,” Luke says. “Maybe I should hire you.”
Yuri snorts. “You couldn't afford us. I think your best bet is to join us.”
“Join you, eh?” Luke smiles, amused. “That's not something I thought I'd ever do, but these are strange times. Sure then, for now I'd like to join Brave Vesperia.”
“It's not that easy,” Yuri says. “There's conditions. Entry into Brave Vesperia costs a beer and a promise to never, ever do this to me again or I will kill you for real next time.”
Luke smiles fondly. “Sounds like a fair deal.”
Yuri nods. Outwardly he’s his usual, cool-headed self, but on the inside he's giddy. A mess of joy and relief. Yuri has his second chance and he’s not going to let anyone fuck it up. He smothers it down enough to give Luke a grin that somehow manages not to split his face in half.
“Then welcome to Brave Vesperia.”
The world is turning again. Night will fall soon, followed by dawn and day and more nights and more days. He can think about tomorrow. They have tomorrow, and feels a lot like their next adventure.