Archive of Our Own

“And don’t you ever show your faces here again!” a loud, low roar boomed from a shop in sun-drenched Oriflamme. “Filthy little thieves, get the hell out of my sight!”

Three dirty boys ran out from behind the door, laughing merrily and trying to hide what were obviously stolen sweets under their vests, and the portly owner couldn't keep up with them. But the children, delighted with their "raid," didn't immediately notice another boy coming their way. Nearly crashing into him, all three lost their balance and fell sprawled across the road, along with their "trophies." The fourth child managed to stay on his feet and looked at the fallen boys in surprise, but sensing something was wrong, he grabbed two of the boys as they tried to crawl away, desperate to stop them.

"What the hell you doing?" " the tallest of the thieves yelped, looking down, and then gasped as a heavy hand grabbed him by the collar and lifted him into the air.

"You won't get away with this now!" the candy shop owner sneered with jagged teeth. "And you're probably one of their gang too... Wait, it's you, Dion!"

Dion, dressed no better than the boy thieves, but much neater, immediately brushed the dust from his clothes and straightened up.

"Hello, Master Yvelin," he bowed his head to the shopkeeper, pursing his lips as his gaze slid over the crumbled sugar candies.

"Bah!" one of the thieves exclaimed, pointing at Dion. "That's that dead whore's son."

“You’re going to get a beating from me before I even turn you over to the guards!” Yvelin’s face flushed bright red. “Unlike you, this boy has never stolen a thing or tried to trick anyone! But you lot? You’re just thieves who don't even say hello, with absolutely no respect for your elders!”

"Who respects us?" sobbed the boy, still held by the scruff of the neck by the shopkeeper, clearly deciding to change tactics and appeal to his pity. "We don’t steal because our lives are great, you know!"

Dion came closer and picked up a few remaining candies, wrapped in paper, from the ground. They, too, were crumbled, but they could be melted down and reshaped. The boy glared sternly at the thieves.

"One can pity a man who steals a piece of bread out of need. But even the merciful Greagor herself probably wouldn't pity you. Sweets are a luxury, not a necessity, and you stole not because you had nothing to eat, but because you were greedy," he said slowly, nodding at the candies.

"Dion is absolutely right," Evelyn chuckled, grabbing two other thieves with his free hand, who seemed to have tried to escape during the conversation. "Thank you," he smiled at the boy. "Take the sweets for yourself, think it's a reward. And I'll hand these scoundrels over to the guards."

Dion's eyes widened: these were sugar candies, worth a fortune! He looked at the candies in his hands again and finally nodded.

"Thank you, Master Yvelin," the boy nodded gratefully. "Goodbye."

Dion was about to head off toward his street when one of the thieves screamed.

“Look at him! Acting like he’s so special,” the boy spat. “Just because your mother dropped you after some rich client had his way with her doesn’t mean you’re any better than us. If Greagor is so just, then how come we all have parents, but your mother died not long ago? We’ll see who gets punished here! You’re just like us—no, you're even worse!”

Dion stood there, clutching the sweets. Without replying, he simply continued walking, glad that at least neither Master Yvelin nor the gang could see his face. A loud slap and a curse rang out, after which Dion turned down an alley and ran toward his house, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone else. When he reached his destination, he opened the lock with trembling hands and, rushing inside, slammed the door shut, sliding down it and not noticing how the sweets scattered with a soft thud across the floor.

No one was supposed to see him cry.

***

Dion was born to a prostitute in a famous brothel. It was a popular but expensive establishment, accessible only to a select few, and the girls often had regular clients. It was odd that the woman had decided to keep the child, as for workers in such places, this meant months of lost of income and possible persecution by the potential father. Therefore, pregnancies were either terminated or the children were given to their fathers after birth. Instead, Dion's mother, thanks to her savings, was able to pay off the brothel owner and quietly leave, asking that no one be told. She was able to buy a small but sturdy house on the outskirts of town, which she divided into rooms for convenience using wooden walls (an unthinkable option for commoners, but she figured no one would stop by and see her house inside anyway, and the artisan who helped with the construction was paid extra to keep his mouth shut). She changed her name with a bribe and began a new life. Since prostitutes generally rarely left their workplaces, and Dion's mother worked in a rather secretive establishment, no one knew her in her new place. Thanks to her ability to read and write, she could earn money by helping merchants keep records or even teaching their children to read and write a little. However, she kept her work secret: a literate woman suddenly appearing with a child could arouse suspicion and attract unwanted attention, or, worse, allow Dion's father to track her down. When the boy grew up, his mother taught him to read and write, but also asked him not to tell anyone. When asked why she feared his father, the woman replied that Dion's father was a noble man, but he could take the child away forever. Little Dion readily agreed: his kind, gentle mother had always cared for him, and that was enough for him, even though he dreamed of one day knowing his father and why he would certainly take Dion away.

Years passed, and everyone in the alley grew accustomed to the tired but beautiful woman and her equally charming son, as if he'd been born of Greagor's grace. However, evil tongues whispered about the lonely woman's unknown income, and the answer, of course, was one: prostitution. After that, life became more difficult. Although there were people who protected them, mainly the merchants who hired the woman, she begged them to remain silent: she was willing to tolerate rumors and insults, because who cared about an illiterate prostitute who had a child? But it was much harder to protect Dion from this. The boy knew his mother had indeed conceived him while working in a brothel, but that was long ago. He knew the mother who taught him to read and write, made him delicious soup, and, even when tired after work, never stopped smiling at her son, calling him the best.

"I'll always be with you," she whispered to him at night, hugging Dion and wrapping them both in a warm blanket. "No one will take you from me, my Dion."

But it turned out that the boy's mother was taken instead. One morning, he woke up and, surprised that she hadn't gotten up yet, went into her bedroom to rouse her. His mother had died quietly in her sleep, and even after death, the smile never left her lips.

The neighbors gossiped that the woman had certainly died of some shameful disease, and her son was probably contagious too, which is why many children didn't want to play with him. But there were also adults who sincerely pitied the boy and helped him with simple food. Dion already knew how to clean, wash, and mend clothes, but cooking was difficult, as there was almost no money left for groceries: during the funeral, someone had stolen the box in which his mother kept her savings from the cabinet. The thief was never found, and the boy was left penniless. He couldn't work like his mother because he'd promised her to keep his literacy a secret, and the merchants who worked with hergradually earned enough to move to wealthier streets. So the boy mostly did the physical work his age allowed, like helping carry heavy loads, and in his free time, he learned to fight. More precisely, Dion had heard a lot about dragoons, and with some money, he was able to buy a book with illustrations. Finding a long and thick enough stick in the forest, he practiced at home as best he could, trying to memorize stances and movements, and rejoiced at how much the book helped him: his attacks gradually became more precise and powerful, and the theory he'd read allowed him to learn how the body reacts to properly executed maneuvers. Even though the book cost him almost all of his earnings, the boy considered it, like any knowledge, an investment in the future. He might not become a knight or a great commander because of his birth, but well-trained soldiers, even those of ignoble origin, earned good money.

So why was the child, who seemed to be slowly beginning to live independently, now crying like a little one, shutting himself off from everyone? It wasn't shame, as it might seem; Dion had never been ashamed of his mother. It was just that, along with her, Greagor had taken something else from him, but that was a terrible secret the boy had never revealed to anyone.

After his mother's death, the whole world around him had become black and white.

This was nothing less than a curse for some terrible sin. That's why Dion cried: these petty thieves were better than him, and no matter how neat he looked or how decent he behaved, he was a child conceived in sin and didn't deserve to live, since the Goddess herself had decided to punish him.

Sniffing and wiping away tears with his sleeve, Dion tried to catch his breath; tears could worsen his already damaged vision. Carefully picking up the candies from the floor and making sure they were still wrapped, he walked to the corner of the kitchen and checked one of the floorboards. He kept a small box underneath where he kept his earnings. After placing the candies in it and then counting the money, the boy groaned in disappointment: tax time was approaching, and he still didn't have the required amount. Work was tight right now, so he'd have to skip dinner again today to save money.

Sighing, Dion put the money back. He needed to go and find a way to earn at least a little more.

***

A few more days passed, but new work was becoming harder to find: in their neighborhood, shopkeepers had begun to avoid hiring children, as they counted every copper themselves before tax time, and breaking into the wealthy district when you were a commoner boy was quite a challenge. But for Dion, getting closer to the wealthy streets was even more difficult: they were closer to the Castle and the city walls, made of white stone, and the reflected sunlight blinded the boy so much that he simply couldn't see the road ahead.

Dion lay curled up on his bed, ignoring the cramps in his stomach. He knew this couldn't go on much longer, and he had no choice but to try to reach the shopping streets. Even if the Goddess had cursed him and locked him in a black-and-white world, he couldn't spend his entire life avoiding problems. If he could find work even a few times with wealthy merchants, it might be enough to save up for tax and buy some vegetables for soup.

Groaning, the boy stood up and turned his head toward the window: fortunately, the day was clear. Dion, of course, loved good weather and used to enjoy strolling along the sunlit streets, but now the bright light meant eye pain and near-blindness. The entire Oriflamme now seemed like a gray-white labyrinth to him. But even so, he refused to give up, and so, throwing on a thin cloak, Dion left the house.

The path to the wealthy streets was fairly easy. Of course, there were familiar children who tried to push him, and some women whispered among themselves, but this wasn't unusual for Dion. The harder part was walking, trying not to look up, lest he accidentally catch a glimpse of the sun or the blinding whiteness of the castle towers. As he walked, the sun began to beat down on him, and even with his hood up, he felt his head begin to spin, his stomach tightening with hunger again, and each new staircase leading to the upper levels of the city became a challenge. By the time he reached the wealthy streets, his legs were shaking and he had to lean against the wall of a building to keep from falling. Sweat was pouring down his face, his eyes were stinging, and his heart was pounding so fast it felt like it was trying to break through his chest. Dion took a few deep, slow breaths, blinked back tears, and tried to straighten up. He had to try to calm down, otherwise no one would believe he was capable of working, and then the whole journey would be in vain.

But Dion hadn't taken into account that the shopping streets were much more crowded, and walking without raising his head was practically impossible: the ornate shop signs and strangers' faces flashed before his eyes like gray spots, depriving him of his last landmarks, and the aromas of food and perfume threatened to turn his stomach. Someone accidentally pushed him in the back, causing him to fall. The impact made his head throb. Dion struggled to his feet, clinging to the protruding cobblestones of the pavement—thankfully, he'd been walking closer to the side of the street—and realized he should turn back. But when he tried to look back, he realized he couldn't make out the road. Bile rose in his throat.

Standing still would have been foolish, so he decided to simply walk cautiously, hoping to stumble upon a guard who, even if they cursed, would lead him to the outskirts, from where he could make his own way. He walked, uncertain of his destination, the world around him merging into indistinct noise and gray, and the only things Dion was aware of were pain and fatigue. He didn't know how much time had passed as he wound through unfamiliar streets, when suddenly he came to a dead end. He stretched out his arms and, feeling the perfectly smooth, icy surface, rested his forehead against it with relief, closing his tired eyes. It appeared to be the stone of the castle wall, and Dion could indeed hear quiet voices coming from above: perhaps dragoons or someone else were walking along it. At least, it didn't look like anyone could enter this dead end, and Dion decided to take the opportunity to rest in the shade, away from the sun that threatened to blind him. But his legs wouldn't stop shaking, and the boy sank to his knees, cursing his foolishness. He'd wasted his time.

Using the arch of stone and wall, he looked up at the sky. And at that moment, a strange face appeared before him. Dion caught only a glimpse, but he could make out round cheeks and shining eyes wide in shock.

Suddenly, a heavy weight crashed into him, forcing his back against the stone road. The breath was knocked out of him, and he couldn't inhale. Pain lanced through his body, but soon the saving darkness set in.

***

***

***

To Dion's delight, he was able to quickly reach home without encountering anyone. He was glad to be back, even though the house had become dusty during his absence. The boy dragged the basket to the kitchen and hurried to his hiding place. Everything was in place. He considered emptying all the coins into the box at once, but after thinking about it, he decided to keep a few in his purse, just in case. Now that his savings weren't so meager, the boy could afford to always have a certain amount on hand, rather than having to run out and remove a floorboard every time.

After that, Dion decided to clean up properly. Of course, dust was hard to see, but he could sweep it up without much trouble. After a few hours of waving a broom and rag, Dion, pleased with the result, decided it was time to start preparing dinner. Of course, it was just vegetable soup again, but today he had managed to buy some sage and even buttermilk: these were the ingredients Dion's mother added to his favorite soup.

"It smells wonderful!" suddenly, as the boy stirred the contents of the pot, an unfamiliar voice rang out behind him. Dion yelped and, narrowly avoiding spilling the boiling soup on himself, spun around.

And there he saw that boy. About his own age, with a round face, soft, fluffy hair, and bright eyes whose color Dion suddenly desperately wanted to know. The stranger wore a thin, gleaming white shirt and deep dark breeches. Over them was a long, short-sleeved doublet made of fabric so soft and pure it seemed woven from clouds, and on his feet were immaculate knee-high boots. The boy tilted his head to the side and pressed his hand to his chest—in the dim light of the room, the earring in his ear sparkled with an unearthly light, and the massive ring on his finger flashed. But there was something else that made Dion's heart beat faster.

The boy had wings. Enormous, as if woven from light. They were white, but they didn't blind Dion like the sun; on the contrary, their light was calming. He was unlikely to be a ghost, more likely...

"Angel?" Dion asked, trying to control his trembling voice.

"Can you hear me?" the ghost was surprised.

"I can see you," Dion frowned, then gasped as the soup boiled over, splashing directly onto his hand. He hissed in pain and grabbed a rag to wipe the remaining liquid from the burn.

"Careful!" the stranger ran up to him, carefully taking his burned hand and beginning to examine it. "I can help."

The next second, he whispered a word unfamiliar to Dion, after which the boy saw his hand enveloped in a wondrous white glow. A few seconds later, the burn vanished without a trace.

"Done!" The other boy smiled, but then immediately put his hands to his face and began coughing. Dion, completely helpless in the face of such a fit, could only stroke his back. Finally, the coughing stopped, and the stranger let out a sigh of relief.

"Sorry about that," he said, hanging his head in disappointment. "This happens every time I use magic. My name is Joshua, by the way," he said, holding out his hand.

"Dion," the boy shook the outstretched hand, lost in thought. He tried to remember if there had ever been anyone with that name among the Goddess's messengers, but he couldn't.

"Are you an angel, Joshua?" the boy tried again. "Did Greagor send you?"

Joshua frowned.

"Why do you think that? And who is Greagor?"

"You have wings," Dion said. "White. So you must be an angel." He felt his heart beat faster. "And Greagor is the Goddess who protects us all."

The stranger boy turned his head to examine his wings. He stared at them for a long time, frowning, until finally he looked back at Dion.

"To be honest, I don't remember anything except my name. But you're probably right. I'm an angel. But definitely not a ghost, because otherwise we wouldn't be able to touch each other, right?"

Dion let out a stifled sob. Was this really happening? Had Greagor finally taken pity on him and sent him a miracle? Oh, he'd endured so much, would everything really get better soon? Although, it already had, ever since he first saw the Angel by the castle wall.

"I'm very glad," he said, brushing away tears. "It's a good sign."

"I don't even know why I came," Joshua frowned. "But if you see me, that means I really was sent to you! We'll definitely be friends!"

"Friends?" Dion's mouth dropped open in surprise. No one had wanted to be friends with him before, and now the messenger Greagor himself wanted to be his ompanion! "Of course!" He nodded quickly. "But first..."

The soup continued to bubble in the pot, staining everything around it.

"…It would be nice to save dinner."

***

"Do you live here alone?" Joshua asked, looking around the room while Dion critically examined the nearly ruined pot, now conveniently placed on the dining room table. "There are two rooms in the house, but I've never seen anyone except you."

Dion froze for a moment. Memories of his mother pierced his heart.

"My mother died," he finally said simply. "And I never knew my father. But my mother said he might come looking for me to take me away from her, and she was afraid of that."

"Your father is a bad man?" The Angel tilted his head to the side and stared at Dion with a curious gaze. "But how did you appear then, if your mother was afraid of him?" Joshua's eyes widened in horror. "He didn't..."

"No!" Dion exclaimed immediately. "No, it was all voluntary. It's just... he was kind in the beginning, while I wasn't conceived. Something like that."

Joshua breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's good."

Dion nodded.

"Mother was a good woman. She was beautiful, kind, and could read and write, though she hid it. She taught me, too," Dion puffed out his chest proudly. "Although, I only have two books now:The Hymns of Greagor, which I learned to read from, and, well..." The boy looked away, suddenly feeling his face flush. "A book about dragoons."

"Wow!" the Angel looked at Dion with admiration. "A book about dragoon training, right? I know about them! They're highly trained soldiers, protecting people in times of trouble. Will you show me something from that book?"

Dion blushed even more.

"I'm not that good," he muttered. "And I'll never become a dragoon: only nobles can do that, and at best, I'll become a soldier or a city guard."

Joshua was visibly upset; even his feathers seemed to fade.

"So your dream won't come true," he said sadly.

"Well, that doesn't mean I shouldn't try," Dion smiled, trying to encourage Joshua. "Maybe I'll be the first commoner so talented that they'll make me the greatest dragoon without question! But if I don't train, even that slim chance will slip away."

"That's so," the Angel nodded, instantly brightening. "I'm glad you believe in the best, Dion."

Dion looked down at the floor, trying to overcome his embarrassment. Then suddenly he remembered.

Joshua, after the boy set the pot aside, unwrapped the candy wrapper. They hadn't managed to split it perfectly in half, but at least it was in large pieces, not just grains. They each took a small piece of the resulting candy.

"Delicious!" the Angel groaned with satisfaction, chewing his piece. "So sweet! They stick to your teeth, though"

"Uh-huh," Dion liked it too. "I thought it would be like honey, but it really is different. And it makes me thirstier."

The boy stood up to pour two mugs of water. While he was scooping, the Angel yawned behind him.

"I don't know if angels are supposed to be sleepy," he muttered, "but I certainly wouldn't mind."

"I can make you a bed in mother's room. If that doesn't bother you, of course." Technically, enough time had passed for the bedroom to no longer be considered a "dead person's room," but Dion himself hadn't set foot in the room since the funeral. "Or you can sleep in my room. I'll sleep on the floor just fine."

"No," Joshua refused without thinking. "We're friends. How can I sleep on the bed while you're freezing on the floor? We can..." He trailed off, blushing, but continued. "We can sleep together. It'll be warmer."

While this thought also unsettled Dion, he remembered that on cold nights he always shared a bed with his mother, and there was nothing unusual about it. After drinking some water, they both headed to Dion's room. While the other boy was changing into his night clothes (having such clothes was considered a luxury, but Dion had been taught this by his mother, who said that it was better for the body, although he did not really understand what she meant), Joshua, turning away, quietly took off his boots.

"You can take off your doublet and breeches," Dion muttered, falling onto the bed and pulling the blanket over himself. He could already feel himself getting tired. "I don't think they're comfortable."

There was a rustling sound, and soon Joshua was lying down next to Dion. He lay on his side, keeping his wings clear of the bed. The other boy covered him as best he could with the other half of the blanket.

"Sorry, but the other blanket is in the other room," Dion whispered. "But at least this one's warm."

"I don't mind," Joshua nodded, smiling, and yawned again, covering his mouth with his hand. "Goodnight, Dion. May you dream only good dreams."

Before the boy could answer, the Angel was already snoring peacefully.

"Sleep well to you too, Joshua," he whispered softly, stifling a chuckle.

That night, Dion fell asleep quickly, and the nightmares that had plagued him since the day his mother died never disturbed his slumber.

***

Several days passed. Dion tried to take walks as often as possible between jobs. He organized walks so Joshua could see the Oriflamme and its surroundings. However, he had to speak very quietly, so no one could hear: only Dion could see the Angel, and passersby, thinking he was talking to himself, might turn him over to the church as a suspect in possession. And if the weather turned bad, both boys would immediately run home, where Dion would demonstrate various techniques the dragoons used in battle from a book. Joshua knew a little about the Empire of Sanbreque, about basic life (though, on their walks, Dion noticed that Angel felt more confident in the wealthy neighborhoods, while the behavior of the outskirts stunned him), but he couldn't tell him anything about himself except his name and the fact that he could read and write. Reading Greagor's hymns evoked no emotion in him other than curiosity, as if he were learning something entirely new. Dion was sad that his friend knew nothing, but Joshua didn't attach much importance to this, saying that knowing about Dion was enough for him.

"If I don't have memories, then let's create new ones together!" he declared.

And Dion tried his best: he bought Joshua a book about the history of Valisthea, picked flowers as a gift along the way, or bought him something tasty. He tried to save money so as not to squander his savings, but he set aside a separate amount for gifts for the Angel and never exceeded it. And so, although many of the neighbors still avoided him, the world remained black and white, but now Dion understood why Greagor had sent him Joshua: so he would have a friend and stop being lonely. Every night, Dion, after making sure the Angel was asleep, slipped out from under the covers and, kneeling by the window and clutching the Hymns to his chest, thanked Greagor for her messenger.

One morning, Joshua suddenly woke up gloomy. It was overcast, so they couldn't go for a walk. Angel leafed through the book he'd given him, without much interest. Seeing this, Dion became worried and decided not to look for work that day, but to stay with his friend. He remembered how his mother had comforted him during his blues, and after rummaging through the cupboard, he actually managed to find some dried chamomile. After pouring boiling water over it and letting it steep, Dion went to his hiding place and pulled out a sugar candy. This was sure to cheer his friend up.

A few minutes later, he set two mugs and the treat on the table. Joshua, seeing this, smiled genuinely for the first time all day. The chamomile had clearly made him feel better, and they were able to chat a little about their plans for the next day. That evening, they went to bed together as usual, and Dion again offered a prayer to the Goddess.

The next morning, the other half of the bed was empty, save for a shining white feather and a paper-wrapped candy.

Dion's world collapsed again. He wanted to rush around the house, call for Joshua, or run out and search the street, but Dion knew it wouldn't help. Instead, the boy simply picked up the feather and held it to his chest. There were no tears. He had already cried them all.

***

Dion wandered along the outskirts of the city. He no longer heard the whispers of adults behind his back, nor the open ridicule of children. The boy simply walked aimlessly, hoping to disappear somewhere quietly, perhaps following Joshua and mother, though he was increasingly losing faith in Greagor's mercy.

So, after a while, Dion emerged beyond the city limits. The wind blowing across the plain ruffled his hair, and this sobered him, at least a little. Closing his eyes, he exposed his face to the gusts of wind and the warm sun.

Suddenly, he heard the cries of a chocobo. Dion's eyes snapped open and he quickly moved to the side of the road so as not to interfere with a passing carriage. To his surprise, the carriage stopped next to him. It was adorned with a flag bearing a bird-shaped crest, but, unable to see the color, Dion couldn't determine with certainty what nation it belonged to.

"It's him!" the carriage door swung open and a young man emerged. He had dark hair and piercing eyes, and was dressed in practical but clearly expensive attire.

The young lord glanced at Dion and nodded for some reason, after which another man, this one much older, stepped out of the carriage. He had a stubble, his face already wrinkled, which became even more pronounced when the stranger smiled at Dion. The boy was taken aback, but immediately bowed obediently.

"Greetings, Your Grace," he said.

"Good day, boy," the nobleman nodded, and his smile somehow widened. "Where are you going, and," he looked straight at where Dion clasped his hands under his cloak, "what are you carrying?"

Dion's heart skipped a beat. They already knew he was hiding something under his cloak, and attempting to lie could lead to severe punishment. This was obviously another taunt from the Goddess: now she was trying to deprive Dion of the only memory of his friend. Taking a deep breath, the boy pulled his hand from beneath his cloak, revealing a feather.

"This...!" The youth's eyes widened.

"My treasure," Dion told the elder lord: for some reason, he absolutely did not want to lie to this man with kind eyes. "The feather of my Angel."

The nobleman raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Angel?"

"Yes," the boy nodded. "He was a messanger from Gregor herself. Although," Dion swallowed, "he had to leave. And this white feather was all that remained."

"First of all, it's not white," the young lord spoke up again. "Secondly, it's the feather of the Phoenix."

Dion frowned, examining the feather.

"I don't know what the Phoenix looks like," the boy answered honestly. "And this feather is definitely white."

The elder lord studied him for a moment, but his gaze didn't make him uncomfortable. For some reason, Dion remembered his mother's gaze when she examined him for scratches and bruises after playing outside: just as attentive, yet so full of concern.

"What is your name?" the man asked.

"Dion, Your Grace."

"Dion," the lord repeated. "Tell me honestly, Dion: can you see colors?"

The boy's eyes widened in fear. How had he been discovered so quickly? Could it really be because of the feather? But Joshua himself would have told him!

Suddenly, the man placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. Only then did Dion realize he was trembling.

"No," the boy finally exhaled. "Or rather, I could, but the colors disappeared when my mother died."

The nobleman nodded.

"Then I'll explain everything now." He smiled softly, reassuringly. "You can't see, but my son and I are now wearing red robes, and a red flag bearing the Phoenix crest flutters above our carriage. My name is Elwin Rosfield, ruler of the Grand Duchy of Rosaria. My eldest son, Clive, stands beside me, and our Eikon is the Firebird the Phoenix. Look closely at the feather: what you thought was white light is actually flame."

Dion, I think he's heard something about this. Joshua... Joshua Rosfield?..

The boy gasped, realizing.

"Joshua is the Dominant?"

"So you really did see my youngest son," the Archduke said and sighed. "A few days ago, when we visited the Emperor, Joshua managed to escape the servants' care. And... there was an accident. Joshua fell from the castle wall."

Now Dion understood everything. The face he saw then, in the dead end, was the face of Joshua, who had fallen from the wall. He had fallen right on Dion, and therefore, most likely, the mysterious man who had paid the infirmary bill was Lord Rosfield.

Dion looked at the feather again. A tightness swelled in his chest. He began to tremble as he felt the Archduke hold him by both shoulders, as if calming him.

And Dion cried. He knew it was unacceptable to cry in the presence of such nobles, that he must learn to control himself, but he simply couldn't understand one thing: why?

"Greagor took my mother from me and cursed my eyes," the boy squeezed out through his unceasing tears. "Then, when I believed she'd sent me a friend, she took him too! Could it really be... could it really be my fault that I was born? Am I destined to bear this sin for the rest of my days?"

Lord Rosfield released his shoulders and gently hugged him, holding him close and letting him cry. Dion continued to sob, loudly and heartbreakingly, and there was no resentment in his crying, only the pain and longing of his little heart for the two people he loved most in the world, but who had left him so early.

"I'm sorry," the boy sobbed, no longer understanding who he was asking forgiveness for or why. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

The Archduke waited patiently for Dion to calm down, and when the boy stopped trembling, he patted him on the back. Dion walked away, sobbing and trying not to look at the man whose expensive clothes he'd surely ruined. Blinking back the last of his tears, he looked down at the feather he'd been holding in his hand all this time. And froze.

The feather glowed with a warm orange flame. Looking closer, the boy spotted blue marks among the orange and red flashes and traced them with fingers trembling with excitement. He looked up at the lord in shock and couldn't help but sigh.

"Did Joshua have blue eyes too?" the question escaped Dion before he could stop himself. The boy blushed deeply. He, a commoner, was already treated too well, and yet he continued to show disrespect. While Dion struggled to find the words to apologize, the Archduke laughed, and even his eldest son snorted good-naturedly behind him.

"Yes," he smiled. "Joshua has blue eyes."

Dion exhaled, and finally felt the lump in his throat disappear. He looked up and squinted at the sudden abundance of colors he could now discern.

It was a miracle his "angel" had given him as a parting gift.

"Thank you so much," he said. "Even though Joshua is no longer by my side, he will always be in my heart. Honestly," the boy pressed the feather to his chest, "even now I feel like he's near."

After these words, he tried to hand the feather to Lord Rosfield, but he shook his head.

"Joshua wanted you to have it," the Archduke replied softly. "I'm sure you can keep it safe."

Dion nodded.

"I promise."

The man gave him a final, fatherly squeeze and headed for the carriage.

"Do you need an escort?" the eldest son suddenly asked.

"No, I'll make it myself," the boy smiled broadly and bowed deeply. "Thank you again for everything, Your Grace, Your Highness. I wish you a safe journey!"

When the Rosfields nodded to him in farewell, Dion headed toward the city, hiding the feather of the Ange... No, the Phoenix, right under his cloak.

Of course, it hurt to know he would never see Joshua again. But they would always be friends, and the "angel" left Dion a whole world full of color. Perhaps he truly was unloved by the Goddess, but his mother loved him, Joshua loved him, and with their love in his heart, he would live on.

For the first time in a long time, he felt his steps lighten.

***

"So this boy is a Bearer?" asked Clive as the Rosarian carriage began to move again.

Father shook his head.

"Excluded. In Sunbreque, especially in the capital, it is impossible to be a Bearer and avoid being branded. So if he really was able to see Joshua while he was unconscious, then only one thing is possible."

“He’s also a Dominant,” added a third voice, “Just like me.”

“And the disclosure of that information could lead to a political scandal,” the Archduke sighed. “If the truth comes out, a hunt will immediately begin for the boy, and if the truth comes out from Rosaria’s side, we could be accused of espionage. The best we can do is pretend we don't know anything."

“But maybe we should have told him that Joshua was actually alive?” Clive asked again. "He’ll find out sooner or later anyway."

“No,” Joshua replied. “Even though we became friends, his friend was the oblivious boy Joshua, not the Dominant of the Phoenix. But I think that since he was able to see me all these days, it means that Bahamut’s awakening is close. And then we can meet as equals. In the meantime,” the boy smiled, looking out the window, “it’s enough for me to know that Dion really exists, he really is my friend, and not just a dream that I saw while I was unconscious.”

“Two Dominant friends,” the older brother laughed. “You will move mountains together.”

"Of course!" the boy’s eyes, turning to his brother, lit up. "Dion is already very strong! With just one book, he was able to learn several techniques from the dragoon arsenal! Have you seen how he behaves? And how he bows! Dion is amazing! “Joshua blurted out, almost standing up from his seat and immediately groaned when the carriage jumped on the rough road.

Clive laughed and, while his younger brother smiled shyly, he suddenly took out a small bag.

"By the way, Joshua. I was able to find the shop you were talking about. But are you sure it's candy you want? It's just sugar, nothing was even added to it."

"Everything is fine. These candies are the best,” the boy unwrapped one of the candies and, putting it in his mouth, winked. "They stick to your teeth, though."

***

Hidden from prying eyes by the darkness of the streets, the woman, looking around, walked along an empty quarter, where the majestic mansions of the Sanbrequois nobility lined the road. She was shaking, not from the cold, but from anticipation of the news that she would tell her master. In just a few minutes, at this secret meeting, the fate of the entire empire will change forever.

This boy was truly wonderful, sensitive, smart and probably the one they were looking for. The maid did not want to ruin the child’s life, but she first of all lived for the sake of the Empire and was obliged to tell everything.

She looked around and, making sure that no one was watching, knocked the password on one of the doors. It was immediately opened to her, and she silently slipped inside the mansion - of course, one of many owned by the family she served. Almost all the candles had already been extinguished, and in the room where the guest was already expected, twilight reigned, broken only by the dying flame in the fireplace.

“Abigail,” the gentleman sitting in a luxurious chair called her.

The woman knelt down.

“I came to tell you the news, my lord,” she spoke in a broken whisper. “The other day a boy was admitted to the city hospital. He introduced himself as a commoner.”

The nobleman chuckled, urging her to continue.

"Despite the words about his origin, the boy was well brought up: polite, calm and, apparently, taught to read and write. And it feels..." Abigail paused, searching for words, "something majestic and powerful."

The fire in the fireplace slowly died out, plunging everything around into impenetrable darkness.

“I think this boy is the one you are looking for...” the maid bowed her head low, not daring to raise her eyes to the man sitting in front of her. "Your Majesty, Lord Lesage."