Chapter Text
Night was fading on the horizon, cold and comforting.
Lonely.
Wind Archer lay beside the Millennial Tree, resting, letting his limbs soak up the moment of calm finally granted to him after a long week. He had been battling day and night, one after another, after another, and after another, holding back the dark forces of Dark Enchantress Cookie.
A war had broken out, one unlike any Wind Archer had ever seen. The disorientation in the face of the unexpected is new, but unwelcome.
He is the wind, ever-changing; when something shifts in the grand scheme of things, he simply adapts. So, when his duty as a guardian calls upon him more than ever to protect the forest, to protect the Millennial Tree, he must adapt.
He adapts to the discomfort and exhaustion after fighting without rest, never voicing what ails him. His immortal body aches as it brushes against a limit he didn’t know he had. That is why his soul longs for and savors that moment, where nothing disturbs the forest’s peace, nor threatens it. He allows himself to recover.
There, in the stillness of the forest, even as his energy recovers, he feels a restlessness that has been troubling him ever since the catastrophe began. The silence all around, apart from his usual nighttime song, reminds him of the absence that has become increasingly noticeable over the months.
No Elemental remained unmoved by the catastrophe, by the flow of energy —intertwined among all living beings— that shattered in a grotesque manner. Some returned to their domains to offer whatever support they could, like Wind Archer, while others, more reckless, decided to join the heat of battle.
Far away.
If Wind Archer is to be honest with himself, he wanted to go with him. With Fire Spirit.
He wanted to be by his side in the difficult battles. If his guard slipped, he would be there to cover him. He would shoot at those who tried to harm and extinguish his flame. He would summon a devastating wind just to prevent any harm to the being of fire. Fire Spirit can take care of himself, but that brings Wind Archer no relief.
Fire Spirit is reckless and foolish; he throws himself into danger as if he couldn’t be hurt. Often, he doesn’t consider the possibilities, relying on the minimal damage his body usually sustains, somehow managing to accumulate more pain than should be necessary. But together, oh, Witches, together they work in an extraordinary way, never neglecting themselves because, otherwise, there would be no one to care for the other. They fight with an ease that comes naturally to them; the wind stokes the fire, and the fire warms the icy Wind, so it must be in the order of nature, and they, as faithful representatives of their elements, execute their violent dance to perfection.
That day, Fire Spirit said goodbye to him with a smile. He didn’t ask him to go with him, to battle together, nor did he ask him to stay alone in the forest. It was Wind Archer, the loyal Wind Archer, the dedicated and ever-selfless Wind Archer, who decided to remain within the forest’s domain to protect it, to protect the Millennial Tree from any evil that might come. Always faithful to his duty. Duty first, heart second. Fire Spirit didn’t even reproach him for it, as if he had known from the start that this would be the choice his lover would make.
With a chaste kiss, he bids him farewell and vanishes, leaving a trail of flames and then smoke in his wake.
A month later, he hasn’t seen him again. His days blend together in a cycle of struggle, wandering, and, occasionally, rest. The moments of rest are few and brief, as he ignores the silence that crushes him and reminds him of the absence that aches in his chest.
The routine has vanished, burning to ashes carried away by the wind. The chatter he took so long to get used to hasn’t embraced him in a long time; the warmth of another body —his warmth— is something he, having experienced it, didn’t know he would miss so much.
Sometimes he closes his eyes and feels. He seeks him, searching for him among those connections older than themselves, those connections that float and dance among the Elementals. Then he feels him.
Sometimes, agitated, perhaps fighting. Other times, calm, resting, and other times, he catches him searching for something beyond his sight, searching for him. Searching for each other. And that bond throbs in recognition, and he feels a pressure in his chest that is always welcome.
Like a revelation, an epiphany, he turns and begins to search beneath the foliage at the foot of the great tree, which is none other than the transformed Millennial Tree, protecting itself from the circumstances. Dozing. Wind Archer would not leave him alone.
After clearing away another layer of leaves, he finds what he was looking for: a notebook. It is rudimentary, old, with a roughly hewn wooden cover. A gift from Fire Spirit, made with his own hands. The pages are bound by stitches made of thin string; they are yellowed, and some even have small scorch marks along the edges.
He caresses the cover for a moment, and a smile spreads across his face. From between the pages, he pulls out a charcoal pencil that his boyfriend also gave him.
If he’s honest, he doesn’t use it often; he isn’t an artist seeking to capture his imagination on paper, nor is he a poet, and, to be perfectly frank, he doesn’t seek an outlet for his own thoughts either. That’s how the little notebook came to be a sort of logbook of specific situations: his encounters with Fire Spirit. Or, at least, his favorite encounters.
Even though he doesn’t keep a daily journal, there aren’t many blank pages left in the notebook. The first entry is from the day the notebook was placed in his hands. There’s another one where they’re having a snack together under a tree, alongside a quote that particularly amused Wind Archer. There are jokes, conversation topics, and notes about details he’s discovered about Fire Spirit. And now, he writes. Not to frame memories in words, but rather to let his flame know that he thinks of him constantly.
He leans against the tree trunk and begins to write a letter. He needs no other light source than the moon shining over the Forest —a moon that seems to shine more brightly than usual, as if Moonlight Cookie knew his intentions—.
He begins, and the words seem to write themselves.
His handwriting is small, but elegant, legible. Fire Spirit said it looked like the whisper of the wind turned into words. That is also jotted down on a page of the notebook.
He spends nearly half an hour writing, filling both pages.
As he is signing the letter, a leaf falls from the sky, landing on the notebook, and he pauses.
He turns his head upward, watching the treetops begin to sway in a gentle breeze over which he has no control. He senses, somehow, that there is an affectionate teasing in the gesture that only he, born of nature, can understand.
He tears off the letter and folds it carefully as the moon begins to disappear, swallowed by the sea, and the sun peeks over a distant horizon he cannot see, but he feels it. He feels the forest awakening, the flowers ready to rise and receive the light, animals waking up and others going to sleep. His rest lasted less than expected, but that’s fine; he doesn’t complain at all.
The songs of birds begin to surround him. A small bluebird lands on his shoulder, chirping, trilling, and flapping its wings as it sings a good-morning greeting. So much excitement this early in the morning. He knows who’s to blame and can’t help but shake his head in amusement.
It was thanks to Millennial Tree that Fire Spirit found the courage to confess. It was thanks to Millennial Tree that Wind Archer managed to calm the storm in his chest and accepted his feelings for Fire Spirit, after having avoided him for a week.
“Could you do me a favor?” A shake of the head was the little bird’s reply. “I need to deliver a letter to Fire Spirit. You know him, right? The guy with the flaming hair, the loud one."
The little bluebird chirps once, tilting its head. Wind Archer mimics the gesture without meaning to.
"Don’t worry, my winds will guide you and make your journey easier. I appreciate your kindness."
The little creature flutters its wings while still perched on the guardian’s shoulder. He smiles as he folds the letter even tighter and then gently ties it to the bird’s leg, making sure the piece of paper doesn’t hinder the animal’s movement, it doesn’t weigh it down, and it can use its little claws normally. Good.
"I’ll be waiting for you with a nice snack, would you like that?"
And with that in mind, the little creature left the archer behind, taking flight. Leaving the forest behind, leaving the safety of its home behind. Wind Archer summoned fresh winds, carrying the bird to its destination, guiding it along the safest paths.
"I’m going on patrol," he says to the big tree, which, in response, sways gently in the breeze again. The guardian smiles, tucking the small notebook back under the foliage, near the roots. His day begins. He needs to eat something for breakfast.
And as he thinks about when he last ate, a bluebird delivers a letter. It flies over the sea, unknown forests, barren lands. It flies over villages, kingdoms, battlefields —it doesn’t care if they were won or lost, or who fought them— and finally, after a couple of days of travel, it arrives at the Dragon Valley.
Everything is hot, and when it finally stops flying and settles at the entrance to a large cave, it begins to sing. It can withstand the stifling air; it stopped to bathe and eat something before reaching the realm of the lava pools.
Its song catches the attention of the one it sought; from inside the cave, a light approaches the entrance, and the Fire Elemental himself appears.
"Hey, little buddy, what are you doing here?"
The little bird pecks at its own leg, pointing to the piece of paper it’s holding. Fire Spirit frowns, crouching down to get a better look.
"Is that for me? Is it from Windy? Is he okay?"
He reaches out to untangle the letter, opening it hurriedly. But as he reads, a smile spreads across his face.
A sigh.
A glance at the sky.
A glance at the bonds between the guardians, at him.
"Thanks, buddy." He regulates his body temperature just enough to touch and stroke the bluebird’s head, which flutters with amusement. He takes flight quickly, heading home.
Fire Spirit reads the letter again, enchanted by the words. He traces the familiar handwriting on the paper.
«My dearest, Fire Spirit,» it begins.