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All around him, pillars crash down. His body, as incorporeal and fog-like as it is, cries out with pain radiating from every fiber of his being. Shrieks and cries sound out from every corner of his Necropolis. He has to do something, but what is there to do when he’s chained and bound with his body barely holding together? These intruders want his home. They want to break and pillage and ruin everything good about their sanctuary for the dead.
He can’t allow that. Not while he still draws metaphorical breath into his nonexistent lungs. Staring at his not quite hands, he considers what little he can do. He may have been captured. They may have sealed his movement with these chains, made a pitiful attempt to seal his magic, and may be holding the rest of his companions hostage, but he’s still got his considerable magic prowess, his soul, and his connection to the Necropolis he loves so much. They won’t get the better of him.
The few lich lords they have get paraded up to his side in a showing meant to demoralize with the soft clack clack clack of their feet nearly hidden by the clang of chains on the stone floors. All of their magic has been suppressed. They clearly think he’s the same as the rest of them despite the difficulty in comprehending his form.
He might not know who these pointed-eared human creatures are, but he refuses to let them run amok in his home without so much as lifting a finger.
“Forgive me, my friends.” His lich companions look at him with veiled confusion at his barely understandable apology. He won’t be able to look after them anymore, but their safety rivals that of the Necropolis. This is fine. His essence will still be here, it’ll just be different now.
Pulling at the strings of magic around him, he casts his final spell. A spirit shredded to pieces, a structure enchanted. One life, for that of his friends, companions, and coworkers. One single moment, for the eternity of his home. A single sacrifice in exchange for the ability for the Necropolis to defend itself.
He smiles, wide and unnerving, as the Necropolis shakes around him, rumbling to life with a pained cry. One final, agonizing pull is all it takes to for his soul to shatter into a million fragments, leaving his consciousness to fade away.
Cyr takes in a deep breath, finding himself staring up at a too distracting ceiling. Something’s off about it and he can’t figure out why.
“Kadan! You’re awake!” That’s Kos. His gaze flickers from the slightly off ceiling to the extremely distracting, newly colored eyes of his boyfriend. What color is that? It’s so pretty and suits his wonderful, hot boyfriend perfectly.
Tears prick at Cyr’s eyes as he processes what he’s seeing. “Vhenan? What’s wrong?” Ah. His wonderful boyfriend’s concern warms him even as Cyr brings a heavy arm up to cup the pretty man’s cheek. There’s so many more colors than the ones he knew and he doesn’t even want to look away for a single second.
“Your eyes are so pretty.” He complements, earning a blush from the taller man. “What color are they?”
“O— Orange.” Cyr smiles as he commits the name of his new favorite color to memory.
“Cyrus, darling! You’ve wakened!” Em demands Cyr’s gaze as he drinks in even more new colors. It’s enough to distract him from the lingering whispers of his dream. With his boyfriends here, like this, he can deal with anything that comes his way.
“We need to talk.” A pang of something unpleasant hits him like an Archdemon. Somethings terribly wrong here and he’s got a feeling on what it is, even if he can’t quite place his finger on it.
Kos holds him tightly, clearly afraid to let go. It’s nice, but there’s something that rings distinctly off about it that Cyr doesn’t like and chooses to ignore. “Okay. But I’d like a drink first.” He really is thirsty.
“Okay.” Kos doesn’t seem pleased to have to pull away, but he does let Cyr go for a moment so he can go find something for Cyr to drink.
“You worried us, Dearest. You were out for so long, and then with everything that happened…” Em stops for a moment, interlocking their fingers despite his body clearly needing to feel that Cyr’s alive. “Well, it’s good that you’re awake. We’ve missed you and have so much to discuss.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so insistent on moving forward like that knowing something was wrong.” Leaning into the older man, Cyr’s more than a little pleased to find Em willing to wrap him in his arms and plant a soft kiss to the top of his head. “You made it sound like I was out for a while.”
Kos returns, setting aside a pitcher of water, handing Cyr a full cup, and pulling him from Em’s arms to sit on Kos’ lap as the qunari decides to hold him like a large plush toy. It’s nice, in a way, to see Kos acting to openly affectionate when it’s taken all of Cyr’s patience to get them this far.
Em pulls up a chair beside them as Cyr sips his water. “Dearest. I know this is going to come as a surprise to you, but you’ve been out for twenty-six days.” He freezes, looking into Em’s still distracting eyes.
He… He should have known, really. There’s not many things able to affect his boyfriends so obviously, let alone get him such a cuddly Kos, but to be unconscious the better part of a month? Shouldn’t he be a lot stiffer or weaker or something? He barely even feels like he’s been asleep for a few hours.
Jim chirps, frantic and confused. He’s lost time too? That’s never happened before.
“What exactly happened to us?” No matter how badly Cyr’s been hurt, no matter what magical fuckery they’ve gotten into, it’s never tripped Jim up.
“Cyrus, dearest. How much do you actually know about yourself?”
There’s something deeper going on here that Cyr has a bad feeling about. That nagging sensation insists he remember that weird dream he had, but the events have already faded away. “What do you mean?”
“Remember how Taash was going on about elves being spirits for a solid two weeks?” Narrowing his eyes, Cyr does his best to look up at Kos despite the limited space. “Apparently you and Jim are more spirit than man.”
His brows furrow. He knew something was different about him deep inside from the way everyone treated him growing up. Or was it the way he always knows where any piece of the Necropolis is? Perhaps it was the fact he could traverse the Necropolis without encountering a single hitch while everyone else struggles to get down a floor?
“It’s the reason I’m connected so deeply to the Necropolis, isn’t it.” It’s not a question, not really. He thinks back, remembering how, as a small child, he’d look at his body and know something wasn’t quite right. How he started feeling better about it once he took up tattooing with his bone needles at the ripe old age of eight. How that wrongness faded as he grew until he started feeling comfortable in his skin.
Em takes a deep breath, choosing then to speak up. “Your spirit, and that of Jim, are connected, darling. And what’s more, is that the both of you are connected to the Necropolis in ways the rest of us can’t even imagine. It seems that events so long ago they’ve been forgotten by all but the lich lords are at play here, and you’re a major part of them, dearest.” Em grabs his hands, setting the newly drained cup aside. “I know this is a lot to take in all at once, dearest, but we’ll explain as best we can, and what we can’t explain we can ask the lich lords about.”
So many questions float in his mind so he chooses one to start with. “So if I’m not actually an elf, and I’m not really a spirit, then what am I, exactly?”
“As I understood it, yourself, Jim, and Vorgoth are all fragmented parts of the same spirit. The very spirit, it’s thought, that originated with the Lich who made the Necropolis into what it is.” He’s… Not entirely sure what that really makes him. Is he just a man? A spirit? Some failed combination of both? Does that mean Dad isn’t really his Dad? Is he even really himself?
Jim chirps at him, forcing his way into Cyr’s face to make him focus on anything other than his thoughts. A simple message plays in his mind. Focus on that later, he can deal with that when he’s made sense of what happened to them.
“What did Hezenkoss actually do?” His mind might be racing, but he has to know before he starts freaking out.
“It seems Johanna learned of your circumstances and decided to steal a piece of your soul for herself. Her plot with the lantern was a major step in her plan, for which, I’m relieved she failed, even if it caused us problems.” His hand moves to his ears. That must be what those enchantments are for. “It took us a while to find the proper spell, as well as the proper duration, to realign your fragments into proper working order.”
He blinks slowly, “Well, you seemed to have done that a little too well given everything.” It’s all he can do to mutter that much and it’s blatantly obvious to his boyfriends.
Those strong arms surrounding him get a little tighter. “Are you sure you’re okay, Kadan?” Kos’ voice comes in a whisper. “I know this is a lot to take in. I’m still processing it all myself.”
Cyr considers everything, then presses deeper into Kos’ warm hold. “I… I’m not sure…” Is all of this fuckery why he’s been given so much attention from the liches when they haven’t bothered or cared to speak with basically anyone else? How does he know he’s not just whatever remains of whoever he’s supposedly a part of? Has his whole life been a lie?
Cyrus doesn’t know and that bothers him more than anything right now. Is he lying to his lovers?
Walking calmly through the Necropolis he’s called home for years now, he can feel something off in the way the magic buzzes and swirls on this floor. Strange. He’s never felt anything like it when the Necropolis is usually so calm despite the spirits that live here.
It buzzes against his skin, drawing his attention and forcing him to repel it with magic of his own. Something changes in that magic even though he can’t place it. There’s some quality about it that he’s never felt before, and that makes him more curious than anything. What could cause such a disturbance?
Moving through this level, he feels the magic getting stronger as he zeros in on the cause. The further he goes, the more he has to pour his magic into keeping himself safe. There’s something off about this that makes him certain he’s in danger if he lets up on his spells.
A sudden spike, several piercing moments of white hot pain prickle his skin as his spell shatters around him. He can’t catch his breath, not when his lungs seize in time with the rapidly increasing thrum of magic around him. Screams rip from his throat. His body cries out, changing and writhing inside as his outsides freeze in place.
His flesh dissolves into black smoke as his mind races into oblivion. He— He can’t think. His vision fails him. He—
Cyr wakes with a start, breath racing and sweat cooling on his skin. It’s been a week. He’s barely even dreamt before and now he’s having all these horrible dreams.
Taking a deep breath, Cyr pushes himself up, careful of extracting himself from Em’s arms. There’s no used waking up someone who actually needs sleep just because he’s a little unsettled. Besides, he has Jim. It’ll be enough.
It has to be.
Padding across their room, Cyr tries to stay quiet even as he moves out towards the balcony in Em’s tower. Looking out into the Fade almost always manages to settle him when he’s feeling off. Its calm, like always.
“Cyrus, darling?” Em’s tired voice rings softly through the tower as his soft footfalls pad towards him. “What’s wrong, dearest? You don’t usually leave our bed even when you don’t sleep at night.” A soothing hand rubs gently at his back.
His eyes search Em’s calm, caring ones. He promised he’d try to communicate better those months ago. “I’ve been having these dreams. It’s just… They don’t really feel like dreams?” No. They definitely feel more like memories. Memories that belonged to whoever his soul was once a part of.
“Dearest, how long has this been going on?”
Cyr reaches for Em’s comforting presence. “Since I was in that coma.” He knows he could have brought it up sooner, but he didn’t want to ruin their relief at having him back.
“Why didn’t you say something?” He can think of several reasons, but he doesn’t really know how to articulate them all in a way that’ll make sense.
“Cyr? Em?” Kos’ sleepy voice cuts through his emotions. “What’s going on?” Kos rubs at his face before coming over to Cyr to pick him up. Cyr finds himself hanging a foot off the ground with Kos’ big strong arms holding him like a small child with a cat. Cyr likes it more than he really should. He ends up melting into the hold.
Em brushes his fingers against his, then places his hand on Kos’ arm. “It seems our dearest is suffering from nightmares.”
Clearly, their boyfriend is still half asleep since he starts moving back to their bed. “Can’t have nigh’mares bein’ smo’ered.” Kos collapses back into their bed with Cyr still in his arms, falling asleep in moments.
He finds himself staring at the vaulted ceilings of the Necropolis’ lower levels. There’s something distinctly wrong, but he can put that aside for the moment. He needs to figure out exactly where he’s at and get back to the surface.
He moves to get up. This… This isn’t his body. He’s a mess of bone and shadow. How did this happen? How’s he supposed to keep up with his duties if he doesn’t even have a proper body?
Can… Can he even move like this? He tries to move forward. Nothing. Not yet, at least. He’s going to find a way to do this.
He’s not sure how long passes before he’s finally able to move. Nor is he sure how fast he’s moving. All he really knows is that eventually he finds himself in the upper levels, surrounded by several wary Watchers.
“What are you?” Oh! It’s his friend. Weird that he can’t remember their name right now, but really, he has bigger problems right now. He’s gotta find a way to answer, right?
A gargled, unknown noise emanates from him. Well… That didn’t work. And now they’re all on edge. Hmm. What a predicament.
His friend edges forward slowly, reaching out to him. He feels magic pressing against where he thinks the edges of his form floats. It presses against his mind. There’s a moment of surprise that makes it’s way to him.
“What happened to you?” It’s soft and worried. “You’ve been gone so long we feared the worst.” She caresses his form, concerned about him even though he’s not even really a person anymore. Another one of those noises breaks from his fog-like form.
Cyr takes a deep breath, pulling himself from sleep as he feels his body. Does… Is… This is who is really is, right?
“Cyr?” Oh, he’s woken Kos, too. “What’s wrong? Another nightmare?” He doesn’t respond. “Hey. Talk to me. Please?” Kos knows exactly what he’s doing looking at him like that.
Em’s still asleep beside them. It’s not fair to wake him up with their conversation. Taking a moment to recenter himself, Cyr peels out of bed. Kos follows after him.
“You’ve been a little off since you woke up.” Kos mentions as they come up to lean against Em’s balcony. “I thought, at first, that it was just because you were adjusting. But that’s not it, is it?”
How does he tell Kos everything he’s uncertain about? There’s no way Kos would understand, right? “Kadan? Please? Whatever it is, I want to know.” He thinks he hears another set of footsteps, but he’s not really sure.
Cyr bites his lip, debating as a certain anxiety flares up. “How can I be sure I’m really me?”
“Cyr?”
“My nightmares aren’t really nightmares.” He admits. “They’re memories. From the guy my soul came from. How can I know I’m me and not him? How do I know that everything I am, that everything I want to be, isn’t just me trying to unconsciously return to being him?” Cyr stares at his hands. They feel wrong. “How do I know?”
Kos hesitates for several long moments. “I… Do you still care for me? For Emmrich?”
Cyr’s eyes go wide. “Of course I do! How could I not?”
“What about all of our friends?” Kos smiles at him patiently.
“Well, yeah…” He’s starting to feel real silly about everything even if that doubts lodged much deeper in his chest than he’s willing to admit.
His boyfriend’s smile becomes much warmer. “Then you’re still the Cyr I know and adore. And you always will be.” Kos presses a soft kiss to his temple. “You just know more about yourself, now.”
“He’s quite right, darling.” Em! Did they wake him? He should be resting. They have his lichdom ritual in the morning. “You’ll always be the Cyrus we love and adore, no matter how many times we have to remind you.” Em comes up to his other side, steal just as soft of a kiss as Kos. “Now. Since none of us are getting any more sleep tonight, why don’t you tell us everything about these dreams of yours?”
Surrounded by his lovers, how could he ever say no? “Alright, but we’re going to need tea and cozy blankets.”
“Of course.” Em smirks. That doubt might still linger in his mind, but he refuses to let it win in this singular moment. He can’t let his boyfriends cuddle themselves, now can he?