Chapter Text
The springtime is colorful. An isolated clearing is where Wind Archer’s secret garden is tucked away. The secret garden that only he — and now Fire Spirit — know of.
“I’m barely at the entrance and I’m already starstruck. Hey Windbag, have you been holding back another talent?” Fire Spirit says in awe. “…Are you sure you want me in there?”
Wind Archer sighs, mind already set on an answer after rehashing the point a dozen times on the trip to their destination. “How many times must I repeat myself before you understand that I trust you?”
“Not afraid I’ll burn away your hard work?”
“Would you rather me cast a smothering spell over you?” Wind Archer snaps in fond frustration.
“Woah woah, I didn’t say that…! S’long as you’re sure…”
Wind Archer’s garden is a labor of love. The secrecy was never meant to be its defining trait, however the private solace is appreciated nonetheless. A hidden sanctuary of his own craft, a place of vulnerability and honest work. He liked to think it was symbolic of his mind and… and his heart.
And now the metaphor extends to Fire Spirit.
“…This is amazing. Ha, some of these aren’t even from the Millennial Forest.” Fire Spirit grabs Wind Archer’s hand and drags him towards a flowerbed that particularly excites him. “This is amazing,” he says again, closer to Wind Archer, who tries to keep his explanations coherent through his blush and the heartbeat ringing in his ears.
“You’re the only splash of purple here, aren’t you?” Fire Spirit chuckles as he gently brushes the petals of a bunch of flowers on a shrub. They do not catch aflame.
“Those are heliotropes, from Beast-Yeast. They symbolize devotion and- everlasting love.”
Wind Archer’s voice absolutely does not hesitate on the words ‘everlasting love,’ surely not.
“I… never expected to come across such beauty in those hostile lands.”
Fire Spirit grins. “I like these guys. They’re like… little bundles of stars.”
Wind Archer smiles back, unguarded. “They are.”
“What happened to warm welcomes?”
Fire Spirit laughs against the tree he’s been pinned against, an arrow pointed in between his eyes. The wood sizzles under his touch. When the Cookiemals told Fire Spirit that Wind Archer had been brainwashed, he’d blazed his way across the continent so fast that his Lord of Flame armor was ignited. He stares down an emotionless blindfold, scrunching under the expression of its wearer.
“…Fallen spirit.” Wings of midnight flap midair, and Wind Archer scowls. Despite the hollow words and purple rebrand, that voice is irrefutably Wind Archer’s, breathy and intentional. Being on the receiving end of the archer’s contempt raises a special sort of sickness in Fire Spirit’s gut. “Why are you here? Who sent you?”
Fire Spirit cracks a practiced smile. “A kitty, a doggy and a raccoon.” He chirps, laughing to hide his unease. “Love what you’ve with the place, by the way. The wings are cool.” He has the urge to brush the back of his hand against the feathers, before remembering that his gauntlets are made of fire.
Wind Archer snarls, and draws his bow again. “…No matter. You will meet your end the same as the rest.”
Fire Spirit flickers his form away into a flame right as an arrow embeds itself where his head used to be. He rematerializes behind the archer, taunting in sing-song. “Oooh, unlucky shot… heh. Catch me if you can!”
Fire Spirit zips away in a blaze dodging arrows left and right, with more than a couple close calls. He’s never been one to run from a fight.
With theatrical bursts of flame and flares of his cape, Fire Spirit weaves around the darting projectiles, all the while making digs at the archer’s bowmanship. He should be handling this situation more delicately, a small voice of reason whispers, but the habitual playfulness is a natural guise to fall into.
Fire Spirit melts into flame again. He dives at Wind Archer face-first, pivoting at the last second to instead scorch a ring of fire around his assailant. The ring lifts from the ground and shrinks around the archer in glowing shackles, who falls to the grass with a frustrated grunt.
“C’mon Wind Archer, what’s gotten into you?” Fire Spirit admonishes, flying down to pin him in place with the dull end of his staff. Wind Archer thrashes in the binds, scorching the dry grass below him as he squirms around on the floor. Fire Spirit flips Wind Archer over to rip off the blindfold.
Even his eyes are that familiar shade of darkness. Unease twists in Fire Spirit.
“Windy–” An acute, blunt pain strikes his abdomen, cutting him off. He staggers into flight as Wind Archer uses the momentum from the kick to boost into a back roll back onto his feet. When he suddenly stumbles with a hiss, Fire Spirit’s attention is drawn to a limping leg and the thin line of smoke disappearing from it. He winces
“Oi, careful with the merchandise!” Fire Spirit scoffs. He gestures to himself from the top down. “Made of fi-re, remember?”
Wind Archer shoots him a glare. “You can hide all you want behind the flashy armor of yours, but you alone are no match for Dark Enchantress,” He drolls, a foreign snark in his tone. “Without your dominion over fire you’re just a moron with party tricks, no doubt you will succumb the moment your confidence shatters.”
The Cookies of Darkness, huh? Figures.
“Yeah yeah, whatever you say Wind Edgelord, now who do I take you to get this fixed?” Fire Spirit turns to gaze at the scenery, as if the answer will reveal itself somewhere in the distance. “Sugar Swan? Millennial Tree? Do I fall to my knees and beg for mercy from the Witches Themselves?” He says that last bit in a croon, bringing his hands together in a mock prayer and batting his lashes obnoxiously, as if a golden halo were floating above his head as he turns to Wind Archer again.
When he opens his eyes he finds a glowing purple arrow going ablaze and disintegrating into the air where it’s stuck on his chestplate. Wind Archer makes an annoyed sound, bow released but still aimed at Fire Spirit.
The flame rings are gone. Did he slip his chains on his own or did the Fire Spirit dispel them subconsciously?
Fire Spirit stares blankly at the pointed diamond where Wind Archer’s gem used to sit. It’s a dull, clouded thing, lacking all of the luster that was once mirrored in Wind Archer’s eyes. …He didn’t even hesitate, ruthless in his misguided endeavor.
Wind Archer’s gotta still be in there, somewhere.
Suddenly the archer’s (new) dark wings flex, and Wind Archer takes off straight at Fire Spirit. Fire Spirit yelps, leaping backwards, but not fast enough to stop Wind Archer from grabbing onto his shoulder. He hears a crackle and pop, and panic begins to rush through Fire Spirit’s jam.
Wind Archer doesn’t let go when the flames char his arms.
“WHOA- hey- I’m hurting you! You- You’re hurting yourself!” Fire Spirit says, accelerating in an attempt to shake his self-destructive pursuer off. “Let go, Windbag!”
Miraculously, Wind Archer hesitates.
(Was that just a reflection of his flames, or did Wind Archer’s eyes grow clearer?)
During Wind Archer’s brief trance, Fire Spirit finally rips his arm away from the archer, watching as he stumbles back into flight on dark orchid feathers.
The look that shoots his way is ice cold. Nothing that Frost Queen could send his way will ever make the embodiment of fire shiver more than that disdainful stare.
Without another word the spirit heads straight back to Dragon’s Valley.
He laughs hollowly to himself. “It’s okay, Fire Spirit… Windy will be back to normal in no time…”
The Lord of Flame leaves in a hurry. Night Raven assesses the burns on his forearms. They’ve grown an angry shade of dark pink, and pulse with a numbed pain.
What happened? Night Raven does not make mistakes, yet he failed to keep the fallen spirit from escaping his arrows. …His arrows, which are apparently useless on the engulfing inferno that had been enveloping the spirit.
What had he called him? What did he say that distracted him from his commands?
“See, Windbag! I can be helpful too! Surely I’m not the blight on Earthbread you think I am,”
His head pounds, straining to remember, but at the same time punishing itself for doing so. He reaches for the memories that should explain it all, the ones shouldn’t exist.
The forest. Overgrowth that didn’t belong. That spirit’s smug face…
When?
The ashes of the invasive thorns. An eerie quiet, the darkness receding as the sun rose. The acute stench of smoke.
When?
And right then, Night Raven’s throat catches abruptly, and a cough rips its way out of his chest. Then another. What?
Sickness? …Impossible.
Another. Heavier. He falls to his knees, gripping his chest as cough after cough he feels something growing inside of him. Crawling wet tendrils and sharp little spikes squirm, they writhe. With a final, heaving cough, the thing in his throat finally extricates onto the grass.
Night Raven wipes at the saliva coating his mouth, eyes zeroing in on the incriminating… petals? Petals – he confirms, bold, passionate, and red with a burst of sunny orange near the center. His confusion dissipates and is swiftly replaced with realization, and Night Raven’s eyes widen in horror.
Hanahaki disease?
Unrequited love so strong it manifests itself as flowers in your lungs. A risk so omnipresent that even immortals such as himself can be afflicted.
So suddenly? When? How? Who-
His eyes catch upon the few petals again. That red… of course.
It’s always him.
Of course that saccharine spirit is to blame.
A remnant of his weaker former self, no doubt, and his sickeningly deep affections for the fallen spirit. That had to be it. Night Raven knows for sure that he would never even begin to like that obnoxious specter.
Yet his body pays no mind to his laments. Petals pour onto the floor, and Night Raven seethes.
Fire Spirit flies to the forest again the next day. The flame armor is up, as a precaution, now that he knows that those evil-looking arrows can’t penetrate it. Very few could rival the strength of the fire elemental, but Fire Spirit would bet the Dragon’s Bead that Wind Archer was among them. Better to play it safe.
Wind Archer is a distinct purple blob moving across the pallid grasslands. Hesitantly, Fire Spirit lowers himself closer to Wind Archer. Maybe he wants to sneak up on him. He really didn’t think this far ahead.
“Spirit, what do you think you’re doing?” Wind Archer asks over his shoulder. His eyes are uncovered. Okay, so he hasn’t replaced the blindfold yet. Wind Archer’s eyes are… familiar. They’re easy to be comforted by, even if they aren’t brilliant greens but stormy purples. He fixes Fire Spirit with another judging stare, only a little less icy than last time.
“I… wanted to surprise you with the gift of my shining presence, obviously!” Fire Spirit says, half in sing-song, cooly spinning his staff, then leaning back to rest his head over his arms. He defaults to his mask of arrogance, even though today’s purple Wind Archer is much less hostile. The purple Wind Archer in question remains unimpressed, but really, when has he not been with Fire Spirit’s antics?
“You really are the pinnacle of stealth.” Wind Archer deadpans. What a dry statement, but Fire Spirit’s broken heart skips a beat. That flat monotone that sighs and speaks at the same time. Said in the same exact way that the normal Wind Archer would, at times when Fire Spirit would be extra annoying on purpose just to stoke a sarcastic reaction out of the wind guardian. It felt as if – just for a moment – the real Wind Archer had returned.
“No arrows today?” Fire Spirit casually inquires, only a little less wary since the start of the… conversation? Is it a conversation?
“Your armor makes you impervious to them. It’d be a waste of them to provoke you,” mutters Wind Archer, turning his back on Fire Spirit again, and then, “I’d rather not waste my time on you, either.”
“Ouch,” Fire Spirit says with mock hurt, placing a dainty palm upon his chest. “And here I thought that we had something special, Windy!”
Fire Spirit regrets the word choice as soon as it leaves his mouth. The archer freezes in place, his shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. …Was it something Fire Spirit had said? Wind Archer whips his head around with his brows furrowed. “Why are you really here?” He asks, voice solemn.
“…To save you.”
“I don’t need saving.”
“You wouldn’t know right now, but you’re going to do something you’ll regret– …and I don’t want to have to watch your heart get broken.” Fire Spirit tacks on that last bit a little too quickly, but Wind Archer doesn’t seem to notice.
A scoff. “I’m only following orders.”
“Who’s? That scary old hag’s? She literally wants to destroy the world.”
“Dark Enchantress will free us from our godly oppressors and make Life anew. Dark Enchantress opened my eyes-”
“Well, she gave you a blindfold – unhelpfully covering your handsome face – which I so valiantly got rid of yesterday, so I’m pretty sure I opened your eyes-” Fire Spirit trails off as Wind Archer shoots him a look with a judgemental tilt of the head.
“…Juevenile.”
There it is again. The casual exasperation that always follows close behind Fire Spirit’s witticisms like a shadow. The moment comes and goes like a clear patch on a cloudy day.
Wind Archer had apparently made the executive decision that the conversation was over, and has begun to walk away again. Okay, rude. Fire Spirit shakes himself out of the brief trance and flies after him.
“Just let me help. Let me at least show you what’s wrong.”
“I don’t need help. Least of all yours.”
Fire Spirit sighs. “Wind Archer, c’mon. We’re friends!” Fire Spirit flies ahead to face Wind Archer, a tinge of desperation in his voice.
The archer stops, then frowns, lifting a wary brow. “Are we?”
“Ha! ‘Course we are,” Fire Spirit replies, trying for confidence.
“If we were friends I feel like I’d have fonder memories of you.”
Fire Spirit forces a smile. “Oi, what does that mean? We’ve got tons of fond memories!” Wind Archer’s eyes snap into a grimace.
“You really believe that.” It’s not a question,
What the hell is that supposed to mean? A prickly edge rises in Fire Spirit’s words. “We’ve known each other for centuries. I know you better than anyone else. And I know the real you would never allow this, Windy-”
“The real me?” Wind Archer raises his voice, cutting him off. “The foolish one, who defended this imperfect, defective world?” His eyes darken like stormclouds.
“No! The you who loved this world even though it was imperfect- no, you loved the broken parts of the world too!” Fire Spirit’s flames begin to crackle, falling cinders being blown away by the breeze.
“Oh, broken parts?” Wind Archer interrupts in a sneer, almost too casually. “Broken, like you?”
Fire Spirit stares, dumbfounded. The feeling is swiftly replaced with anger. The flame armor glows white-hot.
“That’s low, Wind Archer.” Fire Spirit’s cheerfulness has fully dissolved. “I thought you were better than that.”
Wind Archer has the gall to look… satisfied? Or is that relief?
“Do I have to spell it out for you? You. Don’t. Know. Me.” And with a flurry of plum-colored plumes, the archer disappears, and Fire Spirit is left in silent fury.
Fire Spirit collapses against the rocky walls in the Dragon’s Valley, hugging himself and trying to calm his own racing heart.
“...You loved the broken parts of the world too!”
“Broken, like you?”
He’s just been brainwashed. No way his Windy actually thinks that.
Wind Archer he… Fire Spirit is sure that the intention was to taunt him, perhaps not realizing the implication that simultaneously weighed so heavy.
Did he mean that…? That would mean he- he loved- or at least, used to-?
Warmth burns in his chest. Hotter. Searing.
Oh- that’s a physical burn isn’t it?
Ah shit.
Fire Spirit’s body feels like it’s trying to incinerate itself from the inside out. His throat dries as loose, falling particles fly out of his lungs and into the air in clouds. The familiar smell of ash fills his senses as he coughs up mouthfuls of the grey mass.
What…?
He’s not eaten anything out of the ordinary and it’s not like he can get sick. Unless it’s… no, he has the Dragon’s Bead to keep that at bay. It’s never gone faulty before, no reason for it to run out of juice now. That’d be awfully inconvenient for him.
It feels like ages until the heaving stops. Fire Spirit’s mouth is dry, and everything stings with the coarse bits of earth. Mounds of ash pile up next to his hands on the floor. He is silent for a very long time.