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“And a toast,” Harvest hollered out, raising his glass of beer to the increasingly rowdy crowd. “To the death of that red-fitted bastard, Lingulini! Every hand that rises against the flame, feeds it!”
He hicked and swayed as the citizens cheered. Cynikka looked around, her own hands still gripped firmly around the arms of her throne. Many faces surround them this time, most of them familiar. But, there were new people among them compared to before, eyes closed and bodies dancing to the music. It was a celebration, and although it was a solemn evening, Harvest definitely got the party going. She stood up.
“Cyn,” Wilkman rose to her side, nearly immediately. Chief councilman, a very important figure in Infernus. She bowed her head in respect.
“I don’t see Flux in the crowd. I’m off to find him. If you don’t mind passing on the word, Wilk,” she said plainly. His face contorted with worry at her statement.
“Are you sure, my queen?” he inquired with much boldness, knowing full well that if there was anyone well and able to question royalty, it was him. “You know what he’s done.”
“I do not fear him,” Cyn reassured the man, lifting her hand to rest on his shoulder and smiling briefly before embarking. The councilman watched as she faded into the inner workings of the fortress. A part of him still harbored doubt, but considering how many times the queen had evaded death since the birth of their nation, he shook it off. Instead he turned to the inebriated king, who now appeared to be starting karaoke with a number of Commonwealth soldiers. Wilk sighed, loudly. Half the time, his role felt like it was solely for babysitting the monarchs.
Fluixon’s disappearance shouldn’t be as alarming as it was - and to Cyn, it wasn’t - but she understood their worry, their hesitance. He had many heads under his arm, many lives robbed by his actions. For all she knew, she was next - but she wasn’t concerned.
She found him atop one of the turrets of the fortress, overlooking the bastion and the sea of molten rock cascading slowly along the rim of the volcano. Tonight was their last moment of freedom. Conflict had been bubbling since the start, and this was the volcano’s last moment of calm before its eruption.
Their men reach the base of the mountain come dawn.
“Flux,” she uttered in greeting as she approached, so as to not alarm him. “Cyn,” he echoed back, but he did not turn to look at her. Instead, his gaze stayed glued to roaming visitors, steering more closely towards the few but loyal friends that followed him.
“I trust you’re comfortable, yes?” Cynikka asked as she matched his gaze down to the people. Citizen mingling with citizen, streaming in from every nook and cranny of the two islands. Southern Alliance troops sharing a drink with the Commonwealth. Starlynians reflecting with Infernal citizens, comrades from the start. A smidge of Westhelms, a scatter of pirates, a swarm of Nevermoreans. A little of this and a little of that. United.
“We’ve got an impressive cast in this fortress of yours, Queen Cynikka.”
“Indeed we do.”
“Why did you take me in?” Fluixon lifted his head slightly from his lean against the castle walls. “Why did you take me in knowing you’ve got all this to protect?”
The queen gave him a blank stare before leaning closer against the deepslate to peer closer over the edge.
“That’s Pleb. He’s the vice architect of the Ashen Bastion after Goofy. He also became somewhat of a secretary for us during diplomatic affairs, especially internationally. He had a way with words no one could match.”
Flux traced her eyes onto the head of a man, glasses donned, papers in hand, tucked away at a desk nearing the entrance of the fort. He appeared to be counting heads and assumingly, mumbling names.
“Quiade, the one who founded Red Lobster,” she pointed elsewhere, this time to a head bobbing up and down in the singing crowd.
“And that guy right there, Eric,” finally, said Cyn, running her finger from above Quiade to another citizen donned in red. “Nuts about his golden carrots.”
Her voice softened as she met Fluixon’s eyes next. “But he’s really kind. Always helps me out of a pickle.”
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this.”
“Because you and I aren’t much different, are we, Flux?”
He teetered on a grin. “Rejects?”
Cynikka dismissed his jest, much to his disappointment.
“I do not think people can fully grasp what it means to be willing to do whatever it takes to protect the ones you love.”
In the midst of another jab, Cyn’s words suddenly hit Flux. He pursed his lips. The tapes started unfurling before him, glimpses of that meeting, interjections cutting through the air. He was frantic and breathless. His desperations weren’t enough, and all he wanted to do was protect his people.
Everything he did, was to protect his people. Even now.
A cough punched its way out of his throat, and his eyes fell on the crowd. This time required no scanning or direction - he was looking for his mates, and he knew where they were.
The most familiar of faces to remind him of what he did all of this for.
Who was he to regret protecting the ones he loved?
Fluixon coughed again, this time of his own accord. Clearing his throat, he turned to his accidental ally.
“Are you always this serious, Cynikka of Infernus?”
She let his words tickle a small smile out of her this time. It was obvious in Cynikka’s gaze that it was no secret, his epiphany.
Flux coughed again. He tilted his body towards their backdrop, the ring of magma surrounding them giving the sky an ominous glow behind the shroud of smoke.
“It’ll be a carnage,” he said, looking beyond the horizon at the uneasy quiet of the night. “But it’ll be a valiant fall.” Like their loss was set in stone, though understandable given the circumstances. Everyone dancing below them knew that this was likely their last night.
Cynikka smiled at the comment. It was another jab, she couldn’t miss - but it was draped in understanding.
After all, they both knew one thing for certain: this is what happens to people who are willing to do whatever it takes.
You never get to stick around long enough to see the seeds you’ve sown take fruit.
The curse of the Aculon name.
-
“Stop!”
But she didn’t. There was a tug and a pull and a snap, and Flux felt his sister’s fingers curl around the strands of the hair closer to his scalp. It was her first time braiding his hair, the first time he asked for it. The first time he let anyone else other than Saps touch it.
“You know, I wouldn’t have to tug so much if you just sat still,” Cyn complained, eyebrows scrunched and pupils glued to the messily parted sections atop the squirming boy’s head.
“It hurts, dude.”
“Beauty hurts. Look at Saps.”
He turned his head ever so slightly wayside to catch the white haired boy sitting crosslegged on his bed, stifling giggles at the sight of his best friend putting his life in the hands of his sister. His albino locks were much longer than Flux’s, cascading down far beyond the midsection of his back. It was neatly bundled into a waterfalled french braid. Indeed, he looked quite pretty for a boy.
Before that thought could sit with Flux, Cyn snapped his head back into place again, forcing a yelp out of him.
“You’re evil, you know that?”
“We have the same blood coursing through our veins. If I’m evil, you’re evil,” she mumbled. “Besides - quit your dramatics. It’s done.” She stood up from her kneel atop his carpet, rubbing the indented marks of the fibers against her knees.
She swiveled the mirror around to face him and clasped it still.
“There.”
Flux peered at himself hesitantly. Despite his initial doubts, he didn’t look too bad with his hair in braids. The thought of protective styles used to deter him, but when the strands of his hair began to tickle his collarbones, the overstimulation swayed him. No one told him it would become this long this fast. Saparata was the only reason he grew it out anyway. The two did many things in quiet rebellion towards his father, but this particular suggestion was innocuous enough. Flux was never a pacifist - this one was Saps’ suggestion.
For once, he didn’t quite regret it.
“Damn. You actually made me look good.”
“I sure hope you do. That’d say a lot about me if you didn't.” Cynikka winked at him.
The clock struck noon and the room shook with the bell tower’s acoustics. With it, an audible sigh from his older sister.
“You two know what that means,” she said before giving them a quick hug each. They watched as she hurriedly buttoned her blazer in front of the mirror, still behind Flux.
“Don’t forget. You can’t leave the castle,” she reminded them.
Flux scoffed at the remark, turning his head away from the looking glass to avoid her gaze.
“I know what you’re going to say, Flux.”
“Then you know I hate that stupid rule.”
“Nothing I say can make it any less fair,” Cyn interjected quickly, like this wasn’t their first spat about the subject. “But you know it’s better to listen more than anybody.”
There was a pause, one that hung in the air, sticky as syrup.
“You know what happens, Flux. I’m serious.”
“I’ll keep him company,” Saps soothed the tension. It was a visible relief.
Cynikka wrapped up what looked like two messy buns and nearly shot out the door. She closed it firm, but not without mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ to their visitor. Saps let out a quiet chuckle at the interaction. Without warning, Flux plopped himself at the end of the bed next to him.
“You don’t need to laugh.”
“I enjoy her.”
“I don’t.” Fluixon retaliated to Saparata’s statement by turning his back on him. He took a glance at the door, almost half expecting her to come back, but she didn’t.
“Yes, you do,” Saps reminded him.
He did, he really did, but Flux wasn’t the type to talk about his feelings. His relationship with his family stood on rocky ground. Forged by blood, strained by duty.
It’s always duty.
It was only when Elanuelo introduced Cynikka that things began to lighten up. Someone to patch up every scraped knee without scorn or pity, or take him out for some sneaky ice cream. Someone to be kids with. A single peak at normalcy
How old was he, seven?
If it wasn’t for the small moments they got to spend like this, the Aculon house would feel more like a well-oiled machine than a family.
“Did you finish your assignment?” His best friend changed the subject, catching onto his turning gears very quickly. Clumsily, he fished out a small white doll out of his pocket. It was ordained in various accessories and layers of clothing. An inventor with big bulbous goggles. And, of course, with a bright, embroidered smile. Textbook Saps.
Then, there was Saps.
“Do you remember when we first met?”
Saparata froze as the words processed themselves in his head. A bewildered, “Flux?” was all he could muster, his pitch heightening and the corners of his lips curling to match the smile of his miniature self portrait. It was rare for their conversations to be drizzled with so much sentiment - the boy couldn’t help himself.
Flux’s expression soured at the sight.
“Never-fucking-mind, dude,” he muttered as he rolled over, burying his face under the covers. Muffled groaning could be heard as he did so. Though despite his irritation, a part of him felt bashful seeing Saps so eager to hear him talk.
“Oh c’mon, keep going!”
“You ruined it.”
“I’ll be quiet.”
He peeked out from under the covers, still frowning.
“Well,” he began.