Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Millennia pass without change in the mountain that the Aculon clan resides.

The clan prides themselves with their sorcery, and how all of their sorcerers are able to cultivate to immortality—ever-lasting life. They remain within the mountain that they have staked their claim on, and never wander farther than necessary. And although they are a powerful clan, they have chosen to isolate themselves from civilization, resulting in their numbered family members. This is the family that Fluixon is born into, as one of the newest editions to their roster.

As an Aculon, he is born with an innate talent for sorcery. He is, as well, restricted within the mountain. The only people he’s ever talked to were his family members, who all look sort of like him, and were quite stoic, considering their ages. His father explains that when the time comes, he can visit the foot of the mountain and the village that resides there. But not now, not yet.

Fluixon thinks it’s kinda bullshit.

Still, he shrugs it off and chooses to wander the expanse of their territory. Looks into the crooked entrances to caves; peeks into the hollowed out tree barks; traces his hands in the rushing rivers. He acquaints himself with the birds and foxes and wolves. He heals their paws or wings with his spells when injured, and oftentimes practices on them when he deems the spell to not be dangerous.

So, he grows up with the company of loneliness tinged with camaraderie with the animals that stuck around him. He’s still tempted by the place he dubbed as “beyond” (beyond the forest, beyond his grumpy and somewhat grim family members, beyond the mountain), sure, but he thinks he can learn to be content with where he is right now.

“After all, with our power, we can be taken advantage of,” His mother murmurs in assent when he expresses this over lunch. She places one more piece of beef into his bowl despite him already being full. “It’s better here in the mountain, where we’re safe.”

His father then pipes up, noticing the somewhat somber feeling that was bestowed upon Fluixon, “And when the time comes—”

“—I can go down to the foot of the mountain, visit the village, and find a girl that I like, if I want.” He finishes the sentence, having been performing the same song and dance for 16 years. He takes a bite of the beef. “Thanks, dad.”

A silence fills the table, only the sound of chopsticks clicking from time to time breaking it.

Then, his mother speaks, “I understand the feeling of stand-still that you are in right now, Fluixon.” Her eyes are warm, just like every other day, regardless of the fact that her face remains a blank slate. “I had been there more than once, after all. But the mountain isn’t so bad. We are safe from the hands of greedy nobles and the prejudice of ill-willed commoners. The Aculon head chose to confine us here for a reason.”

She pats his head as she stands up—a rare show of physical affection—taking with her their used cutlery to wash. “Your father, I found him after 43 years of living. And you, I conceived you after 52 years of living. You simply need to be patient. Companionship will find its way to you.”

“You heard her, champ,” His father smiles, ruffling his hair. “Love takes its time.”

And he supposes that love does take its time. To take root and flourish, that is. But the person he’d love? Well…

“Fluixon, make haste.” His mother sighs for the nth time, although she doesn’t look particularly angry. As per his mother’s request he hastily ties up his kimono, throwing over a random haori, and forgoes a hair tie in exchange for speed.

He supposes from the somewhat nonplussed stare he gets that she isn’t impressed. “What will I do with you? Still a child…” She murmurs as she takes off his white haori in exchange for a deep violet one, and re-tying his kimono. Then, she quickly gathers his hair by his nape and ties it off.

Grabbing his hand and nodding goodbye to his father while walking out of the house, she speaks, “Never let the patriarch of the family see you unkempt. He would loathe to see you like that. Especially now, as the direct line of his descendants are rarely called into one place. I feel it will be an important occasion, so be on your best behavior.”

“Yes, mom.” He replies, feeling silly as he holds her hand, but keeps it anyway, because she rarely ever shows physical affection nowadays. “Do you have an idea why we’re being called?”

“I’ve no clue,” She shakes her head, making the canola hairpin she wears glimmer and reflect against the few sun rays that slip through the leaves of the trees. “I can only guess that there is somebody expecting a child. However, our spouses would usually be welcomed to the gathering as well if that was the case…”

As they approach a clearing, his mother stumbles over a particularly muddy area, and she barely has time to clutch onto him. If not, she would have planted into the mud.

Fluixon helps her right herself, before he jokes, “Careful, mom. Don’t let the patriarch of the family see you unkempt!”

She sends a withering gaze towards him, and he only laughs as they continue their trek.

Once they enter the main estate, he sees all his aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. As per the family head’s request (or rather, order), none of the people who married into the Aculon family were around. It was a strange sight, seeing a gathering of all the sorcerers in his family, even if he’s sure that their number is below 50.

Regardless, he bows to the old man, and gets seated. As his mother is one of his great great great great… great? (he’s not even sure which generation the head is, to be completely honest) grandfather’s favorites, they have the pleasure of being seated to the right of him, towards the front.

After a few minutes of painstaking silence, the doors of the hall are shut, and the meeting formally starts.

“I want to thank all of you who have taken heed to my call.” The patriarch, Elanuelo, starts.

“We only wish for the favor of balance to forever empower the patriarch.” Everyone recites in turn. Then, the man raises a hand to end their greetings.

“I am sure that all of you are confused and are wondering the purpose of today’s impromptu meeting, especially as only us sorcerers are gathered.” He sweeps his gaze across the hall, before he stands up to pace around.

“As you know, I, along with the elders of our family, have decided to seclude the Aculon family in this mountain after a disastrous war wherein we were used as mere weapons. I know I needn’t talk more of the abuse, of the mistreatment, of the prejudice that we had experienced prior to this decision. However, I would like to formally gather everyone here and inform you with a decision that I, along with the elders, have agreed upon.” He finishes, letting his words hang in the air for everyone to grasp for a moment, before he starts handpicking the newest generation of Aculons from the crowd. Inevitably, Fluixon gets picked up by a hand to his shoulder, and they are gathered to the front, where all prior generations can gaze upon them.

He feels like withering from their gazes. All blank and cold, unlike his mother’s warmer eyes.

“We lost a great number of family members to that war. Reduced to a mere shadow of the once great and populated clan we once were. So, gaze upon these youngins. They will be the future of the impenetrable and immortal Aculon clan.” He starts again.

“What do you think of the current state of the clan?” He turns to ask a poor child, who Fluixon guesses was around 9 years old. Said child fumbles for a response, although it is evident that the patriarch didn’t expect a response, because he plows forward with his monologue. “We are unchanging inside and untouchable outside. We do not extend help, nor do we accept it. We are, after all, immortals.”

“However!” He claps his hands together, as if he needs more than the already intense attention that everyone is currently paying him. “While this mountain is vast and rich enough to provide us with essentials, we are lacking certain materials that we cannot cultivate and create on our own, or at least takes more manpower than we have. For this reason…”

The patriarch nods once towards the guards by the entrance, and the doors of the hall opens once again. In comes three people, dressed in a style of clothing that was extravagant. It’s styled in a way that lets them fit in the sea of Aculons, however at the same time, they looked out of place because of it. If he had to describe their clothing, it looked like luxurious, patterned silks, and elaborate brocades adorned with fancy sashes. Their hair was snow-kissed, so different from the sea of dark, black hair. It shone even without light. Their hair seemed like threads of silver that held an infinite amount of light. There was a regal looking woman that led them in, followed by a boy that looked about Fluixon’s age, and a boy just a few years younger.

“I request everyone to greet the de Theria family.” Was all that was said before everyone rises and bows down respectfully. However, he can see the questioning gazes of everyone, wondering what the hell was going on. Even he, himself, was confused—outsiders? In their mountain?

“Please, rise.” The woman’s voice resounds the hall, her presence commanding attention just as their patriarch does. “We greet the illustrious Aculon family. We wish for the balance to forever empower this immortal clan.” She starts, and bows. The two children behind her mirror her.

“You may rise.” Elanuelo concedes. Then, he turns to the clan, “From now on, we will be working with the de Theria family. They are a high-placing noble family, in a land not too far from the mountain. They will give us the materials we need, in exchange for our sorcery. However, should a war ever arise, this transaction will immediately cease.”

The meeting goes on for an hour or so, then, with the de Theria head and the Aculon head explaining the intricacies of the contract and what both sides will expect from each other.

Fluixon, towards the end of the meeting, feels exhausted, albeit a bit excited that the family is opening up to “beyond.” As everyone stands up, bowing to the head one last time before exiting, Fluixon meets eyes with the boy his age from the de Theria family.

He has eyes that remind Fluixon of the canola hairpin his mother favors—the one he had observed earlier, glimmering in the sunlight. However, the boy doesn’t need sunlight to glow. He just does. Much like his bright silver hair, his eyes are a bright yellow, shimmering and simmering. Then, the boy smiles. Just when Fluixon thought he couldn’t be any brighter!

Embarrassed and feeling his ears burn a little, he smiles in return, before ducking his head, and resolutely looking at his family head.

It’s not like he’ll see the de Theria boy again, anyway.

He probably jinxed it, because a week later, what does he do? He sees the de Theria boy again.

“Yo!” He greets Fluixon, who was dipping his feet by the pond in a secluded area of the mountain. Who also, in result, jumps out of his skin and screams. “Woah! Easy there!” The boy laughs, patting Fluixon’s back with a wide smile.

“Haha… Uh… Sorry?” Fluixon awkwardly says in response, a chagrin smile on his lips, brows furrowed. “Uh…” He bumbles around for a few more beats before he gathers himself enough to remember this is a noble from beyond.

That in mind, he snaps to attention, standing up from where his feet are planted in the pond and bowing. “Pardon my impudence! I was taken by surprise. I greet the heir to the de Theria family with utmost respect.”

“Nononono!” The boy quickly ushers Fluixon to stand up properly. “It’s more my fault for surprising you like that! I just wanted to talk with you, sorry!”

“Please don’t feel forced to apologize,” Fluixon returns, but the other visibly wilts, regardless of the smile on his face. After a beat, Fluixon speaks, “…Do you wish for me to not speak so formally?”

“I would prefer that, yeah!” He regains the bounce in him, even if he’s not really moving.

“Alright, then,” Fluixon smiles in return, although unsurely. “Do you wanna dip your feet in here too? The water’s cool.” He sits back down on the moist earth and returns to lounging.

“Oh, definitely,” He feels de Theria move to sit beside him, taking off his footwear and dipping his feet into the pond as well. “It’s been too hot lately! This hits just the spot… Oh, and my name’s Saparata, by the way!”

“Nice to meet you, Saparata,” Fluixon grins at him. “I’m Fluixon.”

“Nice to finally know your name, Fluixon! You know, you were so pretty in the meeting last week, and I was so curious to know your name!”

Fluixon flushes but chooses to ignore the direct compliment, instead asking, “Anyway… What are you doing here?”

“Oh, well…”

“Yeah! And there’s these things called oceans, where everyone goes for summer! It’s just like this pond, here, but instead of being small and shallow it’s a hundred times—”

“Saparata de Theria!” Saparata’s ramble gets cut off, and the two boys flinch at the resounding yell. Fluixon recognizes the voice as the de Theria head, also known as Saparata’s older sister. “I take my eyes off you for one second and you run off in the Aculon’s land? What if you were lost?”

“Sorry, Jophiel!” He laughs sheepishly, scratching his head. He remains seated on the grass, while Fluixon immediately stands.

“Apologies for my impudence,” Fluixon bows immediately. “If I had known that young master de Theria was being sought after by the madam, I would have immediately led him to the main estate. I am deeply regretful that the madam has had to trek through the mountain in search of us.”

“No, please raise your head,” She shakes her head with a smile. “This is regular behavior for the young master,” She pauses, hardening her look at a smiling Saparata. “Whenever we go out to allied estates. Rather, I worry he has inconvenienced you.”

“Not at all!” He immediately says, although he realizes the raise of his voice may be taken as rude, so he clears his throat. “Ahem, not at all. On the contrary, young master de Theria is good company.”

“Oh?” She sounds pleased.

“Yes, madam. It must be because of his great upbringing, that made him into the man he is now.”

“Hmph, what man?” He lightly laughs at her humor. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Fluixon Aculon, madam.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Fluixon Aculon. You make a good flatterer,” She smiles, and he flushes lightly. “Please, dry yourselves and come to the main estate. I worry about traveling home in the dark.”

The two can only nod before she retreats, and the two boys share sheepish smiles.

As he and Saparata walk towards the main estate in comfortable silence, he notices the sun setting.

“Will you travel fine?” He asks out of slight worry.

“Don’t worry, Jophiel just worries too much!” Saparata answers, full of conviction. “We’ll get home fine, even if we take a bit longer.”

Fluixon only nods.

“By the way, call me Saps!” Saps perks up again. “It’s my nickname.”

Nickname… He remembers reading that nicknames were reserved for friends. He smiles to himself, pleased that he has a friend from beyond, “Okay, Saps. Call me Flux.”

When they near the main estate, Flux digs into his pouch after hesitating for the majority of their walk, and gives Saps a talisman.

“Just put this on the carriage, preferably near the horses. This should last about three hours. It’ll give enough light to you guys to travel at the pace you usually do… I think,” He sheepishly finishes.

Saps carefully takes the talisman from Flux, holding it like it’s something fragile, and there’s a look of amazement in his canola-colored eyes.

“This is so cool, Flux!” He starts, the amazement in his eyes bleeding into his voice.

Embarrassed, Flux flushes a bit. “Don’t thank me so readily… It might not be as effective as I think,”

“Still, the fact that you’re trying to help is enough to give thanks for!”

If that was the logic they’re going by, then Flux feels as if he needs to thank Saps for the smiles he’s been giving Flux, too. (Not that he ever tells the other this thought.)

So, Flux stands beside the patriarch as they bid the de Therias goodbye and well-wishes for a safe journey. Then, the old man turns to Fluixon.

“What do you think of the de Theria heir?” Flux mentally freaks out at the vague question, lacking proper context. What he thought of Saps? As a companion? As the heir? As an ally? In what context does the old man want him to answer?!

“He’s knowledgeable in a lot of things, even if he seems a bit ignorant at the start. In the same line, regardless of the fact that he lacks the standard social cues, at least to me, he’s an easy conversation partner. I think he will lead the de Theria family to great places in the future, at least from what I have seen from my short interaction with him.” He answers, hoping it’s enough.

“Hmm,” Elanuelo hums. “I agree with what you have said. I feel that time will further refine that boy’s edge. So, what of his companionship?”

“Pardon?”

“What do you think of his presence around you, Fluixon? Would you be alright with being subjected to time with the boy?”

At his questioning silence, the patriarch explains, “Their matriarch had spoken with me, just before the two of you arrived. She proposed the idea of you two meeting from time to time. The young master de Theria has had a hard time finding someone willing to converse with him, after all. What do you think of it?”

So, basically be a teenager’s version of an organized play date? Not that he minds, Saps had been both entertaining and intriguing…

“I think that it is a wonderful idea, patriarch.” He answers truthfully, bowing his head.

“Very well.” The old man nods, before leaving.

Flux goes back home with a smile on his face. Maybe Saps has already started to grow on him. Especially with the white haired boy’s inclination to never stop smiling.

Flux meets Saps again after two weeks, the two of them bowing to each other and exchanging formal greetings under the scrutiny of both the Aculon and de Theria clan heads. Then, when the two were pleased, they were left at a small pavilion near the main estate.

The pavilion held various snacks that Flux was fond of. Immediately, his eyes zero in on a small bowl of inconspicuous berries that he had requested for particularly. It was native to the mountain that they lived on, found by Flux when on his usual expeditions as a child with nothing to do.

Grinning, he holds the bowl up towards Saps, “This one’s sweet! I think you’ll like it,”

Trusting, Saps takes the berries and munches on them, agreeing quickly with how good it tasted. He takes a few more before Flux breaks into semi-hysterical laughter—how can he not, when Saps’s whole mouth was painted in a vibrant violet?

Saps spends the whole time whining, once he realizes what Flux had just done. Still, he seemed to perk up easily after Flux showed him a trick with his paper dolls and a few spells.

“I’ll bring you some snacks next time!” Saps waves his stained hands, and stretches his violet (although rinsed away slightly with pastries and snacks and too-sweet teas) lips into a wide smile. “Bye, Flux!”

“Bye, Saps!” Flux returns in kind, waving his hand.

Just as promised, the next time Saps visits, he fills the pavilion they stay in with various pastries that Flux wasn’t familiar with. In the next one, Flux shows Saps how they make traditional sake on the mountain. Then, the next, Saps starts bringing Flux different items, from hairpins for his mother to books containing all sorts of interesting philosophies and stories.

Slowly, it evolves from an organized transaction to keep the de Theria and Aculon families amicable, to something the two boys look forward to, every two weeks. When they’re not meeting each other, they’re exchanging letters. When they’re not writing to each other, Flux is sending Saps ink paintings of the scenery on the mountain, of the animals he hangs around. Saps usually returns it with a (poorly, although it is in a charming way) drawn lion that the de Theria family keeps as a pet.

Their friendship was both slow and fast. Developing like the fast-growing vines of the trees around the mountain, curling around Flux’s body and clinging, as if declaring he was there to stay. Flourishing like the flowering plants that bloom and produce fruit for their clan. Growing, just as they are.

And slowly, Flux had begun to think of Saps as a constant. After all, millenia pass without change in the mountain that the Aculon clan resides.

“Snowbird’s grown up too much, Fluixon!” Saps bemoans, laying his heavy frame over Flux’s like a blanket. Flux huffs amusedly, as he places a canola bookmark into the book he’s reading (both given to him by Saps, the last time he had visited. Really, he’s struggling a bit to keep up with the amount of books that Saps provides him with! Last time, it was ten, and this time, it’s eleven! It’s getting somewhat ridiculous).

“I think that applies to the both of you,” He smiles wryly, longing for the days when the two of them were still 16, and were eye-level. Now, Flux has to look up slightly to meet Saps’s eyes.

“No, it’s not just physical! I mean, to be fair, he’s just as small as you—” He earns a jab and a ‘I’m not that short though?’ from Flux for that, but he continues speaking, “But he’s even got suitors now!”

“Oh,” Flux says eloquently. He forgets, sometimes, that beyond this mountain, Saps has a life. Not that he’s self-centered or anything, but he forgets. He forgets that Saps belongs out there, while he belongs in here. Forgets that, for all intents and purposes, Saps is a bird and Flux is the ground—he’s here now, yes, but he’s not here to stay. Not in a way that actually matters.

“Yeah! It’s getting annoying! Do you know how many letters I’ve had to burn off before Jophiel can read the courtship proposal? Snowbird’s still so young!” Saps’s short ramble gets him out of his stupor, and he laughs with some humor. Of course, Saps would be a protective brother.

“Well, that’s just how it is for you guys, right?” He rasps out with thinly veiled nausea at the thought of Saps getting married. There’s an uncomfortable feeling that forms at the pit of his stomach at the thought, all hot and bubbling in an angry sort of way, that Flux sets aside for inspection later. He figures he just doesn’t feel comfortable with losing his only friend, his only tether to the beyond.

Saps pouts, “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I like it… Why does everything need to be a transaction, anyway?”

“I don’t know, Saps,” Flux murmurs, as he pats the white haired boy’s arm that hangs loosely on his shoulder. He dies a little inside, despite being destined to be immortal. “I don’t know.”

Flux sends Saps off with a slightly forlorn smile. He supposes Saps notices this, because the nobleman actually leaves his older sister’s side to hug him, as if they’re not in front of their respective family heads!

(Flux tries to hide the fact that he savors the short hug by pushing him away and fussing.)

(Saps only laughs at Flux who’s ushering him to go. Still, with the way his canola-colored eyes glistened, he supposes the other knows just how much that hug helped cheer him up.)

(The madam of the de Theria house and the patriarch of the Aculons simply turned around and gave them their well-deserved peace, and a semblance of privacy.)

Later, Flux throws over a coat that Saps says had been made from a bear he had hunted over his shoulders, and takes with him a thin book, to read in the silence and peace of the forest. He’s halfway through the door when his mother spots him.

“Be careful,” She only murmurs, patting his head and then caressing his cheek. He almost tears up, and only barely fights the urge to wrestle himself into his mother’s thin but reliable arms. She hands him a small candle-lit lantern, “Don’t come back too late.”

He only nods and gives her a small smile, before he wanders out the door towards the direction of his favorite spot of the river. The only source of light he has is the small candle, a mere wisp in the dark chasm of the night.

It was cloudy, nearly no moon in sight. The stars seem more muted than usual. The sounds of the rushing river is what guides him to his destination safely.

Two weeks from now, Flux expects himself to be released from this stupor he is in. Two weeks from now, this feeling of aching and longing and something will fade away, just as the flames of the candle he’s holding will eventually die. And two weeks from now, this feeling will be nothing more than a tiny speck in his life, just like the few blinking stars above him.

He finds solace with the novel he’d brought, seeing more of himself in the heroine.

(Only, he doesn’t have the courage to take Saps’s hand and take a step beyond the mountain the way the heroine had believed in her beloved and uprooted her life from the forest. Heck, he doesn’t even have the right to expect Saps to take his hand. In the first place, the two of them were just friends, right?)

(Right?)

“Fluixon,” His mother greets when he reaches their house. She’s draped with a silky blanket, sitting on the engawa as she awaits him. There was neither the sun nor the moon in the sky, as it was the early hours of the morning. He sees her spell book resting open beside her, and a candle that has long since been blown out. “I told you not to come home too late.”

He sits down beside her, resting his feet that have gathered quite a bit of mud and grass from trekking the mountain at night. He couldn’t have gone home last night, not with the thoughts that had run rampant in his mind. If he did, he would only have tossed and turned in the bed. It was better to walk and wander the familiar darkness of the night.

His mother doesn’t pester him further when he doesn’t respond, the two of them simply basking in each other’s company, before the rest of the mountain awakens for yet another day. He’s thankful for the moment of peace and silence with his mother, a rock that had always grounded him since before.

Flux, after all, always finds the days that follow in the wake of Saps’s visits to be bland and dreary.

(He scolds himself when he finds Saps occupying his mind again. Had he not pondered upon the white haired nobleman for long enough last night?)

He redirects his attention, instead, to his mother. He slowly traces her face with his gaze. Lately, as he slowly ages, he realizes just how unchanged her appearance is. Her body remains to be petite, her eyes as warm as summer night skies, her hair as dark as the chasm of unlit caves. No wrinkles marred her face, still youthful, yet she holds years and years of wisdom within her. Not for the first time, he wonders what his mother would look like if she aged just like his father. What Flux, himself, would look like, at her age.

“How’d you meet dad?” He murmurs softly, afraid to break the peace and tranquility between them. His mother huffs, having heard this question a million times before, all said by Flux in the search of one thing—comfort. Knowingly, she pulls him so he lays his head on her lap, and gently detangles his long hair.

“I was visiting the village with the patriarch,” She says, fondness seeping into her voice. “It was only my fifth time descending the mountain then, and I had already lived for four decades.” A humorous huff, finding it quite funny. “Your father, he was a humble vendor of textiles. The patriarch was very pleased with his work. And I, refined as ever, had taken interest in the sweet charm of your father.”

Flux tries to pretend to cringe, but he’s finding it too amusing, hearing his mother speak so lovingly. “What made you so interested in him?”

“He was smiling all the time that it was infectious,” She tries to sound annoyed, spitting words (calmly, as his mother’s never been intense his whole life) as if they’re insults. “And I had disliked the color yellow for a while, finding it utterly repulsing, but still, he had found a way to look good with such a color as his hair.”

“Who just does that!” He says with humor, and his mother smiles down on him.

“Indeed. It was an insult to the Aculon clan, to steal a heart such as mine.”

“Oh, but it’s my most prized possession!” His father defends himself, leaning by the doorway.

“Good morning to you too, dear,” His mother responds blandly.

“You wound me, love. Why won’t you share such affections in front of me anymore?” He laughs, sitting down with his family.

“Fluixon wouldn’t be alive without such affections.” His mother snaps, and Flux pretends to gag.

All in all, Flux finds the comfort he was searching for, and then some.

Flux chooses to respond to the letter Saps had sent him, instead of allowing his thoughts about the nature of his feelings toward said man to consume him.

As he lays down the parchment on the table and sits in front of it, he finds humor in the fact that he’s comforted with the idea of writing to Saps, regardless of the fact that said man is the cause of his distress.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he pulls back the sleeves of his kimono and dips his brush into the ink stick. Writing with a light hand, he unconsciously smiles down on the parchment, as if the ink could encase the good mood he has and hopefully find its way to Saps. He wishes it does, if only to alleviate the other’s slight worries. From his latest letter, Flux can tell he’s still aggravated with the proposals that Snowbird has been getting.

He only realizes he’s laughing lightly when his father walks in, a knowing smile on his lips. “Writing to the young master again?”

Flux sputters a bit, embarrassed to have been found laughing at a piece of parchment, of all things (really, what’s gotten into him?), but eventually nods with a blush high on his cheeks. He feels the urge to defend himself, “I couldn’t help but laugh because he’s still worrying about Snowbird growing up so fast.”

“Ah, yes, aging,” His father sounds wistful. He knows that—unlike most of the rest of this family’s spouses—he hadn’t taken the offer to be turned immortal as well. That means that one day, Flux will be writing to Saps about the worries of his father growing up too fast, too. “I sometimes forget that’s still a concept to other people, what with the mountain seeming frozen in time.”

“…Me too.” He mutters, suddenly feeling wronged that he had only realized this now.

“Aging isn’t bad, Fluixon,” His father says, pinching his cheek, as if taking notice of the shift in mood with his son. “It makes all these fleeting moments with you and your mother so much more precious to me. And it makes every sunlight pouring in from the window a lot more beautiful. The thought that we will not be here forever is a comfort, no matter how intimidating the thought of perishing is. Because once you do perish, you’ll know that you will be immortal in this world, carried in the hearts of your children and friends, and passed to their own children and friends. Perhaps, one day, I will be no more than a fleeting thought, but there’s also beauty in that.”

“It’s not really beautiful when you’re in pain,” He says petulantly, although there’s something raw in his voice. A primal fear that he hasn’t thought much about, because he and his mother are immortal, and in his childish brain, had thought his father was too.

“No,” His father allows. “But pain can be beauty.”

There’s a stillness, a quietness, before his father stands up, murmuring, “Winter’s coming…”

He knows his father is trying to be uplifting. Knows his father only wants him to be happy, to be glad, to see the world the way he sees it, in all his aging, mortal glory. But he can’t, not when he’s just realized that his father will die, and Saps will die, and whoever else he chooses to be acquainted with that isn’t inside this damned family.

Maybe his immortality wasn’t something magical, something to be revered, something to lust after. Maybe immortality was only ever tempting to others because they had never faced the truth and horror of ever-lasting life in a world full of impending and inevitable death.

(Flux sighs and hides the letter away, resigned to the fact that he had just wasted both parchment and ink to the useless thoughts that wracked his mind and body. Still, he hides the letter away in his room, regardless of the fact that he knows it will remain unsent.)

(…Perhaps, he ought to re-evaluate his feelings towards the white haired boy nobleman. A marriage proposal between friends is normal, if it were to save the other’s life, right?)

Saps visits as he always does, arriving with a few boxes of things he has bought for Flux throughout the past two weeks of them not seeing each other. In the duration of the year and a half of their meetings, Saps has never run out of things to buy for Flux. He wonders if it is simply because the white haired boy has too much money and likes to give things, or if—maybe, just maybe—Saps thinks of Flux enough to buy things for him over the course of his days.

Anyway, contrary to Flux’s belief, his worries had not receded to the back of his mind, and instead had come to the forefront of it at the sight of his friend. Saps beams at him as he hikes up the mountain, too far to speak, and Flux’s mind screeches to a halt, a haunting stillness draping over the young sorcerer’s mind, his body freezing along with it.

How long had he gone, without noticing how utterly handsome and striking his best friend was? Yes, he knew the white haired boy’s hair was almost silver, as if the gods have taken the valuable material from the deepest of mountains and spun it into thin silk strands of his hair; knew the boy’s hair was almost liquid, bouncing and flourishing whenever Saps so much as breathes, a different type of smoothness to it; knew the white haired boy’s eyes held a forest of canola flowers that were in full-bloom the whole year; knew the white haired boy’s body as broad and strong and muscular in a way Flux thinks he would never be. But knowing was different from… whatever this is. Whatever this pounding of heart, pace of breathing quickening, face flushing—

Wait.

Fuck—

“Flux!” Saps beams once he’s close enough, taking his coat off to hang on Flux’s shoulders (he’s engulfed with the scent of sandalwood and the distinct smell of the fireplace and a hint of canola that was so distinctly Saps that makes his head spin and heart ache). “Why’re you just standing there? Is it too cold? You should’ve just waited inside, man!”

If Flux hadn’t realized from the jealousy of Saps’s possible future spouse, or the love letter hiding away in his desk, or the way his body is physically reacting to the man before him, then he thinks he would know by the smile the nobleman is giving him now—all soft and no jagged corners and fondness just emanating like the soft glow of a candle in the dead of night. That he’s in love with Saps, that is.

Contrary (again) to Flux’s belief, the realization of his feelings doesn’t cause a catastrophe that would annihilate the entirety of the world. Although, his distress would definitely be able to cause something close—he’s not hailed from the strongest sorcery family for no reason, after all—but there’s no distress to talk of. Merely a calmness and acceptance that comes after the realization. Calmness, because he finally realized what has been bothering him for nearly two months. Acceptance, because love between two men were—while not nearly as uncommon as before—something looked down upon. He should know what he was getting himself into, falling in love with a man, much less a noble.

So, they go on for a few more months like that, contentment in the air as they meet every other week. Flux’s room is slowly being consumed with the sheer amounts of books that Saps carries with him, stacks scattered about. He also has a special box—one made from a fine wood from this great mountain that Saparata told him about but couldn’t remember the name of—containing their exchanged letters. He’s happy.

“Can you pass me that plank, Flux?” Saps grunts. Currently, the two of them are assembling a shelf for said plethora of books. Originally, Saps had wanted to get one pre-made, decorated and everything, but it would be difficult for him to trek the mountain with a full shelf on his back, on top of the boxes full of gifts for Flux. So, he settled for an afternoon of them (struggling to) assemble a shelf. What can you expect from a nobleman and a sorcerer, really?

“Here,” Flux says, handing a wooden plank to the man. They’ve dissolved into this system—Saps sets things up, and Flux hands him the items he needs.

It was comfortable, the silence. There wasn’t any snowfall, so they left the door slightly ajar, overlooking the icicles that were drooping over the engawa. Flux thinks he can be content like this.

“It’s your birthday soon.” Flux asks once he remembers. “Do you have anything you wanna see?” Last year, Flux had taken care to create a number of spells to show Saps, as the white haired boy had always been interested whenever Flux performed spells.

“Ah…” Saps winces, and Flux jumps to see if he was hurt. He only waves the sorcerer off. “No, it’s just uh… Well… We might not see each other for a bit?” He phrases it like a question, like he’s unsure. Flux freezes.

“It’s not really… something I can control,” Saps frowns, and Flux wants to cry, because it looks so out of place on the man’s face. “Jophiel just said that we’ll have to pause our meetings for a bit. Says it was a request from the Aculon patriarch.”

Fluixon just stares, sitting on the floor of his room, winter wind blowing in. As if on cue, snow starts to fall down. Then, a tear falls. And another, and then another.

“Flux!” Saps panics, and jumps across so that he can hug Flux to his chest. This only makes him want to cry more, because Saps is so firm and so big and so warm and smells so good and he won’t be able to feel this for an unknown amount of time. “Shh, shhh… I got you…” Saps says, and he holds Flux’s nape to support him as Flux buries his face into the taller’s neck, the other hand rubbing circles on Flux’s lower back.

“Why?” Flux finally asks, but he doesn’t pull away from the comfort of the hug. Saps doesn’t make any moves to pull away from the hug either.

“Honestly? I dunno,” Saps sighs. “But this won’t change anything, Flux!” He turns his head so his cheek rests on Saps’s shoulder, and he sees Saps smiling down at him reassuringly.

“I’ll still write to you, and you’ll still reply to me, and I’ll pester Jophiel about it enough that she’ll find a way to convince your patriarch, and we’ll see each other before we know it!”

“Don’t cause the madam too much stress,” Flux finds it in himself to laugh, slightly embarrassed to have burst out crying. “She’ll get white hairs early.”

“But Flux! What will I do if I can’t see you for too long?”

“You’ll just have to sneak into the mountain, I guess.”

True to Saps’s word, he doesn’t appear the week he was supposed to. Nor was he there the next week, nor the next. What’s strange is that none of his family members—not the patriarch, not his mother, not his father—tells him about the halt of transactions between the Aculon and de Theria families. He feels as if he would have lost his mind, had Saps not told him about the fact that their meetings would stop.

After two months of waiting (and far too many exchanged letters with Saps that he’s running out of ink sticks), he musters up the courage to ask his mother. “Why has Saps stopped showing up?”

His mother scrutinizes him with a calculating eye, before she shakes her head. “You already know, Fluixon. We shan’t question the patriarch’s decisions.”

And that was that. After all, millenia pass without change in the mountain that the Aculon clan resides.

Except it wasn’t just that.

Except the world, unfortunately, was not included in the Aculon mountain.

That is made evident, one winter night, where the mountain is engulfed in snow and a blizzard is awaiting in the horizon.

“This is the last of the de Theria shrimp,” His mother says, placing a dish in the middle she says is called tempura. They are accompanied with warm soup, which Flux appreciates, because it helps fend off the cold.

“Oh, I’ll miss you!” His father cries, carefully using his chopsticks to delicately pick up a tempura piece. “Such delectable, juicy, plump, big shrimp!”

His mother rolls her eyes at his theatrics, and they say their thanks before digging in. Truth be told, the shrimp that was provided by the de Theria clan was in far better quality than those of the village, but that was to be expected from a noble family. Flux quietly mourns them alongside his father.

However, the peace of their family dinner is quickly disrupted by commotion outside their house. Quickly, his mother goes to check on it.

Surprisingly (or should he be unsurprised, considering they’re the only ones living on this mountain?), it’s the other Aculon families.

“Hurry! There’s an intruder! To the main estate!” Someone yells, and his mother wastes no time. They’re dressed in their thickest coats and equipped with their brightest candles, finding themselves outside and near the main estate within minutes.

There, everyone is within the hall, an eerie replica of the first meeting with the de Theria family. However, in the center of attention is a boy around the age of 14, with silver hair and vibrant purple eyes…

“Snowbird de Theria,” The patriarch’s voice booms within the confines of the hall. Winter wind blows aggressively against the windows, as if replicating the man’s ire. “If you do not provide a proper reason for you being here right now we will be inclined to use force to get you off this mountain. You are no longer welcome here!”

Snowbird only manages to get out a couple of sobs, before Flux can feel the old man run out of his patience. “Get the letter in the boy’s hand!” He barks out the command, yet nobody follows, frozen. “Have you all gone deaf? Get the parchment within his hands now!”

Flux moves before anyone else can, and goes to Snowbird’s side. He can feel his mother’s stare burning a hole within his back. He’s sure there’s an impending scolding coming his way, but that’s for later to worry about.

“Snowbird, it’s me, Flux— Fluixon. You might know me from Saps, yes?” He murmurs for the young boy to hear, and he notices him relaxing slightly. He shoves the parchment in his hand towards his, and he accepts it.

“Well, boy? What does it say?” The impatient voice of the patriarch carries within the room. Flux immediately looks down to the parchment and reads.

“This is written by Saparata de Theria, the young master of the de Theria clan. At the moment of this being written, I am riding a horse away from the main estate. The madam has been killed. A war has broken out. I ask for the sympathy and good graces of the Aculon clan—you are the only one within our allies that I can trust with the life of my brother. I beg of you to take him in for the duration of the war. I assure you that once the war is won, I will come to collect him with all the treasures I can afford. I beg of you.” Flux’s voice turns wobbly towards the end, knowing what this means to Saps. To lose his older sister and now his little brother and to enter a war. To lose Flux, in his own way.

“Absolutely not!” An elder bellows as he finishes, his face turning purple from the barely contained rage and panic. “We have cut ties with that family for this very reason— from this… from this disastrous war arising and tying us up in it!”

“I hate to agree with him,” Another elder sniffs, nose stuck up high in the air. “But we cannot keep this boy here for any longer without risking being dragged into this war. We hardly have the sufficient numbers to keep this family alive if we ever enter this war, if we measure it with the atrocities of the past war.”

Murmurs of agreement follow the elder’s short assessment, and Snowbird starts shaking like a leaf beside Flux. And he can’t handle this, not right now, not when he’s lost Saps to a war that he isn’t even sure the white haired boy can win.

Snowbird coming to cling onto his hand and the patriarch’s yell—“Alright, enough! Get the de Theria kid and throw him to the foot of the mountain! Make sure he doesn’t come back here!”—snaps Flux out of it.

The least he can do right now for Saps is to defend the brother that he loves very much.

“Wait!” He yells when one family member he’s not familiar with comes to get Snowbird from his side. He turns to look at the old man with what he figures is a pleading look, if the several groans and huffs around him were something to go by. “Please, let him stay! We don’t have to let anybody know that he’s here with us, and we don’t have to get involved with the war! We just need to keep him safe!”

The patriarch nearly pops a vein, and if looks could kill, Flux would have been stabbed a hundred times over from the daggers that his family was staring into him. “Boy. I understand that the de Theria’s young master was close to you but this is war and you know nothing of it!”

“I know enough to be assured that we will not be tied up in it from simply hiding Snowbird!”

“How are you so sure that the child has not been seen going into our mountain coming from the direction of the de Theria land? Do you believe people to be blind?!”

“Plenty of people can come from that area—he doesn’t necessarily have to be part of the family to be coming from there! Please, find some kindness in your hearts and let him stay!”

“You are merely eighteen!” The patriarch bellows angrily. “And yet you dare to question the judgment and orders of your patriarch?!”

“…I will take all punishments, all that you give me. Just let Snowbird stay.”

Silence falls within the hall, an eerie thing right after their screaming match.

“Please.” Flux adds after a minute of silence.

The patriarch squints at him, red in the face from fury. Snowbird shakes harder, and Flux finds it in himself to squeeze nis hand reassuringly.

“Twenty consecutive strikes from the discipline whip a day, for the duration of two weeks.” Elanuelo speaks, and Flux tries hard to not flinch too hard. The gasps of disbelief around him don’t help. “I’m not done.” The old man ground out. He glares harshly at Flux. “You will be handed all the work to transcribe the runes written by the first of the Aculons from the stone tablets to parchment. You are not allowed to use unsupervised spellwork for the duration of the war. You can no longer exchange letters with that de Theria boy. And you will not step so much as a toe out of this mountain for as long as I live. Should we get dragged into the war, you will be the sole Aculon we will give up. Do you understand the utter weight of your decisions, boy?”

Flux swallows harshly, but stares back at the patriarch. Snowbird’s hand in his is shaking and he can almost hear him crying from the fog in his mind. He thinks of Saps. Of the books given to him, of the sweets he brought, of the shelf they built before they stopped seeing one another, of his hugs and his smile and his canola eyes and silver-spun hair. “Yes.”

“Get the discipline whip.” The patriarch only murmurs, disdain on his frown yet something akin to understanding in his eyes.

That night, Flux is stricken with the discipline whip for the first time in his life. Then a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth…

The pain makes him delirious. He nearly doesn’t register that the cries echoing within the hall were his, until his eyes catch his mother crying into his father’s shoulder. Before the twenty strikes are over, he is on his knees, bleeding more blood than he believes to be in his body.

“Get him out of my sight.” The old man orders after the strikes are finished, and within the blink of an eye, his mother is by his side.

“M… om…” His voice cracks as he reaches out for her tear-traced cheeks.

“My baby… Shh… Mom’s got you… It’s okay, baby, it’ll be okay…” She sobs out quietly, using a spell to carry him out of there without jostling his injuries.

“Don’t even think of healing his injuries with your spellwork!” The patriarch barks after them as they exit, and his mother only cries harder.

When he sees Snowbird following behind him, he thinks of Saps and the hug they had shared on their last meeting. He tries to think the pain is worth it.

For two weeks, Flux is bedridden when he isn’t being whipped by the patriarch. He cannot do more than eat porridge and transcribe two characters of the runes before he feels a pounding headache. His vision regularly swims, getting more and more used to the swirls and droops of his sight (although his vertigo never quite quells), and he figures he’s hallucinating every waking hour, because he sees mini Saps everywhere.

Everytime he so much as moves, he feels the ache of the wounds on his back become a tiny bit more painful than normal, and he’s lucky if he can move at all without tears reflexively coming to his eyes or pained noises escaping his lips.

The discipline whip was, after all, created to make even one strike cause the most painful, most excruciating pain there can be. It’s like being on fire and being held underwater, in the deep pressures of the ocean at the same time. It’s like someone is constantly stabbing you every second of every day, even as you sleep or try to rest. The gashes on his back are angry and deep and he’s lucky he has silk clothes from Saps, else he would be crying all day from the sensation of his injuries rubbing against his clothes.

Flux believes he lived through hell for those two weeks he was being punished with the whip.

Flux believes he’s living through hell, for these months he’s spending trying to recuperate without the help of spellwork or sorcery.

“Saps always told me about how stupidly nice you were…” Were the first words Snowbird said to him, since a month and a half of him staying with them. He’s spent his days trying to aid Flux when his mother isn’t there, but he hasn’t really spoken. Well, until now. “But he never said you were this stupid. …And nice.”

Flux hasn’t really regained the strength or will to speak, so he remains silent, lets him speak as he cleans the wounds on his back before bandaging it.

“All I’m saying is… You shouldn’t have— you shouldn’t have done that.” He says with a sniffle, but his voice is firm.

“L— ove… hi, m…” He croaks out.

He supposes he understands what he means, because they maintain a silence that is no longer uncomfortable, though not comfortable.

When Flux can finally stand, even if it’s from the support of both his father and mother, five months have passed.

The wounds on his back are no longer bleeding profusely as a result of him simply moving, and although it’s definitely a stretch to call the thing on his back skin, it’s certainly faring better than before. Now, it’s merely a matter of him rekindling the strength of his spirits, rather than the strength of his bodily autonomy.

He’s been more open to speaking if it’s with his mother, although he’s exhausted mentally if conversations stretch for too long. They’ve had few curt conversations, carried by her patience and abundance of things to talk about. Flux is content to listen. If he weren’t so drained—both emotionally and physically—he would’ve found the switch in dynamics to be quite weird. But as it is, he only stares resolutely to the shelf that he and Saps had built.

“Spring is here.” Snowbird murmurs as he braids his hair up, so it doesn’t bother his healing back. “Brother always said he’ll take you to go see the blooming of cherry blossoms one day.”

“Canola,” Flux murmurs in response.

“What?”

“Your brother. I want to see canola blossoms with him.”

“The time will come,”

“Will it?”

“It will. He’ll find his way back here, even if it kills him.”

I guess I’ll just have to wait the entirety of my immortal life for him to come back to me—he doesn’t choose to voice the nearly depressing thought.

Spring wind brings the scent of flowers to the room that Flux has been resigned to being secluded into. Once upon a time, he had been in this very room with the man he loved. Loves.

Now, he has to deal with the traces the white haired boy has left behind. The letters, the drawings, the unused messenger bird, the shelf, the books, the trinkets, the jewelry, the haoris… The entirety of his room is made up of Saps, and yet, the man himself is eons away. Perhaps he may even be dying at this very moment. Perhaps he had died before Snowbird even made it to the mountain. Perhaps he’ll die the next breath Flux takes.

Flux holds his breath at the thought, if only to prevent the inner turmoil he has within his mind. If only to prevent a fictional death for a fictional Saps.

His eyes unconsciously drift to the table that contains the letter that he had written, a letter that had been and will continue to be unsent to the one it was addressed to. He almost wishes he had sent that letter, regardless of him knowing that Saps would definitely know of his affections from reading it alone. At least then, Saps would have known that he had an option—an option to stay immortal, to have an out from this war that he’s currently in.

He tries to tamp down the wave of disappointment that washes over him. He should know better. He does know better, actually. He knows that Saps wouldn’t have taken his hand, taken his offer, even if he knew. Knows that in the end Saps was always meant to be away from this mountain, even if it causes his death. Knows that Saps’s life is merely a blip of existence compared to the length of life that Flux expects to live.

But the heaviness in his heart is filling up, up, up—a climax that never reaches its peak; a mountain that has no horizon; a curve of a sphere, unending; a flood that is pouring and pouring with no place to pour into—and it spills, eventually, in the form of tears.

It’s nearly liberating, to cry with no noise, after months of him crying out in pain everyday. Nearly, because there’s nothing liberating from the tears that fall. Only a drip, drip, drip of his longing, of his pain, of his grief.

He grieves Saps, who he isn’t sure is even alive. Who he isn’t sure is even dead. Who he isn’t sure is even anything. Is he out there, fighting a war? Or is he hiding? Is he starving, or is he well-fed in allied bases?

Flux has so many questions, has so many worries, but none of them will ever be answered. None of them will ever be quelled, because he has to transcribe runes, has to recover, has to not use the spellwork he had been honing since childhood, has to stay put in the room that he had barely given the time of day before in favor of the forest, has to stay put in the mountain that had caged him his entire life.

But the runes are slowly trickling down from intensity, the stone tablets no longer swarming his room, slowly but surely being transcribed to familiar characters on parchment, recounting the glory of the Aculon clan and how it was founded. His hands are ink-stained and his face is smudged with black stains, but he is proud of the development.

The wounds on his back have slowly but surely formed scars, only the phantom pains and the forever mangled skin being the reminders of the most excruciating pain he has known. He regains his strength to walk and talk, and soon, he’s taking Snowbird around the mountain, much like he had his brother.

He hasn’t used spellwork, but no longer feels the urge to cry when he sees his mother casting.

The years had softened his grief, had uplifted his hopes, had let him believe that there may be light at the end of the tunnel. Snowbird’s cheery and optimistic disposition was a contributing factor to this.

And so, seven years had passed. And with the belief that Saps will appear, one day, he braves each day.

“Yo.” And Saps does. Appear, that is. Flux nearly startles, but he catches himself. He can’t exactly startle the fox in his lap, or else he’d be braving a bite to his hand, and he can’t have that. He’s nearly done with transcribing the third to the last stone tablet!

“Easy there,” Saps says with a laugh to his voice, but he sounds weary. He has scars on his arms, and one through his face. His hair is cut from its once hip-length to shoulder-length. He’s taller, broader. He’s older. He’s Saps.

Flux drinks in the sight of the other. He’s shocked enough that he isn’t crying, but he’s sure to start sobbing later, once it settles in enough.

Then, he barks out a near-hysterical laugh, and the Saps in front of him is real enough to look concerned. It’s been a while since Flux had a realistic hallucination. This is what this is, right? Some hallucination he’s having?

“Easy, Flux. I’ll start thinking you lost your mind without me here if you continue laughing,” Saps jokes, although he does sound concerned. He kneels to sit down beside the sorcerer.

Flux laughs even more at the statement. Then, he extracts his hand that was grooming the fox on his lap, and instead reaches out to touch the (what he believes is) hallucinated-Saps’s cheek.

But he actually touches his cheek, this time. He actually feels the rough skin of the scar going from the left of his forehead to the right of his chin. He actually feels Saps’s breath going in and out as he traces said scar.

“You’re real.” He concludes, laughter still in his voice. Tears threaten to overspill his eyes, his vision quite literally swimming as he struggles to hold back from crying. His lips quiver from the effort, although futile, because they overflow as he says, “Holy shit, you’re actually real. You’re here. Holy shit.”

“Yes, Flux, I’m here.” Saps laughs. Flux’s heart swells, and he traces the man’s cheek again. “Snowbird said you’d be here. Said it was your new favorite spot.”

“You met with Snowbird?” He croaks out, voice wavering from the force of which he’s trying to hold back sobs.

“I did, briefly, yeah. The patriarch let me, after I presented the treasures I promised in the letter. But he insisted I come to see you first.” He smiles, ruffling Flux’s hair.

“You won the war?”

“I did. Three weeks ago.”

“What took so long?”

“No sides were willing to relent, Flux… And, well—”

“Honey!” A resounding call from the path leading to the clearing they’re in carries over to their ears. Saps visibly perks up, and in comes a beautiful brunette woman.

“As I was saying—we had to verify our union. To end the war,” Saps finishes, as the woman comes to stand behind Saps. He stands up.

“Union sounds so cold,” The woman jokes with a poise and elegance that Flux respects. “Hello, Fluixon. I’m glad to finally meet the man that has saved my dearest brother in law!”

They explain, later, that Saparata had wedded someone from the opposing side of the war, to unite the two sides without further bloodshed, after seven years on the battlefield.

Saparata then frets over Flux, once Snowbird lets it slip that he was stricken by the discipline whip for his sake. He’s glad he doesn’t elaborate further that it was around 280 strikes of the whip, else he would have to deal with the disapproving stare of Saparata.

And then, just like old times, Flux waves as Saparata, his wife, and his brother descend the mountain. After all, millenia pass without change in the mountain that the Aculon clan resides.

Saparata visits from time to time—sometimes as frequent as every other week, other times only once every two months—whenever his schedule allows for it. He still gives books to Flux.

Flux, in turn, has started using sorcery again. He gives Saparata talismans of his own creation to help the other in his own little ways, however far away they are.

And then, his father dies.

And then, Saparata slowly stops showing up.

The limitations of mortal humans laugh in the faces of the ones they blew up in—the ones being immortals like him and his mother.

“I wanted to rest here.” Snowbird’s wrinkled hand reaches out to trace Flux’s hand. He’s still crying. He hasn’t quite mastered the distance and resignation that his mother has, whenever the mortals she knows dies. “It’s a good place to rest. Even if it reminds me just how much time has passed since my youth drifted away.”

Snowbird closes his eyes slowly. Flux squeezes his hand.

“Brother wanted me to tell you, before I died…” He says with a low voice that Flux strains to hear. “That if— if love were enough… He would be here by your side. He would come back to your side.”

“I know,” He murmurs, bringing up Snowbird’s hand to his cheek. “I know, Snowbird. Thank you for letting me know. Thank you for doing this for us in your last moments.”

“Of course,” He laughs. “You severely underestimate my brother’s love for you.”

Those were the last words he says before he takes his last breath.

And Fluixon is alone, again. Ninety-six years old with the complexion of his twenty year old self.

Yet, the sun rises.

After all, millenia pass without change in the mountain that the Aculon clan resides.

But Snowbird had always been bright, and smart.

He really had underestimated the white haired boy.

137 years.

It took the white haired boy 137 years before he came back home.

“Fluixon Aculon,” He murmurs in response to the familiar white haired boy’s question, as he wrings a towel and places it on his forehead. “And you are?”

“Sa…ps…” Saparata croaks out.

Fluixon’s stilled heart beats again.