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Chapter Text

The village was alight with lanterns strung in the trees and awash with the sounds of the festival. Music and clapping came from the village center and laughter rang out from every corner. Harry loved seeing his adopted village in Galahd so joyous. From his vantage point leaning on a wall facing the village square, he could take in the view of everyone enjoying the summer fête. Barefoot women enrobed in brightly colored silk ensembles danced with men on the beautiful rugs laid out in the center of the plaza. The spicy aroma of grilled meat tickled his nose pleasantly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch. Nothing like a fête to bring out the best of his hometown. No one threw a better summer fête than here, and he’d gladly fight anyone who said otherwise. 

“Hey, you’re not hiding out over here are you?” he heard from beside him. Turning to look, he caught the teasing gaze of his older brother Nyx. His brother punched his shoulder lightly and leaned against the wall beside him. They watched the festivities in comfortable silence for a moment. 

A pretty girl in blue silk waved shyly at Nyx. She blushed when Nyx waved back.

“Nah, just enjoying the music,” Harry said, but he didn’t look at his brother. Nyx always knew when he was lying, and he didn’t want to be needled for details right now. He could feel Nyx staring at him, but he just turned his face further away.

“You’re nervous,” Nyx said, and Harry could hear the ridiculous smirk in his words. Brothers were awful, he decided. He loved Nyx to death, but he hated how he always knew exactly what was wrong with Harry. Not that it warmed his chest or anything whenever Nyx showed that he cared, and it totally wasn’t doing that right now, either.

Feeling his face get hot all the way to his ears at being caught, he sputtered out, “No!” Then he made the mistake of looking at his brother who grinned bigger when he saw his little brother’s face. “Fine! Maybe, I am. So what?” he pouted.

A large hand ruffled his hair, and Harry did his best to swat it away; however, Nyx had four years on him, and it showed in his height and muscled arms that Harry was only a little jealous of. Harry tried not to let it bother him because in a few years he’d be stronger, no doubt. So, he put up with the teasing for now. It felt nice anyway. He’d never admit it aloud though, or he’d have to deal with Nyx’s smug face for weeks. 

“You’ll be fine, short stuff. I promise,” Nyx said, with that annoying twinkle in his eye. Harry half hated that it was actually reassuring. Secretly, he was thankful for the support. Tonight was a big night for him after all.

He turned ten years old today, and in Galahdian culture, today he became a man. Well, as much of a man as a ten year old could be. There would be a little ceremony at their house with the elder soon, and he would receive his family's tattoos. After today, he could join the hunting parties that caught wild game for the village and protected them from daemons. He had been simultaneously looking forward to and dreading this day. 

His mother had happily cut and braided his hair that morning, cooing all the while about him growing up to be so handsome. He loved his mother, truly. She was the sweetest woman in the village and had adopted him out of the goodness of her heart when he showed up on her doorstep one rainy night. She had told him once that she had wanted a lot of children, but couldn’t have anymore when her husband died. He had been a happy surprise, showing up like he did. Harry had trouble telling her how thankful he was to her, but he was fairly certain she knew anyway. After all, no one could read him as well as his mother, not even Nyx. 

“Harry!” called a voice from across the square.

Harry looked up and spied his mother and sister waving from the other side of the plaza. Well, it was time, he thought. He rolled his shoulders and pushed off the wall. He turned to his brother and gave a smile full of unsteady bravado. “Wish me luck?” he asked.

Nyx’s eyes softened a bit. He reached one big arm around Harry’s shoulders and tugged him close for a tight hug. “It’s gonna be great,” he muttered into Harry’s hair. Just as Harry squeezed back, Nyx let him go. “Go on, don’t keep them waiting. I’ll be right over,” he said with his usual grin.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You mean after you dance with Maritza?” he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the dancing crowd. The girl in blue, Maritza, had kept peeking over while the brothers leaned on the wall. Obviously, Nyx had noticed as well. He dodged the playful kick Nyx aimed at his shin before scampering off to meet with the rest of his family. 

“Come on, darling, let’s get you ready! The elder will be over soon,” his mother smiled at him as she spoke. She brushed his hair into place with gentle fingers as she guided her children to their home. Harry let her do as she pleased. He noticed his mother had worn her best purple silks tonight and even wrangled his sister, Selena, into a beautiful green ensemble. They both wore silver decorations in their hair and on their wrists that jingled pleasantly as they walked. In the light of the lanterns, his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. He’d fight anyone who contested that, as well.

When they made it to their house, his mother and sister helped him change into clean clothes for the ceremony. From there, they fixed his unruly hair, quickly braiding the hair on the side of his head. Harry munched on a few skewers that Nyx passed him when he arrived as they set about preparing for his tattoos. They washed the skin on his arms, legs, and face before drawing the placement of his tattoos in preparation for them to be permanently inked. 

The tattoos were uniquely placed for every household. Each family had a few that every male member wore in the same place. Traditionally, the father would choose the placement of a few more that would be unique to that child, but in the absence of a father, his mother had decided to merely copy Nyx’s tattoos for her youngest child. It was not unusual for brothers to share identical tattoos anyway. Harry actually liked the idea of having identical ones to his brother. It felt like a connection to the Ulric patriarch that he would never meet. 

When the elder arrived, Harry felt his nervousness increase exponentially. The ceremony was small. He just needed to exchange a few words with the elder who would use a traditional needle to ink the tattoos. It went smoothly, with his family watching as the elder went to work on inking the lines and arrows drawn lovingly by his mother. Nyx clasped a hand on his shoulder reassuringly as the needle pierced his skin. It hurt, but he grit his teeth through it. This pain was worth the effort.

Blessedly, the elder finished quickly and gathered his tools to leave. “Well, boy, you’re an Ulric now for the rest of your days. Your mother chose well in the designs, and I am sure you will make this village proud,” he declared. With a parting pat on his head, the elder left just as swiftly as he arrived. 

“Oh, you’re such a brave boy, darling,” his mother said, kneeling beside him. She and his sister applied a soothing balm to the pricked flesh, and the relief it brought had him sighing. 

“See, I told you. It went great,” Nyx said smiling down at him with those mischievous twinkling eyes. 

Harry punched him in the arm. “Shut up,” he muttered, eliciting laughs from his family. A smile tugged at his lips at the sound. Looking down at the fresh ink on his arms, hands, and legs, he felt a warm sense of belonging in his chest. He was an Ulric, now. He had been officially adopted a long time ago, but this made it feel official. Four years ago, he had watched Nyx receive the designs chosen by his late father and had felt such a strong surge of need to have them placed on his skin as well. It was a mark of family, and he loved his family with everything he had. These markings proved that to himself and to anyone who saw them. 

All of a sudden, Selena grabbed his arm and exclaimed, "Let's head back to the festival! You have to dance with me!" She smiled so widely at the prospect that Harry only put up a token protest as she dragged him back to the plaza. Their mother and brother followed at a more sedate pace behind them.

The night was cool and lovely. He danced with his sister, stepping on her toes only a couple times. His mother pulled him into a dance, and he focused his hardest to not step on her bare feet. Nyx dragged him around to a few food stalls, and they had a contest on who could eat the most skewers. Nyx won, that unholy empty pit called his stomach unable to be filled. All in all, it was a perfect fête.

Some other villagers spied his new ink and congratulated him and his family when they noticed. It felt amazing when anyone mentioned it. He tried to stand tall, even if he was getting pretty sleepy after eating and dancing so much. He had never felt so proud in all his life as he did that night. Finally, he felt like he belonged here.

“Up we go,” he heard and felt himself lifted up onto his brother’s back. Lethargically, he looked around and noticed that the food stalls had closed and most of the lanterns had been extinguished. His sister leaned heavily on their mother’s legs with her eyes just as droopy as his own. He must have fallen asleep at some point, he thought, letting loose a huge yawn. He felt the vibrations of his brother’s laugh which made his poke Nyx’s cheek in defiance. Nyx just laughed again. “Time for bed, short stuff,” he called over his shoulder. 

Yawning again, Harry nodded. He rested his head against Nyx’s warm shoulder when it became too heavy to hold up. He surely fell asleep again, because next he knew, his mother was gently tucking him in his room back in the house. He felt her kiss his forehead before sleep took him again. 

When he awoke, he felt cold. He could hear the breeze through his curtains and feel it on his cheeks. Groaning, he rolled over and clumsily climbed out of bed to close the window. He made it two steps forward before stopping in his tracks. Suddenly very much awake, he felt his heart beat faster and fought to breathe. There was a man sitting in his window.

“What a lovely midsummer’s night,” the man drawled. He turned his head to look at Harry, and the familiar face brought breath back into his lungs.

“Uncle Ardyn, you scared me half to death!” Harry hissed, trying not to wake his family. He stalked closer to the red haired man, who grinned like nothing was wrong, and sat beside him with a scowl.

“Oh, only half way, you say? I’ll have to try harder next time, I suppose,” he grinned. Harry contemplated if punching his wayward uncle was worth the effort. The man sighed dramatically and morosely, said, “I can’t even visit my pseudo son on his birthday! What’s a fill-in father to do!”

Harry didn’t think twice. He punched Ardyn in the arm as hard as he could. When the man laughed again, he scowled deeper. No one took his punches seriously! “Shut up! Why didn’t you visit earlier?” he demanded. Usually, Ardyn would quietly visit in the morning on his birthday. The man had never woken him like a thief in the night. 

“Well, as it is a momentous occasion, I had to find a momentous gift!” Ardyn crowed with a triumphant expression. He pulled a small package from his pocket and handed it over gently.

Harry took it just as gently and looked to Ardyn in askance. When he received a nod, he worked the paper open and stared at the gift within. Inside was a small piece of treacle tart, still warm and fragrant as if it was fresh from the oven. Harry felt his mouth water at the smell. “H-how did you get this!” he shouted, cradling the precious treat to his chest.

“Ah ah! Ask me no questions, and I will tell no lies,” Ardyn smiled back warmly, holding his fingers to his lips in a shushing motion. “It was a bit tricky, I will admit, but I am sure now that it was worth the effort,” he explained.

Inhaling the familiar scent through his nose, he licked his lips. “I don’t even care if you stole it. This is amazing!” Harry did his best to keep his excitement contained to a normal volume, but this was officially the best birthday ever. Today, he was made a man of Galahd, and he had received the best surprise he could have received. He took a small nibble, savoring that sweet flavor and crisp pastry. It tasted just as good as he remembered. How was it still warm?!

Ardyn snickered next to him. “Full glad am I to have my gifts received so fervently! Happy birthday, dear boy,” he cheered softly. With his face full of the tart, he still spotted the melancholic glint in the man’s eye. Even smiling, he always had the uncanny ability to look so unbearably sad.

Harry reached back and gently placed the treat on his bedside table. “What’s the matter?” he asked quietly. “Did something happen?”

He watched as surprise flickered through those old eyes before a different, warmer smile overtook his face. “Oh, Harry. You’re probably the only person in this whole world who worries about me,” he claimed, eyes just as painfully sad as before. He placed a large hand atop Harry’s unruly hair. It was a gentle, almost hesitant touch. “I confess that I do have other reasons to visit you today. Even if your birthday is important, I wanted to discuss something a little bigger than you turning ten years old today,” he conceded, face morphing into something regretful. 

“What is it?” Harry asked. Nervousness clenched in his gut. Ardyn was usually all big smiles and teasing jokes. He felt uncomfortable seeing this spiritless wraith in his place. 

“Do you remember what I said when I brought you here?” the tall man asked.

Harry screwed up his face in thought. When he thought back that far, all he remembered was feeling hurt and cold and endlessly hungry. He had lived inside of the cupboard under the stairs with only the spiders for company.  He had never known what a full belly felt like until he came here to Galahd. He had never known the love of a family until he was adopted, never known what home could feel like until the man beside him had stolen him away from where he was before. “You said that you were playing a game with fate,” Harry said as the words came back to him. He still had no idea what the man was talking about.

“Yes, that’s right,” Ardyn praised. No matter his expression, his eyes never lost their sadness. “As you are a man now, I felt it was only right to tell you the truth. So! The truth is this: in your home world, there is a prophecy that says you must kill a man to save the world,” his uncle said, and suddenly his jovial nature was gone as if it never existed. In its place was a cold harshness like the loneliness of the snowy peaks on the mountains in winter. It gave Harry a chill. “The price of saving that world is your very life,” Ardyn revealed, his voice an icy hiss. 

Harry took a moment to think about that. A million thoughts ran through his head. When he finally settled on something, he asked, “Then why did they leave me with those terrible people? If I have to save the world, wouldn't I be worth caring for?” It hurt to think about. The Dursleys had been awful to him, but he thought there was no other choice. If he was so important, why was he abandoned in that awful place? 

“I don’t know the reason, I am afraid. I discovered the prophecy completely by accident, after all,” the red haired man admitted with a thoughtful frown.

“What made you rescue me, Uncle Ardyn?” Harry asked, staring up at the pensive face of the man who saved him. He may be odd, but he had changed Harry’s life for the better. It was just another thing he’d be endlessly thankful for.

Ardyn shrugged. He opened his mouth to answer, then thought better of it. When he finally spoke, it was like a confession as he said, “Defying fate. I wanted to change your fate for the better.” It was probably the most straightforward answer he had ever received about something so important.

Smiling a little, Harry leaned his head on Ardyn’s arm. He was still too short to reach his shoulder, but he still had growing to do. “I’m glad you rescued me.”

Ardyn startled at the contact and then again at the words. “You’re not upset? Even if that world will wither away without you there to save it?” he sounded so surprised.

Harry shrugged awkwardly with his collapsed posture. “If possible, I still want to save them. But I feel like, if I get stronger, I won’t have to die. I mean, I was almost dead when you saved me. I’ve survived one near death experience. Who says I can’t do it again?” he posited, frowning in thought.

There was a silent cessation of movement from the man. Then, he launched into a muffled fit of snickering that sounded half choked. “Ah, Harry. Would that I could have your incurable optimism,” his voice sounded lighter, closer to his usual frivolous tone and as far from it as possible at the same time. That large hand settled on his head again. “Maybe, just maybe, you’ll crush that prophecy,” Ardyn muttered thoughtfully.

They sat there for a few moments, enjoying the cool night air. The mood had settled pleasantly, feeling like their normal meetings that usually involved lots of teasing and haphazard magic lessons. Harry loved magic lessons, even if Ardyn could be a right taskmaster sometimes. Magic was their little secret. Harry hadn't even told Nyx about his abilities. He wished they had time for lessons tonight. It had been a few months since he had last seen his surrogate uncle, and they had spent it in a position similar to this, just at a decent hour. Harry’s jaw cracked on a yawn.

“My, it is late. I should let you get back to sleep,” Ardyn said, nudging Harry off his shoulder. Harry let himself be herded back to bed and settled in as he was tucked in for the second time that night. “Dear boy, I have one last piece of advice for you before I leave tonight. It’s dreadfully important, I’m afraid.”

Harry’s brow furrowed at the man’s tone. Sleepily opening his eyes, confusion filled him at the worrisome seriousness that was back on the tall man’s face. “What’s that?” he quietly whispered. He hoped his face did not look as scared as he felt.

Ardyn ran a hand over his hair, affectionately. “Keep an eye on your mother, Harry. I have a funny feeling she will be needing help soon,” he whispered back. Once again, his eyes were so deeply sorrowful. It felt like that incurable sadness never really left him, he just covered it with a fabricated sunshine happiness. Then, he disappeared in that surreal way he always left. Just a wisp of unnatural darkness remained, swaying on the breeze.    

Harry shot out of bed and sprinted to his mother’s room. He ran through the door to reach her bed, feeling his breath come faster as panic set in. Creeping closer, he searched over her sleeping form for anything amiss. There was no blood, no obvious hurts. She looked peaceful in her sleep, delicate even. Was Ardyn wrong? He was so serious, Harry felt sure that something had happened to his mother. 

“Harry? What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?” she asked, groggily looking at him with open concern. She sat up and pulled the blankets back, obviously making room for him to join her. She looked fine from what he could see. It was when her loose shirt slipped from one shoulder that he saw it. Just barely there in the moonlight, he stared at the bare skin on his mother’s shoulder. It was a place she always kept covered, but he had never thought anything of it. Looking at it now, he wanted to cry.

He threw himself into his mother’s open arms and felt the tears flow before he could even try to stop them. Unable to even speak, he cried hard in that warm, comforting embrace. All the happiness of the day felt altogether empty and meaningless. How could he be happy now? What was going to happen to them? How long did they have left together? How long had the dark mark been on her shoulder? Feeling incredibly lost, he couldn’t think of any of the answers.

His mother had the Starscourge. His lovely, sweet mother was going to die, and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

Chapter Text

“You’re staring,” Nyx leaned over to mutter into Harry’s ear. The sing-song mocking was becoming a common occurrence from his jerk of a brother. Stupid bastard always had to point out the obvious, and he always knew when his little brother liked someone. Jerk. Jerk-face. 

Harry rolled his eyes in reply, but he put them right back where they were. His quarry, the young man from a neighboring village who joined the weekly daemon hunts, blithely carried on sharpening his sword, unaware of Harry’s attentions. At fifteen, Harry had definitely started feeling things. Young men with big arms and easy laughs were his dinner of choice. Not that he had done much more than kiss a few boys in the dark of night, that is. Sighing wistfully, Harry elbowed his brother in the kidney as it was in reach, because stupid Nyx had grown a million inches a couple years ago, and went back to building a fire. He took a lot of personal pride in the yelp his pointy elbow drew forth. Serves him right. 

Realistically, he deserved the teasing because of all the times he had poked fun at Nyx’s crushes, but it was his privilege as little brother to be bratty. The thought brought a smile to his face. He and his brother were definitely close, and the teasing was just a reflection of that. It was just another fact that he’d never admit aloud, that he loved having a brother who cared enough to know the nuances of his life. He was still a jerk though.

They had successfully finished their hunt for the night, and all the men were gathering around small fires to rest before they headed home. It was only a couple hours until the safety of dawn, but they wouldn’t make the journey down from the mountains until there was daylight. It was safer to avoid the daemons once they had finished their hunting. Trekking home in the dark was practically suicide for a group of worn out warriors just as much as it was for average villagers. “By the light of day, everyone gets back home together,” is the advice that is passed from father to son. Simple enough to follow, even if Harry had no father to teach him. 

Lighting the fire with a match, Harry sat back to relax. He watched as the hunting party milled about the clearing, every man busying himself somehow. No one could truly be idle while out in the dark. It was unsettling having the danger of daemons so near, so no one could fully relax until they returned back to the village. Hunter’s Calm, they called it. It was a weird resting state that was still on edge enough to be ready for action. It took a few months for Harry to build up the stamina required to sustain that ready state, but he had mastered it well over the years. On his very first hunt after he received his family tattoos, he had passed out as soon as they had the fires lit, and Nyx had watched over him until dawn. It was one of the few times that Nyx hadn't teased him but had been eerily serious instead. Harry did his utmost after that to stay alert, if only to not be a liability.

In contrast to that first hunt, Harry could hardly be counted as a burden. He had pestered everyone in the village to teach him to wield a spear as soon as he was made a man, belligerently demanding lessons from anyone who knew how to use one. He may have made a nuisance of himself, but no one made a fuss with his results. He had taken to the traditional Galahdian fighting like a duck to water and was soon taken along for the daemon hunts. His brother had already garnered a reputation as a great hunter, so it was not questioned that his little brother would have the same skill. It was a village fact that Ulrics hunted well, one of his teachers had said. Nyx himself taught Harry to use the kukris passed down from his father, welcoming him into the family’s traditions with open arms. 

Nyx had gifted him a pair of his old kukris when he turned fifteen that year which Harry had strapped to his thighs on this hunt. He had saved the gil he earned from his first couple hunts to buy himself a new spear that fit his shorter height. He was actually a little too tall for it now, so he was in the market for a new one. While Nyx had shot up like a weed, Harry had grown enough recently that he was taller than his mother, dammit. Dumb Nyx and his dumb growth spurt. 

“Ulric!” A voice called from behind, pulling his and Nyx’s attention. The lead hunter was approaching them with his arm raised in greeting. 

Nyx and Harry shared a glance. The lead hunter only addressed you for two reasons: he had a task for you or he had caught you fucking up. Harry sincerely hoped it to be the former. The punishment for fucking up varied by group and offense, but the most popular was fishing duty for two weeks outside of hunts. Fishing duty was mind numbingly boring . For twitchy-fingered hunters, it was literal hell. The brothers rose to their feet to greet the man respectfully.

“What can we do for you, sir?” Nyx asked, thumbs hooked on his belt comfortably.

The hunter smiled widely and chuckled warmly as he said, “No need for that, boys. I don’t see fishing trips in your future, so ease up. I want you both on rear guard in the morning. Old Leo sprained his ankle, and we need someone to take up the slack. Work together, and guard our backs,” he ordered before leaving just as swiftly as he had arrived, moving on to the next person. By the look on the poor bastard’s face, he was definitely expecting fishing duty.   

“Aw, I think he trusts us,” Nyx smirked over at him playfully, but his posture had gained an edge that gave away his worry. 

Harry returned the grin. “Obviously he doesn’t know you at all. If only he knew all the times you-” large hands shoved him back before he could finish. Snickering, Harry let it happen because Nyx’s shoulders had relaxed at the taunt. “We’ll be fine. We know what to do,” Harry said, reaching out to clasp his brother’s arm.  

Nyx grasped his offered forearm, eyes distant. “I just have a feeling,” he muttered, looking out into the dark of the trees. 

That made Harry swallow reflexively. Nyx’s instincts were never wrong. Ever. His brother may be a shameless playboy around the village, but he acted differently on a hunt. Still a taunting, good natured man, but his mannerisms always had that edge that didn’t soften until they were home with their sister again. His Hunter’s Calm was present until they were safely nestled in the four walls of their childhood home, and his feelings had saved their lives countless times already. 

Letting their hands fall away, Harry joined in eyeing the tight ring of jungle around them. He hadn’t noticed anything odd while they were slaying daemons tonight, but now, he wasn’t so sure. Nyx was right. It was too quiet. They spent the rest of the night watching the trees for movement. 

The last few hours crawled by them, each passing minute more painful than the last. This was the hardest part, the waiting. Harry knew without a doubt there would be trouble on the way home. He could feel it now, too. Something was out there in the thick trees, and it was watching them. Whatever beast hunted them, it was hungry. 

When the sky lightened from inky black to a warm magenta, the hunting party doused the fires and made for home. The strongest took point spearheaded by the lead hunter, and the Ulric brothers positioned themselves at the tail of the group as instructed. From this vantage, Harry could ogle the handsome young hunter thirty paces ahead of him, but he didn't take advantage of it. Even with dawn breaking, the danger hadn't passed. 

This high in the mountains were things more dangerous than daemons in the night. The jungle islands of Galahd hid beasts of all sorts within their trees, large sneaky creatures of legend hunting between the boughs. Giant boar with tusks that could easily gut a man, poisonous toads the size of large dogs, mighty coeurls that could take down entire hunting parties, and ancient birds that could cast deadly magic on unsuspecting travelers. Galahd had a rich hunting culture for a reason. They had battled the wilds long before the daemons became a problem. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught a glimpse of something on the side of the road. Signaling Nyx with a silent gesture, the pair knelt beside the carcass of an animal peeking out of the bushes. The kill was fresh, but the meat had been cleaned from the bones before they were broken for their marrow. Harry watched as Nyx carefully sifted through the bloody mess and pulled out a tusk. By the size, it had been quite a large boar, easily bigger than a human, and something even bigger had eaten every last piece of it.

The brothers shared a look. Harry could see his own worry reflected in the hard lines of Nyx's face, and he watched the muscles in his brother's jaw work to grind his teeth together. Sweat slid down his back as he felt the fear settle into his bones. Few creatures in these trees broke the bones of their kills for marrow, even less favored the boar for fear of the dangerous tusks. This was the work of a coeurl. A really big, hungry coeurl. 

Not seeing anything else in the area of interest, they scuttled back to the hunting party. Nyx put his fingers in his mouth and whistled twice, high and quick. It was the warning signal for the rest of their people to watch the trees for danger. "Eyes up," Nyx muttered, scanning the trees around them. Harry nodded, not willing to make a fuss in the face of their current situation. He was on tenterhooks, and he knew Nyx felt the same. Coeurls always picked off the last boar in the herd. As the rear guard, they were the most likely targets of their beastly shadow. 

Every crinkle and whisper of the verdant jungle around them had Harry clenching his spear. He fell back on his training to keep his fear in check, relying on the knowledge of his elders to slip deeper into Hunter’s Calm. Breathe deep, breathe even. Keep your weapon close. Fear keeps you alive, but don’t let it rule you. Own it, use it, conquer it. Look the beast in the eyes. 

At the warning whistle, the hunting party had increased its pace. The party carried on down the mountains at a trot to make it home all the faster, to reach safety. They moved as one in tense silence, eyes roving their surroundings for the danger. The mountaintops were known coeurl territory, and it was expected of every hunter to take warning whistles as the law. Even if there were no incidents on the way home, the heightened vigilance could only help them stay alive out in the wilds where beasts prowled in the dark green woodlands.

Harry sunk deeper into the calm. Breathe. Step. Relax grip on spear. Breathe. Step. Seek movement beyond the trees. Breathe. Step. His senses seemed to reach beyond his body and touch the naturescape around him. The individual colors of different leaves became discernable to his eyes. He could smell the richness of fear and sweat from the hunters marching home and the brightness of fresh rain that always clung to the jungle. His ears picked up the sound of the wind in the trees, suddenly able to track its direction through the rattling of the leaves. 

Then he heard it. A step. A big step, muffled by the cushy layers of decaying foliage carpeting the jungle floor. 

It was already too late.

He turned around, spear raised, and the beast was upon him. He could barely hear Nyx shout over the growling, snarling beast above him as they crashed through the brush. His hunter’s Calm unwavering in the face of the deadly creature, Harry had the presence of mind to defend himself. When they collided with the ground, Harry’s spear blocked the vicious bite that had been aimed at his jugular, and he pushed with all his might against the fanged maw. It wasn’t much of a resistance, but it was enough to allow him a precious few seconds. Practiced fingers wiggled his kukri free of its holster, and with a roar, he used all his power to shove the knife deep into the beast's chest. 

The coeurl reared back, leaping from him to the edge of the clearing they had landed in. Harry’s spear clattered to the ground in two pieces at the coeurl’s feet, fangs snapping the shaft like a toothpick. Now he really needed to buy a new spear.

He heard a whistle trill three times beyond the trees. Danger was upon them, it said. Run for home, it shouted. There was a thunder of hunter cries and stomping footfalls. Good. They could make it to safety. If he could distract the animal, no one else would need to die today.

Harry eyed the beast, finding a mirror of his ferocity in its blue eyes. It’s chest heaved with pained, panting breaths, each one forcing more blood to pour down its front. His blade had not killed the creature, but the wound was enough to give it pause. Now, the question remained: was it hungry enough to try again? Harry sincerely hoped not because the creature was huge. It loomed before him, all regal white fur with black stripes. Three horns adorned its head on either side, and thin tendrils extended from its massive maw. The hulking body of the beast was thick and muscled, heavy with the weight of its many kills and legendary hunting prowess. It was an elder coeurl the size of a goddam truck, and it was still hungry.  

Well, shit. Harry almost felt like laughing, but he squared his shoulders instead. If this was how he died, then so be it. Ardyn rescued him from a death he had no choice in, so he’d be damned if he didn’t meet this different fate head on. He breathed deep and readied both of his kurkis. Then, he looked death in the eyes. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he smirked, feeling a rush of bravado.

Of course, Nyx took that moment to dash through the trees and charge the beast, blades ready. Even the beast was caught off guard with the intrusion, and it reacted too slowly to dodge the swipe of the knives, and two red slashes marked the beast just above the knife still lodged in its chest. Nyx charged again, a battle cry ripping from his throat as he lunged for the creature.

Not to be outdone, Harry joined in the melee. Bolstered by his brother’s courage and still feeling the high from staring his end in the face, he grabbed the broken half of his spear and plunged forward. The coeurl leapt for them, but that was its fatal mistake. Harry advanced further, thrusting his spear deep into the chest of the beast, and this time, he hit his mark.

With one last gasping snarl, the elder coeurl slumped forward lifelessly, his majesty ended in a hot pool of blood pouring from his pierced heart. They had won. The beast was dead. The Ulric brothers had slain an elder coeurl and lived to tell the tale. Holy shit, they had actually survived. 

Harry collapsed on the ground when his legs gave out without warning. The adrenaline rush subsided and left exhaustion and pain in its wake. He heard his brother shout his name, but he felt weirdly detached, as if he wasn’t inside his own body. He felt like he was looking down at himself from the outside, and suddenly, he could see and feel the injuries he had sustained in the attack. Ignorance had been bliss in this case, he supposed. Deep claw slashes decorated his shoulders and arms from blocking the coeurl’s teeth with his spear. A matching set of claw marks had grazed his torso right across his chest, most likely inflicted during the final push when he shoved his broken spear into the creatures still beating heart. Blood flowed freely from the wounds, making his skin itch. 

“Come on, Harry, stay with me. Not like this. Don’t you fucking die on me like this. You brave little bastard, don’t you leave me too,” he heard Nyx muttering in his hair. He felt the warmth of his brother’s arms surrounding him, holding him like their mother had. He felt safe there, just as he did as a child. He was safe. They were safe. Then everything faded away to black.

When he next awoke, he felt sore all over. He rather assumed the coeurl had eaten him, and he had just imagined the heroic slaying of the beast. Perhaps he was slowly digesting in the creature’s stomach, the gastric juices breaking down the chunks of his flesh over time. Except, Harry assumed that it would smell god awful in the belly of the beast, and his current location smelled quite nice. It smelled like the jungle after rain. Actually it sounded like the jungle after rain, too. 

It took a huge amount of effort, but he pried his eyelids open. He took in the view of the tree tops swaying rhythmically above. He didn’t have the energy to turn his head, yet he knew he was laying down. He could hear voices, too, but they were so quiet that he couldn’t discern the words. Moving his eyes as far as possible without turning his head made them ache, but he caught sight of the faces of a few familiar hunters above him, muttering amongst themselves.

 “He’s awake! Astrals be praised!” called one of the hunters when they noticed his curious eyes.

All at once, the other hunters erupted in a burst of energy and tussled to lean around each other to look at him. Their voices chorused in a tangled mess of sound that he could not pick apart in the least. He must have made a face because they started shushing each other just as energetically. Harry almost preferred the words to the concerto of hissing sounds now spreading through the crowd. 

“Ulric, are you well?” said the warm voice of the lead hunter, who entered his view. He motioned to some of the others, and he felt himself being lowered to the ground. They were carrying him home on a stretcher, he realized. He must have been pretty injured for him to have passed out. Honestly, he didn’t have the energy to turn his head, so guiltily, he realized they would need to carry him the whole way home.

“Right as rain, sir,” he croaked out.

The hunters laughed in response. It sounded loud and relieved, like a collective release of tension. It made Harry smile. If they were this jovial, no one must have died. The hunters of Galahd had nerves of steel, but no one laughed when they lost one of their own while hunting. It was almost an unspoken rule. 

“Hey there, short stuff,” he heard from his other side. Nyx entered his field of vision, smiling with relief. His eyes were red like he had been crying, and his shoulders were still up to his ears with stress. That wouldn’t do, Harry decided.

“You’re just jealous I killed it and you didn’t,” he managed to say, smirking as broadly as he dared.

Nyx laughed, but it sounded more like a choke. “Shut up. I’m still taller than you,” he mustered up a weak grin in reply, and Harry counted that as success. He felt pretty smug when the hunters laughed and ruffled Nyx’s hair, too. 

With the tension released, the hunters picked him back up and trudged towards home. Along the way, the other hunters regaled him with their side of the story. At the danger whistle, the main force had run for the village, but the front guard had turned around to back them up. The lead hunter and a small group of their most capable had arrived shortly after Harry had passed out, but the danger had already been taken care of. Imagine their surprise at finding two of their youngest hunters with a slain elder coeurl, and both hunters had lived to tell the tale. 

“Don’t worry, we skinned the beast for you. You and your brother will be rewarded for your valor,” the lead hunter assured him, though it had been the last thing from Harry’s mind. Huh. No one really sought out elder coeurls because they were incredibly dangerous, so Harry had forgotten about the hefty reward for slaying one. “We will also have the elder mark you both for courage when we return home. You did well, son,” he praised, resting one hand on Harry’s forehead. The gesture felt fatherly. He wondered if he had a father, would he have done the same thing? He hoped so. It felt nice.

Nyx placed a hand on his uninjured forearm and gave a small squeeze. Pride radiated from his eyes and the broadness of his shoulders. Harry spied the lead hunter reaching across to give Nyx’s shoulder a reassuring pat. A smile stretched on his brother’s lips, seeming to melt away the worry he had harbored in his shoulders. He looked immensely relieved, and it made Harry feel a bit guilty for being so ready to face his death; however, he wouldn’t apologize for it. If Harry had died there, he would have succeeded in slowing the coeurl down enough for the others to retreat to safety. He’d never apologize for doing the right thing.

From somewhere in the back of their little group, a voice rose out in song. A few spears thumped against the ground in time with the rhythm. More voices joined the first, and slowly the whole of the remaining hunting party had joined in, even Harry and Nyx. It was sung in an age-old tongue, mostly forgotten now, but the meaning was passed down with each new generation of hunters. The song was raised in victory and survival, and today, it was sung in honor of the Ulric brothers. Harry had never felt prouder in his entire life, not once. 

The hunters sang the whole way home, carrying on as they entered the village into the arms of the rest of their party waiting anxiously at the border of the forest. The two halves of the hunting party converged and sang loudly, proudly, as they marched into the village carrying the youngest Ulric. Even with the early hour, the village could recognize the sounds of a successful hunt and a few curious people exited their homes to investigate the jubilant return. 

The triumphant hunting party hauled themselves and Harry to the village bar for the post hunt celebration. Harry found himself atop a table and propped up against a wall to watch the festivities unfold. As this was his brother’s bar, he knew no one would mind his dirty boots making a mess on the wood. Nyx took up the whole bench next to him, legs swung atop it with his dirty boots making just as much of a mess as Harry’s were. Obviously, they were related.

Some grizzled old hunter from another village bought him a beer, and the large man glared down at anyone who might protest. Harry may be a few years shy of drinking age, but he felt he deserved that drink, too. He saluted the mug towards the stony man who silently nodded in return before sequestering himself in a corner to drink alone. There were actually a few more mugs at his side already, in offering for the hero of the day. He gulped down the bitterness with relish. 

The younger members of the hunting party had already started up an uproarious round of drinking songs. Harry’s ears picked up the sound of the lead hunter shouting a play by play at the bartender, Libertus, pride ringing in his loud voice. If the story was a bit exaggerated, Harry didn’t bother correcting him. He laughed to himself as he overheard the tale, suddenly there were not one but five coeurls, and he settled more comfortably against the wall to enjoy the mayhem around him.

A mug bumped against his own. “Cheers,” Nyx said and took a long gulp of beer.

Harry took a drink before looking at his brother. He looked like shit. Mud caked his clothes, claw marks slashed the fabric of his jacket, and a purple bruise was forming on his forehead. His eyes were still red and puffy, too. “You smell like shit,” he said in lieu of anything actually meaningful because feelings are hard. The only time Nyx had cried was when their mother passed last year, and he didn’t have the energy to address that yet. 

“Just my field perfume,” his brother smirked back. He set his mug down, and the cheer drained out of his expression, like melted wax sliding down a candle. He scratched idly at a particular muddy stain on his pants. The nervous gesture had Harry gulping back more beer. “Harry, I-” he started but stopped short of completing his thought aloud. With a sharp inhale, Harry watched Nyx attempt to gather himself, his fists clenched on his thighs. “Too close tonight. It was too close,” he muttered, making Harry strain to hear him over the joyous din carrying on around them. 

Harry snorted into his mug, sloshing the liquid over the side. That was one way to put it. It was Nyx’s slumped posture that kept any teasing behind his teeth, but it was a near thing. He had almost died tonight, so he knew Nyx was justified. Harry thumped his shoulder. "Yea," he agreed. 

They enjoyed the rest of their beer in silence.

"We should probably tell Selena that we're back," Nyx grunted. 

Harry looked down at himself. Then he looked at Nyx. He made a point of showing off his bandaged arms. "Do you really want to have to explain this?" He asked, lifting an accusing eyebrow. Their sister was a right menace whenever either of them got hurt. They knew it was just her type of affection, but she was so insufferably fussy.

Nyx made a face that was mostly an ugly grimace. He looked guilty, and Harry felt that a bit himself. "Hmm." They shared a look. "Another round?"

"Yes, please."

"Libertus! Two beers!"

The morning carried on. Villagers stopped in the bar to congratulate the hunters and thank the Ulric brothers for slaying the menace of the mountains. It made Harry realize how many people the beast had killed. The elder stopped by and gave them both the mark of valor: a small arrow underneath the left eye. It hurt like hell, but the entire bar cheered when it was done. Harry and Nyx clinked mugs with matching grins.

A couple hours later, the brothers stumbled down the street towards home with Nyx supporting most of Harry's weight. The revelry had died down as exhausted hunters carried each other home. By the end, the tale of their hunt had grown quite tall and morphed into something altogether different, but Harry had just laughed, especially when the lead hunter assured everyone that the iron giants showed up after the coeurls were dead. In their village, there was no better pissing contest than who could tell the better version of the story.

Even with the wildly inaccurate retelling, no one could deny the evidence of the spoils they had carried home. The hunters had stripped the animal of its meat, horns, claws, skin, and teeth. The meat had been sold to the shocked butcher, and the claws were being powdered in the apothecary. The lead hunter had commandeered the pelt with the promise of making something for them with it. Nyx had claimed the horns which left Harry with the teeth. 

While they were drinking at the bar, the local smith had stopped by to offer his thanks for killing the monster that took his son. As a show of gratitude, he had fashioned earrings from smaller teeth which now hung from Harry's ears, and the fangs were being fashioned as handles for a new pair of kukris. Harry couldn't deny his excitement at having a brand new pair for himself. Though, right now he was most looking forward to his bed.

Bringing his focus back to the road, Harry said, "We're not heading home, are we?" This path led away from home, and Harry knew it like the back of his hand. He visited it often. His mother was laid to rest atop the hill at the end. It made sense that Nyx was taking them here. He wanted to talk to her, too, so he didn't resist.

Nyx merely nodded.

When they crested the hill, Nyx helped him sit on the grass and settled in close to him. Even inebriated, they could still be respectful, but the world was a bit wobbly if he moved too quickly. Still, he pushed his shoulders back and sat tall. "Hey, mom," he whispered gently. "We made it home," he added.

Peaceful silence settled on the hill accompanied by the gentle whisper of the wind in the trees. There was the humid promise of rain in the cool air as it swirled around them. From the hilltop, they could see the ocean surrounding their island, dark and calm as it lapped at the shore. It was her favorite spot on the whole island. 

Nyx took one of the horns from his pocket and carefully placed it in front of her grave marker. He bowed his head, sharing his own words with her too quietly for Harry to hear. 

They sat for another few minutes, and Harry could feel his heart swell. He missed her. Fuck. He missed all of her. Her hugs, her cooking, her perfume, her beautiful silk dresses, and most of all, her rich laughter. She always knew what to say, and she always kissed them goodbye before every hunt. Even when the boys tried to swat her away and the hunting party would jeer from afar, it was her ritual. Near the end, they would visit her bedside before they left, so she could have her kisses. 

Harry never doubted that she loved him. It wasn't even a question. She had given him the greatest gift of family, and it was the most precious thing in the entire universe. Their family may be smaller now, but his mother had taught them to love and protect each other. The boys took it as an oath. Protect each other, no matter what. 

Lately, Nyx had been avoiding their home, and Harry knew Selena was worried. She was just a smaller version of their mother, truthfully. She took care of them and worked as a seamstress' apprentice to make some extra gil. The village boys had started noticing her, but Harry and Nyx had a pretty good reputation for scaring off any potential suitors. To Harry, she was sunshine, always smiling and welcoming, unless one of them got hurt while hunting. Then she turned into a fierce, clawed worry monster and would let them know all about how she felt. Once she finished her tirade, she'd be right back to her normal sunny disposition as if nothing had happened.

Harry chuckled. "She looks just like mom, Selena does," he said quietly.

Nyx jolted from beside him. Then, he nodded jerkily.

Harry eyed his brother. That guilty look from earlier was back. "You're avoiding her, aren't you," he assessed. It wasn't a question.

Nyx's shoulders went to his ears. Well, shit, he actually was avoiding her. He scrubbed his face and groaned loudly. "It's awful," he laughed emptily. "I can't look at her because all I see is mom, and I-" he cut himself off like he had before. They weren't very good at talking about these things, truthfully. Harry waited as his brother gathered his courage and his words one by one. "I'll do better. I promise," he swore, raising his head to look Harry in the eyes.

Harry offered his bandaged arm to shake on it. When Nyx gripped his forearm, he grabbed back just as tightly. They shook on it, as a hunter's oath. "Well," Harry grunted as he carefully pushed himself to his feet, "Time to go look the beast in the eyes." 

Nyx laughed.

Together, they trudged home, and sure enough, Selena greeted them at the door with righteous fury and gnashing teeth. They dutifully listened, ducked their heads, and bowed out when she sent them to their rooms. As soon as Harry landed on his bed, he was already asleep, still covered in mud and blood. It had been a really long day, in his defense.

The sun broke through his window the next morning, and he dragged himself to the kitchen where he could smell breakfast. He ate with gusto, ignoring Selena's admonishment to slow down. He felt like he could eat the entire coeurl from yesterday and still be hungry. Nyx joined them, and together, they decimated the entire spread that had been prepared. 

Once they finished eating, Nyx led Harry to his room. He didn't offer an explanation, just motioned for him to follow. Curiosity peaked, Harry did as he asked, and they entered his room. He spied the dirty clothes from yesterday in a muddy pile on the floor and his weapon care tools on his table along with his blades. 

"I want you to have this," he said without any kind of introduction and thrust a spear into Harry's hands. "Yours broke right?" He added, looking anywhere but at Harry.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Okay. . . Nyx wasn't usually this cagey. He looked for answers in the spear. It was beautiful. The entire thing was steel with leather wrappings for grip. It had a long winged tip and elegant carvings below the head. There were words written in the old tongue below the carvings, but Harry couldn't read it. 

"With our noble heritage will we protect the land with our power. That's what it says," Nyx offered, running his hand behind his neck. He looked nervous. Why was he nervous?

"Wait," Harry suddenly understood. "No, Nyx, I can't take this. This is your father's spear! This is yours!" He tried to give the weapon back, but Nyx pushed it into his hands.

"I want you to have it," he said with such conviction that Harry couldn't refuse. He finally met Harry's eyes, and he looked proud. "You earned this yesterday. You're an Ulric just as much as I am. Just take it," he said gently.

The spear was heavy in his hands. This meant a lot, he knew. It felt rude to refuse it now, so he just asked, "Why? Why give it to me now?"

Nyx fidgeted again. He shrugged. "Dad died on a hunt. To a coeurl. You avenged him, and he would want you to have it. Trust me," he explained.

Harry didn't breathe for a second. No one had ever told him what happened to the Ulric patriarch, and it was just as tragic as he had imagined. They had been a hunting family for generations, so it wasn't uncommon for most of them to die on hunts. This had been his spear. Now, it was Harry's to carry, and he would do his utmost to honor that legacy. "Thank you, Nyx. Really," he breathed out, the gratitude clear in his voice. 

A big hand ruffled his hair, as it always did when Nyx was feeling affectionate. "Maybe next time you really will kill five coeurls," he grinned.

Harry smirked back and added, "And six iron giants! All at the same time!"

They laughed. 

When they next hunted, Harry took the spear into battle. The lead hunter had fashioned two leather jackets for them lined with coeurl fur, and they wore those as well. From then on, their reputation only grew at the best hunters in the north. No beast or daemon could stand up to the might of the Ulric brothers, and they wouldn't have it any other way. 

Chapter Text

Most people dream of fantastical things. Some people have night terrors. Others dream of memories from the past. For Harry, his dreams sometimes felt like a mix of all three. With a strange clarity that couldn’t be normal, he always knew he was dreaming. The places and events he saw felt too real to brush off as simple dreams, but the things he experienced had no place in his world. In all honesty, they felt like someone else’s memories. Every time, they came in a messy, disjointed jumble with no clear flow of continuity. Tonight was no exception. 

As usual, he could only look out through eyes that were not his own. He watched attentively as broad hands cradled a beautiful woman, fingers carding through delicate blonde strands that caught fire in the sunlight. He looked on, oddly detached, as he ruined his body to heal the sick, feeling the painful darkness corrupt him as he stole away their disease. He couldn't fathom the depth of emotion as he watched his own brother betray him and stab him in the back as the gods above laughed at him. 

Lying there in a pool of his own black and festering blood, he could only look on as a sword was leveled with his head. Those traitorous eyes, unrepentant and uncaring, judged him unworthy. The sword came down.

Harry awoke, gasping and choking on air and fear. Shaky fingers clawed at his face, searching manically for a wound. There was none. His heart thundered in his chest, and he felt each thump in his temples as blood surged in his veins. Deep, tumultuous breaths slowly brought him back to his own reality. 

When he calmed enough to take stock of his surroundings, he noted the lightness of the sky. Just before dawn, and here he was, wide awake, on the morning of a hunt. He groaned. They may not be daemon hunting this time, but it was still rough trying to hunt when he hadn’t slept. Luckily, today was more of a training day than a real hunt, thank the astrals above. They were taking a few young men out for their first hunt, so it would be pretty simple.

Still, Harry thought. Something felt...off. For the briefest moment, the wind coming in through the window had the scent of gunpowder and ash, but it faded before Harry could make sense of it. Suppressing the fear pooling in his belly, he shook off the trepidation. Now he was starting to sound like Nyx, he told himself. 

Everything was going to be fine. 

He slipped out the window without another worry. Might as well train until they needed to leave for the hunt that day. With steady steps, he marched his way through the jungle to a nearby clearing where he could practice with his spear in peace. If he trained hard enough, he'd forget how the wind felt less like an act of nature and more like a premonition. 

Not more than an hour later, a metal clang rang out as a knife blocked a thrust of his spear. He had foregone his shirt as the summer heat and humidity made it too sticky to wear. He probably made quite the sight, he knew, all sweaty and out of breath from his harsh practice with the sun just peeking through the trees. Still, he had plenty of energy for a friendly spar. A smirk tore at his mouth as he lunged forward again. 

Nyx, dressed similarly in just his trousers and silver bangles on his biceps, brought his kukri up to defend himself. This was how their ancestors trained, barefoot in the jungle with only each other and the jungle as witnesses. Like all their spontaneous spars, he easily threw himself into the battle as if he had always been there; however, Harry noted, his face held not an ounce of its usual playfulness. Fuck. Nyx felt it too.

They fought hard, as hard as they had ever pushed each other during a spar. The clearing filled with the noise of their sharp, metallic bedlam as they clashed heatedly. The only sounds in the clearing belonged to the din of battle and naught else. Heavy, ragged breathing filled the air between them as the tension of the morning coalesced into something almost tangible. He could feel it in the steel of his spear, the sharpness of the brisk air, and the intensity of his brother's stare. He still couldn’t shake that bad feeling.

Harry caught a whiff of that scent again: gunpowder and ash. He froze, but Nyx didn’t notice fast enough and barreled into him, knocking them both to the ground.

“The hell?” Nyx shouted as they crashed down. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Harry grunted. He caught Nyx’s worried eyes and felt as scared as he looked. He took his brother’s offered hand as he stood. “Something’s-”

“-wrong.” Nyx finished for him. 

“Yea,” Harry nodded. The trees around them were too quiet. Even this close to the village, animals still roamed the jungle, but an uncomfortable quiet spread out from the branches and vines. Even the rain that usually fell this time of year refused to fall from the pregnant clouds above. “I don't know what it is, but something is not right,” he mused aloud.

A breeze passed between the leaves, carrying that scent again. His blood chilled. Once could be passed off as nothing. Twice could be his imagination. Three times? It had to be real. “Nyx, we should-” 

A loud, virulent explosion knocked them back into the trees. Gunfire filled the air, but he could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears. He heard screaming too, but he couldn’t tell whether or not it was his own. Laying on his back in the dirt, all he felt was fear. Smoke trickled through the air above and the acrid, chemical smell of it made him choke. They were going to die here.

Strong hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. Nyx’s face entered his line of sight, and Harry could see his lips moving, feel the force of his shouts on his face, but couldn’t make sense of the words. He couldn’t think. This didn’t make any sense. What was going on? Why were they under attack? Was the village okay?

Was Selena okay?

Gasping in a lungful of smoke, Harry broke into a sprint, pushing past Nyx. Selena. He had to get to Selena. Gods above, please let Selena be okay. His panicked footfalls were echoed by Nyx just two steps behind him. He came barreling out of the woods and almost fell over at the destruction on the other side. He needed to find Selena, right now. He couldn’t allow himself to focus on the dead children or the fires consuming their homes, nor could he take the time to stomach the sight of old man Leo shot down in the street like a dog or Maritza’s mangled, disfigured body covered in rubble. He just needed to get to Selena. 

The door to their home, shattered on the ground, crunched under their feet as the brothers ran inside. Weapons drawn, they searched the house room by room. She wasn’t inside. The brothers shared a nervous glance before making their way to the back door. The back garden was the only other place she could be. The back door was open. Trembling hard, Harry eased the door open fully. Oh. Oh no.

“Selena!” Nyx shouted, the syllables ripped from his throat sounding inhuman in their grief. He charged past Harry to fall to his knees beside her.

She was dead.

Harry already knew. He didn’t need to check. The bloody wounds on her chest were proof enough. Her eyes were open, staring emptily at the clouds above. Her lovely brown hair, the exact same as their mother’s, was drenched in her own blood from the stray gunshot that went through her throat. Her simple silk dress was ruined with blood and bullet holes. Fear marred her features, and that made him angrier than the wounds. She died here, entirely alone and incredibly afraid.

His fingers clenched his spear tightly. The tremors of rage shook him to his bones. More explosions, screams, and gunshots reached his ears, but he was deaf to the chaos outside. It didn’t matter right now. Worse than attacking his home, they took his sister. His sweet sister made of smiles and sunshine had been murdered for no obvious reason, and he was going to make them pay. 

Turning on his heel, he left his brother to mourn her. Nyx could be the one to shed tears today. Harry was going to kill the bastards responsible. He’d kill them all.

With an incoherent roar, Harry dashed into the street and slammed his spear clean through the first soldier he encountered. The shock of the metal innards peeking out from the armor did not deter him from his objective. It only made him angrier. With another scream of rage that almost bloodied his throat, he brought his fury to bear. Metal soldiers fell before the might of his righteous retribution, and he cursed each one as they died. He lost track of how many he slew. Eventually, his vision swam red, and he even lost track of himself. All he could feel was the headiness of his own rage. 

When he emerged from the haze, Nyx was there. His brother had one hand clenched tight on his shoulder and the other held his spear arm in an ironclad grip. He was talking, but Harry couldn’t understand it. He could hear the words, but their meaning eluded him. Nyx looked scared, with tear tracks cutting through the ash on his face. 

Around them, the metal shells of dead enemy soldiers sprawled in lifeless heaps, mangled and damaged beyond repair. Smoke and ash filled the air, but the fires looked mostly contained. Old man Leo’s lifeless eyes stared at him from across the street. Jonas, the lead hunter, cradled the corpse of a small boy. The little man’s tattoos had just started to scab over. Rubble and bodies lay scattered everywhere. The painful sounds of suffering echoed in the ruined village.

“You can stop now. You did it, Harry. They’re dead, and we’re safe. Come on back to me, brother. We fought them off together. Please come back,” he muttered the words like a prayer. His eyes, steely and heartbroken, held Harry’s gaze. His painful grip on Harry never wavered. 

“Nyx,” he muttered, fighting to choke out the name. His throat felt torn open. A heavy weariness settled into his limbs as the world refocused around him.

“Astrals above,” Nyx’s voice broke, and he crushed Harry with strong arms. 

Over Nyx’s shoulder, Harry couldn’t look away from Jonas. The large, gruff man held the little boy with tenderness, his face drawn in pained sadness. He had only just become a man, and he was slain before he could even prove himself. Harry knew the kid, too. Today was going to be his first hunt. They would have taught him how to track boar and how to hold a spear. They would have only ventured a small ways from the village and been home before dark. It was supposed to be simple, not even dangerous.

Grief, drowning and breathtaking, crushed him. His sister was murdered. The village lay in ruins. That little boy was never going to learn how to hunt. Old man Leo just retired, but now he’d never get to enjoy it. Tears came before he could think to stop them, and his shouted sobs hurt like hell. What was the point? Why? Why?

Nyx's arms tightened around him. His hands wiped his tears away when they finally stopped falling. Those same hands led him to sit by the other survivors and never strayed far from gripping his shoulder. It felt like Nyx needed the physical contact to remind himself that Harry was alive, and Harry could not deny his brother anything right now. He looked broken, shaken to his core so violently that it shattered irreparably. Harry felt the same.

Selena was gone.

The village was gone.

Harry did his best to keep his hands from clenching the mug. It would probably shatter under the force of his anger. So, he took a long swallow of the bitterness and wished in his heart that it was beer instead. Fuck, Nyx’s bar was gone too, those fucking bastards.  

By the time he reached the end of his coffee, his rage cooled to a simmer, but it bubbled in his blood, ever close to the surface. Perhaps, it would never cool completely. Perhaps, he would suffer this vitriolic rage in his veins forever. If it gave him the strength to carry out his vengeance, he could live with that.

“Son,” called a gravelly voice. Harry looked up and stared back into the stormy eyes of Jonas. The lead hunter sat across the small fire, his large shoulders caved in on themselves. His posture echoed the same brokenness in Nyx’s weathered frame seated beside him. It made Harry unfathomably angry to see the two strongest men in his life brought so low. 

“Sir?” Harry asked.

Jonas’ face had always been easy to read. You’d know just by looking at him if you had done well or if he was going to kick you to a boat to fish until you cried in surrender. Now, however, his expression, stony and harsh, resembled the rocks of the mountains without an ounce of readable emotion. “What do you remember about your battles today?” he asked, and it sounded gentle, almost placating. It was like he expected Harry to lash out.

Harry took a moment to put his thoughts in order. “I remember the metal soldiers. I tore so many of them down that I lost count. Then. . . I just remember red. Everything was red,” he muttered. He could see it even now. That haze of vermillion rage that suffocated him and drove him wild. “I don’t remember anything after that. Just Nyx,” he answered, looking back to the large man. Just thinking about it set the simmer in his blood closer to a boil. He gulped the rest of his coffee to distract himself.

Jonas nodded gravely. “Son, you used magic today,” he admitted, his stony expression still firmly in place.

Oh. Well, shit. Harry gulped. He hadn’t even known. He knew so little battle magic, but what he knew had the potential for massive destruction. Uncle Ardyn taught him how to warp and how to handle elemental magic. He knew he had a great affinity for lighting magic, and it could be devastating. Shit. What had he done? “Did I-” Harry gulped the question down as panic settled in. Mustering his courage he tried again, “Did I hurt anyone?” He couldn’t bring himself to look at Jonas’ face, so he looked at his hands instead. 

A large, warm hand grabbed his shoulder, making him jump in surprise. He looked up, and the lead hunter’s face softened from stone to something more malleable. “No, young Ulric, you were amazing,” he said, and his face reflected the pride audible in his voice. He spared Harry a small smile as he continued, “It was as if the Fulgurian himself walked among us.”

A great whoosh of a sigh fell out of him. Harry felt the tension ease out of him at the assurance, his earlier fear entirely forgotten. Laughter bubbled out of him then, and he looked Jonas in the eyes as he said, “I hope they’ll think twice about crossing us now.” And he meant that with every bone in his body. If those Niflheim bastards think they can just flatten their home, they have another thing coming. And there’s the anger, right back to that casual simmer. 

Jonas shared in his laugh, and if it was a bit empty and weak, Harry wasn’t going to mention it. His mirth gave way to a dark expression as he said, "Magic is a serious thing to wield. Only the Lucian kings can call it as well as you do. To be honest, I sometimes thought you might be a missing bastard son of Lucis. They all have dark hair and bright eyes just as you do. The magic feels almost like a confirmation." 

He spoke it so casually as he stared into the fire that Harry didn't know what to feel. Was he an abandoned bastard son of royalty, cast aside for being born to the wrong mother? He had heard stories of such things as a child. He didn't know exactly where he came from, but he knew it wasn't Galahd. He had a weird feeling his birthplace wasn't even on this star, but he never bothered to ask. It never mattered because Galahd is his true home.

Jonas shook his head then, seeming to gather himself. Turning his gaze from the warmth of the fire, he caught Harry's gaze with a look in his eye that spoke of pride. "It doesn't matter to me where you came from, son. You are ours, now. Nothing will ever change that. If Old Leo were here," Harry ignored how his voice caught on the name, "He'd tell you the stories of the Beserkers of the North, ancient magic wielders of Galahd who fought the beasts of legend to protect their homes. I may not know the tales as well, but I know what I saw today," he said with a wide grin splitting his face. 

Harry felt the mirror of it on his own.

"Aye! Our young Ulric brothers are the Terrors of the North! Two berserkers facing down an army of Niffs and winning through the sheer power of their rage!" a young hunter called out from another little group gathered by the fire. His words brought grins to all around. 

"I swear I saw him skewer three of those metal bastards at the same time!" Called another voice from behind.

"Hah! He easily took down an entire platoon with just one bolt of lighting!" Jonas shouted, rising to his feet, towering over the other folk at his full height. He strutted over to the group and descended into a lively round of bickering that brought much needed laughter to the survivors of the day. 

They survived. They were much worse for wear, their whole lives uprooted and destroyed, but they were alive. Harry looked at Nyx who had fallen silent after getting through Harry's rage. His brother met his gaze head on, and he looked just as broken down as before. Yet, there was a hint of warmth in his eyes as he looked at his brother. Without words, they clasped arms in the familiar ritual they always did after a hunt. They stared at each other without the need for verbal assurances. They'd keep each other alive, no matter what. Protect each other to their dying breaths and by the gods, never surrender if you can still fight, still protect. 

Oh, that felt good. Shit, that felt even better. Harry hissed in pleasure as a hot mouth worked around his cock. The hunter kneeling in front of him certainly knew what he was doing. This was probably the best blowjob of his life, but he’s only had a few so far which did limit his experience for comparison’s sake. Harry felt more surprised that such a handsome man actually had his cock in his mouth, nevermind that he did really nice things with his tongue. He tightened his grip on the man’s hair, urging him on with the gesture.

The man released a choked noise and worked his mouth faster. Harry let his head fall back when he did that thing with his tongue again. Every time his wet mouth came up to the tip, he swirled his tongue around the head in tandem with his lips before letting it rest along the underside of his shaft as he went down far enough to get hair up his nose. It was hot as hell to watch, especially when he’d catch sly eyes peeking up at him. This man knew exactly what he was doing. 

Harry could lose himself in this and, honestly, if he died right here that’d be just fine. He’d had a really amazing night with this man, and he couldn’t have had a better first time. Now, he was learning a whole bunch of new things about the flexibility of tongues, and sweet astrals, how did he do that? He’d have him to teach him how to do that. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tonight? Yea, definitely tonight. “You’re gonna have to teach me how to do that,” he muttered, the words more of a growl. 

His response was to do it again.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned.

He felt the muffled laugh around his cock, and it twitched in response. Daaaamn. When he went down all the way again, Harry barely had enough time to warn him before he came down his throat. The hunter’s big hands felt hot as they gripped his hips, and he slowly licked him clean, guiding him gently through his violent orgasm. 

Harry looked down, ready to enjoy the view, but the beautiful man between his legs was traded for the grotesque corpse he became just a few days later. A bullet had torn open his head leaving just a gaping, oozing wound where his face had been. Blood and skin and brain and tooth had scattered around his body in a ugly spray on the ground where he died. 

Harry woke up with a shout. 

“Dammit, Harry,” Nyx muttered from the cot next to his as he laid back down. He grumbled a bit more before settling in to sleep again. They had such precious little time for rest anymore, after all.

Harry roughly swiped his hands through his hair and committed to rolling out of bed early. There was no way he was going back to sleep after that shitshow of a nightmare. Damn Niffs even ruining his best memories. Sighing harshly, he stood on the exhale and fought not to sway as the blood tried to reach his head. He blinked away the dark spots and breathed through the dizziness. Too bad he wouldn’t get enough sleep to solve that problem today. When he felt steady enough, he grabbed his spear and exited the tent he shared with his brother. 

It had been one month since the empire first attacked their village. The initial attack had been delineated as a Nifflheim weapons test; incidentally, they just murdered an entire village to test their newest batch of MTs. Of course, it was such a surprise when the Niffs invaded again a week later to try and take over the territory as a whole. Harry snorted at the very thought. Galahd may be part of the kingdom of Lucis, but they were beyond the wall. The empire was just taking what they had already won years ago. 

Not that Galahd was going down without a fight. Hunters from all over the islands banded together to form a ragtag resistance that fought hard and dirty. Although few in number, the empire had been pushed back time and again. The jungle was their home and they knew how to use its every advantage. Small motorcycle groups would take out entire platoons and disappear into the green where the large magitek could not follow. Sneaky four man units would hit supply ships and camps and burn them to the ground. Hunting parties would decimate the daemons brought to level villages. Their efforts even reached the ears of the king, apparently. 

Their little band of wild, tribal warriors, most of them still running around barefoot, managed to keep the might of the empire at bay. News of this reached Lucis, and they sent word they would be sending an envoy to meet with them. Jonas, the leader of their merry, murdering band, made sure to have the Terrors of the North on hand for the upcoming meeting, which brought the Ulric brothers back to the main camp of the resistance last night. 

Harry did not welcome the break from the front. His blood ran too hot for idle days at the base camp, and he knew Nyx felt the same. They couldn’t protect anyone while sitting around on their thumbs, waiting for some royal asshat to talk to them. What did they want anyway? Jonas hadn’t explained the situation, so the nature of the visit was still a mystery. Hopefully, they were here to offer aid, no matter how unlikely that seemed. Galahd was still a part of the kingdom, officially.  

“Ulric!” he heard from afar.

Turning, he spied Jonas waving at him from his tent. And, oh no, he had that look. The you’re-gonna-be-fishing-for-weeks look. Well, time to be brave, Harry thought as he ambled towards the man.

“Sir?” he asked respectfully, still hoping he can get out of whatever he did this time. He didn’t get in trouble often, but everyone has days where they forget to put the safety on and shoot their brother in the leg. Nyx was still healing from that, actually. Oops. 

“What’s this I hear about you losing control again?” the lead hunter questioned, as straight to the point as always. 

Harry ducked his head guiltily. “Yes, sir. I got. . .mad, sir,” he muttered in reply. Seeing Jonas’ dark look, he stumbles over himself to say, “They got one of the kids, sir! They shot her down, and I just-”

Jonas heaved a big, frustrated sigh, effectively cutting off any further argument. “I worry about you, son. Especially with the envoy coming. You’re safe here with your magic, but I don’t want those royal assholes or the bastard Niffs to catch wind of your power and lock you up for experimentation. I have heard awful tales of what they get up to in the dark of night, and I won’t have you getting captured because you were too pissed off to be careful,” he hammered the words home with a finger pointed straight in Harry’s face. It was definitely a powerful tactic. 

Harry gulped. “Yes, sir,” he agreed demurely. It was a bit of a joke with the younger hunters that the Ulric brothers answered to no one except Jonas because Jonas was secretly the biggest badass of them all. He just kept it under wraps while he managed the resistance from the base camp. The reality was that Harry and Nyx respected the old man as their surrogate father, but no one had to know that. It helped the resistance to have a healthy amount of fear for their commander. 

An explosion sounded in the distance, and the two hunters looked at each other in exasperation. Never any rest for the wicked. Jonas gave a firm nod, and Harry took it as his cue to head out. 

He met Nyx right outside the tent, and the brothers silently ran to their motorcycles parked nearby. They were on the battlefield swiftly. The chaos that greeted them, both familiar and ugly, brought Harry’s temper to a boil, but he tamped it down and replaced it with hunter’s calm. No letting loose today. Just some good old fashioned carnage. “Whoever kills less has to wash the clothes this week,” he posited.

Nyx gave him a smug look, obviously still feeling vainglorious after winning their last bet. “You’re on, short stuff” he called out before diving into the fray, taking out three MTs with one sweep of his kukris. He threw a smirk over his shoulder before carrying on meting out retribution on the invading Niffs. 

With a shake of his head, Harry dismounted from his bike and dove right in. He wasn’t going to lose this time. He’d even made sure to get extra mud on all his clothes the last few days for this very reason. Nyx was going to suffer for putting him on cooking duty last week. Harry hated cooking duty almost as much as fishing duty. It was a thankless job because the food was awful no matter what they did to it. Feeding a literal army wasn’t easy, and in their war torn land, good food was an unnecessary luxury. Oh yea, he was definitely getting Nyx to do the laundry. 

The battle raged, and Harry managed to keep his calm. He skewered MTs, protected Nyx’s back, and slashed through soldiers unused to fighting the warrior hunters of Galahd. The loss of life stopped affecting him weeks ago. This was truly them or us, and right now, Harry’s priority was keeping his brother alive. Nothing else mattered. 

When he saw the blade aimed at Nyx’s open back, he didn’t even hesitate. He moved. The pain as the bayonet pierced his chest took his breath away. He heard his name being shouted behind him, but he ignored it in favor of thrusting his spear deeper into the metal soldier. No one could say he went down easy, at least. As the MT crashed to the ground in a useless heap, Harry’s grip loosened on his spear, and he fell to his knees. Arms came around to catch him before his face hit the dirt. At least he could die with dignity, he thought.

Nyx turned him around to look at his face, and Harry felt bad when he saw the wetness on his face. It was probably too soon after Selena’s passing for this to be easy on Nyx. He doubted it would ever be easy, and that made him feel a bit sad. “Fifty-three,” Harry gasped out through the blood in his throat. 

Nyx choked on a laugh. “Forty-five. Asshole,” his brother smiled crookedly.

“Guess you’ll be my laundry slave, then. H-hope, you like m-mud, princess,” he managed to say.

Nyx made a pained face. It was an ugly thing, caught between a smile, a grimace, and a scowl. “Fuck you, Harry. Fuck,” he whispered.

“Your Majesty! Stay back!” shouted a voice.

In a brilliant display of magic, a huge sword collided with the head of a MT lunging for them, and it exploded with the impact. Blue, crystalline shards fluttered down from the warped blade, followed by a regal man in a black suit who flew upon more soldiers with the fury of a storm. Graceful slashes followed up with a crack of lightning brought down a swath of enemies around them in no time at all. Harry wondered if that was what he looked like when he lost control. Surely not as beautiful, but just as powerful. Damn, no wonder they called him a terror. 

“Majesty!” came the exasperated voice as another man warped beside them. The man, all cheekbones and angry eyes, cast a quick glance at the bewildered brothers. He threw a blue vial at Nyx, who caught it on pure instinct. “Use that. It’ll keep him from dying,” he explained before he too warped away. 

Oh. Okay.

Nyx didn’t hesitate. He slammed the potion down on Harry’s chest, and the pain lessened enough that he could actually breathe normally. As quickly as he could, he rolled out of Nyx’ lap to vomit blood on the ground. Then he blacked out in Nyx’s arms in the middle of the battlefield with the King of Lucis quite literally kicking Niflheim’s ass hard enough to send them running. He felt he could be forgiven for finally getting some rest.

Chapter Text

Cor had to suppress a wry smile as he followed his liege into the command tent. These scrappy outlanders had definitely earned his respect today. Here they were, barefoot soldiers, fighting back the might of the empire with nothing but tents, hunting rifles, spears, and clever tactics. Not one of the council members had believed the reports that the empire struggled to claim the wilds of Galahd, and yet here they were fighting back and holding the line. Cor himself struggled to believe it until he witnessed it just a few moments ago.

The royal retinue had dismounted from the royal vessel docked on the coast, and the sounds of war had greeted them when they found the resistance camp. Regis had charged ahead, as usual, and Cor could only follow him obediently into battle. The fighting had been a thing of beauty. The hunter warriors worked in perfect tandem to bring down hulking magitek beasts as easily as they hunted wild boar. A few snipers nested on the edges of the combat took shots at the Niflheim officers positioned in the rear with pinpoint accuracy. In the center of the melee, young Galadhian men speared, slashed, and shot their way through entire platoons of Magitek soldiers as easily as cleaving a hot knife through butter. It was glorious. If only his own crownsguard had half the tenacity of these men, but that was just wishful thinking.

“Your majesty,” called a warm, deep voice, bringing Cor back to the present. A large man dressed in worn leathers with an incredible amount of thin, delicate tattoos covering every inch of exposed skin stood behind a table littered with maps, papers, and what looked like fishing tackle. Sparkling beads were threaded in the thick braids framing his face, and the sides of his head were shaved in the traditional Galahdian style. Overall, he looked feral and strong. Unassailable, Cor thought. 

Regis nodded in greeting. “Jonas Hildebrandt, I assume,” his liege acknowledged. Cor watched him fail to hide a smile. Trust Regis to love the man as soon as he meets him. Sometimes, he wished Regis had the same decorum as King Mors, but that was a battle he would never win and truthfully, was one he didn’t want to win, either. 

“You assume correctly,” Jonas nodded in return. There were no chairs to offer the monarch, so the large man merely motioned them closer to his command bench. When they neared, he wordlessly pushed a photograph across the table.

The photograph showed a lively, colorful village filled with people dancing under the glow of lanterns. It was beautiful. “Where is this?” Regis asked, running his fingers gently along the edges of the picture.

Jonas’ face lost all of its previous warmth. “That was our home, your majesty. It is gone now. We were the first village struck in the invasion,” he explained, his cold words bringing ice to Cor’s heart. The reports of the carnage from the first attack had been painful to read. Cor could handle a lot of things, but dead children piled in the streets had truly shaken him. The fact that Jonas could carry on to successfully lead the resistance must have taken incredible will. Cor’s respect for the man grew by the minute, it seemed.  

The minutiae of Regis’ expression gave away the pain in his heart. “I see,” he said. Monarchs never apologize, but Cor could hear the apology in those words all the same. His king had been heartbroken to learn the fate of his far flung subjects, and even now, the fire to protect his people burned in his eyes. 

The resistance commander regained a touch of his earlier affability as he watched the king’s face. “Your majesty, I am a straightforward man. I am amiable to your request, but I wanted to meet the man behind the crown before I would trust you with my sons. I called you here to negotiate concessions for Galahd in exchange for soldiers if I deemed you worthy,” he declared, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The motion brought attention to his tattooed forearms, specifically the three thick bands around his right wrist, and Cor wondered if they meant something.

Tension between the two pulled tight and heavy. No one made demands of the king, and no one since Cor had the balls to judge his majesty’s character. Cor officially loved Jonas. He hid a smile behind his fist as he watched his liege formulate his response.

Silently, Regis held Jonas’ unwavering eyes. Then he smiled and said, “Then let us negotiate.” 

Jonas threw back his head to let out rich laughter, the sound as comforting as a hot cup of ebony. “King Regis, indeed,” he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. 

Regis relaxed then, and the tension eased from his shoulders at the deference. Cor promised himself to tease the man until his dying day that this outlander had intimidated the King of Lucis. He couldn’t wait to tell Clarus.

“I have three demands: deploy men to aid in our resistance, send the weapons of my men to be buried here as is our tradition, and spend the next week here in Galahd,” the large man ordered. 

Cor resisted raising an eyebrow. The first two made sense, but he did not quite see the benefit of the third. Asking for resources was expected, but asking for the king’s precious time was another thing entirely. An entire week away from his royal duties would definitely give Clarus and the council a heart attack. 

“A week?” Regis questioned, face carefully blank.  

Jonas pushed the photograph forward again. “See how we live, your Majesty. Take a good look at what it is we fight for outside of your walls. Only then will you understand what it means to take our sons,” he explained.  

Well, Cor already knew what the answer would be before his king even opened his mouth.

“I will grant you four days of my time,” Regis declared. 

Jonas nodded and reached his arm forward to shake.

Cor had to stifle a laugh at the barely hidden bewilderment on his liege’s face. He doubted Regis had ever sealed such an important deal with a handshake of all things. 

After a small hesitation that he knew would be denied vehemently, Regis grasped the outstretched hand and shook it strongly. And with that, the deal was brokered. The king had permission to recruit soldiers from Galahd to fight against their shared enemy. 

Nyx felt tired to his bones. They had been on the front lines for weeks, and the sudden battle near the base camp had taken all the energy he had recuperated. It wasn’t that he expected to catch a break in the middle of war, but some sleep would be nice. Not that he could sleep well in the first place, honestly. 

Harry's nightmares were getting worse. Even as a kid, his little brother had suffered nightmares more often than other kids, but Nyx had just attributed them to his rough past. This war had gotten to Nyx too, but he worried about Harry. He doubted they would ever have a real conversation about feelings, but he was almost willing to face the awkwardness if it would stop his nightmares. Too bad he couldn’t just slice them away like an ugly beastie on a hunt. 

Nyx ruffled his hair with his hands. The silence of the medic tent made his skin crawl. He had carried Harry back here as soon as he passed out, trusting the fighting to the crazy Lucian king. Magic was frightening. If Harry could learn to wield magic like that, the Niffs wouldn’t stand a chance. Not for the first time, Nyx wished he could wield magic too. He’d only witnessed Harry’s magic a few times, but every time his little brother went berserk not one enemy survived. Nyx wanted that power too. Maybe then, Selena might still be here. Nyx huffed a sigh. No use thinking about that now, he thought miserably. 

“Hey,” said a hoarse voice.

“Hey, short stuff,” Nyx replied, looking back at his brother laid out on a stretcher. Luckily, Nyx knew Harry could still kill imperial soldiers in his current state. It helped ease his worry.

“You, me, a stretcher. It’s just like old times,” the little shit smirked at him. 

Rolling his eyes, Nyx withheld a smile of his own. If he was cracking jokes then he must be feeling okay. “Shut up,” he retorted. It was childish, but they had always been this way. Heaven forbid they actually talk to each other. It used to drive their mother crazy that neither of her sons would talk about how they felt. Too bad she was gone before they could get any better at it.

Harry laughed at him. Nyx watched as he struggled to get himself upright but didn’t offer to help. Harry wouldn’t want it anyway. 

“Harry,” Nyx called. May as well get this over with now.

His brother looked at him with all the seriousness he could muster while half dead and covered in bandages. It would be funny if he didn't look like the smallest breeze would knock him over again.

“The king is recruiting soldiers to fight against the empire. I’m going to join him. Come with me,” he said curtly. He’d made up his mind as soon as he heard the monarch's proposal from Jonas. This would let him protect his home. He’d be able to use magic, too. He could finally protect Harry just as his little brother protected him.    

Harry stared at him, his eyes searching for something. Nyx didn’t look away. Harry looked away first, staring at his hands.

An uncomfortable, stifling silence stretched the space between them. 

Not for the first time, Nyx wished he knew what his wild little brother was thinking. A lot of times, he could read Harry like a book, open and easy to understand. Nyx, feeling nervous, swallowed reflexively. This was not one of those times.

Harry didn't look up from his hands.

"Har-"

"Get out," his little brother mumbled, unable to look at him. The anger on his face was still easy to see.

Nyx swallowed again. Then, he stood carefully and walked out of the tent with his heart in his throat. As his feet carried him out of the tent, the look on Harry's face spelled disaster for someone. Nyx just hoped it wasn't for the well-meaning King of Lucis.

With the battle won, the resistance camp packed itself up and made the trip back home. Under Jonas' keen command, they moved carefully through the jungle, avoiding the empire with ease as they traveled lightly and swiftly up the mountain. The terrain was tricky and made all the more difficult by the constant rain turning the ground to slushy mud below their feet. Luckily, what was troublesome for them was actually impossible for the Niffs. The magitek units couldn't march through the dense jungle or drop down through the thick canopy. 

The visitors from Lucis kept pace and stayed close to Jonas the whole way, the two leaders talking quietly together. It was surreal for Cor to watch his king defer to this outlander, but he could see the respect the man had brokered with his own men. Perhaps, it was no wonder after all that the king felt kinship with the large man. He wondered if Regis felt relieved to not stand on ceremony. His majesty had stripped out of his jacket and ambled through the greenery in just his slacks and dress shirt. Clarus would have had a fit at his state of undress, but Cor rather liked seeing Regis dressed down. He looked more human and less the unapproachable royal, which probably endeared him to the outlanders.    

“Cor! You must see this!” Regis called from further ahead.

Cor jogged faster to join his majesty. A short jaunt through a slim tunnel in the mountain deposited him on the other side, and he took a moment to just indulge in the view. It was truly incredible.

Sequestered within the mountain was a hidden village illuminated by the warm glow of torches. The firelight danced over colorful woven drapings that covered the roofs and served as awnings and rugs for every building carved out of the rock of the mountain. Full of life and joyful noises, this protected pocket of people erased the woes of war lingering on the faces of the returning warriors. Wives embraced husbands, children ran to their fathers, and Jonas greeted every person by name. 

By the look on Regis’ face, Cor knew he was in love with the whole place already. Keeping a smile off his face through sheer power of will, Cor merely stood beside his king and enjoyed the moment. Peace never lasts, so it should be savored, after all.

“Come, Regis. I would show you my home,” called Jonas after he finished making his rounds. 

And so, the outlander led them through the tight streets of his beloved village, giving off hand comments about this or that. Each word came from his heart and showed the intimacy he held with his people, the nuances of their lives that he took part in. There, that boy would receive his tattoos in two days time, the hellion. Ten years old already, huh? His eyes were fond. That is the best butcher around, and he sometimes saves a good cut of meat for Jonas. Just there, the women of the village gathered to sing and dance. A fête had been organized for the returning war party, the gruff man explained. 

All the while, Cor watched his king. As his majesty took in the sights and immersed himself in the words spoken so fondly, Cor knew he wouldn’t need four days to understand. Regis already knew what it would mean to take the warriors from this place. He knew what they fought for with spears and sweat and sacrifice. Cor knew it, too. 

They were cut off from their easy meandering, by a young man shouting after Jonas.

“Ulric? What is it, son? Breathe, lad, and speak quickly,” the old hunter spoke concernedly to the winded man, hunched over and breathing wildly.

Swallowing visibly and gulping in air to calm himself, the man managed to choke out the words, “Harry, sir. I-it’s, Harry. I can’t find him. He got the all clear from medical once we returned, but now, he’s gone, and Jonas, he’s angry -,” he cut himself off, forcibly choking down some kind of emotion before he could continue. “He’s angry at me, I think, and I don’t know where he is,” he muttered quickly, obviously fighting off panic. 

Jonas, the solid rock of a man, settled a big hand on the young man’s shoulder. “We’ll find him, Nyx. You two have not fought since you were small, and I know you both well enough to see that you will bounce back from this. Gather a few runners, some of the old hunting party, and search the perimeter for him. He can’t have gone far,” he commanded, not unkindly, and sent the man off back the way he came.  

“Oh, to be young and foolish,” Regis commented, earning a wry smile from Jonas. 

“You have no idea, Regis. Those boys are the pride of my life, but they have caused me more strife than my own sons ever did,” an odd mix of things crossed the older man’s face as he spoke, but pride showed through the most. In that moment, Cor saw him as the father he most likely was, as the father he had become for all the men under his command. “Have you any children?”

Regis could not keep the smile from his face whenever little Noctis was mentioned. The king loved his son more than life itself, and indulged the boy’s every whim. After the loss of his wife, Cor could not fault the man for wanting to have a real relationship with his son. “Just the one. Noctis is his name,” and Regis himself reflected a few ounces of the pride that Jonas carried in metric tons. “You?”

The innocent question brought a melancholy to the exuberant man, a heavy weight that dampened his normally boisterous nature. “Ah,” Regis grimaced. “My condolences, Jonas,” he offered delicately. Again, decorum blocked Regis from audibly apologizing, but the feeling was clear regardless. 

Jonas smiled then, a shadow of his normal grin, but genuine and full of feeling. It was full of a father’s regret. Full of his love too. “I have mourned them enough. They died on a hunt years ago, and these,” he held up his arm to show the three thick bands tattooed around his forearm, “remind me of their sacrifice every day. They fought hard, and saved the village from a daemon attack. True hunters to the end,” he smiled again, wider and less pained this time.

Cor could not imagine the loss of three sons in one night. He knew the pain of losing comrades in battle and the lance to his heart when his parents passed of old age. He felt he could better appreciate his majesty’s endeavor to protect his son, now. Burying his child would be too much for his gentle king to bear. Cor inwardly renewed his oath to the man beside him, to protect and serve and guard the royal line to his dying breath. So long as he lived, Regis would never need to experience the pain of burying his own child.   

“You watch over the Ulric brothers, then?” Regis asked, shifting the subject away from such sad memories.

Jonas’ eyes sparkled at the mention of the young men he had suggested as top recruits for the kingsglaive. “I do. Their parents both passed years ago, and I have grown fond of them since they became hunters. Good lads, but they are still so young. The younger brother has done his best for us in this war, but I worry for him. Actually, Regis, may we speak privately for a moment?” Jonas had turned curiously serious by the end. 

Regis shared a look with Cor. His majesty gave a nod, and Cor bowed before taking his leave. The men carried on through the village, and Cor left the two leaders to their conversation. He assigned a few other guards to shadow the king from afar before he meandered towards the tunnel leading back to the jungle.

The rain hadn’t let up, and the droplets sparkled like gems on the leaves around him. He’d always feel at home in the concrete jungle of Insomnia, but he could definitely understand the appeal of the outlands. The outer edges of the kingdom felt more alive with their greenery, wild life, and bustling villages. He could see Regis retiring somewhere out here and fishing every single day. The mental image of his king with tan lines and a bucket hat almost made him laugh aloud. 

The rain came down harder. 

Unperturbed by the downpour, Cor ventured into the greenery. He kept close to the mountain path so as not to lose his way as he climbed higher up on the mountain. Just to be safe, he wanted to scout from a higher vantage. He trusted that the empire would struggle to sneak up on them here, but it paid to be vigilant. 

Surprisingly, he wasn’t alone when he reached the mountaintop. Cor entered the alcove cut into the side of the mountain which sheltered him from the rain and eyed the young man curled up on a rock. Maybe the missing Ulric? 

“What do you want?” the kid sniped. He turned blazing green eyes on Cor, full of teenage fury and rebellious attitude. Is that what Cor looked like at that age? Most likely, he thought with amusement. 

“Oh, just scouting. I’m able to see much better from up here,” he replied honestly.

The kid hadn’t been expecting that, if the confused expression was any indication. “You’re not-? Nevermind,” he muttered, turning back to glare at the horizon. He had the tattoos typical of all the men of Galahd and a wild half shaved haircut with beaded braids framing his young face. Cor could see the warrior in him, just as young and daring as Cor had been. He could see it in the muscled arms already peppered with scars and the battle-worn kukris attached to his thighs. A beautiful silver spear laid on the ground just within the young man’s reach.

“Any good with that?” Cor asked, testing the waters. He pointed to the spear when feisty green eyes turned back to look at him.

The kid perked up at its mention. “I’d say so. How about you? Any good with that?” he asked, canting his head to the katana faithfully at Cor’s hip. 

Cor couldn’t hold back a smirk at the cheeky response. It was such an odd sense of deja vu, like looking at a mirror and seeing his scrappy teenage self staring back at him. “Wanna see for yourself?” he asked instead of answering.

The kid smirked back, eyes dancing. “Bring it on, old man,” he called out, jumping up swiftly with his spear.

Cor couldn’t help the chuckle. “Youth doesn’t guarantee a win, kid,” he warned, falling into a ready stance.

The fiery youth just smirked wide and proud and free. Hah, just as brazen and arrogant as Cor had been at that age. His opening stance was good, well-guarded and ready to strike. So, what did his fighting look like?

As one, the pair lunged forward. With nothing but the cadence of the rainforest and the clang of steel on steel, the pair danced around each other, all graceful swings and heavy thrusts. The spar was magnificent. The kid had such potential and fought more fiercely than any of the crownsguard that Cor usually trained with. This was how a soldier should fight, desperately yet level headed. The soft men from Insomnia did not know what it meant to protect their homes the way this young man did. They did not have the resolve to fight someone twice their size and three times more experienced, not like this kid.

Even though he fought hard, Cor’s experience paid off as he saw through a feint and disarmed the young man in one graceful slash and twist of his sword. “Not bad, kid,” Cor complimented, thoroughly impressed.

The kid clenched his fists. He eyed Cor up and down in obvious assessment. Cor just felt amused. “The soldiers the king recruits. Will you be training them?” he asked.

Cor blinked, trying to process the sudden topic change. “I will be assisting with the training of the first unit, yes. Why?” he prodded.

The young man plopped down on the rocky ground. He stared at his hands. “My brother is joining up. He wants me to come, too,” the kid admitted.

With a surprised huff, the Marshal sat down beside him. Cor looked out at the rain falling on the jungle to give his companion some privacy for his feelings as they showed clearly on his face. The kid was worried. “Are you scared?” he asked with no judgement. He only felt curious.

“No. Not for me, anyway,” he admitted.

Cor raised an eyebrow. “Afraid for your brother?”

“Yea. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Cor laughed, surprising himself with the action. This kid really was just a wilder version of him. “I won’t. Well, if you join up, you can protect him just like you do now. You could also try to convince him not to go” he offered.

The kid shrugged. “Where he goes, I go. I won’t stop him. Just, I don’t know,” he scrubbed his hands down his face as he visibly gathered his thoughts. “We’re gonna be fighting for some king and far away from home and what if I can’t protect him? What if we get separated or what if we don’t get trained well enough and die on our first mission?” the words flew out of his mouth, trying to tumble out all at once. 

Cor was struck by the maturity of his worries. This wasn’t just some kid scared of dying on a battlefield. He was a young man worried for the fate of his family. Cor didn’t have a good answer. It was perfectly realistic that they might die on their first mission, no matter how much training they received. War didn’t discriminate. Instead Cor asked, “Do you think you can protect your home better here or with the king?”  

A moment passed. The rain kept falling.

“I think we’ll be able to do more with the king. We’ll have resources and training and magic. That’s definitely a step up from our current situation,” was the reply. The kid looked critically at the Marshal then. Cor paid him the courtesy of direct eye contact and his full attention. “I think… If it's you, the training will be worth it. Sir,” the last word was tacked on as an afterthought. 

Damn, this kid. He was insolent to the end, that’s for sure. Smirking again, Cor nodded and reached out a hand for a shake. “I’ll do my best, kid. Name’s Cor Leonis,” he declared.

“I’ll hold you to that, sir. And I’m Harry Ulric, not kid. In Galahd you’re a man as soon as you get family ink,” Harry explained.

“Well, Harry. I look forward to our next spar,” Cor said, rising to his feet to head back down the mountain.

“Anytime, old timer,” said the brat, grinning with all his teeth. 

Cheeky, cheeky devil, Cor thought with amusement. The rain finally let up as he made the trek down the mountain.

A few days later, the recruits gathered on the shore after saying their goodbyes to their families. Weeping mothers and children were safely tucked away in the village inside the mountain, but Jonas stood beside the king as he delivered a few words of encouragement to the sons of Galahd. “This is not goodbye, my sons. You go now to fight for your motherland, and protect us from the might of the empire. Some of you are hunters that I have known since your first boar hunt. Others are the sons of butchers, farmers, and silk weavers. I am proud of all of you. Your families are proud of you. Should your brothers fall, you know what to do. Collect his spear to be laid to rest here,” here he paused and cleared his throat. Then, the large man sang in a surprisingly sweet voice. 

Cor could not understand the words, but he could see the meaning in the faces of the men gathered on the beach. Their faces hardened, and one by one, their voices rose up to join the song. Spears tapped the ground in a steady rhythm, bolstering the men and lighting a fire in their eyes. This was a song of war, a heavy send off to strengthen their hearts. 

When the last word faded away, Jonas looked out at the men and nodded resolutely. The warriors stood tall.

Regis stepped forward. He was back in full raiment, looking as regal as ever. It seemed to hit differently for the young men gathered on the sand. Suddenly, he was their king, in a way they had not recognized just a few days ago. It helped that Regis had spent most of his waking hours talking and interacting with the people in the village, learning their culture and beliefs with a ferocious appetite. He looked out over the crowd and smiled tightly at them. 

Then, the king spoke. “Men, I have learned much and more about this beautiful land in the last few days. I learned that in Galahd, hunting stories are meant to be exaggerated,” a few chuckles rose up. “I also learned that the jungle is prettiest in the rain and silk looks most beautiful by firelight. You have taught me what it means to fight back and survive against all odds. I admire this quality, truly. But most importantly, you have taught me that we fight best when we strive to protect the most important things in our lives,” he paused, and the men expectantly awaited his next words. “With this in mind, I have decided on the words to guide our newest endeavor. Together, we will fight our hardest for that which is most important to us. The kingsglaive shall henceforth answer to this call: for hearth and home!” he declared, raising his fist.

“For hearth and home!” came the enthusiastic response.

The Ulric brothers raised their fists, but grasped each other’s forearms as well. Henceforth, they would fight for hearth and home. And they would do it together.

Chapter Text

The night itself was eerily peaceful. A cool, comforting breeze wafted through the gauzy curtains making them reach out like ghostly fingers towards the solitary patient in the room. She didn’t turn to look at him when he appeared, but he knew that she could sense him.

“Good evening,” he greeted.

She smiled at him. It was empty and ugly, a horrid facsimile of a smile. “Are you Death?” she asked. She wasn’t afraid, he noticed, just ready. 

Without meaning to, he laughed. “To some, yes. I have many names, dear lady, but that is one that I cannot claim,” he answered. 

“Ah, your voice. I remember it now. You’re the one who saved my little boy,” she mused, canting her head to the side as she tried to place the sound.

“Have you room for this child?”

“Oh, the poor dear! Come in, we’ll warm him up by the fire. Nyx, bring some blankets!”

“You are too kind.”

“Nonsense. Every child deserves a home.”

“Spot on, my dear,” he praised. “Though, it was merely a whim, I assure you. I am not that sort of man, usually,” he amended. Ever since the darkness eroded his sanity, he certainly could not be classified as a ‘kind’ man. Those days were long behind him.

"You're not a good person. Are you?" 

"Oh! You wound me!" 

“Shut up, I’m being serious!”

“Oh, fine. To answer your question: yes. I’m not, as you put it, a good person.”

“At least you can admit it. Doesn’t matter anyway because you’ll always be my favorite uncle.”

This time, she laughed at him. A truer smile pulled at her lips. “I’d believe you if you didn’t check on him so often. An uncaring man would have never returned, but you visited him many times,” she smirked over her shoulder at him. Her sightless, oozing black eyes found his direction, but did not see him. 

“This will be our little secret.” 

“Even from my brother?” 

“Especially from him!” 

“Okay. I promise, Uncle Ardyn!”

“You’ve caught me,” Ardyn admitted. He had made it a point to visit the boy each year, and he had taught the boy to wield his magic when the power manifested. Even if he had taught the boy merely to spite Bahamut, that doesn’t refute the fact that he checked on little Harry Ulric frequently. “Guilty as charged,” he conceded, giving a rather dramatic bow. 

She couldn’t see it, but she laughed all the same. “He never said anything, but I always knew when you visited. He’d always think he was being sneaky, but he can’t hide anything from me,” her smile turned fond and real. It radiated the warmth that only a mother could give. She sighed, and the smile fell apart. “If only I had more time. I just wish I could see them grow up,” she muttered aloud. The plea was not meant for Ardyn, but he heard it all the same. 

“I’m sorry that I can’t do more for you,” Ardyn apologized. Shockingly, he genuinely meant every word. This woman deserved more kindness than the Astrals have shown her. In that, they were kindred, and he would do his best for her because of it. Hence, being here tonight. 

The breeze came again through the window, and she turned her face to welcome it. “You have done so much for me already. Thanks to you, I was given the gift of another son,” she said. Her gentle gratitude warmed the shriveled heart in his chest. Perhaps, it even gave a slow beat in reply. “Why have you come?” she asked. Again, she wasn’t afraid.

Ardyn sighed, and finally stepped closer to her. “Do you perhaps know the final stage of the starscourge?” he asked instead of answering outright. 

Her shoulders tensed up and shook a little. “The doctors like to call it ‘vanishing sickness’, but I think they say that to make people feel safer. I know I'm not going to vanish,” she whispered the revelation. 

“How do you know?” he prodded.

“I can hear them at night. The daemons,” she said, her black eyes turning to face him again. 

Ardyn observed her, seeing the black patches on her skin and face where the darkness had spread. Most of her skin was covered in sickly, black patches. He applauded her inner strength for remaining coherent with that much darkness corrupting her very soul. “What do they say?” he asked not unkindly. 

Again, the breeze beckoned to her, threading through her hair impishly. She didn’t face it this time. “They call you their brother, but also they fear you,” she answered quietly. She still did not turn away from him. “They talk about the end, too. How the world will grow dark and all the humans will die. And. . . they talk about the Bladekeeper as if he is their god,” she divulged, and her eyes flitted about blindly as if the god would smite her for saying so.

“How very fitting,” he smiled grimly. How very fitting, indeed.

A moment passed in silence. The pesky breeze came again. She answered its siren call and turned her face towards it. Hesitantly, she asked, “Will I become like you?” Now, she looked afraid. 

Ardyn reached out and placed a hand on her thin, sickly shoulder. The darkened patches felt coarse and rough to the touch. “No, my dear,” he said, and the words soothed the tension in her body. “Your curse is very different from mine. I can’t heal you, but I can save you from becoming like them,” he offered, finally revealing his true intentions. He could offer this much at least for the woman who cared for little Harry just as much as he did.

She breathed in through her nose deeply and let it out in a slow stream through her trembling lips. 

Ardyn wondered if she knew that her sons had adopted her method for bracing themselves. 

“Do it,” she ordered.  

“Any last words?” he asked, his hand tightening on her shoulder. 

“Take care of my sons,” she breathed.

“What’s the matter? Did something happen?”

“Oh, Harry. You’re probably the only person in this whole world who worries about me.”

“I will,” he vowed.

Without another word, he gripped her shoulder and consumed her.

To the dissipating particles of darkness, he promised, “I will protect them.”

To the wretched gods above, he proclaimed, “I will defy my fate.”

Chapter Text

A small glow sputtered to life in his hands then fizzled out with a wimpy little hissing sound.

“Huh.”

“Right?”

“Let me try it.”

An actual fireball burst to life easily from Nyx’s palm, fully illuminating their small room with its strong glow. 

“Huh,” Nyx mused helpfully. Again.

A frustrated groan slipped out as Harry ruffled his hair uselessly. “I have no trouble doing that with my magic,” he complained. “I don’t know why, but the king’s magic is just so difficult to use,” he explained.

“Yea, I thought Drautos was going to lose it when you could barely manage a few sparks during training today,” his brother added. 

“Well, Drautos can suck my dick,” Harry bit out, feeling his anger simmering beneath his skin, now.

Nyx raised an eyebrow at him, his infuriating fireball still burning away. “What’s your deal with him?”

“Nothing.”

Nyx’s eyebrow rose higher.

Harry crossed his arms.

“Well, do you think you can get the hang of it eventually?” Nyx asked, letting it go for now.

Harry shrugged. “Probably? I’ll practice as much as I can either way. Not exactly liking my chances against the Niffs if all I can do is spark at them,” he replied.

Nyx pat him on the back. “Well, let’s get some sleep, then. Back at it again in the morning,” he mustered a smile and headed straight for his bed.

Harry did the same with the hope that he was right.

Of course, the morning came too soon, and with it another humiliating day at magic training. Cor was overseeing them today at least, thank the astrals. Harry didn't have to suffer through Drautos glaring at him all day. Cor looked disappointed, though, and that was almost as bad.

Harry jettisoned another tiny flame from his palm. It landed pitifully on the ground a couple feet in front of him before weakly flickering out. 

Snickers hissed around him. 

"Back to work, everyone," called Cor. 

The mocking sound stopped, but Harry could still feel their judgment. This had been their routine for the past few weeks. Harry's abysmal magic gets a few chuckles, the instructor gets them back on track, and Harry does his absolute best to ignore the post training jeers at the end of the day. Today, it seemed, would be no different from the last. Yup, just another day in paradise.

True to form, someone stole his boots out of his locker while he showered. Again. Harry slammed the door shut as hard as he could swing it. 

Uninhibited laughter filled the room.

"Lose your boots, island boy?"

"Don't they have shoes where you come from?"

"You prefer to be barefoot anyway, right?"

A big hand caught his fist. He didn't even realize that he had thrown it. The red that had filled his vision cleared away as if a spell had been lifted. Cor looked down at him, eyes furious like stormy winds on the sea. 

Uncomfortable, stifling silence filled the room as the men noticed the presence of the Marshal. Laughter cut off abruptly, and a few men tried to cough over it and disguise the sound. As one, the men came to attention in their towels and varying states of undress in the presence of their commanding officer. They may not respect their foreign peers, but the Insomnian men respected their betters. 

"Everyone out. Training at dawn tomorrow. I'm sure I will see everyone there on time. And fully dressed. Dismissed," he ordered. His disappointed eyes never wavered from Harry, and neither did he release Harry's shaking fist. 

Most of them only wearing towels for modesty, the men marched out as quickly as possible, piling out of the door in ordered lines that would have made their commander proud under normal circumstances. Someone tossed his boots by his feet, the thief safe from view in the crowded locker room. Their rhythmic footsteps faded away, leaving the room empty except for Harry, Cor, and his boots on the floor.

The anger in Cor's eyes disappeared as soon as they were alone, but the painful disappointment remained. Why did that look hurt so much? Cor was just his commanding officer, not his dad. Harry looked away, feeling embarrassment creep up his neck and warm his ears. "Can I have my hand back, sir?" He asked meekly.

Cor let go of his hand then took two steps back and assumed a ready stance.

"Sir?"

"Defend yourself."

"Wha-" he managed to say before Cor's fist flew at him in a textbook perfect punch. Harry deflected it as he had been taught.

"Good," Cor praised. Then he attacked again.

They sparred there, in the middle of the room, weaving between benches and half open lockers. Harry stayed very aware of his footing on the slick tile floor and did his best to dodge and block and strike. The rage from earlier truly left him as he focused instead on Cor's form and listened to every praise and criticism about his own. He did well until he lost his footing on the wet floor, and Cor landed a crunching kick that knocked the wind out of him and threw him to the floor.

Damn, he should have seen that coming. He sucked in air in heaving lungfuls, trying to catch his breath from the intensity of the workout. It echoed in the empty locker room, and the sound reminded him of the reason for the impromptu spar. Then he remembered Cor's disappointment and felt ashamed of himself. He was supposed to be doing better with his anger management.

"Not bad, Ulric," the Marshal commended. He had his hand stuck out for Harry like he did every time they sparred. It was almost as if it was just another day in the training hall. Well, at least until he remembered nearly punching his superior in the face because he let some idiots get under his skin.

Harry hesitated to take it. He lifted his hand, but before he could take it back, Cor had easily hauled him upright. 

"Next time you take a swing at a fellow glaive, I'm going to do what I am supposed to do, Ulric," he warned. 

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. Won't happen again, sir," he promised.

Cor sighed then, getting Harry's attention. He looked old all of a sudden. Not ancient, but not like a young man, either. He looked like he was feeling every minute he had ever lived. "The people of this city don't understand your life, Ulric. The world outside these walls is so far away from them, that I wonder if they even know what it means to fight the empire," Cor leaned against the lockers behind him as if in need of support. "I won't ask you to forgive them because your anger is just. Instead, I will ask that you learn to work with them regardless of their behavior. Like it or not, those men will be the ones defending your back in a few weeks," the Marshal explained, looking Harry dead on.

Harry felt the weight of his stare as a physical thing and the truth of his words was heavier than his gaze. Their training would be over soon and that meant deployment. That meant team placements with the men who had never tasted life in a war zone. Harry winced. 

Cor seemed to read his mind and his expression soured. "Too late for any of us to change it now. Orders are orders," he sighed. "Back to your bunk, glaive. It's an early start tomorrow," Cor pat him on the back as he left.

Harry returned to his room as instructed with his thoughts feeling as heavy as a mountain on his shoulders.

War. Soon, they were going to war. Were they ready? Harry sincerely hoped they were.

The sky was still a deep, impenetrable indigo when the men gathered in the training hall the next morning. Harry withheld a yawn through sheer power of will, but he spied a guy two rows ahead of him cracking his jaw with the force of his sleepy exhale. It was physically impossible to stop himself from yawning after watching him.

“Ah, good, you’re all here it seems,” came the voice of Cor, sounding like the man had slept perfectly and been awake for a few hours already. Harry wouldn’t doubt if his commander really had been up for that long. If anyone was that hardcore, it would definitely be Cor Leonis. The Marshal stood before them, strong arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

Everyone stood a little straighter as he eyed them critically. A few spines cracked with the effort.

“I don’t think I need to explain myself when I say that I am disappointed, gentlemen,” he began. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that some of us have already forgotten what it is we’re fighting for,” his words made the guy next to Harry audibly gulp. “What is our creed?”

“For hearth and home!” Shouted the men. 

“What’s that?”

“For hearth and home!” They repeated, louder this time. Harry felt more awake already. The yawning bastard looked like he did too.

“Oh, you do remember. Good to know,” Cor took a moment to eye a few men as he let them stew in silence. “Lazarus!”

“Sir!” replied the yawning bastard. At least he looked fully awake now.

“Remove your boots, glaive,” Cor ordered, not unkindly.

Lazarus, a fellow Galahdian man judging by the tattoos, didn’t manage to hide the sideways look he threw in Harry’s direction. Great. Everyone must know what happened in the locker room he shared with the youngest of the glaives. After the brief hesitation, Lazarus did as ordered and removed his boots. Harry respected the proud tilt of his chin as he stood tall in front of the entirety of the glaive without his boots on, just as he would if they were home in Galahd. 

“How are your feet?” 

“Cold, sir!” Lazarus replied.

“As I thought,” Cor said, sounding satisfied with the answer. Cor gave him a nod and turned to face the rest of his men. “Same for all of you. Boots off!” he commanded.

Everyone scrambled to do as ordered. Damn, it was cold. Harry still hadn’t acclimated to the cooler temperatures in the crown city. He spied Lazarus in front of him trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Poor bastard probably felt the same.

With everyone standing back at attention, the entire company of glaives watched as Cor the Immortal also removed his boots. It felt wrong to look at his commander standing there without his shoes on. The guy was always just so put together. It was almost like he was seeing him naked. The general discomfort in the air meant that his fellow glaives felt the same. At least they could all agree on something, for once.

Cor took a moment to stand in front of them, barefoot, letting the discomfort of his men slowly multiply by the second. “We are all that stands between this kingdom and the heavy hand of the empire. The Kingslgiave was formed at his Majesty’s behest to protect all the people under his rule. That includes your brothers from the outlands who, may I remind you, have felt the crushing cruelty of that hand. Your comrades from Cleigne, Duscae, Leide, and Galahd can tell you all about the deaths of their families, the loss of their homes, and the destruction of their villages. I am sure that if you asked them, you would learn just how lucky you are to have lived in the crown city. In fact, let’s hear it. Brothers from the outlands, what do you fight for?” Cor asked.

“For hearth and home!” came the words, the loudest they had been all morning. 

“There it is,” Cor agreed. He took another moment to dispassionately eye the men before him. “For hearth and home, we say. Home means something different to each of us, but for the king, it means this country, all of it, from the safety of these walls to the farthest mountains of Cleigne. So for us, for the left hand of the king, that is our home too. Everywhere under the protection of his majesty is our home. So, tell me, Kingsglaive,” he paused, standing at attention just as stiff as his men. “What exactly do you fight for?”  

“For hearth and home!” The shout echoed in the pre-dawn light that brought with it just a little bit of hope. Harry felt the shoulders of the men next to him bump his own. The Insomnian natives on either side of him stood just a little closer than normal, but it wasn’t oppressive. If Harry was honest, it felt like support. It was almost like they were actually comrades.

Taking the silent apology for what it was, Harry stood tall beside them and froze his toes off together with his fellow glaives as the Marshal led them in their morning exercises. 

Maybe, just maybe, they stood a chance after all.

Transmission Inbound. . .

745.11.06

Origin: Insomnia

Code: GLA.GNRL.58931

Forces inbound to the westernmost outpost. Contingent size of two platoons. CAUTION: All are astral blessed.

“I’m freezing my balls off,” the night watchman muttered to himself when Harry relieved him at dawn. Harry intimately felt his discomfort. Crawling out of his tent had been arduous at best. It was so cold south of Galahd.

“Morning,” he heard from behind him. It was followed by the sound of a huge yawn.

“Morning,” Harry mumbled, rolling his eyes. Of course he would get stuck on watch duty with the yawning, sleepy bastard. “Are you awake yet over there?”

“Not really,” the man, Lazarus, replied. He yawned. Again.

Feeling the urge to do so himself, he groaned, and it turned into a wide yawn. “Fuck, you’re contagious,” he cursed, wiping the sleepiness from his eyes.

A lovely laugh, deep and warm, got his attention. “It’s my specialty,” he grinned. “I’m Luca, by the way,” the man introduced himself, reaching his hand out.

Harry grasped his arm, feeling comfort in the familiar motion shared by the hunters of the north. “Harry Ulric,” he responded.

“Oh, that much I know,” Luca smirked, giving Harry a look. Handsome, sleepy bastard.

Harry folded his arms and ignored the pass in favor of pouting at the horizon. “What, didja hear about my vanishing footwear? It’s a real magic trick, who knew bigotry was so common this far south?” the younger Ulric muttered angrily. They may have overcome their differences since team assignments (and the dressing down from Cor, but no one talked about that), but it still stung when he thought about it. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” the guy looked as contrite as he sounded, at least. “Even on my island we heard about the Terrors of the North after the invasion. I never imagined I’d run into you guys when I joined up,” he grinned bashfully, looking boyish and charming. His ashy brown hair was gathered in a high ponytail with the sides shaved as most men from their land did. Judging by the lack of face tattoos, he was probably from one of the southern islands close to the border of Insomnia. Their family ink was usually placed on their backs, and their linework was thick and bold. 

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. “Haven’t been called that in a while,” he commented, feeling a little bit of pride at hearing the title. “What do they even say about us on your island?” he asked.

Luca laughed, but another big yawn cut through it. “Excuse me, sorry,” he apologized when Harry glared at him. “I imagine the tale isn’t as . . . colorful as I have heard. I heard you felled a pack of coeurls while hunting daemons and the Fulgarian himself blessed you for slaying the creatures,” he recited as though he had heard it a thousand times. 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at that. Of course, the story had ballooned into something much bigger than the truth. It wouldn’t have been a hunting story if it wasn’t incredibly exaggerated. “Ah, no, not that colorful. It was the morning after a night of daemon hunting, and there may have only been one coeurl,” he leaned in conspiratorially as he divulged the secret to the attractive man. 

That earned him another wave of that delicious laughter. “I knew it!” he whispered back, between laughs. 

“How did you know it was us?”

Luca gathered himself and tugged at the leather coat Harry wore to battle the cold. “The elder coeurl fur gave you away. I figure not a lot of young folks can actually prove their kill of one of those except for you. It was more of a lucky guess, though. I honestly didn’t know for sure,” he admitted, whispering the last bit behind his hand, sharing his own piece of incriminating information.

“Well, not a bad guess, all things considered,” Harry grinned.

“Not bad at all,” Luca smiled back.

Harry spent the rest of watch duty with butterflies in his stomach whenever he thought of that perfect smile. It was a lovely distraction from their impending mission. 

Tomorrow, they would infiltrate a Nif stronghold in Cleigne in order to take back some tech that had been stolen. Their first real mission had been relatively peaceful so far. Harry only prayed the rest would be just as simple. His unit consisted of him, Nyx, Luca, and ten other Insomnian natives. Surprisingly, Cor was acting captain for their unit. It definitely inspired heroism having the Immortal lead you into battle. Still, he worried about Nyx and Luca and the other guys and survival and death and failure and shitty sparky fireballs that didn’t do much damage. 

He need not have worried so much for his brother as much as he should have worried about the rest of his unit. Of course, the Ulric brothers didn’t die. Everyone else did. 

Form 7771

CO: Cor Leonis

Date: November 12, 745

Unit: 4

Mission success. Objective achieved on the morning of November 10, 745. Package retrieved.

Glaive unit performed admirably in the face of overwhelming odds. Use of magic was above expectations for all members of the unit. Recommendation for further training in ranged arts for all members of the glaive. Recommendation for protect spell proficiency requirement to be added to training plan for all future recruits. 

Unit sustained 10 casualties, remaining 3 members to return to crown city for team assignments. Recommendation for unit to have mandatory two weeks of leave before being redeployed to the field.

Chapter Text

Form 7729

CO: Luca Lazarus

Date: August 8, 747

Unit: 7

Dispatch received for Cleigne. Unit to deploy from western gate at 0500 tomorrow. Pack for the heat.

It had been a long, messy day of fighting in the summer heat. Their entire unit, except for the one on driving duty, were passed out in the back of the truck. They had managed to push back against an invading front from Niflheim and had managed to make the whole day without a single casualty. It was rare, but each man welcomed the night with a sigh of relief to have survived the day. Daemons or not, it was good to be alive.

There was a loud whoop from the front of the truck. “We made it, boys!” he called over his shoulder, and Harry felt the truck slowing down to a stop.

The rest of his unit slowly awoke with their ever sleepy captain the last to blink his eyes open. “Up and at ‘em,” he called out, punctuating the statement with his trademark yawn. 

“Yea, yea,” Nyx jeered, shoving Luca back into his seat with a laugh. The rest of the unit filed past their captain, eager to get out of the oven that was the truck. 

“The disrespect that I am dealing with right now! It’s mutiny!” he cried, overdramatic and playful as always. 

Harry chuckled with his comrades at Luca’s theatrics as he stepped into the cool night air. There was even a cool breeze blowing just strong enough to ruffle his hair. After the hellish heat of the day, this was heaven. 

“You them soldiers from Insomnia, son?” 

Harry turned with the rest of the men at the new voice, hand already gripping for his spear. 

“Yes, sir. We’re Unit 7 of the Kingsglaive. We just deployed this morning. Are you our point of contact for the hunters, then?” Luca strode forward, looking fully awake and ready. 

Harry noted his comrades easing their grip on their weapons and followed suit. No sense in stabbing an ally, he supposed. 

“Yea, that’s me. I’m Dave. Let me show ya around, fellas. This is gonna be your new home for the next few weeks, as it were. Damned good to have you around, I’ll say,” the stocky man grinned. 

“Anything to fight back the Nifs, huh?” Luca grinned back.

When Dave agreed, Harry could already tell they would all get along fine. “Come on, then. Ma and the boys should have some grub ready for y’all,” he said.

Those were the best words that Harry had heard all day.

Dave led their unit behind the hut and to a roaring campfire where there were a few tables full of bread, stew, and roasted field greens. Everyone dug in with gusto, the soldiers forming a circle around the fire and happily sitting in the dirt. The other hunters helped pass out plates and water to each of them, and an easy camaraderie was born over shared food and war stories.

Sometime after the food was gone, hunter and soldier alike had gathered together. Each man clutched a mug of cold beer and shared stories from their homelands. The fire had died down to wispy embers, glowing gently in the night. With the lights turned on around the hut, they were still safe from any daemons. Hunter’s calm settled in Harry’s very bones, and he finally felt the tension of the day ease out of his body. From across the fire, he spied Nyx in a similar state. For now, they were safe.

"Captain, do you know any more stories?" The newest recruit to their unit asked. 

Luca had gathered the younger glaives of their unit around him, ensnared as always in his hunting stories. Striking a rather dramatic pose, he began, "There they stood, surrounded on all sides. On the flanks, wicked goblins laughed with those ugly little voices and swung fiendish poisoned claws. To the rear, daemons spawned in the dark of the jungle with massive iron giants at the fore, pushing the hunters to the edge of the cliff. And at the edge, cornered and dangerous, was a clowder of coeurls," Harry snorted at the alliteration. The older hunters seated near him snickered, too, yet Luca carried on. The younger glaives, all about Harry’s age of eighteen, hung off his every word.

“He from Galahd?” Dave asked from his seat beside the younger Ulric. 

“Yea, how did you know?” Harry questioned.

Harry watched as Dave shrugged and smiled an easy, gentle smile. The glow of the embers made his eyes look warm. “Had a hunch. Usually the tattoos give ‘em away,” Dave said and winked as he motioned at Harry, “But no one tells a hunting story like them guys from up north.” He gave a friendly laugh and continued, “I ain’t heard one in years, but they are really the best. Do they really have hunters in every village up there?” he inquired earnestly.

They used to, Harry thought. “Yeah, every village has their own hunting party. We hunt for food too, not just demons and monsters,” he explained, instead. “You don’t mind people from the north?” Harry asked.

Dave’s brow furrowed, clearly confused. “Never. If anything, I always try to recruit ‘em. Nothing better for our business than a hunter from Galahd, in my opinion. Why do you ask, son?” he questioned.

Harry looked away from that earnest face. “No reason. Too bad we’re already spoken for, huh?” he jested in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Yea. Well, if you ever retire, you will always be welcome here. Provided you don’t go home, that is,” Dave offered, and the genuine quality of his voice was just too much.

Home. Retirement. What concepts. What unattainable goals. “Yea, I’ll let you know,” Harry replied, voice thick and choked. 

Thankfully, Dave left him alone after that, and Harry listened instead to Luca’s words about the jungles of Galahd and mighty battles with the wild monsters of their motherland. He let the words carry him to someplace that felt like summer rain and hunting songs and a dirt floor hut filled with his Mother’s voice. He fell asleep by the fire feeling empty and cold and as far from home as he had ever been. 

Form 7770

CO: Luca Lazarus

Date: August 9, 747

Unit: 7

Mission success. Objective achieved on the evening of August 9, 747. Successful pushback of the western front.

Unit performed well in active combat. Magic use is below average, but passable. Recommend issuance of flasks to this unit. 

Unit sustained no casualties.

“Alright, men. Today’s objective is to rescue some civilians from an imperial base north of our location. We are here,” he pointed to their position on the map. “And we will infiltrate here,” he moved his finger down the hill and to a river situated at the rear of the base. “Security is light at the waterfront because they think the water is enough protection. Too bad for them that we noticed that little hole in their security,” he smirked, and the energy in the room felt charged with pre-battle energy. “Walk me through our plan,” he requested, looking at his men assembled around him.

“We enter from the rear and take out the security guards in the towers,” the two fastest men in their unit said.

“I’ll take out the power to cut their communications equipment and the searchlights,” said another.

Nyx and Harry caught eyes. “We’ll then take out as many soldiers as we can while the rest of the unit extracts the prisoners. We make enough noise to distract them, so you can get out cleanly,” Nyx finished.

Luca eyed each of them as he rolled up his map. “Good,” he said, voice low. “For hearth and home,” he called.

The unit echoed him with conviction.

“Let’s go kill some Nifs,” he commanded, leading them outside the safety of the trees and down the hill.

The water was cold, and Harry had to bite his tongue to keep his teeth from clacking together as he shivered. The wet leather of his uniform made it hard to swim, but he moved as quietly as possible. When he emerged on the opposite bank, he spied the forerunners taking out the tower guards. When they signaled the all clear, Harry ran to the fence line with the rest of the unit. 

They waited for the next signal.

The lights went out.

Harry charged forward with Nyx, splitting from the rest of their unit. The first soldier they encountered got a kukri to the chest, but not before he shouted an alarm to his comrades. Harry skewered the next with his spear and felt a deep satisfaction at the gurgling noise he made as he died. He had little time for much else after that as the rest of the enemy soldiers converged on their location, surrounding Harry and Nyx in the main yard of the base. “If I win, you’re buying me a motorcycle,” he called over his shoulder.

“And if I win, you’re finally going to ask someone on a date,” Nyx called back.

Harry could hear the smirk in his smug voice as Harry bristled. “Hope you have enough money, bro,” he gritted out, eyeing the enemy as they circled around them.

Ever the asshole, Nyx just laughed. “Hope you have the balls, bro,” he replied.

Then the enemy attacked. 

Harry warped to an enemy, his spear lodged in their neck, and the arterial spray let him know it was a man and not an MT. He warped again to protect Nyx from a gun aimed at his back. His protection spell may be weak, but it gave them enough time to warp to safety.

Nyx slapped a potion on his shoulder against an oozing cut. The light of the magic blinded him momentarily. “There are more soldiers than we accounted for,” Nyx observed.

Harry blinked the spots from his eyes. “I noticed. Time for a show?” he asked.

Nyx smirked at him, his face sooty and sweaty. “Let’s go,” he said, arm already pulled back to launch his ridiculously large fireballs.

Harry rolled his eyes and warped back down. His spear made contact with the ground and dispersed just enough electricity through a pair of enemy soldiers. They fell to the floor in a smoking heap, and the combined lightshow was enough to attract the attention of the rest of the base. The following melee was bloody and exhausting, but enough to keep the enemy from noticing the rest of their unit. When the imperials started throwing magitek their way, Harry decided it was time to check in with their captain. “How much longer do we need? Can we bow out yet?” he asked, finger on his earpiece. He watched from behind cover as Nyx successfully took down one of the bigger armor units.

“Keep up the song and dance out there. There are a lot more civvies down here than we were told,” Luca’s voice crackled in his ear.

Harry frowned. “That seems to be a recurring theme, captain. There are more enemies at this base than our information led us to believe as well,” he reported.

Luca huffed and the sound carried over the mic. “Just a little longer. For me, ok?” he asked.

“Fine. Only ‘cause you asked so nicely,” he responded, unable to fight a smile.

“Less flirting, more fighting!” Nyx called, grabbing Harry’s attention back to the present.

Harry rejoined the fray, joining Nyx in warp striking the last armor unit. The Ulric brothers fought their way through the base, climbing the main tower to get at the commanding officers. The power had been restored, but the attention had been successfully diverted topside thanks to their efforts. The bright searchlights burned Harry’s eyes, but it was important to keep their attention. He felt more than he saw Nyx tackle him out of the way of gunfire as they reached the topmost platform of the command tower.

Nyx held him down as a big explosion blew apart the doors to the command room. “You’re welcome,” he said, ruffling Harry’s hair as he let him up.

“Yea, yea,” Harry grumbled as they stood and began scoping out the remains of the command room. He stabbed anything that so much as twitched and heard Nyx doing the same behind him. After making the rounds, he made his way to the back of the room to look for anything useful before they moved on; however, he stopped when he saw one of the screens that survived the explosion. 

It had Luca’s picture on it.

“Nyx,” he breathed.

“What is it?”

“Look.”

“Oh, shit.”

Next to his picture was a short biopic with personal information. It listed his name, birthplace, glaive unit, and weapon proficiency. “Nyx, why do they know our unit number? How do they know that?” he could feel panic rising in his throat.

Nyx looked like he felt. “They shouldn’t know that,” he hissed out, glaring at the screen. He grabbed the control board and paged through the data. The system had all of their information. It had a complete dossier for each member of their unit. “Captain, we have a problem,” he said. “We’re compromised, they knew we were coming,” Nyx explained and motioned for Harry to follow him out.

“What?! What do you mean they knew?”

“I mean they have a file on our specific team in the command center, and they fucking knew it would be us,” Nyx shouted as he warped to take out another enemy.

For once, Harry wasn’t angry as he charged into battle. He tried to listen as Luca and Nyx shouted at each other over comms, but all he could see was his picture grouped with his unit and praying that they didn’t know about his magic. It wasn’t listed in his section, but he couldn’t stop the fear. What if they knew?

“Shit! We’ve got MTs down here! We need you down here, now!” Luca’s order cut through his fear. Right. Complete the mission. Focus on the objective. 

Harry and Nyx fought their way to the prison block. They could hear the gunfire and screams well before they reached it. They warped the final distance and materialized to complete chaos. The MTs had broken through and were shooting at the glaives, uncaring if they hit any of their prisoners in the crossfire. Their unit was surrounded with civilians cowering behind them. One of their comrades was already dead on the ground. The brothers did what they did best and took out the MTs before they could cause any more harm.

“Alright, let’s get out of here. Half the unit is already at the rendezvous point with the rest of the civilians. Ulric, both of you, cover our retreat,” Luca ordered and the glaive did as he commanded.

When they regrouped outside the base, Luca led them back to the safety of Meldacio where the hunters were already waiting to receive their rescued countrymen. It wasn’t until after the handoff that Luca dismissed his unit and broke off to make a very angry phone call. 

“What’s that about?” Dave asked as handed out bowls of hot stew for the visiting soldiers. Harry was beginning to consider the man a messenger of the gods if he kept greeting them with warm food like that. 

“Classified, I’m afraid,” Nyx responded, eyeing the rest of their men as he said it.

The rest of their unit kept quiet.

Luckily, Dave did not seem keen to pry, and he carried on with his work. 

When Luca returned with a grave expression, Harry felt his spine straighten. “Sir?” he asked.

“We return to Insomnia at 0500 tomorrow. Pack up after you eat. Thank the hunters on your way out,” he commanded through clenched teeth. “This mission has been classified at the highest level. It’s a court martial to talk about it. What happened tonight does not leave this unit,” he nodded stiffly in dismissal and strode towards his tent, probably to write his report. 

Harry watched as Dave tried to give their captain a bowl of stew, but Luca had the good grace to politely decline the meal. He entered his tent and did not emerge until it was time to pack up and leave the next morning.

“You’re always welcome back in Meldacio,” Dave offered as the glaive unit piled back into their truck. 

Luca, the last to enter as always, said, “Thank you, Dave. I’m glad we could free your people,” he mustered a smile, but it fell when he looked back into the truck. His eyes lingered on the wrapped body of their fallen comrade. “I’m. . . sorry that we couldn’t get them all out,” he said.

Dave looked over as well. “I am, too,” he agreed.

The two men nodded, and the unit made their way back to Insomnia.

CLASSIFIED: TOP SECRET

Form 7771

CO: Luca Lazarus

Date: August 12, 747

Unit: 7

Mission success. Objective achieved during the night of August 11, 747. Successful retrieval of imprisoned civilians. Three civilian casualties sustained. 

Unit performed well under extreme circumstances. Assignment details were incorrect. Enemy force was much larger than expected. Amount of imprisoned civilians was also larger than expected.

Unit sustained 1 casualty. Request for Galahdian burial rites to be honored on return to Insomnia. 

Note: Niflheim command had access to mission details and unit roster prior to mission. Suspected security breach within the glaive. Recommendation for full internal investigation.

It wasn’t official protocol, but it had become a tradition for a unit to accompany their captain when informing the next of kin of their fallen comrades. Today, Luca knocked on the door of their comrade’s family home with the surviving twelve members of the unit at his back. The rest of the men carried the man’s things to be returned to his family. Harry held the medal of valor awarded for his sacrifice. 

The door opened quietly. “Yes?” the woman, his mother, asked. She smiled at Luca until she noticed his uniform. Her face fell when she spotted the rest of the men standing outside her door. Her expression twisted painfully when she spotted the medal.

Harry clutched it a little tighter, lest he drop it.

“No. No, it’s not true. Go away, it’s not true,” she babbled, tears already falling down her face.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Your son is dead,” Luca spoke fluidly, sounding more put together than any member of their unit felt. 

The poor woman wailed.

“I’m sorry,” Luca said again and held the woman as she cried. 

A little boy peeked around the doorway. “Granny? Is daddy coming home?” he asked.

Harry felt the sting in his eyes and didn’t bother fighting it. 

Luca didn’t say anything. He just grabbed the boy and held him too. 

“Hey, mister. Is my daddy coming home?”

“I’m sorry, kid. I’m so sorry.”

The woman wailed louder.

The streets were mostly empty by the time their unit returned to their barracks. A heavy, thoughtful quiet enveloped the men as they halfheartedly relaxed in their bunks. Harry wondered if they were thinking about home like he was. Whenever they lost someone, he always thought of home. When he died, would they take his spear home? Would Nyx die first or would he be left alone to mourn his family? Would they place his spear by his mother’s grave on that peaceful hilltop looking over the ocean? 

“Anybody hungry?” Luca asked.

A few men mumbled their assent. Harry felt sick at the thought of food.

“Come on let’s go together, my treat,” he prodded, coaxing a few people up. Luca reached over and gave Harry’s shoulder a shake. “Please?” he asked.

Harry sighed, but stood up with a roll of his eyes. “If I have to,” he muttered.

Luca smiled that stupid smile and led them back out into town. A few streets outside of the glaive headquarters, he stopped in front of a small shop with its shutters drawn already. “Here it is!” he proclaimed, loudly and proudly.

“I think it’s closed, captain,” Nyx observed.

“Pretty sure, it’s closed actually,” Harry added.

“Definitely closed,” said Nyx.

“Closed for the night.”

“Not open until morning.”

“Ok, ok, I get it! You two are no fun,” Luca muttered, and withdrew a key from his pocket. “This is where my family lives, alright?” he said, opening the door and corralling his ornery unit up the stairs.

“Aunty, I brought my guys! Auntyyyy!” he shouted.

“Luca! You’re back!” called a young voice.

Little feet slapped the floor and a skinny kid wove through the men in his living room to launch at their captain. “Luche!” Luca laughed, grabbing the boy out of the air. He spun the boy around and plopped him back on the ground after blowing a raspberry on his exposed belly. 

“Stop it!” the boy giggled and tugged his shirt down to cover his vulnerable tummy.

“Guys, this is my little brother, Luche. Say hi, Luche!” Luca looked so proud as he put his hands on the kid’s shoulders.

“Hi, Luche!” the little boy called, giggling the whole time.

That radiant grin warmed the frosted, grieving parts of his heart. 

“Oh my, there are a lot of you.”

Harry turned with the rest to greet the older woman. “Thank you for having us, ma’am,” he said, hearing it echoed by the others.

She waved them off. “Nonsense. We have plenty for all of you. I don’t mind if it means that big lug comes by for a visit. Well, make yourself at home then. It’ll be a bit before dinner,” she said, totally unaware of the effect of her hospitality on the lonely men of their unit.

They subsisted off the food in the barracks whenever they returned from assignments. A home cooked meal and a friendly face were high class luxuries to them, now. She had just endeared herself to them for life. The look on Luca’s face said that he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Hey, you have family ink like my brother!” the little boy, Luche, said as he pointed at Harry’s face with his finger uncomfortably close to his eye. It was the eye with the mark of valor. 

“That I do, little man. How about you? You look old enough for family ink to me,” Harry forced a smile because he still felt the pain from their shared grief, but he could manage for the happy little boy before him. 

Luca looked appreciative of the gesture.

“Not yet. We left home before I could! But when we go back home, I will!” the boy announced, his hands on his hips, confident that he would one day do just that.

Luca’s smile grew strained. “Why don’t you go help Nana in the kitchen, yea?” he requested and the little boy nodded before running off to help.

The rest of their unit lounged around the room, discussing this or that, or just sitting and relaxing in the comforts of an actual home.

“He’s not going to get ink, is he?” Harry asked, just loud enough for Luca to hear.

The man turned back to Harry and sighed. “No. I don’t have the heart to tell him. Our elder died in the invasion, and he’s the only one allowed to perform the rite. He hadn’t taught a successor yet before he passed, so we have no one left who knows the ink patterns of our village,” he admitted. 

Harry made room on the sofa for the man to sit beside him. “Relax, now. We’re on leave for the next few days. We can worry about all that when we get back to the field,” the reminder of leave brought some comfort to Harry as well. It was good to have time off after the loss of a fellow glaive. They had to wait for a new member to be assigned before they could return to active duty anyway.

“You’re right,” Luca sighed and leaned against Harry.

If it was intentional, Harry didn’t know, but he appreciated the closeness. It felt nice. Nyx’s eyes danced from across the room, but Harry refused to acknowledge his smug asshole of a brother. He was just going to enjoy the moment.

He must have fallen asleep with the safety of his comrades around him. Someone shook him awake at dinnertime, and he stumbled to his feet to follow the smell of food. He flopped down into a chair beside Nyx at the cramped table. 

“Dig in, boys!” Luca’s aunt said, and they did as commanded.

Harry mindlessly picked up his spoon and took a bite of the stew. His brain jolted awake at the taste. He took another bite, then another. In his mind, he could hear his mother telling him to eat up. He could see their tiny kitchen in their tiny home filled with the spicy aroma of her cooking after coming home from a hunt. He could taste the spicy stew she always made when they came home, but it wasn’t actually hers. It tasted just like hers, but it was here in this kitchen, in Insomnia, far from home and their island and their mother’s memory. But dammit, it tasted just like hers. Spicy, sour, and sweet all at once with big chunks of meat.

Nyx sniffled beside him.

Harry sniffled, too.

“Is it too spicy? Do you need some sugar for it?” the woman asked, voice worried.

“No, ma’am,” Nyx somehow replied. “It’s perfect,” he complimented.

Harry thought so, too.

From across the table, Luca nodded at them in understanding. The meal carried on quietly, and glaive unit seven agreed that Luca’s aunt was a national treasure who deserved an entire unit for her protection. They also swore themselves to that solemn duty for the rest of their natural lives.

After dinner, the men settled to sleep in the living room, lying about on any stretch of open carpet, and swiftly fell asleep as soon as they settled in. Being a soldier taught you how to sleep anywhere, anytime, after all. Harry and Nyx slept side by side, as they always did, with their coats for pillows and their kukris in arm’s reach. With full bellies and safe surroundings, the unit slept peacefully.

Staying asleep, however, was a different problem. Harry awoke in a cold sweat after another nightmare. He sat up carefully, giving Nyx a pat when he glanced at him in question. His brother settled back into sleep. Creeping around his comrades, Harry made his way to the kitchen, hoping a glass of water would be enough to see him back to bed. He felt surprised at finding himself not alone when he entered the dark room. “Luca?” Harry murmured sotto voce, as they were taught in training. 

The man sat alone in the stillness of pre-dawn, staring out the kitchen window at the street below. He turned to face Harry. His eyes were bloodshot, and he moved stiffly as he had been sitting in the same spot for hours. “Hey, Harry,” he greeted. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. He sat in the little chair beside Luca. “You came home to see Luche, didn’t you?” he asked softly.

Luca shrugged. “Yea. I needed to, I think, after this morning. No matter how many times I do it, it never gets easier to deliver that news. I’ve done it so many times, but it just doesn’t get any easier,” he sighed and threaded his fingers through his hair agitatedly. His hair looked like he had been doing that all night.  

Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

Luca put a hand over his. His fingers were like ice. “For hearth and home, we say,” he scoffed. “Our homes are gone. Our cultures are dying. Our countries are forgotten. We’re just either Lucian or Nifs, not individuals. All we have left are the people. Home for me, is the people. It’s the people we need to keep safe,” he implored, clenching at Harry’s hand like a lifeline.

Harry didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry, I’m not making any sense,” Luca apologized, rubbing his free hand over his eyes. 

“No, you’re right. We need to protect the people. Without any people, the place doesn’t matter,” Harry said, thinking of his empty house after his mother died and the hollow feeling in the village after his sister was killed. Luca was absolutely right.

Luca brought Harry’s hand to his lips. “You’re one of my people, Harry,” he whispered against Harry’s skin.

Feeling bold, Harry let his fingers run over Luca’s lips that had graced the few good dreams he still had. “I’ll always protect you, Luca,” he promised.

“Are we fraternizing, soldier?”

“Go ahead. Court martial me.”

“Never.”

When they kissed, it tasted like spicy stew and felt like home.

Transmission Inbound. . .

747.08.13

Origin: Insomnia

Code: GLA.GNRL.58931

Security breach reported to high command. Will resume transmissions after internal review. If cover fails, will return immediately. Otherwise, will resume assigned duties.

Chapter Text

The sun peeked over the hills, its delicate curve just cresting the trees on the ridge. Its warmth had yet to reach them, but Luca's arms did the job well enough. His arms did a lot of things, but nothing was better than when they held him like this. Not that Harry would ever share something so sappy, but he could admit it to himself at least. Those warm arms, covered in the thick banded tattoos of the southern isles, tightened around him. The ink on his skin comforted Harry in its familiarity and beckoned his fingers to trace the simple shapes.

“My mother had a vision when I was born,” Luca revealed, his voice soft and intimate. 

Harry didn't even breathe for fear of ruining the moment. 

“She dreamed that the Bladekeeper touched me and blessed me as his own. I wonder if this is what she saw,” he whispered, looking to the mountains of their homeland that were free of imperial control. 

Well, this island was free, at least.

Harry drank in the sunlit face of his lover. A scar crossed his chin, marring its structure and pulling gruesomely when he smiled. Glass beads adorned the thin braids in his hair, made by his mother when he was a child. A small boar tusk from his first kill hung from his neck on a leather cord as a reminder of his journey as a hunter. Luca wore his heritage proudly. “She probably hoped you were secretly a Lucian prince,” Harry teased, still tracing the many tattoos adorning his lover's body. 

Luca gifted Harry with a delicious laugh that filled him with an incredible amount of feeling. “Perhaps,” he agreed. He looked down at Harry curled against his chest, his eyes following the curve of his face, lingering on his lips, and looking lower to the thin marks on Harry’s body. “What’s this one?” he asked quietly, his fingertip ghosting over the top of Harry’s cheek, right below his eye.

Harry blinked at his touch.

“It’s for bravery isn’t it?” Luca mused, lost in his own thoughts as he traced more of the delicate needlework that covered Harry’s body.

It made him shiver. “Yes,” he whispered.

"I knew you'd have one somewhere," he smirked. Harry liked when he teased. “And this one is for fraternity,” Luca mumbled, tapping the three thin lines across Harry’s sternum. The delicate pattern stood out starkly against his pale skin, so much lighter than a native’s should be. Luca always cooed over how elegant he looked.

Harry didn’t agree, but Luca couldn't be swayed. “How did you know?” he asked.

The sun did ridiculous things to Luca’s eyes, making them glitter brightly with his amusement. It was cute. “We have something similar,” he admitted and twisted his arm to show his bicep. The same pattern, just thicker, crossed high on the muscle of his arm. “We just put it somewhere else,” he grinned.

Harry couldn’t take it anymore and kissed him.

Luca kissed back.

Finally, the sun’s warmth reached them.

Their unit trekked through the jungle that night. They kept an ear out for imperial ships and their eyes open for daemons. Luca and the Ulric brothers were the only Galahdian natives in their unit now, and they carefully guided their fellow glaives through the lush embrace of their motherland. Their newest recruit, an Insomnian, struggled to keep pace.

“Come on, Rookie, we need to make it to the truck sometime tonight,” Luca called over his shoulder.

An affirmative sounded from the back in reply, along with a few hissed curses and the sound of the young man walking faster.

Their team had successfully repelled a small invasive force and overtook the two imperial outposts on this island. Small as it may be, it felt like a huge win to know that this land was once again wholly governed by the people of Galahd. It made Harry feel like they had a chance of winning.

It wasn’t long before they reached the truck and drove back to the main village. When they parked they were met with enthusiastic villagers offering beer and grilled meat. Both made Harry’s mouth water. Luca took pity on his men and allowed them to break long enough to eat the offerings. Harry figured he was hungry too, but just couldn’t admit to it when he had to be the captain. The taste almost drowned him in nostalgia, but he survived well enough to finish two whole plates of food.

“You boys heading back to the city now?” the head hunter from this village asked. He was the main authority figure in the absence of the elders who had perished in the invasion. Luckily, unit seven had enough natives to make the interactions comfortable. Harry pitied any units who ventured into the jungle without at least a guide. They would probably die to daemons before they even got a chance to fight the Nifs. Harry fingered the fang earrings he still wore. Or maybe they’d just get eaten. 

“No, sir. We are putting a brother to rest,” Luca said.

The hunter nodded gravely. Another benefit to having natives: no one needed to breathe down their necks when they needed to perform something as intimate as burial rights. “If he is from this village, there is a good view behind the guava trees,” the man offered gently.

Luca thanked him and guided his team to their destination. Beyond the fruit trees, they discovered a peaceful spring covered in lush vegetation. A pair of colorful songbirds flew away together at their approach. It was the perfect spot for their fallen comrade to find rest.

Unit seven lined up at the edge of the clearing. Someone made sure to drag the bewildered rookie with them. Harry caught his confused look as Nyx, Luca, and he stepped out of their boots and walked softly to the edge of the spring. "Stay quiet now, Rookie," someone said behind them.

Luca un-holstered the spear they had carried back from their last mission. He tapped the base on the ground, letting the land feel the weight of its accomplishments. He then presented the spear skyward in prayer. "Father Fulgarian, we return this spear home to you. Welcome our brother and grant him the rest he so deserves," he supplicated with a quiet voice and a white knuckled grip.

Nyx and Harry kneeled in the sandy mud by the spring and carefully dug a hole with their hands. They shoveled the mud in one pile and made sure to not disturb any surrounding plants with their work. When Luca planted the spear in the hole, Harry pulled his kukri from its holster and slashed his palm, splitting the scarred flesh with ease. Nyx did the same, and they let their blood seep into the ground. Using their uninjured hands, they carefully buried the base of the worn weapon. 

“Rest well, brother,” Harry murmured. He placed a hand on the freshly turned earth and gave a silent prayer.

“Uh, sir?”

“What is it, Rookie?”

“I think that’s an imperial ship, Captain.”

“Ah. So it is.”

Harry felt Nyx place a hand on his shoulder. “Time to go,” he said.

“Yea,” he agreed.

The audible rumble of the imperial ship circling above heralded the incoming wave of MTs.

Harry followed the rest of his unit to meet the enemy. He chanced a glance over his shoulder as he left the clearing and noticed the songbirds had perched on the planted spear. It made his chest ache with a curious longing. Shaking the odd feeling away, he refocused and followed the sounds of gunfire and magic. 

Form 7770

CO: Luca Lazarus

Date: August 29, 747

Unit: 7

Mission success. Objective achieved on August 27, 747. Unit eradicated imperial outposts on the island.

Unit performed well in active combat. New recruit is gelling well with the rest of the unit.

Unit sustained no casualties.

The truck swayed and shook as it traveled over the broken road leading back to Insomnia. It was a familiar, safe feeling that put most of the men to sleep. Snores and grunts blended with the road noise as they got closer to the crown city. Luca snored loudest of all, the bastard.

“So, why did you cut your hand?”

Harry blinked, barely registering the eager Rookie sitting beside him. “Huh?”

“During the funeral thing. You guys cut your hands. Why was that?” he questioned. He looked so young with his face screwed up in honest curiosity.

“Oh, that,” Harry figured out. With a yawn, he stretched his hands over his head to loosen up the stiffness in his muscles. When he felt more awake, he cradled his bandaged hand in his lap. “It’s a hunter tradition from our home,” he explained.

“What’s it mean?”

Gotta give the kid credit. He’s the first Insomnian that had shown a real interest in his home culture so far. Harry shrugged and decided to humor him. “It’s to show respect. He bled and died to protect us, so we do the same and bleed for him, to thank him for his sacrifice. This cut,” he ran a finger over his bandaged palm, “is called the River of Loss. It’s a reminder of those who helped you survive.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool.”

“Ah, thanks. I guess,” Harry said. That was new. It was nice? Yeah, it was nice. The rookie didn’t seem like a bad guy, all things considered.

The return to Insomnia, and eventually the frontlines, saw Unit 7 shipped across the neighboring lands. They fought hard and often, receiving fresh orders as soon as they had returned long enough to re-stock. Somehow, they sustained no casualties, and the new year dawned on them in the thick of war with the same members since Rookie joined them.

If Harry was brave, Nyx was downright reckless and earned himself a reputation for getting his comrades out of the stickiest of situations. He could warp the farthest and the fastest, and he used his skills to save people just in the nick of time. The unit had taken to calling him Hero, and it stuck. Rumor had it that he was up for a captaincy but had turned it down to stay with his brother. It was probably true.

Luca grew as a captain and led them through missions that other units consider suicide runs. They came back from so many assignments rife with bad intel, poor conditions, and ambushes thanks to his leadership. The king himself had awarded him for service during the winter ball. There was much applause. Harry may or may not have kissed him senseless when no one was watching.

Rookie enjoyed exploring the lands outside of the crown city and asked enough questions to drive the rest of the team crazy. The one guy in their unit from Duscae had thrown a boot at him when Rookie wouldn’t leave him alone when they had a mission there. To the young man’s credit, he was a really good shot and would have made a good hunter if he wasn’t already in his majesty’s service.

Cor stole Harry for spars whenever he returned to Insomnia. The Immortal was a man of few words; however, that was just fine because his swordplay did the talking for him. Harry couldn’t say for sure, but he was pretty damn sure the man had a soft spot for him. Well, as soft as Cor could get. Harry had yet to win a single spar against him, after all, but he definitely attributed his prowess on the field to Cor’s training.

The Kingsglaive proved wholly successful at pushing back the imperials enough to stop them from gaining ground on Lucian soil. Since the wall fell, the outlands had been fair game for the imperials who built outposts wherever they pleased. Now, they had to fight just to hold the outposts on the outer border of Lucis. The only trouble lay in the increasingly deadly magitek that the empire crafted to combat the new threat. Some days it felt useless to battle the endless machines with their limited man power. They did their best to survive those days.

Harry and Luca stole moments when they could. The life of a soldier left little time for romance and soft feelings. It was also a court martial if they were found out. Fraternization wasn’t as serious of an offense as cowardice, but it still had repercussions. Nyx and a couple of other guys on their unit knew, but no one had reported them. No one in their team would report them either. 

Before he knew it, Harry’s nineteenth birthday came and went. When they returned to the crown city, the guys wrangled him into a local bar and proceeded to drink the place dry. They woke up the next morning with hellish hangovers and gaps in their memory. Harry had a new tattoo: a large ‘7’ in a fancy script on his left hip bone. He was too hungover to regret it. Truthfully, he liked it a lot.

The fresh orders from high command did nothing to ease the headache threatening to blind his vision. Luca flipped through the papers, still warm from the printer. His brow furrowed as he read the specifics. 

“Captain?” Rookie called.

Luca shook his head, eyes stuck on the pages in his hands. “Get yourself ready to deploy. I’ll be right back,” he said before rushing out of their barracks. 

“Is it just me,” Nyx asked from beside Harry, “Or does that smell like bad news?” 

“Definitely not just you,” Harry grunted. Something was definitely off. “Let’s do as he says for now,” he said, forcing himself to follow his own orders.

Titus Drautos and Cor Leonis glared at each other, and it felt like watching two gods size each other up. The ornate desk that separated them was definitely not enough of a barrier to stop them if this came to blows. The two had never duked it out as far as Luca knew, but he would definitely bet on Cor if it ever did happen. The Immortal felt like a safe bet, all things considered.

Luca cleared his throat to regain their attention. He choked down the nervousness that wobbled his stomach when both men gave him their full attention. “Permission to speak freely?” he ventured.

“Denied,” Drautos said at the same time that Cor said, “Granted.” They proceeded to glare at each other again, and Luca worried about the fate of the desk when he saw the muscles in Cor’s jaw jumping as the man grit his teeth.

Drautos waved his hand, apparently retracting his response. “Proceed,” the large man grunted, looking incredibly put out.

“Sir,” Luca began, standing crisply at attention. “It is common knowledge that the empire is producing more dangerous magitek every day. The most recent of these are the new Ruby Weapons that were sighted in Tenebrae. Just one of these weapons eliminated two frontline units in less than ten minutes,” he explained.

“I’ve read the reports, Lazarus. Get to the point,” Drautos ordered.

Cor gave a small, encouraging nod.

“Those orders,” Luca did his best to keep his voice as professional as possible as he motioned to the papers spread on the desk, “are a death sentence. You’re asking unit seven, a frontline unit with no caster specialists, to deploy to Tenebrae with no backup and no reliable means of communication that far behind enemy lines. Why are we being sent alone?” he demanded as politely as possible. It was a bit early in the morning to be gunning for a court martial. 

Drautos raised an incredulous brow at Luca. Captains generally followed orders without question. Luca especially was fairly easy going compared to the other captains who had, at some point, marched into this same office to throw their orders back on the desk they came from. Luca kept his cool even as Drautos flicked through the papers one more time. 

“Drautos,” Cor spoke, arms crossed securely over his chest. Luca wondered if the Marshal wanted to punch the commander as much as he did.

“Leonis,” Drautos replied dryly, not bothering to look up from the papers.

“He has a point,” Cor gritted out.

Well, at least the Marshal agreed with him. That was something, right?

“What point is that, Leonis? You know as well as I do that we can’t change these orders,” the commander levied.

Well, shit. Luca looked to Cor for clarification.

The intensity of Cor’s anger could be physically felt. It made the air heat up as if he held a fire spell on the tip of his tongue, ready to be unleashed. He flexed his fingers around his biceps before he answered. “This mission is too delicate for a bigger force. It has to be a small team. You’ve read the brief, Lazarus, you know it’s true,” he explained and something heavy passed his expression briefly as he said it.

“Why us, Sir?” Luca asked the question of the hour. 

The commander and the Marshal had a silent conversation that involved a bit of muscle flexing and a lot of eye contact. It ended with Cor heaving a sigh and facing Luca fully. “Because you always come back,” he revealed.

Ah. So, that was it.

The quartermaster supplied both the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive with their gear. As such, it was actually a part of the citadel and therefore, across town from the glaive barracks. Most of the glaive only set foot in the building when they had to get supplies for a mission. 

Unit seven strolled into the citadel in a loose formation, all of them nursing their hangovers. Harry rubbed at his forehead with the futile hope that it would assuage the throbbing. No such luck, but he could hope. 

“We brought the supply list, right?” Rookie asked, ever the worrywart.

Someone loudly flapped the paper in his face in response.

They piled into the elevator to reach the requisite floor. When the doors opened, a group of Crownsguard in full dress marched past in textbook formation. It was so painfully patriotic that you could hear the national anthem play as they marched on. Unit seven looked downright sloppy in comparison with everyone slouching and their coats unbuttoned. 

Luckily, the Kingsglaive did not give two shits about what the Crownsguard thought. 

When they made it down the hall to the quartermaster, the old man himself squinted up from organizing magic flasks to take a look at who entered his domain. “Oh good, they’re sending you. I didn’t want to have to pass along another ‘73,” the man grumbled as he waved them forward.

“Good morning to you, too, Bill. Glad to see your sunny disposition hasn’t changed while we’ve been away,” Harry quipped, leaning heavily on the counter. 

“Shut up, you,” the quartermaster griped.

“Wait another? What happened?” Rookie asked before worrying his lip between his teeth. 

Harry had to parse the last few sentences to understand the context. Oh, Form ‘73. Mission Incomplete, Casualties.

“Unit got sent west for some top secret assignment. They didn’t come back,” the old quartermaster relayed.

“Six above.”

“Then they sent a bigger unit who also didn’t come back,” he went on.

Harry balked at that. Two units failed on the same assignment? 

“Shit,” Rookie’s face had gone white. He looked a bit faint, actually.

“You’re not exactly filling us with confidence here,” Harry groaned. “Do you know how far west?”

The old man looked at them through his droopy eyebrows and gave them a good, long leer. Finally, he opened his mouth and said, “Tenebrae.”

Someone had to catch Rookie when he stumbled.

“What are you still doing in my office, glaive?” Drautos questioned. After Cor stormed out, he had seated himself and turned away in obvious dismissal.

“I wanted to share something with you, Commander. If you have a minute for some idle chatter, that is,” Luca braced himself as he said it. His blood was still boiling because orders were orders , and he had to somehow get his team home from this shitshow of an assignment.

Drautos turned his chair enough to just glance at Luca out of the corner of his eye. “I suppose I can spare two minutes,” he heaved a sigh as he said it.

Two minutes was enough. “There is an old tale passed around by the hunters of my homeland. It tells the tale of a group of hunters that gain notoriety for their skills. Their village gave them gifts to show their gratitude for their deeds,” he began.

Drautos’ blank stare would have normally made Luca flee. But, not today. Today he had to make something known.

“One of those hunters decided he wanted to have all the gifts for himself, so he set a trap for his brothers. He took them to a new hunting ground with the promise of easy prey, but instead, he had led them to a daemons’ nest,” Luca carried on, enjoying the subtle shift as Drautos listened more closely. “He watched as they died before returning home with the easy prey he had promised his brothers,” he said.

Drautos put his sheaf of papers down and steepled his fingers.

Got you, you bastard. “When he returned to the village alone, they asked him what had happened. He lied and explained it away as an accident, but the villagers were not fooled. They had heard his promises of easy prey and simple hunts from before, so they decided to investigate. They uncovered his treachery easily,” Luca finished, still standing stiffly at attention.  

Drautos assessed him coldly. His gaze sharpened, and he lowered his fists to rest on his desk. "What did they do with him?" he asked mildly.

Luca couldn’t help the smirk that tore at his face. "They ate him."

Drautos frowned. “Two minutes are up. Get out,” he ordered.

Luca relaxed from attention, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and looked into the eyes of his commander.

Drautos looked back, intently.

Luca turned away and exited the office. The door closed behind him with a peculiar finality.

Chapter Text

“Aunty! Auntyyyyyy!”

“Up here! Stop shouting!”

Unit seven felt a collective ease of tension at the familiar banter between the Lazarus family as they entered the warm apartment. Luca had dragged them to his home for a “team bonding exercise” prior to their deployment. The team knew it was really just an excuse to visit his family. If the smells coming down the stairwell were any indication, they would have no issue with the deception. Aunty’s food was worth a pilgrimage of any length. 

The men settled about the small space, taking up every available chair and most of the living room floor, so Harry joined Aunty in the kitchen. She favored him with a warm smile and handed him a wooden spoon. Ah, conscripted to pot-watching. Harry took up his solemn duty and stirred the large pot of his favorite spicy stew. “Smells good, Aunty,” he smiled, letting the aromatic steam fill his nose with nostalgia.

“I had just enough chili paste left to make it!” she winked at him. 

Harry rolled his eyes at her fibbing. He knew she kept a jar in her fridge just for visits from their unit. He hummed in agreement, content to leave it at that.

“Uh-oh, is someone in trouble?” came Luca’s voice from behind him. 

Harry peeked back into the living room and spied Luca standing beside a pouting Luche who had his school pack hanging from one shoulder. The young man had a red paper clenched in his hand, most likely some form of demerit slip from school. He also had the sourest face that Harry had ever seen him wear. He frowned and thrust the paper at Luca’s chest. “They deserved it!” he shouted before sprinting to his room and slamming the door shut.

Luca looked at the door, then down at the paper in his hands. “What was that about?”

The other men of their unit had informally adopted the kid, but discipline always fell to Luca. No matter how they felt, it wasn’t really their place to tell the kid what to do. So, the other men blithely carried on as if nothing was amiss. 

Sighing through his nostrils, Luca approached the closed door and knocked. A small voice told him to enter, and he did as bid. The door closed softly behind him, and Harry just spied Luche’s splotchy, tear streaked face in the gap.

“It’s the other kids,” Aunty explained without prompting. Harry couldn’t remember her ever looking so old as she did right then. 

“What happened?” Harry asked, the wooden spoon clenched in his hand.

She frowned as she formulated her answer. “You know how kids are. If you don’t fit in, they aren’t afraid to point that out. I imagine it’s another fight with his classmates over hailing from the outlands,” she said with a shrug. She didn’t seem upset, just resigned. 

The echo of Harry’s youthful rage bubbled in his belly, but he quelled it easily enough. It wasn’t ideal, but he wasn’t surprised. He no longer suffered missing boots and pointed remarks from his comrades, but he never forgot how easily those things got under his skin. Luche fighting with his schoolmates was inevitable. Perhaps that was a harsh assessment of Insomnia, but it still stood as the truth. In truth, he felt the same way that Aunty did: resigned.

When Aunty called the rest of the team to lunch, Harry carried two bowls of stew to Luche’s room. Luca opened the door for him, but he held his finger to his lips. Harry spied Luche passed out on his bed and nodded. The pair quietly left a bowl on the bedside table before they crept back out. 

“He’ll do better from now on,” Luca said, giving a tiny smile that definitely wasn’t real.

“Does he have to be the one to be better? Do you not agree with him? It’s unfair to be treated that way,” Harry asserted, unbidden anger towards Luca filtering out in his tone. 

Raising his hands in surrender, the captain explained, “I do! It’s not that. It’s just,” he sighed and took a moment for thought, “I wish he was more Insomnian,” he admitted, looking away to hide the guilt in his eyes. The beads in his braids caught the light with the action.

The words were hard to swallow, and the meaning was impossible to fully chew. “You want him to reject his heritage? His culture? His home ?” the taught string of his ire twinged, on the verge of snapping. He only just managed to keep his voice down.

“Peace, Harry. Peace,” Luca begged, placing an intimate hand on his waist. His eyes held that same guilty look, and Harry searched each eye for some sort of reason. “We both know that even if he returns to the motherland, our village is gone. He’s never getting ink, and at this rate, he may never learn to properly hunt. Ours was a hunting family same as yours, so you know how central that is to who we are,” his eyes pleaded for Harry’s understanding just as much as his words tried to explain his feelings. “He’s far better off accepting his life here in Insomnia,” he said.

Harry took a breath. Then, he deflated. It was true. Luche had little experience with their traditions and would not grow up hunting beasts for his family’s food and killing daemons for his village’s survival. He was here in the city learning math and science in school and spending his free time at the arcade or playing at the park with his friends. He was more Insomnian than he was Galahdian. It was just a shame that his peers would not understand that distinction until they were older. “Okay,” Harry conceded, trying to stifle the hot bubbling in his gut. He didn’t really manage it, but he made a valiant effort anyway. “Okay, yea, you have a point.” 

“I hate it just as much as you do if that’s any consolation,”  Luca said. He gave Harry’s hip a squeeze then entered the kitchen to join the others for lunch, leaving Harry alone with the closed door and the bubbles he couldn’t get rid of. 

Harry did hate it, but he hated it more because it made sense. If Luche embraced his new home, he could avoid the heat from his peers and enjoy his new life on a totally different level. He might not even want to join the kingsglaive if he accepted Insomnia as his home. He could avoid the dangers of the front lines and live a normal, safe life here in the city. “Ahhh,” Harry sighed wearily, stored those thoughts away roughly, and moved to finally get lunch for himself. 

“A new Oracle ascended today! Young Lunafreya Nox Fleuret has followed in her mother’s footsteps and accepted the mantle of her bloodline, soon to become a beacon of hope for the people of the world. The celebrations in Tenebrae are expected to last for the rest of the week...”

The TV drew his attention on his way to the kitchen. Their unit left for Tenebrae that night and planned to use the festivities as part of their cover for the mission. The dread that clung to the pit of his stomach pulled him down like a weight into the ocean. If nothing else, Harry just hoped they all made it home from this one. Even if “home” was slowly becoming the barracks in Insomnia, and the city was still hostile territory for those from outside the wall, Harry just prayed that they all made it back. He chanced a look back at the closed door. For Luche’s sake, he hoped they returned in one piece.

At the appointed hour, the men bid their farewells to the Lazarus family. Each man received a kiss from Aunty, and she wrangled them into promising they would return whole and hale. They all knew it was a promise destined to be broken, but it was reassuring in a plastic way that gave them enough courage to put their boots on and leave the safety of her frail arms. She gave Harry a good squeeze, a strong wink, and a warm kiss on his cheek. “You watch his back, you hear me?” she ordered.

Harry saluted and received a playful swat for his cheek. They shared a special smile, and then she was moving on to give her farewells to the next man. 

“Be good for Aunty, okay?” Nyx said from beside him. He had knelt before Luche, the young man doing his best to hide his sniffles. He was twelve now, but still so soft and young. The city did not treat him as a man, and Harry felt a dizzying mix of anger and joy because of it. The same heat from before after talking with Luca filled him up, followed by the ugly resignation that it was the better future. He may be missing out on his heritage, but Luche need not grow up as harshly as they did. He’d be safe here in the city, something innocent worth protecting with their very lives.

Luche nodded and begrudgingly accepted the large hand ruffling his hair. He eyed Harry who took his turn before the lad. 

“You're the man of the house while we’re away,” he commanded with a grin.

Luche brightened a bit. He puffed his little chest as far as it would go and gave a clumsy version of their salute in reply. He complained loudly when Harry ruffled his hair just as Nyx had.

Luca came last to kneel before the boy, and the others in the unit gathered around for their final farewells. He took his little brother gently by the shoulders, his large hands cradling the lad. The elder Lazarus took a moment to gather his words, his eyes tracing Luche’s face, memorizing it. “We’ll go for ice cream when we get back. All of us! Might even get Rookie to hop on that roller coaster at the theme park that you like so much. Whaddaya say? That sound like a plan?” he implored, his face the gentlest that Harry had ever seen. 

Rookie knew better than to make a fuss. Someone might have covered his mouth with their hand, too.

Bless his heart, Luche did his damndest to keep the tears at bay, but they escaped him in great rivulets as he nodded wordlessly, unable to even voice a response. 

Luca gave him a good squeeze. He pressed his nose to Luche’s hair and peppered his crown with kisses, even if Luche was too old for that sort of thing now. With one last pat on his back, Luca pulled back and mustered a real smile for his little brother. “We’ll be back before you know it,” he assured. He caught eyes with Aunty one last time, then promptly turned on his heel and walked down the stairs.

His men followed.

Unit seven left Insomnia just after midnight, packs heavy with gear and supplies for their extended journey beyond enemy lines. Each man carried a magic flask, regardless of his magic proficiency as well as an elixir for emergencies and enough food rations stuffed in their packs to sustain them should the worst happen. Other than their unit dying in combat as the previous two units had, they certainly would be hard pressed to die of starvation. That was a plus, at least.

They took a truck to the coast where they discretely boarded a boat that carried them quickly and quietly across the ocean to their destination. It took a few days altogether, but their boots finally hit the shores of Tenebrae. Their sneaky vessel dumped them in the cold and dark on some rocky, windy spit of beach with nothing but a vague idea of the direction of the royal palace. Now, for the tricky part: infiltrating a building almost as strongly guarded as the imperial city of Gralea. 

Unit seven gathered around their Captain as he unrolled his trusty map in the shelter of some trees just beyond the beach. “Alright, boys,” he started, eyes darting over the paper as they searched for something. “Here is our approximate position,” he said, pointing to their miserable hideaway just northwest of the palace. “We are going to move through the forest here and infiltrate from here,” he explained, his finger gliding along a path on the map. He swooped a line from the beach all the way down to just south of their target. “There is an old passage there that the king used to escape a few years ago. That is how we get in,” he tapped the position twice. 

Harry stared at the expanse of greenery between them and that location with no small amount of dread. “That’s a lot of unknown territory to cover,” he muttered miserably. He saw Nyx nod from beside him.

“Keep alert. Our objective will not be easy, but we will survive if we play it safe. We can take all the time we need to prepare and stay out of sight. It will be leaving that will be more difficult,” Luca expounded, rubbing his hand over the scruffy stubble on his chin. 

Rookie raised his hand nervously.

“Yes?” Luca sighed.

“What exactly is our objective?” The youngest and, ironically, tallest member of their unit asked.

The rest of the unit tried to keep from looking eager, but they all leaned in closer and awaited Luca’s answer. The briefing had been vague at best, after all, and this mission had already claimed two full units before them. What prize was worth the risk of losing a third unit of Kingsglaive?

Their captain collapsed under their collective curiosity. Giving a token frustrated sigh, he scowled as he withdrew a folded missive from his pocket. “Unit Seven has been given the task previously assigned to units five and thirteen,” he began, angling the paper just out of their view. “We are to infiltrate Tenebrae and discreetly steal back something that the empire has hoarded for itself,” he explained, and threw down the slim paper atop his map. 

A rumpled picture of Princess Lunafreya Nox Fleuret stared back at them.

“We’re rescuing the princess?!”

“Astrals, we’re going to die.”

“Suck it up, Rookie.”

“I bet I’ll take down more magitek than you. Loser buys the first round back home.”

“You’re on.”

Out of the corner of Harry’s eye, he spied Luca looking at them all with a heavy kind of emotion weighing down his expression. For a moment, it looked like fear or regret, but it was gone before he could properly name it. “Luca?” he asked, turning away from his banter with Nyx to face the other man.

Luca shook his head. He kept his face averted as he rolled up his map. “Let’s head out,” he commanded and led them all towards their objective. “May the astrals watch over us,” he prayed, just loud enough that Harry could discern the words, though he felt they weren’t meant to be heard at all.

Following the careful command of their captain who guided them with the amount of delicacy that Rookie would, if he was the leader, they picked their way through the hostile territory as delicately as a maiden dancing in the ballet. They watched guard rotations longer than strictly necessary and carefully scouted out enemy camps to get a thorough sense of the enemy’s presence. They managed to overhear a couple soldiers complaining about the lack of possible back up as most of their forces had been sent to bolster the city’s main defenses during the festivities. A stroke of luck for their unit, surely. 

Or prudent planning on the part of their captain, Harry thought to himself. They had delayed leaving Insomnia until after the Oracle had ascended to her station, and that had been Luca's decision. Maybe that visit to Aunty’s place had more than one ulterior motive.

When they made it to their infiltration location undetected, Harry was beginning to feel itchy with anticipation. Nyx had a similar look about him, beginning to get twitchy and fingering his knives whenever an enemy soldier got just a little closer than normal. All the sneaking around didn’t suit them, but not everyone in their unit was as suited to direct combat as the Ulric brothers.  Luca would throw them a particular look, and they would stand down feeling like dogs being chastised for over excitement. It was infuriating, to be honest.

Blessedly, Luca sent them to hunt for their dinner, letting out his war dogs for a quick run to tire them. Harry accepted the kindness for what it was and took down a large deer with a vindictive throw of his spear. It had taken them on quite a chase and would feed the entire unit easily. The brothers returned with their prize, feeling less anxious and more calm than they had in days. Harry would have to thank Luca properly. 

With a good piece of carved venison plated for himself and his captain, Harry entered the main tent of their tiny camp hidden out of sight of the imperials. Any words he was about to say left his head before he could utter them as he looked at Luca. 

The heavy weight of his responsibility bowed his back as he leaned over his table, poring over the map he had initially shown them along with another handwritten map, most likely of their secret entrance. His eyebrows knitted tightly together, and he mumbled fervently to himself as he nimbly traced different paths with his fingers. He had that stiff posture that spoke of standing too long in an uncomfortable position.

Harry decided against scaring him and quietly cleared his throat to gain attention. No sense in giving the man any more stress than he clearly already had weighing him down.

The spell over him broke at the sound, and his bewildered gazed moved to Harry. It relaxed at the sight of him. It gentled further when his eyes caught on the plates in his hands.

“Thought you might be hungry,” he explained unnecessarily. Damn Luca and his ability to make Harry forget how to speak normally with just a look. He had no business being that attractive, especially when it was the least professional time for them to be fraternizing. Not that any time was particularly professional, that is, but there were few moments worse than a mission so deep beyond enemy lines that they had no backup and no possible outbound communication with the crown city.  

Luca nodded anyway, accepting the obvious statement with good grace. “Good call.”

Harry took that as an invitation to come closer and placed the plates on the table, careful to avoid any maps and missives piled on top of it. It also gave him a task that didn’t require him to open his mouth. He pulled two chairs over and tugged Luca to sit by him in the hopes that he might lose a bit of the weight hanging on his shoulders. He gave a smirk when Luca finally collapsed in the seat with a groan.

The captain took up his fork and took a large bite. Unexpectedly, he laughed as he ate it.

Harry just raised an eyebrow, completely unsurprised by anothing his lover does anymore.

“Sorry, sorry. Just had a thought. If we were home, I’d think you were trying to tell me something important,” he chortled and pointed to the meat on the plate.

It took Harry a moment to understand the direction the conversation had taken. “What?” he asked, still uncomprehending. Then the words “home” and “important” mashed together in his mind to form a coherent picture, and he blushed all the way to his hair. “N-No! Not that! Nyx helped bring the deer down, and we fed everyone!” he squeaked, looking at the innocent venison with something close to panic.

Luca laughed, and the sound was unfettered and warm, identical to the day they met. It was a sound Harry loved unconditionally. “Just joking, Harry. You’re so easy to rile. If you were going to announce your intent toward me, I’m sure you would bring me a coeurl or something equally ferocious because it’s you, and I expect nothing less from the type of hunter you are. In fact, I would be offended if you didn’t hunt at least the scales of Midgardsomr,” he declared. His eyes glittered with delight, the weight of his worries forgotten for the moment.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry smirked though his face still felt hot.

Luca smiled, a look he had not worn since they arrived, and turned back to his meal. He sat quietly for a moment as he ate, the taste of game reminding them both of home. “What an odd tradition, isn’t it? Imagine doing that in Insomnia?” he asked suddenly, gazing at his plate, but Harry could see that his eyes were not focused on the food.

Harry set down his fork at that. He doubted very much that any Insomnian would know what it meant. In Galahd, if you hunt for your lover and prepare the food for them, it’s seen as a serious sign that you care about them, almost akin to a marriage proposal. Sharing a kill between two people is seen as extremely intimate and one of the greatest acts of love. The more dangerous the hunt, the better the relationship is said to play out. Outside of their lands, no one thinks anything of it. Sharing the meat of one’s kill is normal, expected, even if it is with just one other person. “Definitely something only we would understand,” Harry conceded.

“Too right,” Luca muttered.

They finished their meal in relative quiet, only interrupted by the day shift scout giving his report and switching with the night shift scout. Harry could see the pressure of this mission as a physical thing sitting atop Luca’s shoulders, and he ached to take some of that off him. He longed to touch him, kiss him, do something for him to be some kind of support for him. He wanted to help so badly, but there was nothing to do except follow orders. 

After their meal, Luca squeezed his shoulder and gave him that same searching look that he used on Luche before they left. His eyes seemed to drink in his face, then his body, and deeper still into his heart to see all the hidden parts of him in a way no one else had ever done. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning,” he smiled a bit as he ordered.

Harry held his gaze as long as possible. He only turned to leave when Luca urged him to go, unable to deny the man when he looked at him like that with his eyes silently pleading him to agree. He felt Luca’s gaze on his back until he stepped into his tent.

"I got eyes on Rookie," Nyx's voice crackled in his ear. "And don't you look all grown up?"

"Oh, you're so handsome!"

"Let's take a picture for aunty."

"Fuck off," Rookie hissed, and Luca could just picture the embarrassed red glow of his ears. Poor kid probably didn’t deserve all the teasing, but he made it too easy for the guys to pick on him. He was the little brother of the whole crew, no doubt about it. Well, him and Luche.

"Focus up. Let's not have a repeat of our last infiltration mission, yea?" Luca chided in his best captain voice, but he didn't bother to stop smirking.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Stealing all the lightbulbs from that base was totally part of the plan," Nyx called out with unshakable confidence.

"Yea, we had a bet," Harry chimed in, completely unconcerned. 

Rookie heaved an aggrieved sigh. He sounded like he needed a medic. Ah, sweet Rookie.

Some chuckles passed along the coms.

"What's Rookie's progress?" Luca asked pointedly. That little bet had escalated into a full frontal assault on a huge Niff base stacked to the brim with new magitek. It had gone decidedly pear-shaped from there, so he learned to de-escalate any and all Ulric brother rivalry before it started. Though, Nyx had won that bet by actually stealing all of the lightbulbs. Luca was pretty sure Harry still owed him for it.

"He's on the same floor as the princess. We're just waiting on visual confirmation," Harry replied, a lingering bit of humor still brightening his voice.

"Good. Let's get eyes on the prize, please," he commanded, looking down at his maps again. The paper felt rough under his fingers as he marked their positions for his own reference. They had already infiltrated through the secret entrance and pulled a uniform for Rookie to infiltrate the palace from within. The first phase of their plan was complete.

Luca felt the stiffness in his neck pull as he looked across the map. His men were ready. The princess would go with them willingly. They just had to get out. He traced their exit route again, trailing down the hidden passage back to the bottom of the castle. His hand stopped to cover the mark noting the location of their extraction vehicle. Once they made it there, they could make an escape. 

The sound of a knock echoed through his earpiece. He held his breath, hoping the deception was good enough to gain them entry. Rookie just needed to get into the room without raising the alarm. The tall man ate up foreign culture for breakfast, so he was the obvious choice to go undercover. Luca held his faith that it would succeed. He kept holding his breath, too.

"Good evening, your highness. I've brought your evening tea."

"You may put it just there," came the faint response picked up by Rookie's mic.

A few men audibly released a breath, Luca included. He listened to the polite conversation as Rookie followed through with his role. The princess sounded at ease. Good. Luca wiped a hand over his face. Step two done.

"You're not the usual fellow?"

"No, your highness," his voice held steady, and Luca had never been more proud of their youngest member. He heard a rustling of fabric, followed by, "I am with the Lucian Kingsglaive. We're here to rescue you from this prison, miss."

Somehow, the gods looked kindly upon them that night. The princess made no obvious sounds of distress and Rookie's words guided her and her handmaid to the window for extraction. He listened to the quiet, hurried conversation as she packed a few things and the men helping with the extraction entered her rooms to help. 

"Princess secured, sir," Nyx's blessed voice called out a few moments later.

Luca tapped his hands against his table, unable to mask the joy. "Directive achieved, let's pull back. Head to extraction," he ordered. Step three achieved. Only two more to go, and the team did not need his guidance to reach their destination. No, he had another job to do tonight. The weight of the stolen magitek rifle on his back made his heart race.

"Yes, sir!" His brave soldiers replied.

He checked his map once more, eyeing their extraction route for the last time. They would make it. The secret entrance the king had once used would deposit them safely away from any imperial stronghold, and they could use the stashed truck to drive back to the beach and take the boat home. With no alarms raised, only a passing patrol or lookouts from the base nearest the beach might discover them. Luca let his hand slide over the base on the map. He would make sure they weren't discovered.

"This way your highness," he heard Rookie's guiding words. "We're almost out of the tunnel now," he explained gently.

He felt naked without his spear, but the rifle gave him a bit of reassurance. The pistols on his thighs felt so foreign but oddly comforting at the same time. An ether that he pilfered from Harry, their worst magic user, filled one pocket, and a magic flask filled the other. With the bag of explosives hanging on his hip, he had nothing left to prepare. He muted his mic and left the safety of his tent. 

Progress reports came in as he made the journey out of the forest. The men made good time (of course they did), and relayed that the truck was now within sight. He only had to ensure their safety, and they would be home free. Astrals above, they just had to make it to the boat.

He fumbled the first bomb and nearly dropped it. Sucking in a lungful of air, the way Harry does when he’s worried, he willed his hands steady as he secured the explosive. Now, if only the rest of the bombs in the bag will be as easy to place. A spotlight just barely skirted around him. Might just be wishful thinking, that. He willed his spine to be made of steel and focused on the cheers of his men in his ear. 

They had made it to the truck safely. 

He grinned triumphantly and gripped the next bomb in his fist. 

“Need a hand?” Harry asked.

The teenage princess eyed him thoughtfully. She looked confused? Delighted? No, amused. She delicately placed her thin hand in his own, allowing him to hoist her into the back of the truck. “Thank you, soldier,” she spoke politely, somehow embodying all the grace of high court on a dusty forest road while climbing into her late night getaway. He hauled up her equally amused handmaiden as well when she stepped forward after the princess.

Royalty, he mentally sighed. Lowly glaives never rubbed shoulders with the upper crust unless on assignment, and he never bothered to learn all the fussy titles and flowery phrases used by those types. It was probably a good thing that she found his manners amusing. He had no plans to change, either way, and the journey ahead promised to be long enough without a grumpy princess thrown in the mix. He tapped the side of the truck, signaling the driver to depart.

“Once we hit the beach, we’re safe,” Rookie explained to Lunafreya, but typical Rookie, he was certainly trying to ease his own fears more than hers.

“No, we’re safe once we’re home,” Nyx said, and the mood died. The easygoing air left swiftly out the back to be replaced by the reality of their profession: active war zones were never safe. Nyx had that look, the worried one, like he could feel something bad coming, could hear it on the wind. Harry didn’t feel it, but he always trusted his brother. Those gut feelings of his had yet to lead them astray. 

“Captain, we’re en route to the extraction point. What’s your ETA from the command point?” Harry asked, holding a finger to his ear to steady the communicator as the truck swung around in a wide turn. 

Luca didn’t reply. The open line crackled as he waited for a response.

“Sir?” Harry tried again. 

More silence.

And there’s the bad feeling.

“Captain?” Rookie squeaked into his own earpiece. 

No response.

“Captain, this is unit seven. What’s your ETA?” Nyx’s turn to ask. Harry watched the muscles in his jaw work because he couldn’t really stand looking at the worried look on his face. 

A crackle across the line.

Harry felt icy panic crawl down his back. His hands might be shaking now, but he can’t quite tell with the sway of the truck and the white noise filling his brain at the implications-

“Heya, boys,” Luca’s voice reached his ears, and the words brought Harry’s shoulders down from his ears. That bastard, always late to the party.

“What’s your catch up time, sir?” Nyx asked, the relief not clear in his voice, but still evident in his unclenched jaw and gently closed eyes. 

“Ah. About that-” the rest of his sentence was lost under the faroff shout of someone else followed by gunfire. “Fuckers,” Luca cursed, and Harry could hear how breathy it sounded as if he had just run through their morning training. 

“Captain?” Nyx called. Harry wished he had shouted instead because Harry didn’t have enough air in his lungs to do it himself. He didn’t need to see Nyx to know that he was grinding his teeth again. 

“I’ve got some bad news, fellas,” Luca replied after a few tense moments where his mic picked up the sounds of more gunfire and his heavy breathing. “I’m not going to meet you at extraction,” he admitted, and at least he had the good grace to sound contrite. 

A litany of shouts erupted in the truck then, and Harry threw his own anger at their stupid, courageous captain. Their unit survived. They did everything together, and they always made it home together . This lone heroic bullshit was not their style, and Harry was sure not one of his comrades wanted to sit around while their leader fought against the enemy by himself. As it was, Nyx had an iron grip on his shoulder to keep him from jumping out of a moving vehicle going at high speeds through hostile territory. 

More gunfire and a shout, Luca’s this time, silenced their angry barrage. In a small, pained voice, Luca laughed. “Never heard the coms clear so quickly before. I’ll have to remember that trick next time,” he mumbled, and Harry strained to catch every word. “I guess I won’t, though. Won’t be a next time, huh?” he laughed again, but it hurt to hear this time.

“Captain,” Rookie gurgled from down the bench, and dammit, Harry wasn’t going to cry. 

“What’s your ETA, team?” Luca asked quietly, in between pained, breathy pauses. How hurt was he?

“Ten minutes, sir,” their oldest member relayed, face grim.

“Good, th-that’s good,” the best captain in the glaive replied, and he sounded so fucking pleased . “I’ve got the Nifs covered, so you’re clear to the beach. Trust me, they won’t even know you’re there,” he explained, and all Harry could think about was the pile of maps in Luca’s tent and his insistence on leading the unit remotely. Fuck, he had been so blind. “I’m sorry to spring this on you, everyone. I just want you to know, you’re the best unit a guy could ask for. Really, it’s making me all teary eyed over here,” and he gave a big sniff for effect, the asshole. “For hearth and home,” he murmed the oath.

Their unit echoed it, completely ignoring the bewildered princess jumping in her seat when they all spoke in unison. 

“Luca-” Harry started, but his words caught on a lump in his throat. 

The men in their unit looked at him then, and he hated that they knew what he was going to say. He hated what this was going to look like, how this was happening right then without his say so. He hated it most that he felt so damn powerless and lost and afraid. Yet, he was glad that he wasn’t alone. 

“Hey, Harry,” he heard in his ear, and his voice was right there for him. Luca was there for him now, just like he had been since they joined up. 

Harry burned with how much he hated this. He could feel it brewing inside him, but the chill of fear and misery froze it too fast for it to erupt. He just sat there in this tumultuous back and forth of feelings that tore him up because the man he loved was dying, and the stupid bastard didn’t even have the decency to tell him in advance that he was going to do something so impossibly idiotic.

“You’re really mad at me this time, huh?” and he laughed that stupid laugh: the one that Harry fell for the first time he heard it because it was warm and open and sexy. The bastard was dying, and here he was, just as inappropriately attractive as always.  

“No shit,” Harry bit out, and he covered Nyx’s hand with his own in silent gratitude. “You’re breaking up with me over the phone,” he spat out, trying to keep it light and failing miserably.

Luca huffed out another laugh, but it sounded weak. Harry hated it. “Yea, not my best move. Sorry for this,” he sounded so genuine as he said it, too.

“You stupid, bastard,” he cursed, feeling his eyes heat up. Rookie reached over to put his hand on his other shoulder.

A boom sounded in the distance, and it was echoed in the coms. “Did I ever tell you” Luca began, “that I was jealous of you? Weird, right? The Terrors of the North! I wanted to be that strong and memorable. Somehow, I had to make my mother proud, make her vision a reality. I mean, I was just a guy from a big island with no real hunts to claim as my own. But if some kid from the north of all places, where they don’t even have a real town, if he can do it, why can’t I?” His voice trailed off and ended in a guttural groan.

Another explosion boomed in the distance. 

Harry finally bubbled over. “You are a hero, Luca. Fuck, you’re the hero. I don’t give a damn what they call Nyx, it’s you. We all know it’s you. You don’t have to prove it to me. Don’t die on me. Please,” he begged for the first time in a long, long time. 

Nyx and Rookie each tightened their grip. It was a small comfort.

Luca sighed. “It doesn’t matter. This isn’t even about what I want anymore, you know? If I do this, every one of my men gets to go home. All of them. I don’t have to hand out medals or break the news to some guy’s mom-” 

“So you’d make me do that? Alone? You’re going to just snatch up the glory and leave me to tell Aunty that you died so I could come home? Is that what you want?” Harry raged.

“It’s better than all of us dying out here. Does that sound better?” Luca didn’t even sound upset because he knew he was right.

Harry knew it, too. He hated it almost as much as he hated the empire.

The sound of another explosion crossed the distance. The painful roar had some men wiggling their earpieces.

“Fuck,” Harry murmured. He dropped his head into his hands.

Luca chuckled, and it sounded wet. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” he said gently. “I wish…I wish that venison had meant something. You’re not really a feelings guy, I know, but I should probably tell you anyway,” he conceded, and Harry didn’t have the heart or the breath to tell him to stop even if he knew what he was going to say. “I love you, meran,” Luca said. He spoke the words so easily, like he hadn’t just thrown Harry’s expectations out the window. He said it like he meant it, and that made it hurt even worse than he thought possible.

Harry choked on a sob that he tried to smother with his hand. It didn’t work.

“Take my spear to the motherland. Goodbye, meran,” Luca whispered.

One last explosion filled the air, bigger than all the others. A few guys ripped out their earpieces, and the rest winced or groaned. 

Harry’s head fell further forward, and he clasped his hands behind his neck. His eyes landed on the silver spear stashed under the bench. He’d probably laugh if his chest didn’t hurt so much. Hot tears leaked down his face, and he couldn’t speak through the sobs. Meran. Mirror. Luca called him his reflection even though the venison had not meant anything. Luca died after calling him his soulmate while Harry had never even told him a single “I love you” because feelings were difficult and messy. Now he’d never get a chance to tell him how he felt, and wasn’t that a bitch?

The radio was silent the rest of the way home.

Chapter Text

When Jonas ushered the curious Regis into his humble abode, the king’s face morphed into the most exquisite expression. Ardyn would savor that look of panic for years to come. Blue, crystalline swords sparkled into being, and Ardyn just laughed. “Oh, your majesty, how quaint. Look at your face. Haha!” he tittered, savoring the wobble his laughter brought to the king’s bravado. “Would that I had a camera to capture this moment!” he gushed airily.

“Adagium,” Regis growled. He glanced briefly at Jonas in question, too afraid to take his eyes from the enemy before him.

Ardyn forgave him for his fear. It wasn’t every day that one chanced upon the escaped state secret after all. 

“Peace, Regis. This man means you no ill,” Jonas spoke gently, his brutish form belying the considerable wit hidden between his ears. 

To the king’s credit, the swords vanished, but he moved no closer, which Ardyn accepted easily. If he wanted to remain stiff and uncomfortable, then let him. “He is no man,” the king quipped, aiming straight for the heart.

Luckily, Ardyn lost his heart centuries ago. “Mortality never suited me anyway,” he threw back, fully aware how the words unsettled the monarch further. He was just so easy to play with!

“Please, we have a reason for this meeting, as difficult as that may be to believe,” Jonas explained, brazenly staring down Ardyn. He could see why Harry was so fond of the large man. 

Ardyn watched as Regis allowed Jonas to corral him to one of the vibrant cushions on the floor. He graciously accepted the tea offered by the bewildered serving girl who fled as soon as she had done her duty. The poor dear, frightened of the flashy magic earlier, almost knocked over the teapot with her quick escape. Ardyn reached over to steady it gently. He caught Regis looking at him oddly and savored that expression as well. “Your son, is he well, your majesty?” he asked, apropos of nothing, letting the title slide from his tongue with all the slime he could muster.

“That’s none of your concern,” Regis spoke with all the stolen nobility in his veins, and Ardyn burned just a little bit.

“Oh, but it is,” he drawled into his teacup. He took a rudely loud draw of the liquid just to watch the king squirm on his cushion. “I assume you know about his little destiny?” he said and spat the last word out of his mouth quickly. The bitterness of it still sat on his tongue.

He now had the king’s undivided attention. 

A smirk split his face at the rigidity of the other man’s shoulders and the thin line of his lips. Oh, so touchy today, isn’t he? Delicious. “Yes, that troublesome little prophecy tying him to the fate of this star. What if I told you that your sweet little boy didn’t have to die?” he posited, swirling his finger along the rim of his teacup. “What if we could change his fate?” he mused mildly.

“Speak plainly, Adagium,” Regis commanded and didn’t that just twist the knife? How was he to stomach one of his brother’s line trying to order him around like they were more important, more worthy?

“And if I don’t?” he challenged, instead. 

Regis grit his teeth but did nothing.

An empty laugh escaped him of its own volition. “Anything for our boys, huh?” he muttered, sharing a glance with Jonas. “It might surprise you to learn that I am a big part of that pesky prophecy,” he explained. 

“Which part?” Regis questioned, his tea long forgotten on the table.

Ardyn enjoyed the tension as he took another sip of tea. Delicately, he placed his cup back on its wooden coaster. “His death,” he said simply.

The king went through a flurry of emotions in such quick succession, Ardyn could barely name them all. “What is the alternative, then?” he asked, settling for acceptance somewhere in that storm of feeling. Ardyn applauded his level headedness.

“For one, you are going to need the Oracle if our plan is to work,” he mused.

“Lunafreya?” the king questioned.

Ardyn nodded sagely. “Yes, for how will we fight the coming dark without a pretty little light?” he offered, gladdened by the spark of understanding in the monarch’s face. “I can handle the rest for now, so long as you retrieve the princess,” he explained, rising to his full height easily. “Sadly, there is little I can offer you for the burden of the wall, but perhaps she can ease your suffering as well,” were his thoughts upon seeing the lines in the king’s face and the prematurely graying hair at his temples. Using astral magic certainly took its toll on the body.

Regis eyed him closely. His face, so similar to Somnus but so different at the same time, gave little away other than a glittering curiosity as he watched Ardyn gather himself to leave. “Your destiny was to bring the dark. That is why you were imprisoned, wasn’t it?” he questioned.

“Oh, he got it right! Give the man a prize!” he called out with false enthusiasm. Then his mood tumbled, his expression dripping with the darkness hiding within. “I already am the dark, your majesty. But you needn’t fear me, not this time. There are things worse than me out there, and you’ll need all the help you can get if you want to save your son,” he growled, unable to tame the shadows now that he loosened his grip on them. “Thank you for the tea, Jonas,” he got out just as the darkness engulfed him.

When he emerged, he saw jungle and cloudy skies kissing mountain ridges. “Uncle!” called his favorite nephew. Little Harry, though he wasn’t so little anymore, wrapped his arms around Ardyn, and the warmth of the child’s embrace pulled back the darkness enough for him to breathe.

“Harry,” he greeted, letting his head fall atop the boy’s crown of messy hair. He must look a fright, but still the boy cared for him all the same. “You’re going away then?” he asked, pulling back to look the young man over.

Harry had grown recently and easily stood taller and broader than before. Already, the war darkened his eyes and scarred his body. It had galvanized his determination as well, and this became evident when he said, “I am. I’ll be leaving for Insomnia tomorrow. Uncle, I think I can really make a difference there.” 

Ardyn could not withhold the proud smile even if he tried. “What a good lad. Well, if you are to leave me all alone beyond the wall,” and here he dragged it out as dramatically as possible, throwing his arm over his eyes in feigned despair, “I have a final gift for you.”

“Really? What is it, Uncle?” his inquisitive boy asked.

Ardyn looked at the boy a moment longer, seeing the brightness hiding within the murky darkness brought about by the invasion and his mother’s passing. “It’s not a nice gift, though,” he added as an afterthought.

Harry raised a haughty eyebrow. “Does that even qualify as a present, then?” he asked with all the teenage bluster in his body.

“Maybe you’re right,” Ardyn admitted with a shrug. “But, I have to do this to keep you safe. I won’t have any pesky imperials kidnapping you in the night!” he professed with a final nod of his head.

Harry just rolled his eyes. “So what are you going to do?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I’m going to seal your magic.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Not at all.”

“. . .Okay.”

Ardyn watched as Harry steeled himself and waited for the boy’s signal that he was ready. At his nod, he placed a gentle hand over Harry’s heart and pressed it flat against his chest. “Brace your feet,” he warned.

“I thought you said- Ah!” Harry shouted as Ardyn’s darkness speared into his skin, through his shirt, like thousands of tiny needles pricking the seal into him. It was over in a moment, the mark burned through his shirt and into his body, and he could no longer feel the playful dance of Harry’s magic on his skin. 

“I lied,” he smirked.

“Y-yea,” Harry panted. He folded over when Ardyn released his grip, trying to catch his breath and visibly pained from the sealing. It was worth it though. Now, he’d be safe, behind the wall where Bahamut could not see him and without magic for the bladekeeper to sense him. “I probably should have asked this earlier, but is this permanent?” his nephew asked carefully. There was a real fear in his eyes at the thought of losing it forever, and Ardyn could completely relate to that feeling.

“No, luckily. I can remove it from you easily. You can even remove it yourself, but it’s a little tricky. You need strong emotions and a powerful draw on your magic to undo it. As you are known to get a little wild, take heart that it won’t crack when you get angry. The type of magic you can wield while sealed would not happen on the battlefield,” he explained.

“Oh, thank the astrals,” Harry breathed and visibly relaxed. When the pain passed enough for him to stand upright, he looked Ardyn in the eyes and reached a hand forward, like he was silently asking for a shake. The scarred digits that could wield both spear and dagger with prowess held steady as he waited for Ardyn to take his hand. When he tentatively reached out to grasp Harry’s hand, the young man gripped higher on his arm and pulled his uncle close. He touched his forehead and nose to Ardyn’s own.

He couldn’t breathe. Momentarily stunned as he was by the embrace, he could not stop it from happening. It felt warm and familial, like he was trusted and loved. This moment felt genuine and important and real. For the first time since he went on his dark crusade, eating every daemon he could find to grow his power beyond that of a god, he felt human. What a curious power this special boy had over him. 

“Go safely, Uncle. For whatever reason, I know you can’t go to Insomnia, so I don’t know when I will see you next. I will miss you,” the young man confessed.

Ardyn sighed through his nose and gripped Harry’s arm tight. “And I you, dear boy. But this is for the best. Go on, go be a hero,” he teased. He pulled back because if he didn’t, he would not have the courage to leave. As the darkness pulled him away, he focused on Harry’s strong smile as he faded from view. He would protect that smile with everything he had.

Chapter Text

By the time they reached Insomnia, Harry felt as if he had cried out his heart, drop by painful drop. The chasm in his chest felt infinite and uncrossable. He had yet to sleep on the three day journey home, and he felt tired to the very marrow of his bones. Food had no flavor and words had no meaning. He thought he had moved beyond grief after the loss of his sister, so it shocked him to still be capable of such sorrow. 

The other men of their unit shuffled him from location to location, guiding him like a little lost child. On some level, he appreciated their efforts, but on another, he hated them too for holding him back. He tried to bolt a few times to run right back and kill every last imperial soldier he could find. Nyx and the others stopped him each time and talked him down from his revenge. Luca had died to save them, they would say, and that was enough to get Harry back in his seat and following orders. 

In all this, the princess kept quiet, but her sharp eyes observed him and his fellows with a hawk-like scrutiny. He felt like she could see inside of him, and her sympathy drove him mad. She never made conversation with them, but Harry could feel her watching him. Somehow, it was like she was grieving with him. 

When the truck bumped along into Insomnia, thick silence replaced the usual cheery homecoming. The tall buildings and busy streets crowded their little truck and spat it out in front of the citadel. Ten stone faced men escorted the princess and her handmaiden through the stuffy halls, stopping just before the giant doors to the throne room. The men made no move to tidy their uniforms or straighten their posture as decorum may have dictated. They easily ignored the sneers of the crownsguard on duty, too. 

Nyx strode forward to open the doors, but one of the crownsguard shoved him back. “You will wait until the king wishes to see you,” the uptight asshole snapped.

Nyx grabbed the man by his jacket and pulled him so close their noses touched. “This is her highness Lady Lunafreya, and we have gone through hell to get her here. I think the king would want to know she arrived safely, don’t you?” he snarled back.

The man had the decency to look shocked and made a motion for the other guard to open the doors. He bowed primly to the princess as she passed, transforming into the gentlemanly soldier the crownsguard presented to their royal keepers. 

The princess didn’t even look at him. 

“Dearest Luna,” spoke the king, and all the kingsglaive fell to one knee around her ladyship at the sound of his voice. Their monarch stood slowly to better view the ragtag group before him. Harry caught the joyful surprise coloring his face and voice as he greeted her highness.

“My king, it is so good to see you well,” Lady Lunafreya smiled and bowed deeply at the waist in greeting. Harry noted the way her hair fell over one shoulder and spied the trembling of her hands clenched in front of her belly. 

“Oh, my dear,” the king spoke gently and hurriedly descended the steps to reach her. His attendants looked affronted, but he paid them no mind as he rushed to embrace the girl. He stepped between the kneeling glaive and wrapped his arms around her in front of the entire court, uncaring of the public emotional display. 

“Your majesty,” Luna wept, hiding her face in that mighty shoulder that carried the burden of his people. It carried the burden of her sorrow just as easily, Harry thought.

“You are home now. Here you will be safe and free to perform your duties as the oracle to keep this star whole and hale,” King Regis pulled back, holding her at arms length to observe her. “Look at you all grown up. Would that your mother could see you now. It is my wish, as it was hers, that you find happiness and freedom in my domain,” he smiled at her and gently wiped her face of tears. “We will speak more later. First, we must reward these brave men for rescuing you from our imperial neighbors!” he called, gracing the kneeling men with his best smile. “On your feet men, that I may look at you,” he commanded.

Harry and his fellows rose to their feet swiftly. He felt the exhaustion pull at the edge of his senses, but he fought it down and kept his balance. The king’s genuine happiness lifted him out of his ocean of despair enough to breathe air.

The king, arm still around Lady Luna, eyed the men carefully. Harry caught the exact moment he counted them and realized one was missing. His face cracked a little, and he closed his eyes. “I see we are missing one. Your captain, no less,” he spoke, eyeing their chests for the one wearing the emblem of bahamut. “His sacrifice will not be forgotten. I want you to know that you men have my personal gratitude for this. Your actions may very well have saved our star,” he said quietly, just for them. He eyed each man in turn, and when he looked at Harry, it felt as if he saw the sadness lurking within him.

The warm words tore open the lid Harry had put on his grief. The king’s acknowledgement of Luca’s death made it real in a way nothing else had. He choked on air, trying to gasp around the rising lump in his throat that Harry embarrassingly realized was a sob. He tried to hold it in, tried to tamp down the tide to not break down in front of the high commander himself, the leader of his nation, but he couldn’t. It was all he could do to remain silent and let the tears fall. 

The men in his unit crowded around him, shielding him from view of the members of the court, but he couldn’t hide from the king who stood so close to them. The tall man looked at him, then at his fellows, and his eyes clearly spoke of his sympathy and sorrow. The king made a motion to one of the attendants who seemed to read the king’s mind and rushed over with a small box. With slow, careful movements, the monarch stepped to Harry and took hold of his hand. “For his valor in the field, we honor Captain Luca Lazarus on this day to thank him for his faithful service to the people of Lucis and for the countless lives saved by his brave actions,” he declared loudly for all to hear. In a quieter voice, almost a mutter but somehow no less regal, he said, “Thank you, my glaive, for bringing this lost daughter of Lucis home to me.” He gripped Harry’s hand firmly in gratitude before placing the ceremonial box holding Luca’s medal in his grasp.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Harry managed to speak clearly. Who knew such a small box could feel so heavy. It was like he carried the weight of Luca’s deeds in his hands, but even this much fell short of the honor that Luca deserved. 

The king nodded as deeply as he could before it could be considered a bow. “Report to your commander then take two weeks leave. Those are the King’s orders, so if anyone gives you trouble, direct them to me,” he commanded, bringing every man to attention at the clear dismissal. He turned from them and moved to walk the princess out of the throne room.

“Yes, your majesty,” unit seven responded and made the trek to report to Drautos. 

Harry clutched the box in his hand the whole way.

They stumbled into the office, exhausted and covered in mud, to find someone else sitting in their commander’s chair. Cor Leonis looked up from the mess of paperwork spread out on the desk and assessed the men quickly. “Good. You’ve returned safely then,” the Immortal said, placing the papers back in the pile before him. 

“Sir?” Rookie asked from the back, bewildered.

Cor stood smoothly and came around to lean on the front of the desk. He took a moment to cross his arms and settle into a comfortable position before he spoke. “There has been a change in command while you were away. While we get this mess sorted, you will report to me until further notice. Understood?” the austere man asked. 

“Yes, sir,” they replied.

“What happened while we were away?” ever curious Rookie asked.

The temperature in the room rose sharply for a brief moment, and Cor visibly calmed himself and his magic. “Drautos has been found guilty of treason and thrown in prison to await his final sentencing,” he spoke sharply, dropping the truth on them like a sack of bricks. “Luca Lazarus, your captain if I am not mistaken, sent out evidence to high command before you left on your mission. Where is he? I would like to speak to him sooner rather than later,” Cor explained. 

His question brought back the pain from earlier, and the men looked to their boots in shame and sorrow. Their courageous captain saved them in the field, and now again, he saved them back at home without their knowing. Their debt to Luca only seemed to grow by the day with no way to ever repay him. Harry would probably have cried again if he hadn’t already exhausted himself to the point of no return.

“Ah,” Cor stumbled out, clearly caught off guard. “I am sorry for your loss. He was a magnificent soldier,” he said. The words might have been for the team at large, but he looked Harry right in the eyes as he said it. 

If he hadn’t been dead on his feet, he might have questioned how the Immortal knew he would be the hardest hit by Luca’s passing. Instead, Harry nodded, unable to voice anything in reply.

“Well, let’s get that report done. You all look like shit,” the Immortal spoke, and his brusque nature oddly comforted Harry. He could always count on Cor to put duty first and emotions second, a trait he had not appreciated as much as he did then. Cor received their report with his usual stony exterior and kicked them out of his office as soon as they finished. He easily signed off on their two weeks leave, but he asked for the Ulric brothers to see him in a few days after they had recuperated. 

Trudging into the barracks felt surreal after a couple weeks away in the sandy forests of Tenebrae. A fuzzy whitenoise filled Harry’s brain and a numbness settled in his limbs the closer he got to his bunk. When he collapsed into bed, his last conscious thought was that he would get the medal to Aunty as soon as could feel his fingers again.

When they finally made the trip to Aunty’s house a few days later, all of unit seven stood outside the little shop she owned on the first floor. No one had the courage to step inside. The longer they loitered, the longer she could remain happy with the dream that Luca was still alive. Once they gave her the medal, there would be no going back, and none of them had ever seen Aunty cry. They cried to her, not the other way around.

Harry didn’t know how long they stood there in the middle of the street. A few customers had walked around them already to go about their business, and still not one man took a step forward. Harry clutched the heavy little box tighter. 

The decision was made for them when Aunty came outside the store by herself. She opened the door and looked at them all, took in their faces and the ceremonial box. Her wrinkled face showed no surprise, no sadness. She wore the same expression Harry saw before he left, the one filled with resignation and acceptance. Her little mouth quirked up in a smile, and she pulled the door open for them. “Well, you boys best come inside. Come on, get in,” she urged, just as chipper as always. 

They followed like lost lambs after their kind shepherd.

She pushed them upstairs to the living room and gently guided them to take their boots off and sit down. Her cozy apartment felt warm and comfortable, just like it always did. Her little body hid that same quiet strength that mothered them as she bullied them to eat something and drink the strong coffee they liked so much. She spoke to each of them in turn as she would before they left on a mission. Kindly, she urged them to grieve in peace in her home. She left each man in tears and patted their cheek with a smile. 

When she came at last to sit beside Harry and Nyx, she took Harry’s hand in her own. She just sat quietly for a moment and held his hand. “I knew this would happen, you know. He’s a soldier. Soldiers and hunters don’t always live very long, the brave bastards,” she said at last with a wry chuckle. She looked at Harry then, and her eyes were like fire. The heat of it was unsettling. “I knew one day the empire would take him from me just as they took my husband, my sister, and my son,” she explained, and her words brought to mind the vivid sounds of gunshots and the smell of burning jungle. “You understand what I am feeling, don’t you?” she hissed in a voice so wrathful that she embodied the fires of Ifrit himself.

Of course he did. He knew exactly how she felt. The empire lit that same fire in him the day his sister died, and it had simmered in his belly ever since. Loving Luca had been a balm to that rage, but in his absence, Aunty’s words re-ignited the coals and tended them to a higher flame. He clutched her hand tighter.

“Good,” she said, mouth drawn in a thin line and eyes still burning. From her pocket, she pulled out a beaded necklace and held it out to Harry. “I have not asked much of you, but I must ask for this. You both kept quiet, but my old eyes know love. I know what you were to him. For my family’s honor and for Luca’s murder, I beg you to mourn him properly,” she pleaded, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“How dare you!” Nyx snarled from her other side. He looked wild and ready to pounce. Harry understood his anger just as much as he understood Aunty’s rage. “He’s just one man! It’s impossible!” he continued, pleading with everything he had. “Please, Aunty. Please, don’t do this to him,” he begged, and the rasp in his voice broke something in Harry’s chest that had survived Luca’s passing.

“It’s his choice,” Aunty spoke. She held out the necklace to him, not pushing but not retreating either. Harry noticed the beads were more of the ones Luca always wore in his hair.

The other men of the unit peeked up at the commotion, but Harry knew none of them understood what was happening. He hardly expected any of them to know about such a rare piece of Galahdian culture, not even Rookie. In the motherland, the trials were exclusive to the hunting villages of the smaller islands. Aunty would know it because she shared their heritage even if her family hailed from the larger southern islands where mourning practices were less severe. The mourning trials of the north were infamous after all for hunters seeking revenge for their slain partners and most of the poor bastards dying in the process. She knew where he came from, and she knew exactly what she was asking of him. 

Harry only knew one person from his village who survived the full mourning trial for their partner. Old man Leo lost his wife on a daemon hunt, and it took him five years to complete the trial. He traveled around the islands all that time to complete the rites before finding the daemon that killed her and slew the beast to put her soul to rest. He only had to kill the one daemon, though. Harry would need to take down an empire.

Harry let his fingers touch the beads. They felt hot from Aunty’s pocket. They caught the light, as they always had, and Harry thought of Luca’s distracting laugh and the strength of his courage. He thought of the silence on the line after one last explosion. He thought of dead bodies piled in the streets of his village and his sister’s hair spread on the ground and the bloody holes in her best silks. 

His brother grabbed his shoulder, and Harry could feel the tremor in his grip. Nyx the hero feared little, but this he feared enough to shake in his boots. “You don’t have to do this,” he entreated. Harry could hear all the unspoken reasons as if Nyx had given voice to them anyway. I can’t go with you. You’ll die out there, alone. You can never love another. You’re one man against an empire.

How does one man seek revenge on an entire army anyhow? Harry took the necklace in his hand. Who knows for sure, but he’ll have to figure it out or die trying. Luca’s soul deserved to rest, and only Harry could grant him that peace, right? With a steady hand, he took the necklace and spoke the words required by the traditions. “I take this oath in my heart,” he promised to Aunty. Not like he expected to live very long anyway. May as well do something worthwhile before he died on the battlefield instead.

“Harry-” Nyx started to say. He stopped, clearly unable to voice his thoughts. He opened his mouth to try again but shut it again when nothing came out. His expression caved in, crumbling like something brittle and delicate.

Harry looked at Nyx and felt sympathy for him. Maybe one day they would learn how to talk to each other but not today. He watched his brother’s stricken expression and knew what this was doing to him, what this trial would ultimately do to him. But Harry could see the understanding, too. Reaching around Aunty, who had grabbed Harry around the middle when he accepted, he carefully pulled Nyx forward to join the embrace.

The men watched over them as Aunty finally wept and Nyx accepted the embrace gracelessly. 

Harry savored the moment. He tightened his grip on them, cherishing the warmth of family for a little longer. He listened to his comrades settle around the house comfortably to unwind and mourn. The scent of Aunty’s perfume and the stench of tired soldiers mingled oddly in his nose, but this too he held tight in his grip. When the sun rose tomorrow, he would be alone, just as Luca had been in death. He’d seek revenge and most likely die trying, so today, he’d be right here with Aunty, the guys, and Nyx.

That night, unit seven slept at Aunty’s house, crashing wherever there was enough room to lay their heads. Their grieving had turned to snoring, and the house felt at peace. Most of the men piled on the floor and slept on their jackets or pilfered throw pillows. Rookie had his head propped up on a pile of Luche’s school books on the floor. 

Luche himself had curled up in Nyx’s arms, having cried himself to sleep a few hours before. The lad came home to Aunty’s tears with the team sans Luca, and he understood. He barely made it two steps in before Nyx had grabbed the boy and held him through the worst of it, letting him beat his little fists on his chest and rage and cry until his small body gave out.

Harry laid out on the sofa, enjoying the softness of the cushions while he still could. Idly, he played with the necklace and lifted the beads to catch the moonlight. It felt heavy as if the glass held the weight of his oath and had engraved the words into the shards of his heart. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the sensations around him to distract his mind from the coming trails. Somehow, he drifted to sleep in the small hours of the morning.

Raindrops adorned the leaves like diamond crowns. The green of the jungle looked too saturated like a painter had exaggerated the color on purpose. Leaf-litter, moisture, soil, and plants mingled in his nose and smelled like life itself. Warm rain pattered around him, dripping from the sky in fat droplets to sustain the island with its love. 

He was home.

“Meran,” came a voice beside him.

Something stirred in his soul, but it felt stifled like a voice trying to shout through thick glass. He just felt calm, yet somehow, he knew that wasn’t right. 

In his peripherals, he could see dark hair and a hint of broad shoulders. A familiar banded arm reached down to grip his hand gently. Resolute fingers intertwined with his own, but he could hardly feel them. 

“Hello, my love,” he greeted. That should have hurt to say, but it tumbled from his lips so simply.

The rain carried on blithely, showering them in the life giving essence of the sky. The wind in the trees mixed with the ever present birdsong in a cadence that soothed his heart with its familiarity. Perhaps Father Fulgarian watched over them tonight. Who else would bless them with such perfection? Well, that was what his mother would always say, anyway.

Luca’s fingers squeezed his. “Did you mean it? The oath?” he asked. Harry nearly mistook the whisper of his question for a trick of the wind. 

“How do you know about that?” he asked. Somewhere deep down, a voice within him was screaming. He could hardly hear it.

“I can see it, in here,” Luca said as he reached his free hand over to cover Harry’s heart. “Why did you never tell me, meran?” he sounded put-out, and Harry could clearly picture the playful pout on his face. “I wish you had shown me. Your magic is beautiful,” he professed. Somehow, he was behind Harry now, clutching around him possessively. One of his hands clawed at Harry’s chest right above the seal. When had he moved?

“It was a secret. To protect me,” Harry explained freely. Luca’s arms were just as warm as he remembered. The heat made him dizzy.

“I will always protect you,” Luca whispered in his ear, giving him a shiver at the closeness. “But I need your help,” he pleaded. His breath ghosted the side of Harry’s face. 

Harry had to fight the heavy comfort of the dream to ask, “With what?”

“Passing on. I’m stuck,” Luca nuzzled into his neck. He’d always do that when he wanted something. Harry usually thought it was cute.

His own hands came up to cover the ones fisted in his clothes. “What can I do?” he asked.

Luca’s arms grew tight, almost uncomfortably so. “Swear to me. Make the vow, meran. Avenge me, ” he pleaded with that voice drenched in the same vulnerability that made Harry kiss him in Aunty’s kitchen. 

The voice inside clamored vehemently, shook the walls of Harry’s very soul, but still it was not loud enough. It didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was the two of them and the vow to bind them. “I will,” he spoke, irrevocably. 

A hot pain unfurled in his chest. Luca clutched him closer, pressing Harry to his chest and clenching their hands tightly together. Harry watched as spindly flames broke through cracks in the seal to twine around their hands like chains. With a final flash, the flames vanished and took the pain with them. 

“Thank you,” Luca whispered. Then, he released Harry from his grip.

Harry awoke in a cold sweat, entirely alone in Aunty’s living room. He could see the rainy jungle in his eyelids when he blinked, and the two realities merged in a way that threw him off balance. He couldn’t discern what was real and what was dream until he looked at his hands and watched as the spindly flames retreated from his wrists and disappeared back in his chest. The world snapped back into focus, and suddenly, Aunty’s house felt all too real and inescapable. 

Oh, astrals.

What had he done?

Chapter Text

“What do you mean you refuse,” Cor asked, but it didn’t really sound like a question.

The captaincy badge glittered on his desk, staring Harry dead in the face. 

“It’s hard to explain,” was all he could manage to say.

The motorbike roared down the streets of Insomnia. The sound echoed through the empty streets, rudely disturbing the quiet of the coming dawn. With a kick of his boot, he shifted to a higher gear. He ignored the speedometer and pulled back on the throttle.

Insomnia sped by, the oppressively tall buildings shrinking the closer he got to the city gates. Statues of the old wall blurred past too quickly for their eyes to look down on him. The wind carried the industrial stench of the city, heavily filling his lungs and his nose like toxic lead. When he stopped at a red light, he spied a single starved tree reaching sickly fingers towards the sky. He prayed for it until the light turned green. 

When he finally said his goodbyes to the Marshal, Harry stopped denying how much the man cared about him.

Cor sighed gustily and covered his eyes as if the situation would improve if he didn’t look at it. 

“Sir?” Harry dared to prod.

The Marshal raised a hand for silence and flicked a glare in Harry’s direction. “Don’t push it, Ulric. You’re lucky enough that we even have a posting that fits your . . . unique situation,” he sighed again. He looked disappointed, but there was more in his eyes than that. Something like worry, perhaps.

“Thank you, again, sir,” Harry said and tried to ignore how that look made him feel. “I don’t know when I will be back, but I will send my reports along as often as possible,” he affirmed.

“Report to the quartermaster before you leave,” Cor told him. He pushed the papers with his orders across Drautos’ old desk. Harry supposed it was the Marshal’s now. 

When he reached over to grab them, Cor held onto the papers with his fingertips. Harry looked up, scrounging for the courage to look the man in the eyes.

Cor held his gaze for a tense moment, searching for something. “You better come back, you hear me?” he said, still holding Harry’s orders hostage.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” Harry said at last because he could make no promises. 

He glanced in the mirror to watch the citadel fade into the city skyline and breathed easier when it disappeared fully. The buildings thinned out and more trees decorated the sidewalks as the highway curved towards the hulking form of the gate. He pulled to a stop at the checkpoint and flashed his new orders for the crownsguard on duty. 

The asshole sniffed rudely as he snatched the papers to inspect them. He flicked through them flippantly, taking his time to read every printed word. “Going back home, island boy?” he questioned loudly.

The other guards manning the checkpoint looked over.

Harry gripped the handlebars to keep from punching the man in the nose. “You have a problem with my orders, you can take it up with the Marshal if you have the balls for that,” he drawled. He held his hand out for the papers back.

With a hideous scowl, the crownsguard crumpled the papers and put the ball back in Harry’s outstretched palm. “Thanks for visiting Insomnia, Mr. Tourist. Have a nice day,” he spat crudely. 

It was a near thing. Harry reached back to put his wrinkled orders in the saddlebag, and his hand brushed the spears strapped to the bike. He could end this asshole in a moment. It would be quick, and he could just ride away. When he put the papers away, his hand touched on the gift from Aunty nestled at the bottom of the bag, and he thought better of it. He wasn’t worth it, not really. “I’ll be sure to mention you in my next report, crownie. Now that the Immortal’s in charge of the kingsglaive too, he’ll read all about it,” he explained instead.

The other men promptly returned to attention, and the dick of a crownsguard started shaking in his boots. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Harry just flipped him off and sped away. 

When he said his goodbyes to the Lazarus family, he let go of seeing Luche grow up.

“Aunty made this for you,” Little Luche said as he held out the bundle of cloth bunched in his clumsy hands.

Harry knelt down to be about eye level with the lad. The little guy was tall enough to look down at Harry when he knelt, now. A few more years, and he’d probably be as tall as Nyx. He might be all grown when Harry returns. Well, if he returns, that is.

He took the silk and unfolded the slippery fabric to reveal a black sash with a beautiful woven pattern. It had fluffy tassels on the edge that felt soft against his skin. “Thank you, Luche. This means a lot to me,” he smiled and pulled the boy close for a hug. 

Luche clutched at his shirt. “I don’t want you to go,” he warbled in Harry’s ear, and it broke his heart to hear the wetness in the words. 

Harry’s jaw hurt with how hard he clenched his teeth. He knew this was going to be hard, but it was worse than that. Luche didn’t deserve this. Yet, Harry looked at Aunty over Luche’s shoulder. The fire in her eyes remained, mirrored in his own. He knew he had to go for Luca’s sake. And probably for his own, too. This fire within him demanded that he seek vengeance for everyone the empire had taken from him. He squeezed Luche tighter. “I know, lad. I know. You’re the man while I’m away, you understand? Take care of Aunty for me, ok?” he asked gently.

Luche clutched him tighter and nodded into his shoulder. “I’ll be good. I can do it,” he promised.

“There’s a good lad,” Harry smiled as he pulled back. He ruffled Luche’s hair, as always, before he left the warmth of Aunty’s home. 

The drive past the gate brought him north, towards the islands of the motherland. After a quick ferry ride across the channel, he mounted the bike again on dry land. Galahd had little infrastructure compared to the mainland, and the paved streets faded away to packed mud roads. The trees thickened the further he went, tangling together into the familiar shapes of the jungle. 

Deep in the forest of the southernmost isle, it finally rained. He pulled over and sat there, letting the drops hit his upturned face. The smell of plant life intensified and mingled with the wet mud to form a smell that brought him back to boar hunts and sparring with Nyx and picking fruit from slippery trees for a midday snack. He breathed it in deep, holding it in his lungs to fill himself with the nostalgia. 

When he got back on the road, his hair stuck to his neck and his clothes clung to his body awkwardly, but he didn’t care. The fat raindrops smacked his face, and for the first time in years, he felt like he was home.

When he said his goodbyes to Nyx, he found the courage to share his feelings for the first time.

His brother waited for him outside of the citadel. He leaned casually on a sleek motorcycle expensive enough to belong to a royal. It had slim tires, a small frame, and a low engine, all perfect attributes for off-roading in the mountains. When Nyx caught sight of him, he wordlessly threw the keys to Harry. 

The keys jingled pleasantly in his hands when he caught them. “How did you get that?” he asked, openly amazed.

“I have my ways,” Nyx said mildly.

“And I’m sure they don’t involve the quartermaster’s very pretty, and very lonely , daughter, would they?” he teased.

Nyx smirked in that cavalier way of his. “That would be telling,” he said.

“What’s the catch?” Harry asked.

“No catch. You need a ride out of here,” Nyx shrugged. He stared to the side as if the streets around them held his interest. The cheer drained out of him all too quickly.

“Oh, thanks,” was his meager reply. He rubbed at his neck awkwardly as they silently didn’t look at each other. 

A car horn made them both jump.

Harry sighed and forced himself to grab his brother’s attention. “I need to do this, Nyx. You understand, right?” he asked. 

All the sounds of the street faded away as he watched Nyx’s expression, waiting for his answer. His brother crossed his arms over his chest protectively as he thought, looking pained as he blindly inspected the floor. His fingers clutched at his arms like claws trying to hold all the pieces of himself together. “Was he your reflection?” he asked, finally. 

Harry’s instinct was to agree, but it didn’t feel like the truth. He loved Luca, to be sure, but he didn’t know if Luca was his meran. They didn’t have the time to figure that out. “I don’t know,” was his honest reply.

Nyx frowned deeply, and Harry could tell he didn’t understand. “Why then? Why are you doing this for him?” he pleaded, unclenching his arms to reach out and grip his brother instead. He crowded closer, searching Harry’s face for the truth that escaped him. “Did you forget that you’re all I have left?” he asked delicately, the words so incredibly sincere.

“I was his, Nyx, and that’s enough. He gave his whole heart to me, and I never even realized it. I’m on fire with guilt and this anger, and it chokes me to death. I have to make this right. I have to,” he explained, watching as each word hit Nyx like a physical blow. 

Nyx pulled him forward into a hug that engulfed him. It felt like the day he received his ink where his brother’s arms gave him the courage to do his duty. “Alright. Go safely, Harry,” Nyx spoke softly. His words might have been a little wet, too, but Harry wouldn’t mention it.

His blessing was all Harry could ask for.

The journey north brought him through the larger islands just off the coast of the mainland that were largely untouched by the empire. They were close enough to the crown city that Insomnia’s own security kept them relatively safe if only for the city’s back door to remain secure. As the islands grew smaller and further away, the towns turned to villages, and marks of the invasion scarred the land. He passed by destroyed markets, burned out homes, and scrapped magitek. On a particularly lonely road overlooking a mountain pass, he witnessed a line of spears planted in the earth overlooking the river below. A woman knelt in the dirt beside them, praying quietly. He took a moment to pray with her before leaving her to her lonely vigil. 

He traveled onward, moving ever north. The islands grew smaller and farther apart like dots of ink splattered around one big blot. The damage from the empire grew greater as well, exponentially changing the islands of his childhood. Some places still smoldered from recent attacks. A ship flew over the canopy and cast a shadow through the trees large enough to cover a small village. This was the danger of the outlands.

When he said his goodbyes to his comrades, he realized that he would miss the sorry bastards, even Rookie.

“Well, I’ll be damned to Ifrit’s fiery hell,” Rookie said as he walked around the motorbike parked outside their barracks. “Astrals, Harry, I kind of don’t want to know what you did to get this,” he muttered as he leaned over to inspect the massive engine.

Harry smirked. “Well, I could tell you anyway,” he said slyly.

Rookie looked him dead on. “I don’t want to know, do I?” he asked. Harry opened his mouth to spin a tale, but Rookie scrambled to put a hand over it, earning a laugh from the other guys.

After the worrywart released his hand, Nyx threw an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I’m more curious how you convinced Cor to give you this assignment,” he raised an eyebrow as he said it.

Harry shrugged with a grin. “Lucky, I guess. The last three guys they sent in the jungle disappeared without a trace, so it seemed like a good idea to send a native. I can travel freely around the islands so long as I report any imperial activity and fuck up their operations along the way,” he explained.

The brothers shared a strained smirk. “Go fuck ‘em up then,” Nyx said, giving Harry a proper embrace. 

The other men gave their farewells, too. Rookie barely stopped drooling over the bike long enough to wish him well. He looked over their faces as he straddled the bike. Nyx’s captaincy badge glittered in the sun, and when he looked higher at his brother’s face, he could see the unspoken words there, plain as day. “See you on the other side, guys,” he said when nothing meaningful came to mind. As he pulled out of the barracks, he peeked in the mirror at the men behind him and gave a crooked smile full of fond exasperation.

The unit stood at full attention and saluted him until he was out of sight.

When he reached his home island, he walked his bike off the small ferry and parked it under the safety of a large tree. A hunting village stood guard atop a hill overlooking the waves, and it made his skin crawl with painful memories. When he walked through its gate, a few young boys, not even old enough for family ink, grabbed at his clothes and talked excitedly over each other to grab his attention. He patted their heads and handed out some of his jerky to appease their curiosity. One of the lads had a bandage around his leg and burn scars on his shoulder. Harry gave him extra snacks.

The elder’s house was easy to find in the center of the village. The elder herself sat atop a giant cushion smoking a long pipe. “What are you doing here, young man?” she asked as he entered. Her shrewd eyes assessed him, peeling back his layers and disassembling his motives in an instant. She pointed her pipe at the black sash clutched in his hand and said, “You’re here to receive the mark.” She puffed at her pipe, judgment written all over her face. “You are far too young to mourn anyone,” she assessed and blithely blew a smoke ring.

He gripped the silk tighter, hanging on to the proof of his duty. “I’ve already taken the oath and left my family behind. Please, I need the mark to begin the trial,” he knelt before her to look her in the eyes. 

She looked at him with her glassy lenses milky with age. While she did not see him in detail, she could see his heart, he knew. She blew the sweet smoke in his face. “And why should I? Just to send you to die? Foolish lad, I know exactly who you wish to kill. You’re the fourth one this month that I have turned away,” She sat back on her cushion, clearly dismissing him. “Our motherland weeps for her lost sons already. I will not send another to his grave,” she said.

Harry sighed through his nose. He peeked over his shoulder to check the doorway. Luckily, no one else was around. He watched her suspicious face as he held out a hand, palm up for her to see. With his eyes closed, he tugged on that wild rush inside his heart through the cracks in the seal and felt the lightning dance along his fingertips. “If I die,” he said as the magic illuminated his face, “I will not die easy,” he finished.

Her mouth fell open and her pipe hung limp in her hand. A moment of silence passed as she stared at his hand and the power licking his fingers. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she laughed, smoke pouring from her nostrils. She put her pipe down and stood from her cushion to say, “Alright, lad. You’ve proved your point.” With small shuffling steps and a lot of grunting noises, she rummaged through a small cupboard before coming back with her ink box. “Let’s do this right, then. Follow me,” she commanded and left her house without waiting for him.

The village was big enough to have its own temple. The elder led him up the hill on stone stairs to reach the beautiful carved wooden building. It stood tall with a huge spire jutting out from the center of its roof. On the inside, a large effigy of Fenrir stood tall at the head of the temple. The elder sat below his great paws placing her tools on a crisp linen sheet. A cushion waited for him, and she gave it a pat when he hesitated at the door. 

When he sat, one of the monks scurried over and began lighting incense and candles around him. She brought over a bowl of the clearest water and helped him remove his jacket and shirt. With gentle hands, she washed his arms and shoulders carefully, just as his mother did the night he received family ink. The warm incense filled his nose and gave him something to focus on as the elder began tracing the lines of the mark on his arms. He took a deep, bracing breath and let it out through his mouth as settled in for the rite to commence. 

After the monk cleaned the tools and sat ready to wash away the excess ink and blood, the elder used her thin mallet to tap the needle into his skin. The pain only grew as her old hands tapped away the thick bands around his arms to bind him to his oath. He focused on the sensations outside of his body: the smell of incense and rainy jungle along with the sounds of tapping from the elder’s tools and dripping water when the monk would wring out her cloth. He thought of his mother and sister, from when he was marked a man. He thought of Nyx and the morning they received the mark of valor. Settling into a different level of consciousness, he dreamed of Luca and the beauty of his thick banded ink. 

The mark of mourning starts on the biceps with a single thick band in the center of the upper arm. It takes the spot of the bangles worn by the head of the house because a mourner gives up his right to family and his place in it. The next marks are three thinner bands around each forearm. If only one arm is inked, the mourner is not seeking to complete the trial, so in Harry’s case both will be marked. These denote the three rites a mourner must complete before they can seek revenge and complete the trial. An empty diamond is left un-inked in the center of the bands on the right. They will be filled as the mourner finishes a rite to show his progress. When he completes all three rites and finds his revenge, he will receive the final mark: a thin line around the palm through the river of loss cut into his hand. 

He lost himself to the sweet smoky incense and the rhythmic tapping. The elder kept a steady pace, needling the ink deeper into his skin with each stab of her tools. With his mind faded between wakefulness and sleep, the smoke tendrils took shape and swirled around him. He watched the ghostly form of wolves running through the trees and ripping the heads off daemons in the dark. He sat on his cushion beneath Fenrir's stony silence, the wolf’s single eye weighing the strength of his conviction. 

He emerged from the dreamy haze to a full wakefulness when lightning struck the temple. The temple, built to collect the strikes of the Fulgarian, easily consumed the lightning and barely shook with the roar of the thunder. His skin tingled from the healing balm rubbed into the pricked holes of the needle. He leaned on the monk who helped him stand, and faced the elder who watched him closely.

Her large eyes saw him in his entirety, and she nodded her head just as another lightning bolt struck the temple. The flash illuminated the room to a blinding white. After the next clap of thunder passed, she commanded him to tie the sash about his waist. After he did, she nodded again. “It seems the Father himself blesses your trial, lad. When you complete a rite, you will return to me with proof. If you complete the trial, you will return to me again. Understood?” she asked. 

He nodded and left the village the next day. The boys that he played with now looked at him sadly, staring at the new marks on his arms. He gave them a wave as he walked his bike to the road outside the village. They waved at him as he left, calling out goodbyes and well wishes, most likely because they thought it would be the last they saw of him. 

Ever north, he traveled. When he reached the sea on the other side of the island, he found his home. Wooden houses with burnt out walls and collapsed ceilings hosted only the ghosts from the first invasion. The garden kept by the monks had overtaken part of the village with vegetables and herbs growing wild and free over the ashes of the market. The marker of his mother’s grave still overlooked the sea, now joined by the marker meant for his sister. 

He touched each stone and whispered a prayer to them. The choppy waves kissed the rocks below, and he felt the seaspray on his cheeks. The salt in the air burned on his arms, but he dared not cover them. They would heal in time. He just had to suffer through it.

“Ulric, son, is that you?” he heard from behind him.

When he turned, he saw Jonas’ shocked face nestled in his great beard. Harry quickly turned away though. 

“Why won’t you speak to me? Lad, are you well?” Jonas called with worry ringing clear in his voice. The large man knelt unsteadily beside him, fighting his bad knees the whole way down. “Oh, you foolish man,” he heard him whisper and felt his rough fingers trace the new marks on his skin. “Look at me lad, for astral’s sake. I’m not your blood family, you need not shun me,” he scolded and tugged on Harry’s arm.

When he finally looked at him, Harry saw that he had aged. He looked so old now with his head all gray and a slight droop to his broad shoulders. Unshed tears twinkled in his eyes for happiness or sadness Harry could not tell for sure. Perhaps it was both. “Hello, Jonas,” he greeted, feeling the creeping loneliness retract its claws just a little. He may not have his brother, but at least he could have this. 

“Oh, lad,” Jonas exclaimed and pulled him into his great arms. “Come, let’s get you out of the wind. I’ve got a pot of coffee boiling on the fire,” he smiled and marched Harry back to his camp. As he said, there was a little fire merrily burning away with a pot of coffee and some plantains roasting near the flames. There was a second kettle boiling over the fire as well, but it just had water inside. The little camp was well made and comfortable for the two of them.

Sitting with him brought back old memories. He could remember sitting like this after hunts, swapping tales with grizzled hunters and mooning over the young men from sister villages. Life was so much simpler then. His whole world was the little island that he called home, and his worries never went farther than caring for his family. Some nights, he dreams of those days, but he always wakes up at the end.

Jonas passed him a mug of coffee and a roasted banana. It was just like the days of his childhood when the lead hunter would be teaching him how to track boar or survive a daemon attack. The sweet banana went well with the bitter coffee and would give him the energy to fight a beast all on his own. He wished bananas and coffee were all he needed to fight the empire. 

“Well, what’s your next step?” Jonas asked over his mug. 

To be honest, Harry had not thought that far ahead. “I don’t know. I just wanted to come home,” he shrugged, looking out at the carcass of his village left to rot in the rain. Somehow, his house still stood on the corner with its missing door the only wound from the invasion. The jungle worked quickly to reclaim the space with trees growing wild and plants crawling over buildings.

“There’s nothing like home, even if this is all we have left,” Jonas agreed with a sad little smile on his face as he looked as well. “I come here every so often to visit the ones who rest here. With everyone moving south into the mountains, this island is a lonely place, but I can’t let it go. My sons died for this place. I most likely will too,” he said. 

Harry could understand that all too well. He looked at the mark of mourning and the empty diamonds. “The first rite would have been simple if Leo had survived,” he said. 

“Aye, simpler. He was a tough old bastard, though,” Jonas laughed. At Harry’s curious face, he explained, “Many mourners asked for his blessing, but he rarely gave it. I asked him once, and he told me that they would have died too easily. They didn’t have the guts for the trial.” The large man chuckled fondly, and it warmed his haggard face, squishing the thin lines down his cheeks and the faded mark of valor under his eye. A mischievous twinkle entered his eye as he looked to the fire in thought. “You know,” he began, “There is a way you could talk to him.”

“He’s dead,” Harry said shortly. 

“Aye. But there is a way to talk to the dead, lad,” he grinned and rummaged around in one of his pouches. He withdrew a little sachet and emptied the contents into his large palm. Bright red flowers sat prettily in his hand. “These might help,” he grinned wryly as he said it.

“Jonas, why do you have angel blooms?” Harry asked. 

Jonas sighed, shrugged, and waved his free hand at the dead village before them. “There is a reason I come here alone, lad,” he explained gently.

Well, Harry couldn’t fault him for that. If the hallucinogenic flowers let him speak to his sons and find some measure of peace, Harry could hardly fault the old man for it. “Well, how do you use them?” he asked, awkwardly rubbing his neck.

His large companion took two blooms and placed one in each of their empty mugs. He grabbed the second kettle and poured water over them. The dried petals opened up and dyed the water a thick cranberry color. “Think of who you want to see, then drink,” Jonas said. He stared into the little cup for a moment before downing its content in one go.

Harry watched the angel blooms sway in his cup. He thought of old Leo on their last hunt together and his expression when he finally retired. He tried not to think of his bullet filled body in the street when died, but Harry saw it in his mind anyway. He drank, and it tasted bittersweet like berries and medicine. The flavor coated his tongue like syrup, sticky and thick. He looked into the cookfire and watched the smoke dance towards the sky.

Smoky shapes swirled upwards, tangling into ghostly figures that steadily gained form. One took the shape of a boar running free in the jungle. The others formed wolves stalking the boar through the trees, biding their time to strike. Harry could feel the boar, its gentle demeanor and calm state. It had no idea what was coming. As one, the wolves moved like a seamless machine, each piece doing its job precisely. The boar’s fear became Harry’s fear. The rush of fleeing, the hope of escape, and finally the imminent knowledge that death would be the only outcome. From the boar’s eyes, Harry saw the alpha wolf closing in for the kill. It was Fenrir himself, his single eye glowing in the darkness with hunger and triumph. 

Then Harry woke up, and he knew at once that he was still dreaming. 

“Hello, little Ulric,” came a voice from all around. 

“Leo!” Harry grinned. It shocked a laugh from him. The flowers worked! “I need your help,” Harry asked.

“Ah, I know that look,” the old man said. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, son,” he said.

It riled him to hear that. “I know exactly what I’m asking you for. I have taken the mark, Leo. There is no going back for me, not until I do this,” he said stubbornly.

“Oh, yes. Big man Harry wants to topple an empire for a lover he barely knew. How sweet,” Leo taunted from everywhere, his voice attacking from all the dark shadows in the dream.

It took an iron will to hold back the heat of his anger, but he held his tongue. “Please. I need your blessing, as one who has completed the trial,” he gritted out with his head bowed.

A surprisingly quick hand snatched his wrist and twisted his arm behind him. “You don’t have the conviction, lad,” Leo hissed in his ear. Despite being dead, Harry could feel the power in his grip. “You’re still soft. Sitting with Jonas eating plantains. Dreaming of your home and missing the warmth of your lover. If I gave you my blessing, you’d be dead next week,” he twisted the arm further, and Harry had to bloody his lip to not cry out. 

“Please,” Harry begged, spitting the word out with a gob of blood.

Leo laughed. The hollow sound of it echoed around them, all encompassing. He dug his thumb into Harry’s wrist, savagely pressing into the fresh ink. “This mark is your oath, young man. When we take this, we dig two graves, not one,” he growled and shoved Harry to the floor. He walked around to be in line of sight, but the haziness of the dream was fading. “Come back to me when you can look me in the eyes and tell me what that means,” he commanded.

When the dream ended, he woke up in a tent in Jonas’ little camp with a cup of water by his head. With an angry yell, he threw the cup against the fabric of the tent where it fell with an unsatisfying thump. It seems this journey would take a lot longer than he thought. Harry left before the old hunter awoke and rode into the jungle alone. He spent his time killing imperials and rooting out their strongholds in the jungles of the motherland, all the while contemplating the question: why dig two graves when he had to kill thousands?

Chapter Text

“I dreamt of him again last night,” Harry admitted to the ghost beside him.

Leo’s shoulder solidly bumped against his own.

The angel blooms had brought them to a hazy memory of Leo’s youth. A village fête carried on around them, and the people laughed and danced joyfully. Harry hated that he never remembered his home this way. He only ever dreamed of smoke, gunfire, and bloody silk lately. When he woke up, his ears would ring with the screams. The pain of the invasion covered over his childhood memories like magma burning down the jungle and burying it under black rock and ash. He didn’t have the strength to dig deep enough and unearth the happier times. A child giggled nearby when his father swung him up on his shoulders. The boy’s mother gripped her partner’s hand and smiled prettily at her son. Harry had never felt more envious in his life.

“It doesn’t get better,” Leo said suddenly. He watched the same family that Harry did as they ambled around the fête, indulging the boy and his every curiosity. “It just gets easier to handle,” he explained. 

“Aren’t you usually supposed to sell me some bullshit that time heals everything?”

“As you said, that’s just bullshit.”

“Right,” Harry sighed. He curled himself in a ball and turned away from the family when the woman knelt down to help her son with his food. Her smile hurt to see. “How does it get easier?” he asked.

“You’ll think of him less and less. It will hurt like hell every time you do, though. It tears you open all over again and leaves you just as raw every time. This grief is like a shark bite in the dark of the ocean. You don’t see it coming, and it leaves you bleeding to death,” Leo mimed the shark biting with his hands. “Time doesn’t heal it, per se. It just gives you enough room to breathe,” he finished.

Harry hummed into his knees. “But it won’t give me enough space to live,” he breathed out and on his next inhale, pulled the grief right back inside himself.

Leo stayed silent a moment, watching the dream as it unraveled around them. The angel blooms only lasted so long, and they had sat in silence for most of this trip. Just as true sleep clawed at the corners of Harry’s mind, Leo spoke, “You don’t fix broken mirrors.”

As always, Leo got the last word, and Harry still had little idea what he was talking about.

The arrival of Princess Lunafreya brought a storm of changes to the Citadel. The halls filled with a host of staff hired to accommodate another busy royal including additional crownsguard and royal attendants, all in freshly pressed uniforms. The king and his council held lavish galas in her honor to celebrate her ascension as Oracle and her freedom from the empire. The princess made countless appearances at council meetings to divulge her knowledge of the duties of the oracle, the state of Tenebrae, and life under imperial rule. Court life had not been so pleasantly busy in years.

For her people, the princess held weekly radio broadcasts to ease the minds of her subjects. As the embodiment of their religion, her very presence bolstered their hearts, but the dutiful princess did so much more than anyone asked of her. She visited hospitals to heal the sick and frequented the public Hall of the Six to pray with the common folk. In fact, she once spent a whole night healing a man on the brink of death with vanishing sickness and collapsed after she saved his life. The news praised her benevolence, and the people loved her unconditionally. To them, she was like a god walking among them. 

The king himself made time to meet with her every week, and even appeared at all of the galas thrown to celebrate the princess. The news enjoyed highlighting the close relationship between the two royals. Here they are enjoying tea in the Citadel gardens. There they are talking together during a public festival. Oh look, another sighting of their beloved king and blessed oracle spending precious time together!

Entirely out of view of most everyone, this upheaval of routine struck Prince Noctis the hardest. He didn’t care about the lack of broadcasts featuring him, and he even felt grateful that Luna had become his school’s favorite subject for hallway gossip. Part of the burden was made of extra public appearances at events held for the princess in addition to his usual duties, but even this, he could easily shoulder. No, the worst part was much simpler: the king had even less time for Noctis than before. 

Outwardly, the prince kept appearances. Which means, he was the same well-mannered teenager as usual in public and just as petulant as usual to his staff. Well, to all except one, that is. 

As closest advisor and confidant to the prince, Ignis saw through his act. He noticed all the frowns and sighs as the prince grew moodier every time the king canceled their weekly chess match or skipped out on family dinner. Ignis even foresaw the exact moment the prince would reach boiling point and made sure to arrange for the prince to explode in private. He politely postponed Noct's engagements, ensured dinner’s menu included his favorites, and informed Gladiolus that Noct would miss practice that evening. Sadly, it would only upset Noct further if his father knew, so Ignis kept all information regarding the prince’s state far from the king’s ears.

And so, Ignis was the only soul to witness the Prince of Lucis throw a colossal teenage tantrum. Ignis picked Noct up from school and escorted him to his rooms in the Citadel. Noct was fine until they entered this private sanctuary. The tipping point came just as Ignis closed the door. Noct bent down silently to take off his shoes, and the lace on one sneaker snapped when he pulled out his foot. An explosive shout ripped from him as he launched the shoe across the room. With quaking steps, he marched to the coffee table and cleared everything off it with a mindless sweep of his arms. All the items fell to the floor with an echoing clatter.

Ignis felt for Noct. He sympathized with every shout as it came. Each broken thing tore another piece of his heart as he watched Noct rage alone, wrecking everything he could reach in his anger. He struggled to withhold himself when a vase from the collection of King Mors shattered on the marble, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. Instead, Ignis listened as all the pent-up frustration of Noct’s life came pouring out of him.

“Stupid exams.” A chair kicked over. “Stupid sword practice.” A table flipped completely. “Stupid, bullshit festival!” Another exquisite vase lost to the floor. “Why does he always have to go!”

Noct’s breath came short and quick. He heaved in shaky lungfuls as he ran out of steam. Forcefully, he calmed himself down, loosening his body muscle by muscle. With no warning, it was over, and he flopped bonelessly on the divan. Ignis glimpsed the wetness on his face before the prince threw an arm over his eyes. 

“Noct-”

“Go home, Iggy.”

“Shall I-”

“Go. Home.”

“. . . As you wish.”

Ignis paused for a moment to clear his throat and bow quickly. Without another word, he closed the door on the woeful scene and left the prince to his brooding. On the other side, he leaned lightly against the wall for a brief respite, just long enough to gather his thoughts. In a flash, he was perfectly poised again with no hint at the disheveled state of his thoughts. He shoved the distracting chaos into a box deep in his mind to sift through later. It would spoil his careful planning if he gave the game up now. 

The walk to the car felt too short. A dull buzz filled his head like a bunch of angry bees flying between his ears. His body seemed to move on autopilot, and he just drove with no real destination in mind. When his head cleared enough to think, he had pulled over into a small restaurant district. He felt hyper aware of the seat’s clingy leather, the low rumble of a radio talk show, and the new car smell that lingered in the vehicle. With a gusty sigh, he folded over the steering wheel and rested his weary head on his arms. 

Noct had never blown up like that before. It was probably a long time coming, if Ignis had to guess, but it was hard to watch. He knew how busy Noct’s schedule had become and could see the mounting pile of responsibilities that grew every year. Even if the king was soft of him, Noct still tried to do what was expected of a prince, in his own way. He might be lazy and bad mannered with his closest staff, but he was the model prince to the public. Well, Noct was a moody teenager too, let’s not forget. Beneath all the royal upbringing and waspish exterior, he was just an emotional boy with a lot on his plate. Through that lens, this behavior made more sense.

Ignis knew he could cheer him up and be there for him, yet it didn’t seem to be enough. It stung to see that. He took great pride in caring for the prince better than anyone. It felt like a failure to see him like this. Was it a failure? Was it his fault? Ignis groaned into his arms. No. It wasn’t his fault. This was bound to happen someday. Little else got under Noct’s skin as easily as his relationship with his father. Regis loved him deeply and openly, and the prince soaked it up. The loss of that attention when he had so much to do and so few people who genuinely cared for him must cut deeply. Ignis could see that now. 

Leaning his head back onto the headrest, he sighed again, indulging in the frustrated noise. He let it out slowly until his lungs were empty and burning for air. On the inhale, he flushed out the chaos and invited calm. Sufficiently gathered, he stepped out of the car for some fresh air. 

The deliciously cool evening embraced him lovingly. Happy little lights lit the pathway and led the way like electric fairy guides. Rambunctious groups moved between a cluster of little bars further down the street, and the patron’s inviting laughter drew him inside one of them. The cozy bar, dressed down in unfinished wood and warm lighting, washed away the last of the stress sitting on his shoulders. The prince had no plans tomorrow after Ignis cleared his schedule, and the high court did not convene again until after the weekend due to the Founder’s Day festival. It was absolutely time to see what drinks this bar had to offer.

Ignis did not consider himself an alcoholic. He was a caffeine addict, yes, but he did not have an alcohol dependency. Since he came of age though, a night out became his favorite indulgence. If he happened to have a free day, he could go out the night before to suffer his hangover at home in peace the next morning. Royal life was so restrictive, and drinking was the complete opposite of that. He could express himself how he wanted and talk to whoever he pleased. No one chastised him for loosening his tie and undoing his top shirt button. He could relax for a few hours without worrying about schedules or meetings or reports or young princes. 

He enjoyed a few drinks alone at the counter. It was easy to feel like part of the crowd here. The people were boisterous and deep, raucous laughter would burst out every few minutes. The bartender took care of him and ensured his glass was never empty for long. He tried a different drink every time and just enjoyed whatever was in his glass. By the third one, he slowed down and chewed on the orange garnish. The burst of sweetness was heavenly.

A shoulder bumped his own, sloshing some of his drink onto the counter. “Oh, sorry about that,” the stranger apologized. He had beautiful dark skin and an easy smile. Interestingly, he had all the trimmings of a kingsglaive with his coat open and his shirt untucked. 

“No harm done,” Ignis accepted graciously.

They shared a glance with an unexpected amount of heat. The glaive settled against the bar, and Ignis watched his posture adjust to that of a man on the prowl. “Maybe, I can make it up to you anyway,” he offered with all the naughty generosity that line implied. He just managed to make the words sound more charming than distasteful. Ignis found his eagerness almost cute. 

“In town for long?” he asked with a quick tap to the small symbol of Bahamut on the man’s arm. The glaives were infamous for fast mission turnover. He had even heard that some units had permanent posts in the outlands.  

The man raised a dark eyebrow and smirked just a little bit. It creased his cheek with a hint of a dimple. It was infinitely charming. “Why? Looking for something short term?” he asked quietly, leaning closer until Ignis could smell the whiskey on his breath. He felt buzzed enough that he found the scent pleasant. 

He leaned in as well and gave a quick shrug. “Perhaps,” he said coyly.  

“Well,” the man took a fortifying gulp, “I’m shipping out tomorrow morning.”

Ignis took a good look at the man. He eyed him from the messy dark hair to scuffed boots just peeking out from where he leaned against the bar. The man had that disheveled soldier look, and Ignis would bet hard gil that the quality of his night would be passable if the man’s confidence could be believed. “Well,” Ignis repeated, gulping down the rest of his own drink, "It’s a good thing we have all night then.” 

The devilish grin he got in response was worth the line. Ignis felt a spike in his heart rate at the silly sparkle in his teeth. “What’s your name, then?” he asked.

“I’m Ignis. And you?”

“Pelna! But most everyone calls me-”

“Rookie! Where’ve you been, man? Thought you were just getting a- Oh, excuse me,” a tattooed man in an equally disordered uniform called out. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he rubbed at his neck apologetically with a boyish grin.

“No problem, Captain. This is Ignis, sir!” Pelna introduced him happily. In the other man’s presence his posture improved, snapping to something more soldier-like, and Ignis appreciated the palpable respect he held for his commanding officer. It wasn’t a sniveling type of respect but something hard earned and solid.

The captain eyed Ignis quickly. The smile never left his face, but he had the feeling this man was trying to gauge if he was worthy. He also felt that Pelna would take anything his Captain said as law, and it endeared them to him for some reason. Perhaps, he saw himself in the other man. How many times had he made that face when Noct would introduce his friends? “Go on, get out of here,” he smirked and pushed at Pelna’s shoulder playfully. Seemed Ignis passed muster, if the surreptitious wink was any indication.

For once, Ignis felt his age when they rushed out of the bar together. He felt almost giddy in the taxi ride to his apartment with Pelna laying kisses on his palm and gently playing with his hair. He let go of all his stress and in that moment just let himself feel something. When they threw open the door and fell into bed, they clumsily threw clothes away while trying their damndest to keep their lips pressed together. Pelna liked touching him, feeling out his body and trying to memorize its shape. Ignis’ thought came to an abrupt halt when lips brushed his neck and then teeth grazed his bare shoulder. He clutched the warm body closer, and his partner carried on marvelously. 

As expected, the sex was good. Pelna’s mouth did wonderful things to his cock, and he made delightful noises with his face pressed in a pillow and his ass in the air for Ignis to fuck as he pleased. They went a few rounds until the passion cooled. Sated and weightless, Ignis indulged further in stealing drags off his lover’s cigarette. He coughed at the first pull, but the warm smoke settled pleasantly in his lungs after that. 

Pelna carded his finger’s through Ignis' hair smoothly. Ignis couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that for him. His life had little room for romance or physical affection. It was nice. Pelna took a puff, the paper fizzling as it burned, before he passed it back to Ignis. “I should probably head back,” he mumbled through the smoke.

The clock read just past midnight. “Early start?” Ignis asked around the cigarette. 

“Yea. We will ship out for the Cleigne border tomorrow,” he explained. He wiggled his fingers, asking for the smoke back. 

Ignis obliged. He blew out the smoke in a slow stream as he thought of province reports and recent council meetings. “Didn’t the empire just deploy its new sapphire weapon there?” he asked, looking to Pelna for confirmation.

He was met with a raised eyebrow, the cigarette frozen halfway to his mouth. 

“What?”

“You are not a civilian. Are you?” he asked, suddenly a bit too serious for the both of them lying naked in bed.

“Crownsguard, guilty as charged,” he admitted. 

“Damn, I fucked a crownie. The guys will never let me live it down,” he groaned aloud, running his hand down his face. 

“I take offense to that,” Ignis frowned and stole the cigarette back, spitefully sucking hard enough to burn it down to the filter. 

Pelna rubbed at his neck bashfully and said, “Sorry. You don’t act like most crownies, to be honest. You seem like a good person, honestly.”

“Are most crownsguard not?”

“They’re assholes. Especially to the glaive. Though, you should know that?”

Ignis allowed himself an empty chuckle. “I’m not a regular gate guard, Pelna,” he explained.

He watched as the cogs in Pelna’s brain turned quickly and spun for a bit before reaching a conclusion. “Oh, shit. You’re the prince’s babysitter, aren’t you?” he said. Immediately, his eyes widened, and he looked as if he wanted to take the words back. 

For the first time that night, Ignis schooled his expression into its usual placid demeanor. “Afraid so,” he agreed easily. He let Pelna sweat for another moment before smiling, a small tug at his lips, and forgave him easily. “I know what people call me. I can’t blame you for that one. I’m not upset,” he offered, placing a kiss on his shoulder.

“Well, I am sorry,” he said, giving a warm kiss back. He slithered out of bed finally and threw his clothes on haphazardly. Somehow, he looked even messier than before, but it was a good look on him. He walked back to bed and crawled over Ignis to give him another sloppy kiss. His pesky hands slid up and down Ignis’ chest, catching his nipples and igniting the heat in his belly. Cruelly, he broke away with a stupid smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing. “Catch ya later, crownie,” he muttered.

Ignis caught him by the arm before he could get out of reach. When his lover turned to him with a question on his lips, Ignis just thought of all the pictures from the reports and the damage numbers from the previous ruby weapons. So, he said, “Be careful, please. Out there.”

Pelna gave him a fiery kiss for his efforts. He pulled away with a bashful grin twisting his mouth and looked at Ignis’ face like he was seeing it for the last time. “Careful, Ignis,” he said softly, looking him dead on, “You’ll get more than you wanted with talk like that.” 

“Sorry,” Ignis said, breaking away from his earnest gaze. He looked back, and the smile hadn’t left Pelna’s face. “Goodnight, then. And good luck,” was his farewell and Pelna left. 

Alone again, he sighed. With his distraction out the door, his mind decided to dump all the pent-up stress on top of his shoulders all at once. He still had to go back to get the car parked by the bar. With a look at the clock, he groaned. It was too early to call it a night, and he felt guilty for leaving the royal vehicle in public like that. So, he dressed quickly and phoned for a taxi ride back to the bar with another indulgent sigh pushing out of him. 

The driver dropped him off on the corner near the closed restaurants. While the other businesses had shut up for the night, the bars down the road were still full of people and merriment at this hour. The walk from the taxi to the car was just long enough to convince him that he needed another drink. He had enough time for one drink before he headed home for the night, he said to himself. He could easily enjoy the company of the crowd for an hour to sober up. 

He picked a different bar this time, something off the beaten path and squished between a diner and bakery. There were only three possible places to sit: one of the two small tables or the counter. The tables were full up, so Ignis took one of the last seats at the bar, rubbing shoulders with the patron seated beside him. “Good evening,” he greeted the man. 

“Evening,” he received gruffly in reply. 

They sat in silence, even well after his drink arrived. It wasn’t a rude or dismissive silence, more a contemplative quiet as the two men nursed their drinks and the nightlife carried on around them. The tiny bar was full of beautiful dark stained wood and low amber lighting. Glass windows behind the bartender gave those at the counter a clear view of the street outside. Ignis watched amorous couples strutting down the street and packs of young friends cackling into the night as they crawled from place to place. 

Left alone to his thoughts, he brooded deeply on the state of his life and the mess he’d need to clean when he got back to work. He worried most for the prince, for his happiness. It was said King Mors and King Regis had a very strained relationship until the day the old king died. He felt sometimes that Regis overcompensated for the failings of his own father and was too sweet on the prince, but he could not begrudge the king for loving his only child. Sadly, as the two got older, the war worsened and pulled the king farther away from his beloved son while the prince’s multiplying responsibilities only added to his problems. It’s also normal for teenagers to seek independence from their parents, but he fears what that may mean for the prince and the king. He sighed, again, and sipped slowly at his drink.

“Feeling alright, over there?” asked his neighbor.

“I’m fine,” Ignis said, turning to face the other man. Ah, another kingsglaive, he thought. They must frequent this part of town. “Yourself? How are you?” he asked more out of politeness than genuine curiosity. 

“Terrible,” was the refreshingly blunt answer. 

He took a moment to inspect his drinking companion, spotting the differences between this glaive and the others he had met. His big green eyes caught Ignis’ attention first, followed by the disaster that was his uniform. If his glaive dalliance was unkempt, this man looked downright disrespectful with his coat slung over his shoulders and a rumpled sleeveless shirt showing off his inked arms. He was the example of a disorderly soldier that all the others tried to copy. He felt dangerous, like Cor, but where the Marshal embodied controlled grace and quiet strength, this man oozed a rebellious rage that taunted anything and everything to try their luck. 

“Want to elaborate on that?” Ignis asked, this time with actual interest.

“Not really. How about you?”

“Just work stress, I suppose.”

“If you’re sure. How’s Rookie doing?”

The question threw him for a loop. “Who?” he asked.

“Sorry, uh, Pelna. I saw you guys through the window,” he gestured with his thumb at the glass.

“Oh,” Ignis said, shortly. “Doing well, I imagine,” he shrugged. “Do you ship out with him tomorrow?” he asked.

“No, not me. He’s not in my unit anymore,” he shrugged. His face said there was more to the story, but Ignis didn’t press for details.

His mouth got the better of him, and he asked, “Will he be alright, where he’s going?”  

His companion paused and stared at Ignis searchingly. Ignis wondered if he recognized him as non-civilian like Pelna had or just brushed it off when he shrugged and responded slowly, “We’re never safe out there. But neither are our people beyond the wall, so we fight anyway. He’s survived a lot, though. Their captain,” here his voice cracked painfully, “will see them through it, I’m sure.”

“For hearth and home,” Ignis muttered the credo and eyed his companion curiously. There was so much neither of them were saying, but the anonymity felt comfortable. “It’s easy to forget what it’s like beyond the wall. I don’t even know why I care so much, honestly. Is that too callous? I did just meet him tonight after all,” he mused aloud. 

“You’re a good person, that’s all,” the glaive answered easily.

“You’re the second person to tell me that tonight,” Ignis smiled, and rested his head on his fist to better view his neighbor. From this angle, he could see the deep crease in his brow and take better stock of the tattoos that covered his face and arms. The ones on his arms had very deliberate placement, and he wondered what they meant, if anything.

“Well, maybe it’s true then,” the man shrugged again, his gaze directed out the window. His eyes followed a group of glaives leaving the bar across the street. When they were out of his view, he turned back to Ignis and said flatly, “Or you’re a Nif spy and you’re gonna sell our secrets to the enemy. Could go either way.”

Ignis laughed at the audacity. Him, of all people, selling royal secrets to Niflheim like some greedy thief in the night. Ridiculous! “Indeed. Well, let’s hope I’m the former then. How about you, soldier? Are you a good person?” he asked, feeling lighter than he had earlier. There was even a smile on his face again.

His mirth earned a careful grin out of his companion, but he made the expression like he had forgotten his face could form that shape. “Well, I’m not a Nif spy, that’s for sure. But a good person?” he made a face as he thought about it. “Jury’s still out on that,” he decided with a thoughtful tilt of head. 

“You’ll have to let me know the verdict,” Ignis said, twirling his empty glass. 

“It might be a while, but I will,” he nodded. He downed the last of his drink and stood carefully from his stool. “Have a nice night, alright? Don’t stress so much,” he commanded and took his leave without waiting for a reply. 

Ignis smirked to himself as he watched him leave. He’d be willing to bet what the jury would say. He’d probably win too. He sat in the bar a little longer to fully sober up. With careful scrutiny, he reviewed his night and decided it had been an awfully long day. When he finally got home and collapsed into bed, his sheets smelled like sex and soldier, and he felt less alone. Sleep came easily.

The next afternoon he finally visited the prince. He opened the door to Noct’s chambers and stood in the doorway, flabbergasted. 

The prince stared back at him with a broom in hand. On the floor, he spied the evidence of his clumsy attempts at cleaning up the broken things from the day before. The table had been righted, the chairs stood solidly on all four legs, and the papers sat neatly in a pile on the counter. On the coffee table a platter held all the broken pieces of the two vases that had unfortunately met the floor. Ignis could just see that Noct had even made his own bed through the doorway to his bedroom.

“Who are you and what have you done with Prince Noctis?” Ignis’ hungover brain decided to say. Ignis crossly disagreed with the choice but couldn’t change it now that it left his mouth.

“Shut up and help me,” Noct grumbled. An embarrassed flush heated his cheeks, but he kept valiantly trying to sweep entirely too much into the little dustpan.

“Where did you even find a broom?” Ignis asked and strode forward to help finish the job. He easily scooped up the bin, emptied it in the nearby trash can and took the broom to sweep up the rest. 

The prince grumbled something that Ignis translated to mean the closet before he slunk over to the table to fiddle with the ceramic shards.

“I’ll get some glue and we can try fixing it, if you like,” Ignis offered gently.

“Yea. Please,” Noct accepted and gave a short thankful nod. He stayed quiet for a moment, just running his fingers over the pieces. “I’m sorry. By the way,” he offered quietly, his words stilted and awkward.

Ignis refrained from frowning, even though he felt it trying to pull his lips downward. He stood, brushed the dirt from his knees, and placed the broom back in the coat closet by the door. “Noct,” he began as he walked to stand beside him, as always, “Kings do not apologize, so I suppose it is fine for me to accept a prince’s apology. You’re forgiven. Though maybe next time, we can handle things a little better,” he finished, placing a hand on his highness’ shoulder.

Noct scoffed but smiled weakly at him. “‘Kay,” he said simply. 

They spent the evening trying to fix the vase and managed to rebuild its base before calling it a night. Ignis reprised the prince’s schedule and reviewed the minutes from the last council meeting to prepare for the meeting the next day. They watched the fireworks for the end of the Founder’s Day celebration from the balcony before Noct got ready to sleep. Just before he left, Ignis felt compelled to offer the dour boy something else of comfort. “I can see if the king’s schedule allows for a rematch for last week’s chess game. How does that sound, your highness?” he suggested lightly.

Noct frowned over his shoulder at his advisor. “You don’t have to treat me like a kid, Iggy,” he grumbled. He turned away quickly then added just before he vanished into his bedroom, “But that would be cool.”

Ignis allowed himself a real smile then closed the door gently. Well, now to make good on his plans. The hour was getting late, but the king’s advisors usually kept long hours during this time of year. He just managed to catch them before they left for the night and managed to get a couple hours free for the King and his son to meet that week. Feeling rather accomplished, he went home with his head high and less stress than he had felt in weeks.

Of course, the easy feeling only lasted so long. It was a few months before anything out of the ordinary happened, and it started off innocently enough. Ignis had a meeting with his majesty to work out the prince’s schedule for the coming celebrations. The princess would turn eighteen next week and the court decided to simultaneously celebrate her second year of freedom from the empire. There was a lot to account for in the coming days: a festival for the oracle’s birthday, a private party for the court held at the Citadel, a ceremony for the royals to show their appreciation to the Kingsglaive that rescued her, and coincidentally, the private celebration for Prince Noctis’ birthday. Unluckily, their birthdays were only four days apart.

Ignis could feel the headache building behind his eyes already. The prince would need to be excused from schoolwork for a few days to account for the sheer number of events in which he needed to appear publicly. He could also hear his highness’ grumbling already at having to attend all these stuffy parties when he just wanted to hang out with his friend, Prompto. That friendship had bloomed beautifully, but Ignis would not deny that the prince used his friend as a form of escapism sometimes. He ran a hair through his hair to relieve a little stress. It only helped a little bit.

“Everything alright, Ignis?” the king asked gently, his paternal gaze assessing Ignis over the small glasses perched on his nose. 

Ignis felt his spine straighten at the direct address. “Yes, your majesty. Just have to do a little finessing with the timetables,” he answered. 

The king gave him a look like he knew the truth anyway, but he let it lie. Instead of pressing further, he looked around Noct’s chambers and seemed happy with the state of his son’s living quarters. His eyes fell on the shelf near the door and his brow creased in curiosity. “Whatever happened to that lovely vase?” he asked.

Ignis did his level best to not flinch at the question. “Which vase would that be, majesty?”

“The blue one, Father’s vase. I thought we placed it there by the door,” he pursed his lips in thought, clearly trying to remember correctly.

“Ah,” Ignis felt himself sweating, “That vase. Unfortunately, there was a little accident and it fell. We’ve kept the pieces, though,” he explained. One did not lie to the King, after all, at least not complete lies. 

“Oh, that’s a shame,” the king frowned minutely, but did not seem overly bothered. “I actually liked that one. Ah well,” he let it go and they carried on working on the prince’s schedule. It was odd for the king himself to be here doing this, but Ignis had a feeling he wanted to make sure he had time with his son for his birthday. It was the only time of year the king would personally interfere with his son’s schedule. 

When they had hashed out the coming week well enough including some time for the father and son to spend together, the king sat back with a fresh cup of tea brought by the maid. He thanked her gently, chuckling at her demure blush when he addressed her directly. All new staff had that response to the king’s amiable nature. It didn’t help that he enjoyed breaking their expectations with his genuine kindness. After she left, King Regis sipped at his tea and held the cup close to his chest to enjoy its fragrance. Still with a gentle, open countenance, he said quite abruptly, “Ignis, I think I am dying.” 

Ignis jolted hard enough to spill tea all over the table. “Sorry?” he apologized, all his synapses firing to try and compute the words he just heard.

“Yes, I feel it,” the king carried on, looking at his fingers. There was a shake there that had not been there before. How had Ignis missed that? “I don’t know how long I have left if I must keep the wall going. I wanted to end this war before Noct had to assume the throne, but I am starting to think that won’t be possible. Which is a failure on my part, Ignis, it truly is,” he said and gripped his hand in a tight fist. “Noctis has so much before him and this war will only get in the way,” the king sighed, and Ignis had never seen him look so weary, so old , as he did right then.

Ignis shook off his violent surprise and zeroed in that last statement. “What do you mean, your majesty? What lies before him?” Ignis asked. He put his cup down lest the next revelation give him another embarrassing reaction.

The king looked out the window for a moment, basking in the sunlight. His wizened face, and just when had it gotten that way, looked sad, miserably so, when he turned back to look at his son’s advisor. “His destiny, Ignis. He is the Chosen King that will save our star from the darkness,” he explained simply as if it wasn’t the most shocking news of the century. “I’ve known since he was a small boy. I’ve tried to give him a normal life for as long as possible, but I think we’re out of time,” he continued. He looked so much like the loving father today, instead of the monarch, and Ignis could barely stand to witness the raw sadness on his face.       

Ignis felt like pieces of a puzzle were coming together in his mind. He could see the big picture that had been building over the years from a multitude of curious little events: the prince convalescing in Tenebrae, the King meeting with the Oracle while visiting the western province, the formation of the Kingsglaive to actively push back the empire, the strain put on the monarch from using more magic for the wall and the glaive, the rescue of the princess from her imperial prison, and now, the oddly soft life granted the prince despite being heir to the throne. “What happens now?” he asked, looking to his gentle ruler for guidance.

Regis sighed, but he pulled Noctis’ schedule closer to himself. “I will tell him myself, of course, but for now, I’d like him to enjoy his birthday. We’ll revisit this in a month or so, when I have found the courage to speak frankly,” he said as he penned something into a free block of Noct’s schedule a few weeks from now. He stood carefully, and this time, Ignis noticed the stiffness in the man’s body and the tightness in his face as he came to his full height. “We’ll keep this between us for now,” he smiled, and the sun caught the gray at his temples, highlighting the premature aging of his king. 

Before the king left, Ignis carefully asked, “Why me, sire? Why tell me all this now, before the prince?” 

The king’s hand settled on the handle of the door, and he looked skyward in search of an answer. Having found it, he turned to Ignis and said, “To gain courage and prepare for the real thing.” He smiled again, a little more cheekily than the previous one, and Ignis understood. 

“Of course, your majesty. Thank you,” Ignis said and bowed deeply at the waist until he heard the click of the door. He retained enough dignity to sit in his chair delicately, but it fell apart when he looked at Noct’s schedule and read what the king had written. 

Final chess match with Noct 9/26 at 6pm.

Chapter Text

The first time it happened, Harry lost control at the sight of his dead sister under the boughs of the family guava tree. It took Nyx an hour to coax him back from the brink of wherever he went. Harry himself only remembers the red and the rage and the smells of burning things. The second time, he watched the bullets pierce the body of his young lover, felt the warm blood on his cheek, and couldn’t remember what happened after that. All they told him was that they won. It was all that mattered anyway. His power inspired his comrades to sing loud songs about reclaiming their country and defeating the empire. He almost felt that hope himself. With his blessing of magic, he might help them win, right?

The third time happened without warning. Some survivors had come together to prepare a meal for the warriors of Jonas’ resistance force. The warriors put down their arms for a moment of rest, and the civilians labored with love to show their appreciation. Of course, they were too slow to react when MTs dropped from the sky and sprayed heavy fire into the feast, blowing holes into the moment of peace. The little girl passing out the roast boar skewers died reaching out to him with a bullet through her brain. She didn’t even have the chance to scream. When he came back to his senses, his comrades looked at him with fear, and he learned that he killed two of his own because they were in the way of his revenge. They weren’t alone in how they felt. The power scared him, too.

When Ardyn sealed his magic, a part of him felt relief. He had no need to fear the red haze that took his sanity, and he’d have the king’s magic to replace it. It was a better choice, the right choice, for himself and his homeland. Sure, the lackluster spells he could conjure paled in comparison to the stories of his own power, but at least, it kept his comrades safe from him. Besides, he made it pretty damn far with those puny fireballs, thank you very much. They had served him well.

But now? The cracks in the seal grew every day. He could feel the old power trickling back into his body, just waiting for an opportunity. The stress of the mourning and the war brought the boiling anger closer to the surface, peeling away at his meager control. It was just a matter of time really before it happened again. At least there were no more comrades to get in the way.

A gasp, loud and jarring erupted in the predawn darkness. It was his own. He came back to himself suddenly, the awareness painful and overwhelming in its clarity. Breathe. He took another breath, less desperate but still too loud. Assess. The surrounding destruction did little to calm him. He focused instead on facts.

A Nif base brought to its knees. No surviving soldiers in sight. Magitek smoldered and sparked uselessly on the ground. The prevailing odor of blood and oil overpowered all other smells, further evidencing the loss of living and non-living soldiers. Choking smoke sent a dark signal into the sky probably visible for miles in every direction.

He had lost control. For the first time in years, he had lost himself to anger and magic and conflict. Harry panicked at the realization. Did the empire know about his power now? Were there survivors able to report back to their superiors? Was he on the fast track to becoming some Nif experiment? He just brought himself down from hyperventilating with one thought: no backup had come. He saw no vehicles or ships outside the base, nor an abnormal number of dead soldiers for the size of the base. Perhaps, no one survived his meltdown last night.

He almost laughed. Maybe, he even smiled a little crookedly at the irony. Ardyn and Jonas had worried about the Nifs catching wind of his magic, fearing for his safety, but all along, it was the Nifs that needed to worry about Harry. What would the king do if he knew of his power? Would he be his personal hitman, directed here and there like a loyal attack dog to take out his enemies on command? Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows.

Luca. Could he have been saved? Was he strong enough then to charge in and win, as he could apparently do now? No. He would have died too. Luca’s sacrifice had been the push to break the seal. If he hadn’t died for them, Harry would still be struggling to use the king’s magic. He should be grateful, he supposed, to have the strength to avenge him. He scoffed. Grateful? As if. 

The past two years alone had given him a lot of time to think if nothing else. He wondered at times, when things were bleak and depressing, if he’d just die in the jungle one day without anyone knowing he was gone. All his suffering and all the killing would culminate in his pointless death with nothing but the empty diamonds on his arm to show for his effort. He’d rot away in the motherland with only her tearful rain to mourn him. Cor would have to mark him MIA, stamping his record and filing it away forever. Nyx already mourned him, so it would be no different for him. Luca’s soul would never find peace.

Harry exhaled through his lips. His weary feet refused to hold him any longer, and he crashed to his knees in the mud. More than anything, he just wanted peace for himself. How many times had he ignored that invasive, selfish thought? At least once a day it flew around his brain and collided with all the memories of Luca, all the lost smiles and remembered romance. When his rage and passion for vengeance had simmered down, he’d think, just as he did right now, that he made a mistake. That everyone had been right. He was too young to mourn anyone. Luca had died for him to live, so where was the sense in turning around and dying for his memory? There wasn’t any, was there? Luca. Harry could weep if he had the tears left.

What did you think then? What were the thoughts in your head when you hatched that stupid scheme? How smug were you when it worked, just as you planned? 

Did you envision this? You asked for vengeance, but was that really true? Was this what you wanted? 

Harry could still feel the wrongness from that dream where he vowed to Luca’s soul to mourn him. Maybe, his grief had created the dream. Maybe, he had put himself on this path. The answer had been there the whole time: Luca would never have asked this of him. His lover would have wanted him to live and survive. Why else would he sacrifice himself like that?

Harry laughed then, brokenly, at the audacity of it all. Of course. Of course , that was it, wasn’t it? Luca wanted him to live! 

One last cackle shook him, and he hungrily drew in oxygen. Dawn broke, and all its beautiful colors washed over him, baptizing him. Born anew with his revelation, he admired the weightless sensation of peace. 

He’d get his vengeance and take back his life. Trial be damned, he vowed to himself, he was going to live.  

For now, though, he needed a hot bath, food, and sleep. He trudged out of the smoldering wreck of a base, leaving behind all the broken bodies and scorched pools of blood. When he reached his camp in the forest, he threw away his clothes and dove into a nearby stream to wash away the sweat and grime from his work. The water cleansed it all, even the pent-up stress he had carried after accepting the trial two years ago. He emerged from the water a new man and for the first time in a long time, he went to sleep as soon as his head hit the lumpy rucksack that he called a pillow. 

That night, he dreamed. Tree boughs curved around a clearing like the graceful arms of the Mother herself. In the center of it, Leo faced him with his spear planted in the earth. His keen eyes glittered pleasantly and invited him closer without a single spoken word. In the woods around them, the moon would catch the eyes of beasts watching them from the dark. A far-off howl, high and lonely, blew through the trees.

Harry felt no fear. When he stood before Leo, he reached for the spear on his back, Luca’s spear, and mirrored the old man as he stabbed its end into the ground.

“You have an answer for me now,” Leo said.

Harry gripped the spear tighter. “I do,” he answered and felt the same weightless revelation from that morning as he gathered his words to answer.

Leo waited patiently.

Another howl rose in answer to the first. It lifted his spirits and gave him the courage to say his piece.

“I’m going to live, Leo,” he finally said. “I’m sick and tired of feeling like this and hurting so bad that I can’t think of anything but him. He’s always in my head. I want to put him to rest, so I can rest, too. I know how this normally goes, you know? I get it now, what you said. After I bury the ones that killed him, I’ll bury myself right beside them because I’ll have nothing left to live for. But that’s not right, not for me. I may die, I can’t deny it. But I won’t die on purpose. I’ll make them work for it, make them destroy every piece of me. And until they get me, things are going to change. I’ve lost so many people that I care about and watched even more than that die in this stupid war. I owe it to them to live the life that was taken from them,” he finished.

A chorus of howls sang from the trees as if in reply. Leo reached over and gripped his shoulder proudly. “Good answer, son,” he said, smiling approvingly. The old man handed over a small pot, like the kind village women use to store honey or cream. Odd glyphs were carved into its sides, and a suspicious glow peeked out between the vessel’s body and its lid. 

Harry took it gently. He felt the sensation of liquid sloshing inside it and carefully kept it upright in his hand.  

“Seek the elder who marked you. She will give you the guidance you need,” Leo told him, retracting the hand from his shoulder. The edges of the world went hazy the same way it usually did when he left a vision from angel blooms. “Hold fast to that conviction, lad. I wasn’t looking for any specific answer so long as you believed every word you told me,” the old man shrugged.

“What? What do you mean?” Harry asked, a bit blindsided by the honesty.

Another far-off howl, lonelier and longer than the first, cut through the air. As the dream fizzled out, Harry heard Leo’s answer quite plainly. “Because if you don't have the conviction to see this through, the next rite will kill you. It’ll eat you alive,” he warned, and the dream faded away.

When he awoke, he clutched the little pot close. It had stopped glowing. After packing his meager camp away, he sped through the jungle on his bike to see the elder. The trees seemed to part for him and the wind at his back urged him forward. Perhaps the Mother herself blessed his journey. He was as devout as any man of the spear, and as his wheels turned in the mud, he keenly felt the presence of something watching over him. Something ancient. He just hoped, whatever it may be, that it planned to help him.

A loud, joyful party carried on around him. Couples danced closely, heads and bodies pressed together and swaying to a heated rhythm. The usual rabble of unkempt soldiers cheered over an arm-wrestling match. Cups slammed together in rattling toasts to health, happiness, and the promise of rain.

Ignis may as well have been at home for how little he noticed the festivities. He’d tried all night to drown himself in drink, but he only succeeded in hearing the king’s words taunt him from memory. Gods be good, the man was dying, and here was Ignis, drunk in the slums like a deadbeat. He would laugh if he had the energy, but he could barely lift his head from the bar. Noctis would barely recognize him with his rumpled shirt, discarded jacket, and missing glasses.

“You don’t look so good, Ignis,” Pelna smiled. He slid over a glass of water until it was in Ignis’ line of sight. “What’s got you so down?” his thoughtful soldier asked. He took up the spot next to his lover and rested his head on his arms to be on the drunk man’s level. He was too charming for his own good if you asked Ignis.

For his part, Ignis just indulged in a sigh as he always did when out with Pelna. “A friend of mine is sick. Dying actually. I don’t know what to do, Pelna. What will I do when he’s gone?” he rambled, the alcohol and pleasant company drawing most of the truth out of him.

Pelna lifted a hand to hold Ignis’ face. His skin was rough, like sandpaper, but he kept his touch featherlight. “You’re going to stay with them. And when they’re gone, you’re going to let them go,” he explained. In his eyes, Ignis could feel the truth of those words as a lived experience. “And then, if you let me, I’ll be here for you,” he said and smiled just a bit. 

It dragged a smile from him, he’d admit it. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, soldier. This is only our third date,” Ignis chided. Regardless of his words though, he grabbed Pelna’s hand and kissed his battle-scarred fingers. “Thank you,” he whispered. He did not dare to look at his companion, but he accepted the squeeze of his fingers.

“Anytime, love,” Pelna whispered back. His eyes took on that mischievous glint, and he said, “Now, I remember a certain someone agreeing to one dance, and I am here to collect.”

Ignis raised a very offended eyebrow. “Are you calling me a liar, Pelna Khara of the Kingsglaive?” he demanded. 

“And what if I am, crownie?” Pelna smirked.

“You best take that back. I’ll not have you ruining my reputation, sir,” Ignis demanded. He stood unsteadily, heavily leaning on Pelna the whole way as he pulled them to the crowd of dancers. They danced clumsily, and finally, Ignis let himself laugh. He took Pelna’s advice to heart and let it give him the reassurance he needed. He would stand by the king until the end. But tonight, he would just be a man on a date.

Just as the song came to an end, all too soon in Ignis’ opinion, it started to rain. It was no gentle drizzle either, but a shower of a downpour that soaked them through. The crowd cheered and the music kicked up higher to match the roar of the water falling upon them. The dancing continued until the rain petered out an hour later. All the people drifted away finally, wrapping themselves in towels, coats, and blankets, whatever they had to hand. Pelna took off his coat and wrapped it around Ignis, refusing to take no for an answer.

Pelna’s unit waved the pair off when the soldier said his farewells, throwing jokes about the crownie being more important than them. The captain bid them a good night with a wink, and the pair meandered down the road towards Ignis’ apartment building. 

“I thought the rain would drive everyone home. If anything, it made them stay longer,” Ignis wondered. He tugged Pelna’s coat a little closer to better insulate his body.

“It’s a galahdian thing. They see the rain as a gift of the goddess, so it was like she was blessing their party,” his date explained.

“Hm. Is Leviathan their patron goddess?” Ignis asked. She was the goddess usually associated with water, after all.

“No, they worship other gods in addition to the Six. Their great goddess is Audumbla. They call her the Mother,” he said.

“I never knew,” Ignis mused. “In Tenebrae, Shiva is the patron goddess. Snowy weather is not typically a blessing though,” he rambled. 

“Are you from Tenebrae, originally?” Pelna asked. He slyly tucked an arm around Ignis as they crossed the street. There was no one around to see them at this hour, anyway.

“My family were, yes. I was born there, but we moved here when I was very little. I was homeschooled by my father, so I never got the chance to lose my accent,” he explained. 

“Well, it does make you more attractive,” Pelna teased.

“Shut it,” Ignis hissed, playfully shoving his shoulder into his lover’s side. “How did you learn all that, anyway? The bits about the gods. I thought you were from Insomnia?”

“The guys in my unit are from everywhere. We have, uh, had , some guys from Galahd. They love telling stories the most, so I know a lot about their homeland. We’ve only got one guy from the North now. My captain, actually, Nyx Ulric,” Pelna said, looking to the side as he said it.

Ignis reached out and grabbed his companion’s hand. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said softly.

Pelna gave his hand a squeeze as he had before. They walked in silence for a moment. Then, as if divulging a great secret, he said, “They were in love, the other two from Galahd. I don’t know how they dodged a court-martial, but they made it work somehow. They looked after all of us, me especially if I’m honest. One died to protect us, and the other left us shortly after that. I miss them sometimes, like at the party tonight. They would have loved the fête.”

“They sound wonderful.

“Yea. They were.”

A misty drizzle hung in the afterglow of the rain and tickled their faces. The chill brought them closer together, for the warmth of course. 

“This is me,” Ignis said as they reached his building. “Would you like to come up?” he offered.

Pelna shook his head gently. He stole a lingering kiss instead. “We’re shipping out in a few hours. I need some sleep before we hit the road again,” he explained with an apologetic expression and his usual dimpled grin. “But,” he dragged the word out and pulled Ignis against himself, “How about we plan for a little dinner and a lot of alone time next Tuesday?” 

“So soon? That’s a quick turnaround.”

“Yea, we have this ceremony thing with the princess that day, so we have a quick mission before then. You know how much the royals love their ceremonies,” he shrugged. “So, how about it? Is it a date?” Pelna asked, that damn dimple making a cheeky appearance.

Ignis turned his head to think. That smitten look on Pelna’s face always made his knees a bit weak. “Well, I suppose that would be alright,” he agreed.

Pelna grabbed him and swung him around while shouting, “He said yes!” for all to hear.

Ignis tried to swat him, but he just laughed instead as Pelna kept swinging him about with that stupid grin on his face. Yes, it was definitely a date.

The little village on the hill welcomed him as he rode in to see their elder. The children crowded around him, cheering at his return. It was a triumph to come back alive, and they celebrated it every time. Their warm little hands tugged at his trouser legs, but they made sure to respect his mourning sash. He patted their heads, listened to their overlapping voices, and turned a blind eye to the ones pilfering snacks from his pack. For once, he enjoyed their noise. It felt like life itself, somehow. He hauled one of the smaller boys onto his shoulders and walked his gaggle of admirers back to their mothers.

They waved and watched him march up the hill to the temple. 

He took the stone stairs two at a time. The higher he climbed, the lighter he felt. He had done it. He had fulfilled the first rite. Leo gave his blessing! By the mother of all, he had really done it!

On the other side of the heavy door, the elder sat on her cushion. “I think that’s the first smile I’ve seen on you, lad. Do you have something for me, then?” she asked, grinning around her pipe.

“I do. Here,” he said and carefully extracted the little jar from a pouch on his hip. 

When the little old woman saw it, she nearly fell off her cushion. Her hands trembled as she took the small thing from his hands, cradling it delicately.  “I think I’m getting too old for whatever the gods have in store for you, lad,” she breathed in a strained voice. 

“Is it bad?” Harry asked, a little nervous at her reaction.

“No. Nothing bad. Well, nothing bad yet at least,” she murmured nearly to herself. Her old eyes scoured the runes around the jar’s edge, and she used her fingers to feel out the small details that she could not see. “In your vision, were there any animals?” she asked.

Harry heard a reverb of the howling in his head. “Wolves,” he replied.

Her cloudy eyes focused on him, then turned to the towering statue of Fenrir behind her. That eerie eye looked down at them as usual, and she shook her head as if to clear it of evil thoughts.  “I am definitely too old for this,” she sighed. Her shaky hand passed the little jar back to him. “Travel to the mountaintop tomorrow. Pour this at the feet of Fenrir’s Voice, and pray,” were her instructions.

“And then?”

“Then you wait,” she said, voice as dull as a brick. 

“Wait? Wait for what?” Harry questioned, feeling a little off-kilter.

“Fenrir’s blessing, what else?” She puffed out a perfect ring, unperturbed.

“How will I know?” 

“You’ll know. Now get some rest. Sleep in a real bed tonight. Maybe take a bath, too. You smell like shit, lad,” she scolded and poked her pipe at him for emphasis. 

He rubbed the sore spot on his arm and scampered out of the temple. A surreptitious sniff of his shirt confirmed the need for a bath, and he headed down the stairs to the village proper.

One of the children from before ran over and tugged him along to her house. Her little family lived next to the temple and graciously offered to let him stay for the night. After an excellent bath, he joined them for dinner. It was shockingly pleasant. 

The sight of the little girl helping her mother prepare the meal warmed his tired heart. He suffered no painful memories when the young man with thin ink on his face and arms came home with fresh boar meat from the village hunt. He felt strangely content to help the smallest child, a little boy too young to even hold a spear, wash up after the meal. He lifted him up to put dishes away in the tall cupboards and gently returned him to solid ground when they finished their work. 

When he lay down that night, he focused on the odd satisfaction making itself at home in his chest. This little family was safe. He had destroyed all nearby threats, and they lived their lives uninterrupted by imperial hostilities. He had even completed the first rite. He could move on with the trial, move closer to a life of his own. This was living, wasn’t it? It had to be. It was nice.

He slept peacefully that night.

The next morning, the trees blocked out most of the early sunshine as he hiked up the mountain behind the temple. When he reached the peak, a lush meadow opened up with Fenrir’s Voice in the center surrounded by the flowers of the season. The carved stone depicted the wolf god howling majestically to the sky. A master hand had carved each detail down to the whiskers by his smooth nose. 

Harry heard the echoes of the howls from his dream as he pulled the little jar from his pouch. It took some work, but the lid popped off after he tugged and twisted at it for a bit. The liquid inside was white and creamy like milk. He stuck his nose into the jar to smell it, and sure enough, it had to be milk. He gave the jar a dubious look. What the hell was milk going to do?

Fuck it, he decided. With a shrug, he poured the milk on the feet of the statue, shaking out the last few drops to be thorough. Nothing happened. So, he prayed. He didn’t know what to pray for, so he just asked for the strength to complete his trial. He hoped the god was listening. He also hoped the elder hadn’t lost her touch and sent him on some useless errand. 

Nothing to do now but hurry up and wait.

Gods above, he hated waiting.

The ceremony for the glaive unit that rescued the princess was short and to the point. Each man received a medal from the king and a handshake from the princess. At the end of the ceremony, two medals remained on the velvet stand. The princess looked close to weeping when she saw them. The men bowed their heads and turned away. The king carefully closed their lids and carried on with the ceremony.

Ignis watched all of this from beside the prince. He watched the king show genuine affection for the men in the room and could see the respect in the eyes of the ones he commanded. Not for the first time, Ignis wondered how he could teach Noctis to have the same dignity as his father. To his frustration, the prince stood slouched with his hands deep in his trousers. At least he had a neutral expression on his face. Ignis thanked every god he could name for small mercies. 

When the ceremony came to a close, the king expressed his gratitude for their service. He praised their bravery, citing that many had died before them in trying to save the princess, but only their unit made it home. Afterward, the princess prayed over them all, asking the gods for the continued safety of the men who saved her from the iron fist of the empire. The men filed out when dismissed, and the two medals remained on their pedestal. Ignis understood something in that moment that perhaps he did not want to see: the mortality of the glaives laid bare. He did his best to ignore that little revelation until a better time to process it. 

With his obligatory appearance complete, the prince slunk off without another word.

“There he goes,” Ignis sighed. He longed for the day the prince outgrew his teenage rebellion. It couldn’t come fast enough, to be honest. 

“Is my son causing you trouble, Ignis?” the king’s jovial voice pulled him from his internal despair.

“No, your grace. Nothing more than normal,” he acquiesced when the king shot him a look.

“He is at that age,” the monarch agreed. “For once his sulking works in my favor. Would you be free to talk in private, Ignis?” King Regis asked.

“Of course, your majesty. Whenever you are ready, I am available,” Ignis said, bowing a little at the waist.

“Excellent. No time like the present!” he called. “Good night, my lady,” he bid the princess who curtsied before making her exit. The king immediately walked to the small office connected to the throne room.

Ignis just spied Clarus taking up his post at the door before it fully closed. That was when he realized he was fully alone with the king in his private study. He stood a little straighter if that was even possible.

Regis poured two drinks into delicate glasses. “I’ll be blunt, Ignis. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Your majesty?” he inquired. He took the proffered glass and drank when the king did as well.

Regis ushered him to a cushy armchair and sat in its twin beside a fireplace with a small fire glowing in the grates. He hesitated to speak, visibly starting and stopping to vocalize a sentence. Finally, he said, “I am sending a diplomatic contingent to Galahd in a few days. I myself cannot afford to leave, not if I want to maintain the wall, and I am not ready to send Noct close to the conflict with Niflheim. Even if the southern isles are relatively free of any imperial presence, he just isn’t ready. I will be sending a couple of councilmen as well as a couple of units of Kingsglaive for protection. But I need someone to directly represent the crown. And I need that person to be you, Ignis.” 

“Me, your grace? Would not your own advisor be a better choice?” Ignis asked. 

“He would if the man wasn’t nearly eighty years old,” the king said, smiling a little. He had this curious skill of smiling contritely, easily conveying his silent apologies. “I highly doubt he would survive the jungle, with or without the threat of an attack,” he explained.

“Quite right,” Ignis agreed. He felt a little sweat on his brow as he contemplated the risks. The jungle was infamously dangerous. Perhaps the tales were exaggerated of oversized beasts and hordes of daemons, but the cold facts of military reports spoke the truth about the imperial threat. Even with the south of the region relatively free, it wasn’t without its perils. And yet, the king needed him, asked him specifically, to fulfill this role. What else was there to say? “I am in your service, your grace,” he said, bowing as deeply as his chair would allow. “But I do have a condition,” he said.

“Oh?” the king’s eyes nearly sparkled with curiosity.

Ignis licked his lips, taking a moment to find the right words. “I will do this for you, but please don’t stop your games with his highness. I know I have no right to ask, but I feel that I must speak my mind this time. I think he still needs that time with you, your grace. Now, more than ever,” Ignis did his best to convey with his eyes what he left unsaid. 

The king sat back and fiddled a bit with his glass. He took another sip of his drink. His eyes searched Ignis’ face, and Ignis could see on his face that he was thinking about it. After a silent moment, the king finally said, “Alright. If that’s your condition, I will concede. Maybe you’re right. I might have been hasty in that decision after all.” 

A weight lifted from Ignis’ shoulders when the king agreed. He hated to think how sour, or perhaps even lonely, the prince would have been without the matches. “Thank you. Truly,” he breathed, floating a little high on the relief.

The king nodded softly. “Now, I know it is rather sudden. The request for aid came just today, and we want to send supplies as quickly as possible. My best glaive unit just happens to be available as well,” the king said. His eyes glittered cheerily at the happy coincidence. “I will arrange for a temporary advisor to help Noctis with his duties while you are away. He will be well looked after in your absence, I assure you. Though, I am sure we will all look forward to your return,” his majesty said.

The subtle praise for his service to Noctis got a twitch of a smile to pass over his face. He already knew that Noctis would have his replacement running all over the city. It’s what the prince did every time Ignis had to leave his side for longer than a couple of days. “Thank you, your grace. If it pleases you, I will head home to pack and make arrangements,” Ignis said, placing his empty glass on the sideboard between them. 

The king stood, Ignis following the action, and reached out to gently hold Ignis’ elbow. “Of course. See to your affairs. I’ll have Cor forward the details to you tonight. Good night, Ignis. And thank you,” he said genuinely, smiling contritely again.

“I am happy to be of assistance, your grace,” Ignis bowed again and left the gentle king alone in his study. 

Well, this was not on his agenda for the week. He left the citadel lost in thought. Inside he ran circles around the information all the while writing and rewriting a mental list of what to pack. By the time he reached his apartment, he had the list well-tailored to a long trip from home. He had just pulled down his large suitcase when he heard a knock, of all things, at the door. A peek at the clock showed the time as a little after eight o'clock. It was too late for work, and he wasn’t expecting company of any sort. Not with the prince’s schedule to prepare and the laundry to do, anyway. 

When he got to the door, he heard another knock, louder this time. It wasn’t an insistent or rude noise, just declarative in its delivery. He peeked through the peephole but could only really make out a dark head of hair and a dark uniform. Well, that could be anyone really. He really didn’t have time for a summons back to the citadel. In fact, he really hoped it wasn’t a summons back to the citadel. He pulled the door open with a sigh, fighting the childish urge to cross his fingers.

“Yo!” came the voice.

“Pelna,” spilled from Ignis’ lips at the sight of him in his usual rumpled uniform. It wouldn’t be a kingsglaive if he wasn’t at least a little sloppy. “What are you doing here?” he asked. Not that he wasn’t glad to see the man, though. Judging by the look on his face, he definitely wasn’t going to drag Ignis back to work.

“You forgot, huh? You know! You, me, dinner, alone time?” he tried, fishing for the right trigger word to jog Ignis’ memory.

“Oh, right! Oh gods, I completely forgot, I’m so sorry,” he apologized, sagging a little against the doorframe in embarrassment. 

Pelna just laughed a little and rolled his eyes. “Well, where should we go?”

“Oh, I, uh,” Ignis looked back at his open suitcase and the hamper full of dirty clothes. “I wish I could,” he said, trying to emulate the king’s contrite grin. It probably didn’t work as well.

“Hmm, what have you got back there?” Pelna asked slyly, trying to peek around Ignis. “You’re not hiding some naked man back there, would you?” he raised an eyebrow as he poked at his lover’s chest.

Ignis couldn’t help but smile at his antics. “I don’t know if it’s just one man in there-” he broke off with a chuckle when Pelna shoved past him and rushed to his room. He followed behind and watched as his soldier made a show of opening the closet and looking under the bed.

“Well, looks like you’re definitely fucking with me,” he grinned as he stood. In three big steps, he had Ignis pressed against a wall, breathing his air. “Now the question is this: what are you actually hiding?” he murmured against Ignis’ lips.

The closeness distracted him enough that he couldn’t stop the subconscious flick of his eyes to the ground.

Crafty Pelna caught the look and spotted the suitcase. He backed off a step, letting Ignis have some space. “You’re leaving?” he asked. He had that look full of questions, usually too numerous to answer all at once.

“Yes,” he said simply.

A beep from his phone punctuated the word, most likely the information from Cor.

He dug in his pocket, confirmed the message, then flipped the phone around for Pelna to see.

Pelna took the device. He read through it at lightspeed, his eyes darting across the message with peculiar familiarity. “Huh, that’s not what I expected,” he said after handing back the phone.

“What’s that?”

“We’re shipping out together.”

“Really? Well, I feel safer already.”

“You shouldn’t.”

That drew Ignis up short. “What do you mean? You’ll be there. There will be more security, and we’re going to the safest island, right?” he asked.

Pelna shrugged. He caught Ignis’ eyes briefly before continuing to stare a hole in the floor. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I kind of hate this, you know,” he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“What’s wrong?” Ignis asked, coming closer, trying to touch him, but not knowing how.

Pelna looked at him, really looked him over. He pointed at the bed in askance and plopped down when Ignis nodded. “I like that you’re from Insomnia. I like that you’re always with the prince at the Citadel. I like that you don’t have to go out in the field. Those things are important to me,” he started. 

Ignis came to sit next to him, not too close and not too far either. 

Pelna picked at a worn spot on his sleeve. “I like that you’re safe,” he whispered.

When Ignis pulled him close, Pelna held on for dear life. “It will be alright. I can defend myself. I can use the king’s magic, same as you. I can take care of myself. And you’ll be there if I need it,” he said, trying to assuage his lover.

“You’re right. I know. I’ve just- It’s that-” he tried to say but gave up after a few tries. He used his bulkier body to pull them down to the bed. They arranged themselves into something more comfortable. 

Ignis ran his hands through Pelna’s hair, remembering how it felt when his lover did that for him. He hoped it was just as comforting. He also ignored his laundry, empty suitcase, and rumbling stomach. 

It took a few minutes for Pelna to make words again. When he did, he took a big breath and let it out first. Then, he said, “I don’t know where I’m from. Like, where I was born, you know? I grew up in an orphanage here in the city. So, theoretically speaking, I could be from anywhere. It’s why I like learning about other places. I could be from there, you know?” He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. “My point is that I want a home. I want a place to belong. And maybe, that place is with you?” he asked, his voice cracking a little with the amount of emotion he tried to hide. He was red to his ears, too.

It was a lot to hear. Probably spoken too soon, as well. Ignis didn’t know if he was ready for that, now or ever. His number one obligation was the prince, and would always be the prince. But, he couldn’t deny how genuine it sounded, how heartfelt. He shuffled closer, pulling Pelna tighter against himself. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know yet,” he said. He felt Pelna deflate against him, a slight tremble jittering his shoulders. “But I would like the chance to find out,” he offered. 

The kiss was good. It wasn’t hot or needy, but just really nice. It led to a night of neglected laundry and a still-rather-empty suitcase, but it wasn’t bad either.

Chapter Text

“This new campaign you propose is, at best, precarious,” sniped the High Commander. He helmed the war room council from the head of the map table. His blank face clearly expressed how little confidence he had in the plan.

That suited Ravus just fine. It would be a pleasure to prove him wrong. “Why did we fail in Galahd? Truly, why do we continue to fail in Galahd?” he countered. He stood his ground against the roomful of disgruntled faces and wounded pride. “No one knows? Let me explain then,” he said. He took three intrusive steps to stand just beside the High Commander and spread his hand over the archipelago that continued to block out every attempted invasion.

The High Commander sniffed loudly. Tellingly, he refused to budge from his place of honor.

 “We aren’t fighting them on their terms. We aren’t looking for new strategies. We aren’t learning from our mistakes ,” he hissed. The brutality of his words stepped on the toes of every pair of feet in the room. Good, they should be angry, Ravus thought. Let them be just as angry as he is with their failures. “I won’t suffer another full campaign of these bootless islanders swatting us away like flies. We are nothing more than a nuisance to them, as in us, the Imperial Army . Doesn’t that just turn your bellies?” he seethed. 

A few Commanders muttered to each other. None of them made a move to interrupt his tirade.

Ravus eased his posture and lowered the heat burning inside him. “The jungle is no place for frontal assaults or long files of ground troops. The very trees eat us alive, never mind the Insomnian troops lurking between them,” he explained. “I propose we deploy the heretofore under-utilized Airborne Units to fight fire with fire. The terrain alone empowers the enemy’s hit-and-run tactics, and I propose we utilize a similar advantage.”

The Commander of the 4th Army Corps screwed his face up sourly. “Of course, we never use them. The Airborne Units are nothing but mercenaries and sky pirates. How can we trust them not to loot and pillage instead of following orders? They are unorthodox, unruly, and undisciplined,” he said, spewing his worthless opinion to all.

“Yes, Commander, thank you. Unorthodox is the right word. Traditional strategy has failed time and again if you haven’t been paying attention. If we want to win, we need something a little unorthodox,” Ravus said. He enjoyed the color that blossomed on the commander’s cheeks. “I understand your hesitation as well as your opinion of these particular units; therefore, I also propose a noncommittal approach, a test run if you will.” 

The High Commander gave Ravus a long, inscrutable look. Finally, he uncrossed his arms and said, “Explain.”

Ravus nodded and motioned for the Commodore to step forward. Aranea Highwind took her place at his side, in full armor for effect. “In one battle we will break their leadership, capture foreign dignitaries, and gain a defensible foothold in enemy territory,” he pledged. 

“Preposterous!” the Commander of the 4th sputtered.

The High Commander held up a hand before anyone else could offer additional opinions. He turned to face Ravus. “One battle, then, Deputy Commander Fleuret.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ravus said. One battle was all he would need. He’d make sure of it.

The ferry ride over to the capital was crowded. Nyx positioned his men around the deck, one for each dignitary with the rest playing lookout over the ship and the sea. His unit had some experience with escort missions, and a glowing success to boot. He knew why they had this job. The subtext in the mission briefing was quite clear: this was going to get nasty.  

“All’s well?” asked Cor, stepping beside him to look over the open water.

And hadn’t that been a surprise? The Marshal didn’t do field work these days. With full command over the Kingsglaive and the Crownsguard, he had his hands full just playing war general. Yet, here he was, in the flesh. It didn’t smell right, in Nyx’s opinion. Didn’t smell right at all. He rolled his shoulders to help relieve some tension, then said, “Well enough.”

Cor snorted, crossing his arms as he looked back at the boat. 

Nyx looked over too, eyeing the second suspicious item on this mission. 

The innermost transport truck sat innocuously on the deck. The briefing specifically called attention to protecting the contents of that truck above all else. Even if the relief supplies were destroyed and the dignitaries assassinated, nothing could be allowed to happen to the contents of that specific truck. But, the real catch, no one had said what the truck contained. Not even Cor knew what it contained, and if that wasn’t a red flag, he didn’t know what was.

It had Nyx itching for a cigarette and a two-week vacation. He gave another sweep over the deck, checking that each dignitary still had a guard and that no one was sleeping on the job. He spied Rookie standing a respectable distance from his assigned man, but the worrywart was too busy mooning over his boyfriend standing by the bow. Well, it was more like stressing in his boyfriend’s direction. It'd be best to nip that in the bud. “Excuse me, Marshal,” he said and turned away when the man nodded to him.

Rookie snapped to attention when he saw him approach, and his stiff spine brought Nyx a little comfort. At least he knew he was in trouble.

“Eyes up, and keep them on target,” he ordered. He pressed a gentle hand to the young man’s shoulder, trying to assuage his fears. “I’ve got one eye on him for you,” he offered.

Rookie relaxed a little and nodded his thanks. “Yes, sir. Just wish it was two eyes, sir,” the bastard had the gall to say.

Nyx laughed at him and shoved his shoulder a bit. “Don’t get greedy,” he said with a smirk. “Just do your job. Clear?”

“Clear, sir.”

“Good,” he nodded back and made the rounds himself. 

The waiting was the hardest part, this time. The ferry ride went smoothly. When they disembarked, the glaive mounted motorcycles to escort the trucks through the jungle. The large vehicles forced them to take painfully open roads, but it got them to the capital that much faster. He took the blessing for what it was when they entered the city unmolested. He hoped in his heart that just once, this one time, perhaps everything would go smoothly. He prayed for it with all his might to every god he could name.

Harry winced when the needle pricked a bit deeper than usual. He felt blood trickle down his arm.

“Sorry, lad. There! All done now,” the elder said, gently wiping the ink and blood away. 

Now that he could see it, he couldn’t stop staring. The first diamond was filled. After two fucking years, he had made visible progress, and it felt amazing. 

The elder clapped him on the back, giving him a rare grin. “How’s the prayer going?” she asked, tossing her head towards the stone statue watching over them.

Harry groaned and flopped back into the grass and flowers. “Nothing new. You weren’t fucking with me, right?” he said and squinted at her suspiciously.

She laughed that grizzled old laugh, coughing at the end. She reached out her short arm to pat his chest. He ignored how much comfort it brought him. “Give it another day, lad,” she instructed. She gave him another little pat, making his heart do a little twist before she picked up her tools and made her way down the wide path to the village.

Harry huffed but nodded. “You’re the boss,” he muttered. Not like he had much to do anyway. He watched the clear sky above and thought of the cozy hut with the little boy who needed help reaching the cupboards. Was this what peace felt like? Was it quiet and slow, just like this?

He looked at his arm and ran a finger over the remaining diamonds. Would it feel like this when he was done? 

The statue above him kept watch as he dozed in the sunshine.

Just as he felt himself drifting off, he prayed in a tiny fragile corner of his heart.

Let me have this feeling. Help me have this forever. Please, I just want to be free.

At the foot of the statue where he had poured the milk a few days ago, the cracks in the stone filled in. The restoration flowed up from the great claws on Fenrir’s paws to the muzzle howling at the heavens. It left the statue as pristine as the day it was carved. 

The meeting with the dignitaries went about how Nyx expected it to go. The supplies were cordially received, the Galahdian elder council gave information on the state of the war, and the Insomnian dignitaries asked for more soldiers. The look in the eyes of the elders told him the story, even if the dignitaries couldn’t see it. All the warriors were gone already, dead or deployed in foreign lands. But the council still promised more recruits, and Nyx knew the truth about it. All they could send now were butcher’s and fisherman’s lads, no one with the heart needed for war.   

He couldn’t name the feelings inside him, but they made him hot and cold all at once. Notably, he felt fear. If the hunters all died, what chance did the regular people have of surviving this war? What kind of soldiers would start filling the ranks, now? 

And for the old dog of a soldier that he was, he knew it would be downhill from here. The future looked goddam bleak in his opinion. And from him, the most optimistic man in his unit, that was saying a lot.

The overcrowded market had people brushing shoulders and squeezing past each other to get the attention of stall owners. The warm weather and hot bodies made Ignis wish he had left his jacket with the transport truck. The colorful stalls selling equally colorful wares were dwarfed by the beautiful buildings covered in delicately carved details. For a country at war, the capital city of Hertan roared with vibrant life. 

Stubbornly ignorant of the heat, his escort through the market kept no less than two steps from him at all times. It was a bit suffocating, to be frank. It set Ignis’ teeth on edge, but he didn’t let it show. If this was the protection necessary, he would bear it. He stole another look at the man as his hands explored the beautiful silk fabrics on display. 

He had never seen a glaive in full regalia before. The Crownsguard had regular military parades in the crown city, but apparently, the Kingsglaive only kitted up for missions. The metal mask hid the man’s face, but the symbol of Bahamut chained on his chest identified him as the captain of their escort unit. The blue sash down his back gave him away as well. He had learned from Pelna that only Nyx Ulric had such a thing attached to his uniform coat. It made Ignis curious why he made himself an obvious target, but it wasn’t his place to ask such things. 

Curiously, the people jostled him just as much as they did everyone else as if the soldier was just another citizen squeezed into the market. The glaive had to slot himself between people and shoulder his way through to keep close to Ignis. He didn’t have an edge like he expected an attack within the crowd, though. He kept his eyes on the sky and the tree line at the edge of the city just beyond the market. The danger wasn’t amongst the people, then. 

It gave Ignis the confidence to peruse the wares, to drink deep of the new culture at his fingertips. “What are these?” Ignis muttered to himself as he found himself in front of a drink stall. There were small fried snacks bagged in front of the fruits used for fresh juice.

“It’s fried boar skin,” his escort explained, breaking his silence since he had stuck himself to Ignis that morning. It made him jump a little to finally hear him speak. He felt less like a prickly shadow and more like a fellow human. The man shuffled his feet, obviously feeling a little awkward himself.

Ignis spared the man another glance and bought some. He took a bite and then proffered the bag to his escort. He gave it a shake when the man didn’t reach for it immediately.

His fingers twitched with hesitation before he sighed. “I see why he likes you,” he grumbled before pulling his hood and mask back. The striking tattoo below his eye gave Ignis pause. How painful would that have been, to have a needle so close to his eye? He threw the thought away when the man finally took some from the bag and crunched happily at them. A smile pulled at his lips as he ate and hummed blissfully around the bite. “Oh man, that’s a blast from the past,” he laughed a bit. Ignis could see the nostalgia coursing through him and filling him up. 

“Haven’t visited home in a while?” Ignis asked, taking another piece himself. It was incredibly crunchy and rich, but somehow it didn’t sit too heavy on his tongue. 

“It’s been a few years,” the soldier said after he finally swallowed. Nyx reached around him, disregarding Ignis’ personal space, and grabbed a little cup with dipping sauce. He pried the lid off hastily and grabbed another piece from the bag. He dunked it into the sauce and let out another happy groan when he popped it into his mouth. “That’s the shit,” he said, having the good grace to cover his mouth with his fist. He proffered the little cup to Ignis then. 

Ignis dipped and ate. It was a revelation! The spicy vinegar cut through the fatty crunch, and it was absolutely delicious. The prince might even like it, though the sauce is questionable for his narrow palate. He took another bite and couldn’t withhold his own satisfied hum. 

“Right?” Nyx grinned widely and held the sauce while Ignis held the food. Facing each other and standing quite close, they avoided getting swept away by the crowd around them. They finished it all too quickly, honestly. He pulled his hood back up, and Ignis almost mourned the loss of his face. “Feels like I’m actually home again,” he expressed brightly. 

“Are you from this island, Captain?” Ignis asked carefully.

The look Ignis could glean through the eyeholes was searching. “Now you even sound like Rookie. No wonder you two get along so well,” he laughed to himself. He shook his head, like he was knocking out something uncomfortable, and said, “No, this isn’t my home island. I’m from the north. It’s a tiny little speck of an island, but it’s home to the tallest northern mountain. Can’t see it from here, but you can see it from the nearby islands.”

Ignis nodded at the information. “I wish I could see it,” he offered softly.

Nyx stopped and just stared at him for a minute. People went around him as if he were a signpost in their path. Then he chuckled, but it was keyed up with incredulity like he couldn’t believe his ears. “Not bad, Crownie. Not bad,” he said. 

Ignis bristled a bit, but he softened when Nyx clapped him on the back hard enough to double him over. “W-what-” he started to say, but he stopped when Nyx gently helped him find his feet.

“Maybe you will one day. I’ll get Rookie to take you if we all survive this gods’ damned war,” he said with a light pat on the shoulder. “But for now,” Nyx started to say, and he turned enough to catch Ignis’ eyes through his mask, “Let’s focus on getting you home in one piece.”

“Right,” Ignis agreed. He walked on with his escort always two small steps away. The market ended, but Ignis let the crowd carry him back into the heart of the city. Again, the sheer number of people struck him as he watched hundreds of people go about their business. Women in bright silks carried their babies on their backs as they visited the temple. City guards in very overt uniforms stood proudly at critical points along the main road. Old, grizzled men covered in decorative tattoos played some kind of table game in little groups on each side of the street. “The city is so full,” he muttered, eyes still watching the comings and goings. 

“This is our nation,” Nyx offered from his place pressed against Ignis’ shoulder.

“What do you mean by that?”

Nyx took a moment to respond. “The war drove the people to the south. To the capital,” he added.

“Hold a moment,” Ignis asked, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. “You can’t mean to say this is everyone in the nation, that all the people are here in this city?” he questioned. Surely it couldn’t be, he thought, as he took another look at all the people, safe here in the city.

“This isn’t all of them, but it’s most of them. There are some villages toughing it out in the wilds, but for the most part, the people have relocated to this island. The young men are mostly gone, so everyone else gathered here, away from the fighting,” Nyx explained, and something in his voice sounded pained.

“Gods be good,” Ignis swore. Tactically, it was the worst situation possible. If the city fell, the nation of Galahd would be absorbed by the empire. All they had to do was capture the elder council, and everything would be over. It would be an easy win, just like Tenebrae. Did King Regis know? If he didn’t, Ignis swore to inform him as soon as he returned. They couldn’t let this nation that had sacrificed so much be taken so simply.

“Yea. Let’s pray they are good,” Nyx agreed quietly.

Aranea watched Ravus pace the length of her ship six times before she lost her patience with his caged animal routine. Normally, she liked watching him stew and brood, savoring the sight of the poor baby royal all upset. This time though, it drove her crazy. Worse, it was driving her men crazy. “Deputy Commander,” she called to him.

He ignored her and kept pacing.

“Commander.”

“Quiet, woman.”

“ Ravus .”

“What?! What do you want?” he shouted, finally turning to face her. He stopped pacing just to get in her face with a scowl. “What could you possibly need right now?” he hissed through his teeth, a skill acquired somewhere in his cultured learning.

She kept her arms crossed, uncaring of whatever threat he posed. “I need you to calm down,” she said plainly. Just to drive it home, she turned her eyes meaningfully to the twitchy pilot manning the helm, still staring at them. He flipped back around when he saw her glance his way.

Ravus sneered at her, but at least his brain was big enough to see sense. He inhaled loudly through his nose to fill his thin chest with more hot air. “Fine,” he breathed out and plopped himself inelegantly in a bucket seat. “How long until we arrive?” he demanded, glaring at her from under his silver fringe.

She took her time answering if only to make him wait. Her men already stood at the ready by the bay doors, and the pilot kept calling time checks back to them. Radio chatter from the other ships filled the cockpit as the pilots coordinated their arrival. Judging by their flight time and speed, she had a decent sense of the distance that still remained. “I’d say less than five minutes,” she shrugged. 

Ravus took another sharp inhale and ran his fingers through his hair. “Good. Excellent,” he murmured. His eyes glazed over with that look she knew so well. It was the face he wore when he was plotting, though he hated when she called it that. 

“We’ll succeed,” Aranea assured him. She had every confidence in herself and her men to pull this off, whether high command believed in them or not. 

Ravus nodded to her and sat back in his seat. He wasn’t relaxed, but at least he was calm. That had to be good enough.

Soon, the pilot called the final time check, signaling their drop time.

“Don’t worry Ravus,” she said, giving a tease of a caress to his face. When he scowled up at her, she winked. The bay doors opened behind her, and she heard her men jump out. “You have me after all,” she said before taking a mighty leap. She liked that his face never showed a hint of concern. Aw, the cute little royal trusted her. How sweet, she thought as she charged to the earth with her spear, ready for bloodshed. 

The blast of the ship engines came first. The screams came second. The enemy followed.

From the air, six ships shot from just above the tree line and circled the city. A fire started in the Elder’s Quarters first, then in the main temple. The invaders dropped in quickly and caused as much damage as quickly as possible. 

Ignis readied his kukri just in time to block a spear thrust aimed at his charge. He pushed back hard enough to throw the enemy back into the crowd that scrambled to get out of danger.

The woman came at him again, unrelenting. 

They exchanged blows as the street emptied of people. Sparks flew and the tangy tingle of magic sizzled in the air as Nyx threw fire at the enemy and warped out of her range. He always kept himself between her and his charge.

On the next deadlock, the woman surged forward and hurled him onto his back at the feet of the other man. Ignis knelt over him to slap a potion over his shoulder that oozed from an unlucky hit. He had summoned a spear to his own hands, too. Well, at least he knew this dignitary wouldn’t be completely useless. He was a Crownsguard after all.

“You know, I expected more from the Kingsglaive. I thought you’d be this unstoppable force, not some wimpy boys,” she taunted, shouldering her spear just to leer down at him. 

Oh well, now it was personal. “Thanks, I need this,” Nyx said and easily disarmed Ignis to steal his spear. He tossed his kukri at his feet in apology. Properly armed, he breathed in deep, let the air fill him, felt the earth solidly beneath his feet, and sent an affirmation to the Mother of All. “Come on then,” he shouted back, “How about you try again?”

The woman grinned madly and practically purred, “Anytime you want, Bluebird.” 

It went differently this time. Nyx thrust forward to break her guard and easily warped out of range to defend. Challenge lit up in the woman’s eyes, and she jumped spectacularly high to dive down on top of him. It was so fast, her spear tore his jacket before he could warp away. Their melee continued in a dance of sweeps, thrusts, jumps, and warp strikes. Nyx held his ground, and she never got her heeled boots anywhere near his charge.

Without warning, she jumped back to perch on a wall on the other side of the road. She had a piece of Nyx’s silk sash in her fingers that she held close to her chest. “Too bad, and it was just getting exciting. ‘Till next time, Bluebird,” she had the audacity to blow a kiss before jumping into an airship just as it flew by. She left even quicker than she had arrived. 

“Captain!” Ignis called and warped to his side. 

Nyx gripped his arm and checked him over for injury. Blessed gods above, he was unharmed. Over his shoulder, Nyx saw the fires burn away at the capital, eating into the ancient wooden temple and all the beloved structures of the jewel of a city. It made him burn inside to watch. He clutched at Ignis’ arm, unable to keep his grip from digging into the man’s skin. “We have to regroup. Let’s head to the objective,” he commanded. 

Ignis nodded and followed his lead toward the burning temple. 

He came down enough from his battle high to tune in to the chaos on comms. “All surviving units retreat to the objective,” he heard Cor’s voice over the line. Apparently, the Marshal had been guiding his men in the chaos, and it gave Nyx a little more headspace to work with. 

When they reached the temple, a blue beam erupted from its tallest spire, and a great crystalline shield cascaded over the city. An airship tested its strength, but it was only a waste of shells. Nyx’s heart was in his throat with elation. It was enough to help them survive, it had to be. He reached back to grab Ignis’ arm and pulled painfully on the king’s magic to warp them both to the entrance. 

Cor stood by the transport truck, and he swiveled around as they appeared in a shatter of crystal shards. “Ulric,” he breathed and pulled him up with one arm. “Get in the truck, we’re leaving.”

“But sir, the shield-”

“It only keeps out enemy fire and daemons! it doesn’t stop human soldiers from entering!”

“Holy shit,” Nyx said at exactly the same time that Ignis said, “Oh my god-”

“Truck! Now!” 

Nyx hastened to follow Cor’s orders and pulled his charge’s stiff body into the truck. Then, he stared at Princess Luna, weakly disguised in dark jeans and a t-shirt. Fucking Princess Lunafreya Nox Flueret was the goddam secret cargo. Of fucking course she was. “Sir-”

“I didn’t know,” the man growled. He spoke into the comms, and the truck began to move with only half of his unit, one of the remaining dignitaries, and Princess Lunafreya. Cor reached over to try and close the roll-down door, but a dent in the frame kept it from closing even halfway. “Fuck,” he cursed, tugging at the strap with all he had.

“Oh, thank fuck, Ignis,” Rookie gasped and reached over to grip his boyfriend’s hand. 

“Pelna, thank heavens,” his charge replied with visceral relief.

Ignoring the lovestruck reunion, Nyx shrugged off his jacket and threw it at the princess. “Put that on. The mask, too. You’re too recognizable,” he said, doing his level best to keep his voice civil. How many times would this little girl cause him this much grief? He rubbed a hand over his face before reaching over to help Cor try and close the door. 

“Your highness, If I may ask. . .” he heard Ignis say, the man’s voice sounding strained. Well, even this kind of chaos was enough to ruffle his feathers it seemed.

“It was my plan with the king. We are preparing safe places for refugees, and the shield was my idea. Other than the king, I am the only one who can make it self-sustaining. It had to be me,” she explained while tugging on the coat.

Some silent conversation happened between them, and Ignis just let his head flop down to rest in his hands. “Of course, your highness,” he mumbled breathily, the air whooshing out of him like a deflated balloon. 

Cor gave up on the door and sat heavily on the bench seat beside Rookie. 

Nyx followed suit. He reached over and shoved the mask over Lady Luna’s face a little harsher than necessary. She deserved it, in his very honest opinion.

“Thank you.”

. . .She still deserved it.

Their bumpy ride out of the capital was punctuated with a sharp crack as the truck slid out of the shield. The crystal repaired itself as soon as they were out. They drove down the wide-open road they used on arrival but at a much higher speed. 

A loud roar of an engine sounded above them. In a moment, Nyx swapped Ignis back for his kukri, and Cor had a rifle in his hands that he pulled from under the bench. They braced themselves against the tailgate, armed with a gun and fireballs for the inevitable.

The ship that swooped down had its back door open like a yawning mouth. A single gunman faced them with a launcher of some kind held in the crook of his shoulder. When he fired the payload, Cor grabbed Nyx and shoved him down to the floorboard. It went over the heads, and Nyx turned to try and warn the princess.

He was just quick enough to see Ignis jump in front of her and for the shot to impale Ignis through the chest with a wet, meaty squelch. A steel wire connected the shot back to the enemy, and it retracted once it hit its target.

It pulled Ignis right out the back of the truck and into the waiting mouth of the enemy ship. 

“Ignis!” Rookie screamed his name so roughly that it bloodied his throat.

But he was already gone.