Chapter Text
The Azure Knight brought much fanfare to Erebonian lands no matter where it landed. The sacred weapon had come to be known as a symbol of the overwhelming dominance of the Noble Alliance, coating itself with prayers of uttermost devotion. Soldiers under Duke Cayenne’s command addressed the machine through the pleas of a sinner, steadfast in their belief that its mere existence proved there was meaning in the deaths they had wrought—their personal form of salvation.
The Imperial Chronicle sang its praises for the Azure Chevalier, and much was said of the inhuman acuity he displayed as he slashed through gaggles of soldiers like stomping over colonies of ants. This was the only man capable of piloting a machine so terrifying it could turn the tides of battle merely by asserting its own existence. Yet, in spite of the pilot’s growing acclaim, he remained shrouded in mystery. His face had never been printed in newspapers, and his name remained unknown to the everyman of the Empire.
There were no sounds that typically accompanied performance as the Divine Knight made his descent into Einsegard Range, and there was no audience who would gather around the perilous environment of the mountains. Curtains lowered, the young man dubbed the hero of the Noble Alliance exited his Divine Knight, setting foot into the rocky terrain below. The icy winds battered at Crow’s exposed face from all directions, almost as if reprimanding his very act of being here. Still, as he would always do until he could no more, he put one foot in front of the other and kept walking.
His destination was not far from where he landed. The sight of a disabled machine—looking worn and frail despite its short period of activation—came into view. The Ashen Knight nestled against a cliff, protecting its Awakener like the cradle of a mother nurturing her cub back to health. There was no sight of the cat Crow knew lingered about the area.
He did not dare look away from the sight. It was his duty to commit it to memory, the same way he committed to memory all the destruction his actions had brought. It had been Crow, and Crow alone, who held a sniper gun firmly in his hands on that sunny day. And it had been Crow, and Crow alone, who pulled the trigger without care either for the life of one man or for his own.
The least he could do was carry that weight with his head held high, for anything short of certainty would be a betrayal of everyone he had loved and wronged.
And yet, there was something about this frantic search for Rean that stuck out like a nail waiting to be hammered down. Gotta pay off the interest, he repeated to himself in an attempt to straighten it out. But the nail stood just as tall when his grip on the familiar tachi and ARCUS tightened. He deposited the items on top of a nearby rock, careful not to make a sound.
If his guess was correct, Rean would wake up in around two days. That was good enough for him. Crow could not afford being accosted by his enemy so late in the game. Pinning down Rean’s exact whereabouts a month ago had already made his head throb with enough stress once, and the weeks of routinely cleaning the area of monsters made certain that same stress never left. It was about time he sorted out the final loose end that stayed his feet and left for good.
Gra…teful…
A faint robotic voice ambushed Crow out of the recesses of his own mind. It was a noise so faint and distorted it would not have been heard if not for the silence of the mountains. Crow did not express surprise at being addressed by the Ashen Knight when he turned to the machine, hands clasped behind his head in a show of casual frivolity. “Sheesh. Being found out at the last stretch is kinda demoralizing.” He winked then, bringing a finger to his lips as he spoke, “But hey, if you’re so grateful, think you can keep a guy’s little secret from that stubborn Awakener of yours? You know how that guy is, going up in arms about every small detail. He doesn’t need anything confusing on his mind first thing when he wakes up, don’tcha think?”
The Divine Knight did not respond, and he could only hope it would assent to his request. Crow returned to Ordine’s cockpit in a haste, flying away.
His body all but dismantled as the familiarity and safety of his partner enveloped him. He let out a breath he had been holding for far too long then. Just paying off the last bit of what he still owed for the sake of a clean break. Right. A debt, like the books he had returned to the librarian or the tab at the school cafeteria he had made sure to pay off in full. Otherwise, what logic was there in beating someone senseless and extending a helping hand right after? Crow was simply someone who honored his debts. He sprawled all over his seat and sighed miserably. Stupid. Too damn stupid, all of this.
His brain fumbled around for an answer that would make everything slot neatly in place, but came up empty each time. He had no idea what he was even looking for.
"You're kind, Crow," Ordine’s voice resounded cleanly in his ears as warm as it was cutting, “but far too troublesome without need. I understand the complex position you have undertaken, and I do not think you have held yourself poorly. However, it would do you well to tackle problems in a straightforward manner once in a while.”
“Damn, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Crow slammed his forehead against the command terminal and remained there. He could not say he ever thought of himself as kind, and the notion grew ever more ridiculous to him as the civil war claimed even more lives each day. “Kind and straightforward, huh? What, you wanna be Rean's Divine Knight instead?” he spat, taken aback by the derision in his own voice.
“Heh. I made no mention of the Ashen Awakener,” Ordine responded jovially.
Crow clicked his tongue. “All right, I walked into that one. Not gonna try arguing with ya again. Lesson learned.” He drew himself up straight, pressing a hand to his chest in a mock oath of sincerity meant to bring the conversation to a close.
There was nothing more to talk about. His work was done. There was no more debt, and nothing else he needed to do for Rean.
Unhurried, Divine Knight and Awakener made their way back to the Pantagruel. Today had been one of the days he had argued back and forth with Rufus to leave him to his own devices for just a moment. As a result, he found himself with very little to do. He studied the lands stretching out below him with disinterest. A whole bunch of nothing, and some more loads of nothing. At least the area seemed relatively untouched by the war, he supposed. Rean wouldn’t have to wake up to the sight of his homeland ravaged beyond recognition. Great. Wasn’t that such great comfort? He could almost laugh.
An unforeseen element interrupted his droll brand of self-mockery. He peered down at it scornfully. A Magic Knight. Vita had warned him of the golems from the Dark Ages, and he took to disposing of them whenever he found the time. A bit of community service never hurt anyone, eh? He’s gotta set an example for the kids… Well, kid. The little girl Rufus liked ordering around, the one with white hair, emotional range of a rock, bunny outfit, the works. He couldn’t even recall if they had ever spoken. He wondered if she liked sweets, she's a kid after all. Well, that didn’t matter right now.
Ordine destroyed the Magic Knights without much effort, for the creatures were nothing but shadows of what a Divine Knight truly was. They allowed him no time to relish in his victory as more enemies spawned without rest. He needed to have a word with Vita later; this was getting out of hand—
His breath caught in his throat suddenly.
In two days Rean would rouse from his sleep. The group of Magic Knights seemed to march toward the same destination. Crow connected both statements, and the conclusion they formed stirred in him a muted sense of urgency. There was no way he could rush to Rean’s aid without compromising his position. He grabbed an ARCUS he had prepared as a contingency—an old one that couldn’t be linked back to him—and called Toval, firing off at the seasoned Bracer a string of coordinates and points of reference on how to find Rean. Word after word shot out of his mouth like bullets, so frenzied he was in his instructions that it left Toval no room to say anything after the Hello? Toval speaking.
Crow hung up.
He had accounted for this earlier in the day when he scoped out the place. Toval was already in the area and should arrive there on time.
Crow fell silent.
That’s right. His work was done. There was no more debt, and nothing else he needed to do for Rean.
Crow gritted his teeth.
Why then? Why did he go to such lengths for a debt he knew was nothing more than a joke? The traces of that day still lingered so vividly in his memories he could call forth its image as easily as moving a limb. A coin. A sheepish plea. Pale skin picking up red notes from the crackles of a campfire, and a naivety of character that remained still unmarred. The contrast drew attention to the earnestness of a boy who didn’t want to be separated from someone he had grown close to, and the dancing of the flames now seemed a small thing next to the hidden fire in his eyes. But it was Crow who had put out that fire by his own will. Why then, could he not let go?
“You already know the answer,” said Ordine.
He did. But what did it matter, if he knew the answer could never change the destination he was headed?
Crow broke into a cough.
What began as pinpricks of discomfort escalated into a searing pain so numbing and violent he staggered in his seat, doubling over the command terminal. Thorns punctured a lung as roots coiled around one another. A foreign mass lodged itself into his throat. Then it grew. Bigger and bigger, it grew, pressing down his lungs, his airways, his throat. He clenched the fabric of his shirt, gasping for air when all he could feel was the taste of blood and iron in his tongue. He clamped his mouth shut, an act of rebellion in its own right. His body screamed at him in protest, pleading for him to expel the violating object. But Crow bit it down. He bit it down with nothing but the strength of his fear of what would come out.
And come out it would, as each visceral cough flaked away at his will and sense with a certainty that all it needed to do was bide its time until Crow was completely wrung out.
The moist cluster fought its way up through gritted teeth as blood and saliva mixed, escaping first through the corners of his mouth and dripping down his chin. Unbidden, it came out at last, spilling out almost as if basking in the joyous glee of being free.
The coalescing liquids stuck blue petals to his clothes, forming a trail from his throat all the way down to his thighs. Pale and stricken, Crow still found in himself enough strength to direct a wry smile to the small, dainty flower sitting over the palm of his hand. Definite proof of his defeat.
The plant piqued Crow’s curiosity, who felt it around his palm with a studious gaze. An anecdote from Vita sprang to mind, kicking his brain's gears into motion as the identity of the flower made itself clear to him. Something else rose up from his battered throat and burst out of his mouth then. Laughter. A cold, hoarse and weak sound, but laughter all the same. He laughed until he could no longer hear Ordine’s worried voice and the thud of a heart beating frantically. He laughed and laughed, at the memories of a boy, at the sheer irony of his ultimate destiny. He ran a hand through his hair and threw his head back as the humor of it all threatened to crush him.
Whatever curse this was, it had a good sense of humor. Crow was hardly someone so dour that he couldn't appreciate a good sense of humor.
It was night out, and most of the Pantagruel crew were long asleep. Crow felt most at home when surrounded by the rustle and bustle of people, but the lack of it mattered little. Time blurred together in the luxurious airship, for a grim and dull air seemed to cling to each of its walls and pieces of finery no matter the hour or who lounged about. It was hardly the kind of place Crow would visit for fun, and every aspect of it screamed work to him.
Good company in the Noble Alliance was a rare thing, Crow found, and there were few people he could chat over drinks with. That’s why he had made a bit of a habit out of going to the airship’s bar with McBurn whenever they crossed each other. Now just so happened to be one of those times. The Black Rabbit also stood near the bar, back pressed against the wall. Crow glanced at the image of her reflected in his glass of beer: face as blank and unreadable as a white sheet, studying his movements in silence. It was no different from having Rufus Albarea spying on him from afar through the lenses of a camera, yet Crow could not find it in himself to be threatened by the presence of a simple kid, and he lowered his guard against better judgement. Maybe that was Rufus’ angle, and Crow snorted at the thought. Oh, well. He had to give it to the guy. No matter how questionable the company, Crow might lose his mind soon if everyone he had to talk to was Duke Cayenne or Rufus Albarea, so he’d take anyone at this point. Even if they were homunculi, jaegers or Ouroboros Enforcers, it was not like Crow could boast of his morality himself to think any less of them.
“Say, you a friend of that kid with the Ashen Knight?” McBurn asked in between a swig of beer.
He never would have expected to hear Rean’s name coming out of any of his colleagues’ mouths so soon. Altina seemed as surprised as he, judging by the twitch of her brow at the mention of that name.
Right. That raid of Duke Albarea’s. Altina had been there, hadn’t she? Crow remembered well the distaste he had felt for the man upon finding out he had needlessly dragged Rean’s sister into it on top of everything else. Well, it wasn’t like he had any grounds to scold him anyway. One of his comrades had done the same in the past.
Crow lifted his glass of beer and sloshed it around absently, distorting Altina’s image. “What are you talking about?” Crow flung a pointed question back at him, not nearly as buzzed as he wished he was.
McBurn did not seem to pay any mind to either of them. “Saw him earlier at that place they sent me to.”
Crow considered his words for a moment. “I'm not too sure if ‘friends’ is what I'd call it.” Something tickled his throat. He took another chug of his drink to wash it down.
“Whatever. That's all the same to me.” Languidly like he still was half asleep, McBurn took another swig. A twinkle passed his eyes then, and he broke into a grin. “Kid's got potential though. There's something in him, I could feel it when we fought.”
Crow choked, struggling to maintain his composure at this new piece of information. Rean fought McBurn and he hadn't even heard of it? The tickling soon turned into the feeling of his throat getting mauled by beasts. “Pretty big deal if the praise's coming from ya. How'd he do?” Crow asked instead, clutching the fabric of his pants below the table to steady himself from the pain.
McBurn shrugged. “It was a boring fight the way he was.” And he ended it there.
No elaboration was needed for Crow to know Rean had been completely trounced. There's no way McBurn was allowed to kill him, as it would throw all of Vita's plans in disarray, but it did little to curb his worry. “Shame,” said Crow. He downed the rest of the drink in one go, but the alcohol had little effect, for his head was still clear and the burning in his throat even more pronounced. “Actually, somethin’ just came up, you know how it is, crushing popularity and all.” He waved at the other before rising to his feet. “See ya.”
He rushed out of the room.
The Pantagruel’s carpeted flooring seemed to turn into tightrope as he tottered along the hallways, his surroundings twisting and blurring until he could not make sense of anything except the unbearable pain in his chest and throat. He swayed from left to right and hurled curses with every missed step and near fall before he reached his room and collapsed as soon as he arrived. He heaved and gasped for air in between the fits of coughing. Petals and flowers spilled from his mouth onto the floor. It gave him little reprieve from the pain, but he had long since reached his limit after days of stubbornly not allowing a single petal out.
Time passed as it had continued to do ever since the Blood and Iron Chancellor’s death: in one big jump of unawareness that made Crow think the only place he could live in was the present. He didn’t know how long it had taken his body to regain its sense of calm.
The little energy he had left he used to dispose of the blue flowers, throwing them out the window. Having his weakness discovered in such a place crawling with shady schemers would mark his end if he was not careful.
Crow turned back, coming to face with his own reflection in the mirror. Only then did he recognize how pale and sickly he still looked, the realization pumping a wave of adrenaline through his veins as alarms blared in his mind. Shit. He needed some air.
Given the almost ostentatious enormity of the airship, there was no shortage of places for Crow to unwind. He paced around leisurely with no particular destination in mind, merely hoping to shake off the damage done by this curse. His wandering took him somewhere he knew he could cut loose without interruptions.
The vastness of the empty deck stood in contrast to his solitary figure as he leaned against the ship’s railing. Crow busied himself by recalling a time that seemed so long gone now as he counted the stars above one by one, wondering if someone else was also looking at the same sky he did now. He wondered if they shone any brighter from Ymir.
The faint aroma of lavender wafted in the air, shaking Crow awake from that pointless daydream.
“Oh my, I’ve never taken you for a romantic,” the elegant voice of a woman echoed.
“Ah, Vita. Didn’t know you were back,” said Crow. He didn’t tear his gaze away from the starry sky.
The witch seized the space by Crow’s side with the familiarity of someone who had done it countless times before. She carried herself with an exuberance that seemed to ensnare everyone she met under her spell without the need of magic at all. “Your favorite junior seems to be everywhere lately, hm?”
Crow heaved a sigh, slumping further down the railing. Of course she’d heard right as she returned to the Pantagruel. It was hard not to, when McBurn himself out of all people seemed so chatty about the topic. He bit the flower down and cleared his throat before responding, “Hah! That guy’s never learned to leave well enough alone.” And for a moment, he was unsure of who he meant.
Vita chuckled in amusement, throwing her hair over the shoulder. “He’s quite skilled, that one. Who would have thought he’d come this far?”
Crow’s lips curled in a strained smile. “He’s a bit of a drama queen, but he has determination in spades to make up for it.” More surged up within him. He did his best to ignore the way his entire body burned. Damn, maybe he should’ve just kept quiet.
“I can see why you favor him so. But even I could never have guessed,” she stretched her arm forward, the long sleeves of her dress billowing in the wind as she towered over the lands below, “just how deep your favor would run.” Several little flowers fell from her hand. The strong currents swept them away, painting the black canvas of the night with a string of blue.
“And here I was thinkin’ I handled that well.” He gave a bark of laughter, humorless to anyone who heard it. “Man, I’m starting to think I suck at this whole keeping things under wraps business. How did no one find me out back in Thors?”
“Crow,” Vita’s eyes grew grave, boring holes at him with the severity of her gaze. “Do you know what this means for yourself?”
“I dunno about the specifics of your whole magic stuff, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess its source. I’ll just tough it out until I sort out the stuff with the war.”
“You will die,” Vita stated simply. “If this goes on, in a few months, you will certainly—”
“In that case, hurry up and tell me the fix,” Crow cut her off without ceremony, as absently as when speaking of someone else’s problems.
She tore her gaze away, and did not speak.
A gust crossed them, the lapels of their clothes rustling in the wind.
“Thought so,” Crow stated just as simply.
“I can make it so the flower’s curse leaves you alone through other means,” proposed the witch, her nails digging into her sleeve. “Tampering with memory is a small trifle for me, and besides, it is quite the unobtrusive spell. You don’t need to forget Rean, only the little things that endeared you to him. Like the way he smiles, or mundane conversations you shared. You know how it is. It’s always the small things that allow room for curses to bind you.”
“Heh. What a handy thing you got there, those spells of yours. Why stop at small? Go big or go home, I say. What else can it clean up for poor little me? The Blood and Iron Chancellor, Jurai, my grandfather? Or, even better, my years at Thors? Hell, whatever's left of me might as well go by a different name after you're done.” Crow's easy smile refused to leave his face, but he clung to the railing as if to stop himself from fading away. “Tell you what: I’ve got too many titles already, and don’t even have a clue what to do with most of ‘em these days. Can’t say I’m raring to get another.”
“Such a heartless man you are.” She smiled, a sad little thing compared to the presence she normally commanded. “I must say, any woman eventually grows weary of being turned down so many times.”
His hold slackened at the teasing he was so familiar with. “Really? All these years, and I’ve never found any woman like you."
“Flattery will get you nowhere now, I'm afraid,” Vita giggled, and the sound of it was itself a curse Crow had once dodged. “Had I known my knight thought so much of me, perhaps I would have pressed a little harder and prevented this debacle from coming to pass.”
That wouldn’t have changed anything, the thought rose up from the crevices of his mind with a certainty that he scarcely could bring himself to understand. He had carved this path with his own hands, and he would walk it to the end. “Who’s your knight? Who?” he rebuked instead.
“Always so difficult. But I like that about you.” She looked down. “Come to me once a week. My spells can keep the symptoms at bay.”
“Nah, don’t need it. I’m getting by just fine on my own.”
The great witch seemed to have found humor just as great in that response. “Well then, if you are so tough, surely you can handle this much.” She ignored him entirely, placing a hand over Crow’s back. “Shall we begin?”
The alluring touch of the witch quickly turned electric from the surge of mana entering his body. The hand on his back glowed a faint blue as Vita cast her spell. Her power entangled itself with his lungs and squeezed as if playing with a toy. Crow hunched over the railing and retched in response, vomiting a stream of bloodied flowers. It was endless, the vomiting. It cascaded from his mouth like a waterfall, and just as constant. Crow did not know how long he spent purging everything that had taken root inside him. After he was done, he panted and heaved, his throat burning as fiercely as his shame.
He glared at her and opted for letting his eyes do the speaking, not trusting his voice to come out right just yet.
Vita hid a smile behind her hand, chuckling. “Aww, and here I thought you had it all under control. Poor thing.”
“The hell did you do?” Crow blurted out hoarsely even then. He massaged his throat in an attempt to assuage the pain.
“Now, now. There’s no need to take your anger out on me. I simply eased the congestion in your lungs.” Vita tapped a finger over her chin and winked, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. “This curse is not so different from a chest cold, you see. They share many symptoms. Except, rather than mucus, what clogs your airways is, well, flowers. Certainly I’ve made it so it’s easier for you to breathe.”
She was right. Despite how sore he was all over, he could finally draw a long deep breath he hadn’t been able to in so long. Relief washed over him, overturning the annoyance he felt at her prying. “Thanks for that. Guess I owe ya now, huh?”
Vita held up a hand in dismissal. “Please, save your gratitude. I can do little else besides helping you let it all out, or cooling you down if a fever comes over you.” She smiled quite sadly, and he would have almost thought it sweet if it hadn’t come from her.
Still, Crow returned the smile. “Eh, that’s enough for a simple guy like me.” He clasped his hands behind his head, pressing his back against the railing. “Rufus is gonna get my ass before this curse does if I start slackin’ any more than I do. Plus, I gotta play my part on that plan of yours and wrap up this war,” he paused. “As long as I’m still alive and kicking until then, I've got zero complaints about what happens after.”
“Is that so?” Vita whispered, her words directed more to the dark of the sky than to Crow. She seemed to stop and think a little then, before tossing something his way in response.
Crow grabbed it midway, raising a brow at the sight of the familiar flower. How many of these had she even kept?
“I quite like that flower. Romantic, isn't it?” She cast her gaze to the entrance, where a small silhouette watched them from afar. “Our little friend here certainly seems to think so.”
Crow was taken aback. He had been so out of it he scarcely had a mind to spare to detect the presence following him. “Heh. Guess that’s how you found me out.” He smiled wryly at Vita, then turned to the impassive little girl coated in layers of black. He brought a finger to his lips and winked. “Hey, thanks for worrying, but let’s keep this a secret between the three of us, what do ya say? I’ll make it worth your while.”
Altina cocked her head in confusion. “I do not seem to understand the meaning of your words. I only informed the Azure Abyss of my findings for the sake of maintaining the health of a valuable asset, and will report it as such.” And he knew she meant every word, as there was no hidden meaning in the practical words of the girl.
The sincerity of it was really funny to Crow. “No dice, eh? All right, I’ll suck it up. Victory is all yours today, lil’ lady.”
Altina did not deign him with a response.
“Well then, this was quite the lively night, was it not? But I’m afraid all good things must come to an end.” Vita smiled pleasantly at him instead, but years of knowing each other betrayed there was far more she had to say. Yet she did not. “I wish you the best of luck,” was her final declaration. She fell into pace with Altina, the pair making way back inside. The sound of her heels clicking against the deck of the Pantagruel grew fainter the further the distance between them stretched.
“Luck, huh?” Crow’s lips shaped themselves around the word. He did not tear his gaze from the flower sitting gingerly atop his hand.
That’s right. Luck was the final piece that decided the outcome of any game. No matter how well he planned his steps, how hard he worked, it was luck that selected the victors. The Blood and Iron Chancellor seemed to have had lots of it before Crow came around, whereas his grandfather was left with none before his death.
But luck without skill accomplished little. Quietly, he thought of Rean, who had sworn to defeat him and bring him back, a month ago. No amount of good fortune could have changed the outcome of that fight, but he knew Rean to be someone forever entangled with luck even more intimately than the average person, both the good and bad of it. Call it a hunch he had. If Rean obtained the expertise to accompany such luck, then maybe, just maybe…
Crow crushed the frail flower in his hand and walked off.
Speaking of luck.
It was something Crow was beginning to understand he never really had; evidenced by the gaggle of Magic Knights presently caging him in on all sides.
The air in Eisengard Range was as chilly as the last time he had come weeks past, and just as unpleasant. He was raised in a bustling seaside city that was pleasantly warm at its coldest, he couldn’t say he had any affinity for this kind of weather.
“Shit,” he cursed, dodging a blow that would have spelled his end had it hit its target.
It was a funny story, how he ended up here. Earlier today, Crow had returned to the Pantagruel after another successful battle against the reformists. He let Ordine rest after the grueling work, but was still disquieted himself, craving to move his body and expend some of the excess energy. Call him reckless or stupid for going out unguarded on a stroll in Eisengard Range, sure, but was it so bad to want to kill some monsters to let off steam? He didn’t think so, but fate itself appeared to disagree.
Agile as a cat, he balanced the shots of his twin guns and his arts with mastery despite the absence of his double saber. He lost count of the amount of Magic Knights he took down by himself, a feat impressive in its own right, but stripped of its glory by the speed in which they replenished their losses. Caught in the undertow of the enemy’s unrelenting onslaught, Crow was once more reminded of his own humanity as he panted and sweated, growing more haggard the more wounds marred his skin. He had no doubts he might have broken some fingers and sprained an ankle, to speak nothing of the cuts littering his body. Damn his poor luck. He didn't even know why he had chosen this place and left his favored weapon behind.
Well, regardless of his guns or double saber, it was the ability to control himself that Crow regarded as his deadliest asset. No matter how exhausted he was, it gave him immunity to the haze that often took hold of others in the heat of a hopeless situation. It was this skill that had given him the edge against opponents more skilled than he in battle, but less so in the handling of their own emotions. But now, surrounded by enemies that were more inhuman than even he pretended to be, he was at a loss. Damned oversized dolls. He considered his options. Ordine was too far away, and would not come in time. The barren land offered nothing he could use to his advantage, not even an unsteady slope or battered wall he could strike at to trigger a landslide. And to top it all off, Eisengard Range was a neutral area with no Noble Alliance soldiers he could signal to. Should this be when he started thinking back on his life? Nah, too lame. He would go down fighting to the last—
“Crow?!”
The familiar voice shouting his name was far more terrifying than his impending death.
The boy he knew so well leaped in front of him, stopping the colossal fist from striking Crow by shielding him with his tachi. Rean shone almost blindingly in his act of gallantry, and the clouds overhead moved aside as if to welcome his arrival. Rays of sunlight illuminated the boy and the path he had cut open, beckoning passage. It was quite the heavy-handed setup, if you asked Crow.
They looked at each other then, and nodded. Nothing needed to be said for the pair to know to link up their ARCUS units and jump into battle as one.
“Are you—” Rean began in the midst of a slash of his tachi, “injured?” Another strike. “What are you doing here?” A Magic Knight fell before him. Two more took its place.
“Whoa there! That’s my line.” Crow clicked his tongue, casting a defensive art over the two of them. “Less talk, more running!” He took Rean by the arm, who staggered at the force of the pull.
Night had fallen. Crow ran in a frenzied daze then, forgoing all rationality in favor of getting Rean somewhere safe. With dozens of golems hot on their heels, they ran and ran feverishly until a cave at the foot of a mountain entered their view. Crow pulled Rean along and shoved him inside. Magic Knights raced right past them, and the strength of their stampede triggered a landslide from above, essentially trapping both of them inside the cave.
They stared, pale as a sheet, at their blocked exit, and said nothing.
Dammit, he could not even reach Ordine with his mind. Crow didn't know if the blocked connection was brought about from the presence of the Magic Knights messing with the spirit veins, but he was certain Rean was in the same boat.
Those freaks! So much for not being able to trigger landslides!
Limbs leaden, Crow all but collapsed over the rocks of the cavern. It was only through the strength of his will that he raised one knee up and planted a hand on the ground to steady himself instead of falling on his butt. There’s no way he would ever let Rean see him do something so lame. Hold on just a minute. Rean. Fear struck him. Crow flung a hand to his throat in a hurry. It tickled. Warmth crept up his body, dizzying him.
“Are you hurt?” whispered Rean with red rimmed eyes in concern. He kneeled beside Crow and reached out a hand to touch him, moving carefully as if tending to a wounded wild animal. His fingers fluttered just over the hand wrapped around Crow’s throat. Crow flinched in response, and so did Rean at the sight of it, who pulled away and curled his hand into a fist. He cast his gaze down. “Sorry. I overstepped.”
The pain was muffled by the fog in his mind, but he still could feel the cluster of flowers gnawing at the walls of his throat and the taste of blood in his mouth. He bit it down fiercely. So many days of being constantly worn down by some curse would make any guy numb to the pain after a certain point. What could he say? Crow was a quick learner. “Sheesh. You’re acting like I hit ya.” He took Rean’s clenched fist and unfurled it finger by finger. Rean was warm. “Chill out, man. I’m okay.” Mentally, he braced himself for another twist of pain that never came.
Tension left Rean’s body at that, but his concern only became more pronounced after he took notice of how wrung out Crow looked. “More like you got hit by those Magic Knights all day!” His sadness morphed into blazing fury then. Fury so all-consuming his body trembled in anger. “How could they do this to you?!”
Crow sighed, as exasperated as it was fond. He distinctly remembered how stricken Rean had been to learn of his past. More stricken than Crow had ever even allowed himself to express in all these years. The memory came to him hazy and distant, filtered through dizziness and waves of pain, but he did as he had done that day, and reached out a hand to tousle Rean’s hair. It was almost unbearably warm. “It’s fine, it’s fine! C’mon, you really think Ol’ Crow here would ever get done in by those guys?”
Momentarily appeased, Rean hung his head and basked in the caress. If he was a puppy, his tail would be wagging, Crow remarked in amusement. Rean pleaded, “Please, let me help. I can’t do any healing magic like Emma, but I took first aid lessons at Thors just like you.”
“Dude, you’re weird. Who helps out the enemy?” said Crow. It was at that moment that the curse returned for another bout. He winced, groaning.
“You’re my friend!” He shouted, the desperation in it enough to stun Crow into silence.
Rean took no time rummaging through his jacket in search of items. He began with the obvious Tearals, but soon moved into the more mundane world of medicine. He washed Crow’s cuts with water as delicately as cleaning up porcelain. It was all too dramatic in his opinion, and Crow smiled wryly, lamenting the waste of clean water when the two of them were essentially trapped for the foreseeable future. But he dared not say a word to not further stoke the flames of Rean’s anger.
“Where are the others, anyway? It’s real weird seeing you by yourself,” Crow ventured.
“Oh. Er. Busy. Gerald had a request for me and I figured it was simple enough to do on my own.” Embarrassment struck him. “Haha. Guess I was wrong.”
Crow karate chopped him on top of the head. Rean winced. “You idiot!” Crow scolded him firmly.
Rean was unfazed. “If I’m an idiot, what does that make you?! You were here alone too!”
“What, you want me to hit up Duke Cayenne for a leisurely stroll?” Crow’s brain conjured images of going out for some ice cream with the head of the Noble Alliance. He grimaced. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
Judging by the mirrored grimace on Rean’s face, similar visions seemed to have come to him. Crow had to force himself not to laugh as Rean shook his head, giving Crow the stink eye. “Don’t forget I’m dragging you back to Thors,” he reminded him instead. Earnest brows crushed together from the burden of concentration, he bandaged Crow’s wounded arm with a carefulness that bordered on clumsiness. It warmed Crow up from the chill that further settled in his body as time passed by.
Crow smirked. “You sure? That cheap sword you got on the Ashen Knight ain’t really inspiring much confidence.” If his sight began to dim, he did not let it show.
“I-I’m working on it!” The jab made Rean’s hands slip, and the bandage was fastened tight enough to nearly strangle the life out of Crow's poor arm.
“Ouch!” Crow cried out, exaggerating the pain a tad.
“Ah! I’m so sorry!” Rean apologized sincerely, none the wiser.
It was only when Crow broke into laughter that Rean seemed to realize he had been tricked. He sulked, continuing his work despite.
Done with his ministrations, Rean sat cross legged by Crow’s side, hands nestled between his legs. Crow stretched his arms above his head and allowed himself to relax, head lolling over his shoulders. “Man, this sucks. I wasn’t really planning on spending my day like this, y’know. I'm a busy man.”
“The others should find us before the sun rises,” Rean offered, ever the optimist.
“Hah. Better them than whoever comes for me,” he said dryly. “Talk about a nightmare crew!”
“Haha. Xeno and Leonidas didn’t sound so bad to me. They seem to have taken good care of Fie. I’m grateful for that.” Rean’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Maybe they would agree to grab ice cream with you instead.”
Crow really didn’t want to think about a pair of unattractive old dudes while already in a grim situation. There was no reason to make it grimmer when he could be looking at his cute junior instead. He leaned over, wiggling his brows at Rean. “Nevermind that. You got any food on you? ‘Cause I don’t have even a loaf of bread on me.”
“Oh. Umm… Yeah, I do.” Rean grew sheepish then, scratching his cheek. He whipped out two round wrappings from his item bag and offered one to Crow, eyes wandering around. “Haha. Sorry, it’s kinda embarrassing, isn’t it? Maybe I’m overstepping my bounds, but I didn’t mean anything by it and just liked it so much I tried my hand at recreating the taste… Oh! But it’s still nowhere as good as yours and it’s also pretty cold by now…” he trailed off, words slurring together into a mumble. “I hope I didn’t offend you,” he muttered shyly.
It was a fish burger.
Crow stared at the dish in his hands. Irrefutable proof of Rean’s acceptance of a piece of Crow’s life stared back. Who would think Rean would so readily make it a piece of himself in return? Crow was so cold and weak he could hardly think. Words failed him as tenderness enveloped him in its embrace, threatening to swallow him whole from the inside out. It was a feeling far scarier and more suffocating than the flower’s curse could ever be.
“Man, what are you even on about?” He smiled, a small and brittle thing. He fought against tenderness’s embrace, and let the dreadful coldness consume him instead. “It’s just fast food, not a five star dish from some fancy restaurant. You got things a bit topsy-turvy over here, don’tcha think—” and then his body slackened, and a wave of pain hit him as suddenly as a thunderclap.
He staggered back, coughing, but did not allow anything else to show. In no time at all Rean came closer, a steadying hand on Crow’s chest and back. The touch burned as painful as Rean’s concern for him. “It’s fine—” Crow slurred.
Rean’s face was impossibly close to his own, the tips of their noses touching. Crow averted his gaze, the curse ravaging his throat with renewed intensity as he did so. But Rean persisted, chasing Crow’s eyes with the same vigor as when he chased after Crow. “This has nothing to do with the Magic Knights.” His face twisted with sadness. “Are you sick?”
Never had Crow felt as wicked as when he peered at Rean’s clear eyes, yet they refused to give him a break the same way the curse refused to allow him rest. “Nah. Just a cold!” He reassured cheerily, but it came out hoarse and strangled. His mind became hazier and hazier, and control of himself slipped through his hands as he stood powerless to stop it.
Rean removed Crow’s bandana before placing a hand over his forehead. His eyes widened when skin met skin. “Crow! You’re burning up!” He laid Crow’s head down on his lap in a hurry, but not unkindly.
“I am?” He asked dumbly. His brain was quite slow right now, and all he could really feel was how warm Rean was. It was nice. Ah. Vita did say the flower's curse caused fevers, didn’t she? Well shit. Sue him for thinking that detail wasn’t very relevant compared to the searing pain it inflicted upon him daily. What kind of sadistic freak had invented this damn curse? Crow had some choice words for them. A damp cloth was placed over Crow’s burning forehead. Burning? Right. Burning. He was burning. Even though he was terribly cold. But he was also terribly warm. Rean's touch was so warm. Rean was so close now. Rean’s lips were so close. How he had longed to kiss them even now. Rean turned away. What a shame. He wanted Rean to stay. Crow’s hand reached for Rean’s cheek.
The other boy immediately stilled then, dropping whatever he held in surprise. “Crow?” He peered down worriedly. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
Enamored by the color of his eyes, Crow pulled him closer. Rean gasped in response, a pretty red coloring his cheeks. Crow was elated. He knew it. He knew Rean liked him. He wasn’t so dense as to not know that. Even after everything Crow had done. Even after everything Crow had denied. He knew Rean still liked him, because it was Rean. Rean, who loved so earnestly. And that same Rean was so close now. Crow edged closer. Rean’s cheeks reddened deeper, eyes fluttering shut so adorably. So close. Close enough to touch. Just a bit more and Crow would rid himself of everything that assailed him. Just a bit more and Crow would be able to breathe easier. Just a quick touch of their lips. It was simple, really. It was easy. So easy.
Easy? The word halted him. Had the path Crow walked ever been easy? Clarity came to him quick and cruel, and alongside it guilt stabbed him like a knife through the gut. Over and over, it stabbed him. Cold anger rose up from within, and he tore himself away from that warm place. He wondered if that would be easy. There was the distant sound of someone calling out to him. Someone he thought might have been dear to him. Easy! What a joke! He had to laugh. As if abandoning his homeland had been easy. As if shooting the Chancellor had been easy. It was best for Rean to stay away. It was best for Rean to forget him. He wanted Rean to be happy. Happy with his friends. Happy with a girl he liked. Crow had made sure of that. Had made certain of that.
He clutched someone's hand. It was warm. It was easy.
There was nothing easy at the end of the path Crow had laid out.
The flower’s curse battered at him with an intensity Crow had never known. Roots dug deeper into his lungs. Flowers clogged his airways and thorns punctured his throat in such a way that the blood rising to his mouth had become more abundant than the air in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, drowning in himself. He heaved and coughed. But nothing came out. He did not allow anything to come out. The curse’s advances were implacable, but so was he, Crow thought in a feverish daze, so was he. Nothing would ever come out.
He thought he heard someone’s screams or the sound of something breaking open in the distance. He thought he heard a flurry of voices. He thought he was carried somewhere else. He thought many things, but remembered little besides the numbing pain and a game he was intent on winning.
Crow had begun to drift in and out of consciousness at the time. Sensations blurred together, and he could not say he had been himself until he awoke the next day in the Pantagruel.
But one thing he did know. The most important thing of all.
Alone in his room, he grinned. Luck may have forsaken him, but of one thing he was certain—
That day, nothing had come out.
The Infernal Castle towered over Heimdallr with the ghostly pride of a long gone lord rising from his tomb. Its red and black bricks shone with the dark glint of past tragedies as magic pulsed through the city. Engulfed by the evil magic, the inhabitants’ lives were threatened by monsters roaming freely across the capital, yet remained none the wiser about the danger. The soldiers who retained their conscience took up arms to protect the citizenry.
This was what Crow’s goals had amounted to, he thought absently. The fruits his chosen path had borne.
He held the Imperial Prince—a mere kid—against his will, forcing him to do Cayenne and Vita’s binding. He completed his task dutifully despite its objectionable nature. There was no need to muster feeling beyond what was needed of a marionette controlled by the strings of its puppeteer. It was a necessary evil, and Crow would stick to it if it meant cleaning up the mess he had wrought. It was not like he hoped for forgiveness or the turning back of the gears of time, as he only did what he deemed to be right.
Despite the performance she put up, he knew Vita did not find any more joy in it than he did. Yet, the two of them could not be quite compared, as he knew the Azure Abyss aimed for a greater, more noble goal than he did. It certainly wasn’t anything like Crow’s—the aftermath of a selfish game he could not give up on—and for that, he respected her.
Crow encased himself in ice and spoke little, an actor on standby witnessing the world collapsing around him. It was a simple part left to play now, and then it would be all over. Vulcan rose to the forefront of his mind. That was certainly one of the endings available to him after his role was done. But he had disavowed Scarlet following Vulcan’s footsteps, and he could not help but find it to be an unusually timid path for him to take. Perhaps he had shared their views, once. The Imperial Liberation Front was a group of colorful characters, united only by the loss of their homes. They gathered like strays banding together, not quite as a substitute for the place they had lost, but because of loss itself. They had nothing, none of them did, allowing them ample room to risk everything in a high stakes gamble. He had formed the organization for this very reason.
Crow wondered when it was that the leader had strayed from the very people united under him. Slightly, unwillingly, he began changing. Once light footed and free of tethers, the weight of choice now dragged down his feet.
“Crow,” a certain someone called out his name, thawing out the ice, yet binding him into place.
The boy who would follow him to the ends of the earth stared him down, and their gazes locked. He was hot all over, adrenaline pulsing in his veins at the sight of that resolute pair of eyes. Crow’s cue was here, yet he did not think of it, as it mattered little to him next to a confrontation he knew to be fated. A battle he had anticipated with something almost like longing. Crow was not surprised Rean had made it this far, for he knew he would come for him.
With the rest of Class VII by Rean’s side and Vita by his, they engaged in battle, ARCUS links crossing and crashing against one another. The high of battle broke Crow free of his strings, and Cayenne’s whining sounded distant, the only sound ringing loud in his ears now the singing of Rean’s blade against his own. An upswing. A dodge executed through careful footwork. A sideslash. Their blades kissed and came apart in a dance of steel until both were panting and flushed and smirking only at one another.
The battle came to a close with Class VII’s advantage, but it was far from the last dance they’d share this night. The main event came swiftly as Crow hopped inside Ordine, feverish excitement thrumming through his veins.
And so marked the beginning of the fated battle.
A story was woven in every maneuver of Valimar’s tachi, a memory recalled in each well-timed dodge. A storm of blows raged with the cries of someone sick of not being heard. A naive first-year, oblivious about the world. A swing overhead, blocked by Ordine’s double saber. An eternal outsider, not binding himself anywhere. A sideways slash. Crow responded in kind, moving out of the way and delivering a flurry of attacks of his own; from the innocent boy who played card games with his grandfather to the cunning man who had helped orchestrate a civil war, he fought mercilessly, joyfully. Rean matched him beat by beat. Valimar defended promptly. The Ashen Awakener. The flames of a campfire made witness to a promise shared under the night sky. Valimar lunged forward. Ordine dodged backward. It did not stop Valimar’s onslaught. A member of Class VII. Steel kissed steel as their blades met in stalemate. Crow’s junior. The metal of Ordine’s feet scraped against the floor of the castle as he was shoved further back. Crow’s classmate. Valimar pushed further. Ordine staggered. Crow’s precious friend. A double saber was flung into the air. Disarmed, Crow lay defeated by Rean’s feet, the point of his sword turned to him.
“You’re coming back with us, Crow,” said Rean.
It was over. He lost.
The members of Class VII gathered to shower Rean in praise. A warm feeling spread within Crow as they bantered. Rean reached out a hand, and Crow was stunned by the countless paths that now spread open before him. He imagined graduating with Towa and the others. He imagined Rean’s tearful smile as he bid him goodbye afterward. He imagined confessing to something buried deep within. He imagined Rean blushing a pretty red and a nod of his head. He imagined years and years with Rean.
But the same path that had been opened was closed shut in one blow.
They moved as one to stop the Vermillion Calamity. Working side by side in earnest as they hadn’t in so long. The prince Crow had himself endangered was safe, and the last of Crow’s debts were paid off. The edges of his sight darkened inside Ordine’s cockpit, and he did not know how long he had spent trying to make sense of the agony his body was in. It was all right, he thought, he had killed Giliath Osborne. The war would end soon. All things considered, he managed to wrap everything up nice and tidy.
Everything, save for one.
Blood spurted out of the hole in his chest, and Crow spat out a mouthful of red instead of the familiar blue. Rean trembled and cried as he held Crow in his arms, like he was something precious. He could almost feel embarrassed. Crow forced himself through a world that was becoming more blurry to him the more he spoke. His breath began to fall short, coming in quick rasps instead. He apologized to Rean, and entrusted to the members of Class VII all the things he hadn’t been able to say. His limbs no longer moved as easily as he wished. Their tearstricken faces hurt more than any wound, but Crow was resolved to continue smiling through death as he had done in life. Dying surrounded by friends wasn’t such a bad way to go, he thought contentedly. He was happy. He had already gotten an end far too kind for someone who had committed as many sins as he.
And then it came out.
Horror struck him right and true.
A single blue flower fought its way out of his mouth. A tiny, feeble thing tethered to him by a mere string of blood. It bounded out of Crow’s mouth onto the hand that clasped his.
No one dared say a thing, and the top floor of the Infernal Castle was engulfed in silence, a breathless kind of confusion. Crow did not miss how stricken Emma looked when recognition dawned on her. She said nothing, and Crow was grateful for that.
He wanted to die a clean death and leave nothing behind. He wanted to put to rights the mess he had made. His work was done, there was no need to linger.
His smile did not waver. Death while fighting by a comrade’s side was as good an ending as anyone could hope for. There was no need for them to remember him, he only hoped they would carry his words and keep fighting. He could go now, he had done enough. He had done some good at the end.
He gathered all the strength he had left clutching the flower and raised a trembling hand. Slowly, unsteadily, he raised his hand. Confusion halted Rean from his tears as Crow reached for him.
His fingers fumbled around until he tangled the flower in Rean’s hair.
Rean gasped, his body trembling. “Crow?” His earnest eyes seemed to unmask him and expose the self he hid underneath, a mirror of everything Crow had fallen short of.
It was simple to see how much of Crow's life was spent trying to wrestle back control over it. He could at least find respite in the fact his death had come as a result of his own choices, and not through the punishment of a curse he didn't understand.
A shameful plea took control of Crow’s thoughts, resounding loud and clear.
I don’t want to die.
Ah. It came out. Once again, it came out.
There was still so much Crow wanted to do. He wanted to graduate with Towa, Angelica and George. He wanted to spend more time with Class VII. He wanted to tease Machias, or plan out events with Elliot. He wanted to hold Rean in his arms and tell him everything he never could. He was selfish to the end, and he still hoped Rean would remember him.
Rean held Crow tighter, eyes welling with tears anew. “You won’t— I won’t—” his voice cracked, rising and falling every syllable.
“The name is—” Crow’s voice had become a weak mumble by now. Still, he pressed forward, “A bit too droll—” A pause. “for my tastes. Not my kinda humor, but—” the hand in Rean’s hair fell down to his cheek, and he left it there. Blood marred Rean’s skin. What a sorry excuse for a caress.
Tears streamed down Rean’s cheeks without pause, he placed a hand over Crow’s, leaning toward the touch.
“I still ended up a bit fond of this flower—” He laughed weakly. “Can’t help—” A cough. “getting attached, huh?” The edges of his mouth threatened to come down, but he did not let his efforts be in vain. “Take care of it for me, ‘kay? It’s called—”
The end of the path came for him then. He arrived at his destination. Light drained from Crow’s eyes one last time, his body growing limp as his hand slipped out of Rean’s cheek.
But Rean took it before it could fall. Anguish gave way to the brief embers of determination. If Crow could no longer walk, then it fell to Rean to trudge through that thorny road in his place. “Forget-me-not,” he said, sealing a vow.