Chapter Text
“Wake up.”
One of several commands etched into memory, and one of several scenarios he seemed to always stumble into. Like before, his skull was throbbing, bones screaming with every twitch in muscle, though now without the phantom of flames lapping at his skin. Confined to the tight hug of bandages, he fought through urges to cry as he sat upright.
What met him was not the barren wasteland of a prison, nor was it mixes of midnight and spiked orchid lurking in shadow. The cot beneath him lacked lumps or crusty cracks when he shifted, nor was he subjected to bitter cold, instead covered in a wrinkle-free, wafer-thin blanket. Replacing quiet was a variety of murmurs and soft monster calls, soon leading him face-to-face with Ratha, who cooed as he pressed his beak to one of his rider’s cheeks.
Somehow, Simon was not dead. The world refused to let him die. Between injuries, electrified jolts, fatigue, and the ever-present ache in his bad arm, his battered and bruised body still had yet to finally fail him. Burns and signs of blunt force remained, further cementing his miraculous circumstances. He felt no such relief that would otherwise be expected. No, he’d rather bite it than continue.
Yet here he was. Irritated lungs be damned, he lived.
All of his vigor was wasted on simply sitting, unable to raise an arm…
Hold on.
His eyes flicked onto his reoffending limb.
Pale? Yes. Chapped? Yes. Aching? Absolutely.
Crystals?
There were indents where they once grew, leaving the area looking like a Deviljho had gnawed on it, though lacking the same vivid, pristine whiteness, instead nearly blending into his skin tone, even with the noticeable contrast. The gradual spread of infection whose growing imprints sank deep into his flesh had ceased to exist. It was frozen yet actually seemed organic. All in all the most uncanny thing possible. Ratha’s attention, too, had followed, settling on both ends of the discolored streak, letting out a somewhat satisfied huff, spicy breath adding a little extra life in Simon’s system.
Finally, he mustered the ability to open his mouth, only to be promptly interrupted by an individual of indeterminable gender (assuming they adhered to a binary, though he knew better than to assume) wearing casual unisex civilian garb already run ragged, cloths and color coded bags of what was likely healing powder attached to a belt.
“Good to see you’re awake!” they exclaimed. “You were out for awhile. Your poor Rathalos was worried sick!”
He could believe it for a second, with the monster in question half-wrapped around the cot. There was a point where he was once unrecognizable, a rusty chain around one ankle. Between darkness and almost oversized armor, Ratha was more of a specter than an animal. Clarissa’s plaything. The few instances Fiero was not her mouthpiece had plenty of native and non-native wyverns by her side, many from the Sacrosanctum kept as trump cards. All Simon had remembered of Ratha was from an initial pact. After all, the elongated horn he possessed was quite the spectacular—albeit curious—mutation. It resembled that of what the skyscales of legend had.
They wouldn’t hurt him, or so they swore. All they needed to do was run a few tests and see if he truly was a direct match. Then the boy could get his cure. Deliver it to the people ditched. Simple.
To encounter her Rathalos again—all without a single shred of malice in his mannerisms, instead monitoring the rider with a solemn flair—and receive his concern was far from what someone who sold him off ‘earned.’
Simon remembered well how Clarissa sauntered in as if she hadn’t left him alone for hours after his reawakening, pale sun turning to near total darkness, hellhole now only illuminated by a sole candle. Rattling followed by a distinctive clank swallowed an airy screech, jaws snapping shut only to be met with immediate backlash as something was driven into the beast, pained roars cut short before the rattles went limp. He attempted to shout Ratha’s name only to find his throat painfully dry, his sudden jolt rewarded with familiar stabbing in a certain arm.
— In the present, the nurse(?) turned to one of several assistant palico. “Mind getting some more of those herbs for me? The ones crushed into paste. His skin’s… Yeah.” —
Reassurance was repeated. Ratha was unharmed, rather reminded of his place. Precautions were necessary, after all, especially given the immense power binding could gift. Protest it all Simon wanted, but he had seen Aenshin. He knew of its strength. Imagine if they encountered it while gathering what was necessary for the cure? What could possibly defend them against a god given mortality?
Equally as necessary was the invasion. It could take days or months or years until they could dispel the Encroachment. Besides… they may need another Skyscale.
Frankly, all Simon could do was panic. Last few instances of negotiation, he repeatedly begged for the prince to be left alone. For his best friend to be spared. Leo loved his Ratha more than himself!
Thinking back, he should’ve known better than to forgive. To trust, as if her desperation translated into rationality.
Casimiro spun a tale of their past once. Everyone in the nameless village knew, really, but it was the elder who inherited the truth. The red flags were all raised shamelessly high, suggesting a repeated trend, but… There was no other option, was there? Perhaps the Simon he was had died after Kris. And he just nodded as if it all made sense. Parroted the same excuse in hopes it was true. Deep down knew he was far too gone.
Ratha hated him, he thought. Coupled with the inevitability of Leo finding out about everything, really, would make him hate him. If he couldn’t return home with some form of salvation to justify his absence, then his people would hate him. What more was there to lose?
The queen's steady, commanding tone—like a rock splitting a stream—in that moment would forever be associated with his illness. Such a simple question of doubt he hadn’t openly expressed rewarded him with her hands across crystal.
“Let me remind you of what is at stake.”
She dug her nails in. Snapped his arm straight up.
All he could muster was the most inhuman, bone and blood-curling scream possible.
The whole room turned to him. Every monster and man knew.
He wished this version of Simon perished, too.
“So? How’s Simon holdin’ up?”
The mention of his name alone garnered enough attention to last the rest of the day.
Base had been next to dead for what seemed like centuries, the hustle and bustle amongst troops and residents a continent away. Despite six bodies surrounding it, the table collected dust, objects of study stagnant even with added clutter. There was no fanfare upon the Ranger’s return, at least amongst the few who knew of what transpired. Public events filled with funerals, individuals dispatched to clean an abandoned battlefield, nurses and volunteers slaving away within the limited safety of castle walls.
Call it foolish to get one’s hopes up in the midst of loss after loss. Yet here Kora was, her head as high as usual, her presence commanding. She knew the medical ward like the back of her hand, including the right words and moves that could make gears turn. That alone gave her seldom seen validity. Unwavering gaze locked on the prince, her voice made his grip on his quill lax.
“Turns out, your hypothesis was correct,” she began, an absent smile embracing her words. She gestured towards the simple trinket consisting of a vivid shard on a string that sat beside parchment. “The reaction between Ratha’s immunity and lady Amara’s pendant can banish crystal.”
Leo’s heart skipped a beat, one leg anxiously bouncing. “Then—”
“Is he cured?!” Thea interjected, also bouncing out of her seat, almost tipping her chair over.
There was initially nothing in return. Again, the world froze, as if trapped in the very quartz that had corrupted it. Then Kora spoke once more, a noticeable lump forming. “Thankfully, the crystalisis can’t spread any further. It can’t kill him, but his arm… may lose all functionality.”
A loud thud broke what should have been quiet, paper spread so far out it nearly ripped. Shaking, Leo stood over his work, now spoiled by inky droplets and a chipped quill tip, the tip’s host snapped in half. He didn’t move at first, taking on startled yet concerned stares.
All his ears did was block out the means to discern voices, with the only call for elaboration reaching him being, “How long? Does the medical team know?”
Kora softly hummed, pinching her chin. “Given how it’s degenerative, there’s a few factors to consider, though from experience, I can say he’s lucky to have lived for so long.”
“Took Lucas a year to bite it,” came a barely audible yet noticeable, bitter addition.
The mention of Lucas got Gaul to storm out, fists so tight that his normally perfectly unscathed glove may have torn.
Amputation was an obvious suggestion, though it was questionable if it would do any good, unless the state Simon was in allowed for easy infections garnered from other sources. Regardless of outcome, he’d lack an arm at some point. Finally, Leo jolted entirely upright, wordlessly leaving much as his lieutenant did, ignoring Rudy’s short lived call for His Highness to return before the realization struck.
Beelining towards the stables—which took no longer than five seconds at most—he called to his entrusted Rathalos only to be given two separate replies (if a disgruntled huff counted as a reply). To his right was Ratha, of course, excitedly clawing at hay bedding and stretching his wings, mattering little over if their tips grazed the ceiling. To his left was… also Ratha, albeit wilted and restrained to a pile, only lifting his head momentarily to respond, beak hastily restrained by rope. Monsties rarely attacked without command, so news of the poor wyvern almost attacking a volunteer only to be promptly tranquilized thinned the air to where even the strongest lungs could collapse under pressure. Drowsiness took hold once more, causing him to splay out as if dead.
Honestly, Leo wasn’t sure if seeing his Rathalos’s twin again was a blessing or a curse. A part of him continuously considered the wyvern ‘Ratha V,’ but that bound it to the kingdom that corrupted it instead of the miraculous lineage destined for greatness. At one point, he called it ‘Los,’ only for Thea to claim it was “too simple. I mean, Gaul ‘names’ his monsties stuff like Legia and Sereg. Anyways, why do you guys like taking out the last part of their names? At least Chirpy’s unique!”
(As if ‘Kagachi’ was all that creative, but good point?)
Perhaps it was his mother that settled on Ratha, or something Simon made up. Leo couldn’t say. Regardless, the confusion also lead to a breathing monument, and the red-blue lump could only be associated with a shell of the woman who birthed him along with the best friend on borrowed time.
As swiftly as Leo arrived, his Ratha had returned to the clouds, both of them electing to avoid the rickety wooden runway.
Against protocol? Absolutely. Did they care? No.
The last they had spent on it was one of bottled cocktails of emotions. Couldn’t say how many he possessed now overlapped.
Azuria reminded him far too much of Simon, and his return had yet to remove the uncanny atmosphere. From the lake the prince always managed to fall into only to be rescued by a far too unfortunate Legiana, rolling hills near the vineyards in which two carefree boys ran around to the behest of a king, woodland they’d both train and explore in…
It was all so innocent then. As if nothing could change the life they did have.
And he should have shut up. Didn’t matter if Simon would dodge the question a billion times, he should have asked. There had to have been something that alluded to the truth that he had missed, or some other way to just… prove him wrong ahead of time. Regardless of if there truly was no cure, it didn’t have to end at total paralysis that put basic functionality into stasis mode. Maybe he’d hate him for it, assuming he didn’t loathe the prince. For someone who considered an outsider the best person he’d ever known, he sure as hell didn’t know anything.
Grip locked on reigns, mindlessly circling the kingdom like Remobra to dragons or Odogaron to carrion, he considered letting go.