Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I just don't get why you all feel the need to interfere in my life all the time," Crow grumbles.

"Class VII," Fie says, shrugging. They are making their leisurely way back to Heimdallr after finishing up a monster extermination which hadn't been quite as challenging as he'd hoped for.

"I missed that lesson."

"Dropout," Fie tells him, with that pointy little smirk she uses to express affection. "It's like a cult, only one you can't opt out of by dying or defeating the drug-enhanced demonic incarnation of your slacker leader."

"Weirdly specific."

"Estelle has some good stories."

"Huh."

Somewhere to the left of them, behind a hillock, there's a cheerful crackle of lightning and enough snarling to tell them Sara's making good on her intentions to restock on monster ingredients.

"Wait for her to catch up?" Crow suggests.

"Might as well."

There’s a bit of fence by the junction. Fie perches on the top bar. Crow leans on it.

“You already know why we interfere,” she says.

“Because you’re an evil little gremlin who laughs at others’ pain?”

She grins at him and recites in a sing-song voice, “It’s because we love you, Crow.”

He’s not fast enough to push her off the fence, but he contemplates it anyway.

Sara comes back to them, looking thoroughly revitalised by five minutes of unleashing mayhem. “Aww, you waiting for me? Remind me, what were we talking about before I left?”

“Crow’s terrible life choices.”

“Man, I don’t know why I hang out with you people.”

“Because you want to know if you can do our job.”

Fie tilts her head at him. “Short answer: yes, you could, but you won’t.”

Sara shakes her head. “Don’t spoil it, Fie. I was looking forward to having my favourite student here follow in my footsteps.”

“I thought I was your favourite student.”

Crow snorts. “Yeah, we all know Rean was the favourite.”

“Hey, why can’t you all be my favourite?”

“Yup, it was Rean. I heard she even offered him a swig of spiritus.”

Crow sighs. “You never offered to share your booze with me.”

“Or me.”

“Hey—you died before you were old enough and you still aren’t old enough.”

Fie says, “Excuses.”

Crow adds, because it’s nice not to be the butt of their jokes for once, “We all know you’re the head of Rean’s fan club.”

Sara bursts out laughing and Fie says, “Pretty sure that’s you, Crow.”

The sun is setting, bathing Heimdallr with rosy light. He isn't a huge fan of the city, but he can't deny it looks its best in this light, when its perpetual gloom is softened to a blush. The days are growing longer again, as they move past a midwinter he'd never expected to see, but there’s still only so much time to get back before dark. He can see the sun catching on the cemetery gates in the distance.

"Want to go and piss on your grave?" Fie asks.

While that never gets old, he isn't too bothered this time. "Not in front of you two."

"Aw, respect for our delicate female sensibilities," Sara cries. "Rean must be rubbing off on him."

"I thought the problem was that Rean isn't rubbing him—"

"Fie!" They both yell.

"Right," Sara says over Fie's cackle of laughter. "So, bracerating, yes or no?"

"Pretty sure that's not a word," Fie puts in.

"Yeah, I liked it." It would suit him, that balance of helping out and slaying the unspeakable, righting some of wrongs he's done to this country.

"Faint praise," Fie observes.

"Is it always such easy monsters?"

"Can be. The job's what people ask of you. There's some big complex stuff from time to time, but a lot of the day-to-day stuff is getting cats out of trees and low-level monster extermination." He's so used to Sara being fierce and ridiculous that it always surprises him when her professionalism shows through. She adds gloomily, "And then there's the paperwork."

"Like you do yours."

"I dunno," Crow says. "It doesn't quite feel right." What she's just described isn't that different from what he's filling his life with now, helping out around the branch campus and occasionally serving as a Divine Blade's dashing sidekick.

Sara says, the first time he’s heard her teacher voice in a while, “Have you considered that’s because you already know what you’re meant to be doing?”

Fie mutters, not quite quietly enough, “Rean. You’re meant to be doing Rean.”

“When are you guys going to give that a break?” With each passing month it gets less funny.

Sara actually manages to glare Fie into silence. “Look, even if we put aside all your history, and the way you came back from the dead for him, and that you live together–”

“—live in the same room,” Fie interjects.

“Shared the same life force for a few very weird weeks, complete each other’s sentences, and that you definitely spend too much time staring at his ass, let’s not forget you work together without wanting to kill each other.”

“No, we–”

“Because, Crow,” Sara finishes, and he’s worried about the casual way she’s spinning her gun, “you already have a job.”

“I technically don’t.”

Sara points at him, thankfully with her non-gun hand. “How many permanent contracts has Le Guin shoved down your throat this month?”

Six, three of them literally. “That’s not–”

“How many lessons have you covered because one or another of your colleagues was out of town? How many students have you run through Einhel Keep? How many kids have you comforted when the last year caught up with them out of nowhere? How many of Rean’s essays have you marked–and don’t lie, because Ash bitched to me for a week because your handwriting is crap and you spelled Eisenritter wrong.”

“It was only because he sprained his wrist dealing with that archaism in–look, okay, I help out a bit, but seriously? Who’d look at me and think teacher?”

Fie raises her hand. “Ja.”

Seriously, there is no reasoning with some people. Crow groans and purposely veers off the road to attract the attention of a browsing goldcider.

“Oh, what, you couldn’t just change the subject?” Sara grouses, but she's already charging forward.

They stop teasing him after that, making their way back to Heimdallr in companionable silence.

When he gets back to Leeves, it's already dark and he’s missed dinner in the dorms. Rean's on the couch in the foyer, frowning at the newspaper.

Crow just stops and looks at him. He can't help it sometimes. He's had so many times when he thought his chances of looking at Rean were about to run out. Now he's got all the time in the world, he can't quite work out how to stop stealing those desperate hungry looks.

Rean—just Rean, free of the burden of the curse—is always worth looking at. This time Crow studies the little crease of his brow as he reads, the indignant twitch of his eyebrow. Crow sidles closer and glances over his shoulder to see what's causing that outrage.

The editorial section is being rude about Jusis again.

"I know you're there," Rean says. "Even if I couldn't sense you, I could smell you. Have you been crawling through drains?"

"Pretty much. We stumbled across a couple of crying kids with a lost puppy on the way back to the guild. You know how it goes."

Rean, incurable rescuer of lost pets, nods seriously. "You eaten?"

“Haven’t had a chance.”

“Go and clean up and I’ll get takeaway from Barney’s.”

Rean’s too nice for his own good, but since he’s the recipient this time, Crow can’t really complain. He drags himself into the shower, washes the drain stink out of his hair and the aches from his muscles, reluctantly steps away from the baths, and emerges to find a set of clean clothes and a note from Celestin waiting for him. Crow’s clothes, it seems, are in need of deep cleaning. The spare t-shirt is a little too tight, which is uncharacteristic of Celestin. Maybe there’s a lot of laundry today.

He pulls the sweats and too-tight t-shirt on and wanders back out in search of Rean.

Juna welcomes him into the dining room with a wolf whistle. Musse giggles and bats her eyelashes. “Why, Instructor Crow, what nice arms you have.”

“Not your instructor,” Crow points out, since he’s not daft enough to even acknowledge her flirting.

“But it’s just a matter of time, surely. Instructor Rean, why don’t you use your charm to persuade him to join us?”

“He’s already too charming for his own good,” Crow says, sacrificing himself to Musse’s inevitable innuendo since Rean seems to be perpetually in need of rescuing from her wiles.

Rean’s gone pink at Musse’s nonsense again, and he slides Crow’s dinner across to him wordlessly.

Eventually he says, clearing his throat, “So, you going to be a bracer?”

Crow shrugs. “Probably not. I mean, it was fun, but maybe not for me.”

“It does seem to be the kind of job that requires more commitment than that,” Kurt observes over his shoulder, because of course the whole of new Class VII have somehow materialised to mock him.

“Face up to it, dumbass,” Ash adds. “Those who can’t, teach, and you clearly can’t do anything.”

Crow finishes his mouthful and raises his voice, “Yo, Randy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I take Class VII’s combat class tomorrow? Ash needs to learn some manners again.”

“Sure thing, dude. I need to get some marking done. Give ‘em hell.”

“I hate you,” Juna tells Ash passionately. “I hate you so much. Why do you ever have to open your stupid mouth?”

He lasts half an hour in Machias' office. It might have been longer but Jusis had turned up and Machias seized the opportunity to get rid of him.

Crow waves goodbye to the latest anxious overachiever wringing his hands (does Machias know he's nerd catnip?) and falls in with Jusis.

"One gathers that you have discovered office work is not for you?"

Crow laughs. "Probably could've predicted that one. What brings you here?"

"Just passing through," Jusis says in the lofty tone he uses when he doesn't want questions.

Crow bites back a grin. Jusis had 'just passed through' the office in a way that permitted him to casually place a paper cup of expensive coffee on Machias' desk and quietly move a chess piece on the board set up in the corner. That had been one of the things that threw him the most, when he returned to Class VII—how mellow these two now were with each other. Then he'd seen them at Mishelam, in a quiet corner of the quay, locked in each other’s arms so tightly it was clear it wasn't the first time.

He's amused to see that Jusis, Duke Albarea, doesn't use a car to traverse the capital. Instead he strides forth as if he was in Bareahard, expecting everyone to step out of his way.

They've been walking in silence for almost five minutes before Crow gives in. "So, where are we going?"

“I’m going to deal with some recalcitrant fools in the provisional Diet. I have no idea where you’re going.”

“Cold, dude.”

“Please. Clearly you are about to insinuate that you would like some work experience within provincial government. I could foist you off on Jasper and Arnauld in Bareahard, where you would do a half-hearted job of it whilst pining conspicuously. At the end of said time, you would conclude, to no one’s surprise, that government work is not for you and return to Leeves and the job you are for some reason refusing to admit is your vocation. I suggest we skip over the entire process and save Regnitz, Elliot, the new Class VII and I the dismal experience of having to put up with Rean overcompensating for his inevitable separation anxiety.”

“Hey, we’ve all got our issues. He’s watched enough people die on him that we can’t blame him for getting a bit clingy.”

“That was what you took away from that?”

“That and the fact that you still refer to your fiance by his surname.”

For one of the most moderate members of the Noble Faction, Jusis can do withering aristocratic scorn better than any of the idiots Crow got stuck with in the Civil War. Cayenne would have killed to pull off such a perfect sneer.

Crow suggests, for the sake of harmony in Class VII. “You could always offload me on someone you don’t like for the day.”

Jusis’ sneer only intensifies. “At times, I think I preferred you when you had an ego.”

Damn. He needs to stop forgetting how smart these guys are. “Hey, I’m offering you my valuable services for a day. Let me help out with something here.”

Jusis frowns. “I can’t work out if you’re trying to irritate me or do me a favour.”

“I probably owe you a few.”

Jusis huffs. “You don’t owe me anything.”

They stride on for a few more minutes. Crow’s actually having to move at more than a stroll for once just to keep pace. He briefly ponders how much it would mess with everyone’s perceptions if he tried out Jusis’ posture for a day or two, but then shrugs. Not worth it.

They reach a corner and Jusis hesitates.

“You lost?”

“Hardly.” He frowns, drums his fingers briefly against his thigh, and then says, “As a matter of fact, there is a favour you could do me. I must be clear that this is not in repayment of any debt you imagine you owe, and you are free to turn it down if you find it distasteful.”

“You sound like a man who’s just endured a month of lawyers.”

“At this point, a mere month would be a respite.”

Yeah, there’s not enough recompense in the world to make him want Jusis’ job. It’s a mercy to have been born a commoner. “What’s up, then?”

“You’re aware that now the Imperial Diet has been restored, we need their approval on the full reparations package.”

“Yeah—gotta make sure we keep Calvard just happy enough to put a shield round Crossbell. Having trouble getting some of the stubborner old goats on side?”

Jusis gives him a look.

Crow shrugs. “Hey, I keep up. Only reason old Heinrich never expelled me was because I aced his classes.”

“Well, at least that saves me some explanation. In brief, the noble faction has splintered since the Civil War. Our hold-up is with a small faction of nobles—you’re familiar with the Ebel Marches?”

“I could find them on a map.” That’s down towards the mountainous border with Calvard and Liberl—south of Legram. Not much happened there in the Civil War.

“They’re led, as much as they accept a leader, by the Baron of Turgan.”

“Old guy? Big moustache? I remember him—sent Cayenne packing with some crude descriptions of where he could shove his tarted-up rebellion.”

“Alas, no. This is his nephew Lord Lutz, the new baron, who happens to be a raving Gideonite.”

Crow groans.

“Quite. He’s convinced himself—and his little coterie—that our late chancellor is not in fact dead, but merely biding his time until Calvard strips the nobility of our assets, at which point he will supposedly re-emerge.”

“Aidios wept.”

“He further believes that it is a betrayal of our national interest to have ceased hostilities with Calvard. And no, before you ask, it is not a lingering effect of the curse. He is simply a moron.”

“Want me to intimidate him?” Crow asked, cracking his knuckles.

Please. If that was all that was required, I’d do it myself. I want you to impress him.”

“Huh?”

Jusis looked uncomfortable, the tiniest hunch in his shoulders that made him look less of the debonair duke and more the repressed, awkward first year Crow had seen glowering his way through the halls of Thors. “This is why it’s important that you feel no obligation. It seems Lord Lutz has great admiration for the leaders of the Noble Faction, but he saves his most ardent hero worship for the Azure Chevalier.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Crow says incredulously.

“I thought you might feel that way. Don’t concern yourself—I have other options.”

“That wasn’t a no—just…” He holds his hands up in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Jusis is looking entertained now. “Surely you haven’t forgotten those brief months when you were the Imperial Chronicle’s favourite dashing young hero?”

Crow does his best to regain his equilibrium. “Hey, can’t blame them for loving this, right? So, what’s the plan?”

“Are you sure about this? You’ve gone to some length to hide your return from the general public. At the moment, there are only rumours, but this will confirm them beyond all doubt.”

That is actually something he’s put some thought into. “It’s going to come out eventually. Might as well get something useful out of it.”

“Well, we’d better do something about your outfit, then.”

“Yeah, not sure what happened to that get up. I mean, I died in it and I think I was buried in it, so even if we find it, it’s probably not going to smell that great.”

Jusis shudders and Crow is immensely amused to see him stroke his waistcoat, as if it needs comforting at the thought. “As someone who attended your funeral, I don’t find that particularly funny.”

“Yeah, well, as someone who was officially buried at my funeral, I thought it was fucking hilarious.”

Jusis sneers but there’s a curve to the corner of his mouth, because one of the many redeeming features he fails to hide from his classmates is his sense of humour. “Regardless, I think having you show up in costume would be too crude to be convincing. I was thinking that we’ll find you something respectable to wear and then coincidentally take lunch at what is most certainly not my club.”

“I can work with that.” This actually sounds like fun.

They end up in Jusis’ townhouse in the Garnier District. Crow’s pretty sure the Albareas have a larger place near the cathedral, but Jusis seems relaxed here.

“How much time are you spending in Heimdallr these days?” he asks, taking in the house. The lounge is neat and clean, with fresh flowers in every vase, but he’d expect that of any house owned by Jusis Albarea and his ability to employ an army of servants. There’s a chess board by the window, though, and a copy of the opera house’s seasonal schedule dropped on the coffee table in front of the settee. Through an open door, he can glimpse a study with two desks and shelves crammed with books, and there’s several umbrellas stashed in the bottom of the coat rack in the hall. There’s a cookie tin lying abandoned on the windowsill, and some long-suffering maid seems to have made an attempt to organise a stack of records into order. A white cat is drowsing on a sunny windowsill.

“More time than not these days,” Jusis says. “I used to split my time more evenly, but the current political climate makes that difficult.”

“Worth paying for an extra house?”

“Well, it hardly goes unused. Millium stays with us when she’s in the city as well, of course, and the location is convenient.”

Ah. Us. Of course.

One of the strangest things—of the many, many strange things that come with returning from the dead—has been the realisation that his awkward little underclassmen have grown up past him. They have their own lives and loyalties now and, yeah, it’s pretty damn obvious that some of them are in the process of settling down for good. It’ll be weddings and children next and he’s not sure what to think of that. He’d never once imagined he’d live long enough to see it. He still thinks of them as kids sometimes and they’re not. They’re really not, even if he still is, as much as he ever could be.

“If you’re done brooding, let’s see if I have anything that fits you,” Jusis says.

They don’t have much luck. Crow’s broader in the shoulder than Jusis. Even when he huffs and fishes what is clearly someone else’s formal shirt out of the wardrobe, it doesn’t work. Eventually Jusis rolls his eyes, fishes his ARCUS out and snaps a few orders down the line.

“They’ll be here with a choice of outfits in half an hour. Off-the-rack, I’m afraid, but we’ll have to make do.”

It must be nice to be rich sometimes.

While they wait, Crow’s ARCUS pings and he glances at it to find a message from Rean.

AshenTachi: Not sure if you’ll get this, but how’s your day going?

ChaosRaven: That artefact reaches all the way to Leman?

AshenTachi: Looks that way. Has Machias threatened to shoot you yet?

ChaosRaven: Nope.

ChaosRaven: I’m hanging out with Jusis now.

AshenTachi: haha. That didn’t last long.

ChaosRaven: I’m too popular for my own good. How’s Leman?

AshenTachi: Pretty, mostly, but kind of weird, too. Hang on.

“Rean?” Jusis asks, shaking his head.

“Yeah, he’s in Leman. Divine Blade thing. Which reminds me—I’ve got to get back by the end of the school day.”

Jusis’ smirk is pointed. “Can’t leave the kids at home alone?”

Crow gives him the finger. “Yeah, because I’m on dorm duty tonight.”

“At the school you don’t technically work at?”

Luckily, at that moment, the doorbell rings and Crow’s ARCUS buzzes again.

Rean’s sent him a picture. But one look at the picture has Crow howling with laughter. He manages to send back, Is that a mountain range formed of giant stone dicks?

AshenTachi: They’re called Fairy Chimneys.

ChaosRaven: They’re dicks, Rean. Really big dicks.

AshenTachi: They’re historically significant. The airship deliberately detoured to let us see them.

ChaosRaven: Historically significant dicks.

AshenTachi: They’re a cultural treasure.

AshenTachi: Don’t make me insult people by laughing at them.

ChaosRaven: How are you not laughing already?

AshenTachi: Arios isn’t laughing. He’s having a very serious conversation about how geologically the heads are harder than the shafts.

ChaosRaven: That’s because he’s better at everything than us, even being too serious to laugh at giant cocks.

AshenTachi: Cassius Bright is encouraging him. Help me, Crow!

Jusis comes back in. “What are you so amused by?”

“Tell Rean this is definitely a field of dicks.”

Jusis rolls his eyes, looks at the proffered picture and then, to Crow’s delight, snickers. “Decidedly phallic, I agree.”

ChaosRaven: Jusis thinks they’re dicks too.

AshenTachi: Crow.

AshenTachi: Crow, we’re still flying. There are hundreds of them.

AshenTachi: No one else is even smiling.

AshenTachi: I’m begging you. Stop making me laugh.

ChaosRaven: Dicks, dicks, dicks. They do say travel broadens the mind.

Jusis drops a waistcoat on his head. “Stop mocking Rean and try these on.”

ChaosRaven: Gotta go. Jusis is being bossy. Forwarding that picture to Fie, though.

AshenTachi: Why do you hate me?

The outfit is nicer than anything Cayenne made him wear. The coat’s a darker shade of brown than the one he wore on the Pantagruel, the waistcoat is a soft blue that makes him miss Ordine, and the cravat is imperial red. The rest is restrained and elegant, similar in hues to his Azure Chevalier gear but a world above it in sophistication. He’s tied his hair back neatly, noble style, and he’s not quite sure he recognises the man in the mirror. He looks like a respectable adult, and it’s one thing to see his friends achieve that and yet too damn weird to see it in himself.

“Adequate, I suppose,” Jusis says as Crow surveys himself in the large bedroom mirror. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to have noticed that both bedside tables have books about tax codes and imperial law stacked up on them or that there are two faint dents in the pillows. He can’t help cataloguing it though—all the tiny signs that two people live a perfectly functional adult life in this house. It makes it seem all the weirder that so many of their friends look at him and Rean and assume the same of them, when the reality is just overcrowded dorms and neither of them trustful enough to share with anyone else when the nightmares still wake one or other of them more nights than not.

Do Machias and Jusis have nightmares, in this home they’ve made?

He remembers Millium plummeting through the heart of the Gral and Jusis’s voice cracking as he screamed her name. Yeah, they probably do.

But Millium’s got a room down the hall and they’re all alive. They made it through the end of the world, and that’s got to mean they’re okay.

Jusis touches his shoulder lightly. “Still with me?”

Crow shakes himself. “Yeah. Let’s do this thing.”

“Hmm. Give me your ARCUS first. Stand there. Pose.”

Crow grins and finger guns for the picture. Jusis laughs and hands him back his ARCUS.

“Send that to Rean. Give him an excuse to be laughing.”

“Hey.”

But he takes the advice.

They’re on the tram before he gets a reply.

AshenTachi: Looking fine. What are you guys up to?

ChaosRaven: Bit of political manipulation and intimidation. You?

AshenTachi: About to get off this airship and into a conference room where I will be the newest and least impressive Divine Blade involved in this crisis.

ChaosRaven: Newest and greatest. Knock ‘em dead.

“The next stop is ours.”

Crow shoves his ARCUS away and eyes him, waiting for the punchline.

Jusis doesn’t say a thing.

“Not going to make a speech telling me I’m flirting without knowing it?”

“Oh, I’m sure you know exactly what you’re doing.” His voice drips sarcasm.

“Yeah, for a moment there, you almost became my favourite classmate.”

“Unlikely,” Jusis returns and they descend from the tram.

The Gerrich Club is just about the stuffiest noble institution Crow’s ever walked into—all oak-panelled walls and shelves of leather bound books that clearly aren’t meant to be read. He’s not seen so many butlers bowing since he got stuck escorting Cayenne around Ordis. Jusis just sweeps through the middle of it until he reaches someone he very obviously deigns worthy of his interest.

“Is Turgan dining in today?” he enquires.

“Yes, my lord. Are you intending to join his party?”

“Goddess, no,” Jusis says. “Armbrust and I were hoping to dine in peace. Is the window table in the blue dining room free?”

“Of course, my lord.” Crow has a feeling that it is now, even if it hadn’t been before.

It’s weird how much it sets his teeth on edge. He is, in his own way, a child of privilege, part of him still the boy who took his first steps along the corridors of City Hall and stacked his toys below the mayor’s desk. Erebonian nobles take it beyond privilege, though, into a luxury he can’t help feeling is somehow obscene. He saw glimpses of it from Cayenne’s shadow, but Cayenne never navigated it with Jusis’ cold grace. They move upstairs and across the dining room in a storm of whispers and glances, but Jusis’ expression remains unruffled.

He pauses a few times as they cross the room, introduces Crow as, “My classmate, Mr Armbrust,” and then moves on once the niceties are over. The more he does it, the more of those glances settle on Crow’s back.

By the time they reach their table, he’s heard the first whispered Chevalier.

Once they’re seated and a waiter’s taken their orders, Crow settles back casually, sprawling out in the other of the two poses nobles seem to be permitted. He says, not projecting his voice but making no effort to muffle it, “So, what do you recommend?”

“I hear the fish is good.” Jusis, of course, maintains his perfect posture.

Crow glances at the menu. “Is that Bryonian Salmon? I built up quite a taste for it when I was in Ordis.”

“I’ve not spent as much time in Lamare as you,” Jusis says, picking up the cue, “but I can confirm that it’s the best you’ll find in Heimdallr. They bring it in by airship to maintain freshness.”

Too much money made some people stupid. “And samphire from Sheelin Bay. You ever been that far along the west coast?”

They continue to make small talk as the room around them seethes with speculation. It’s fun, in its own way, baiting a trap so carefully. Even the waiters seem to linger a little longer over their table, straining to catch some confirmation of his identity.

It’s not until they’re clearing the first course away that Jusis drops his eyelid in the faintest wink and asks, “Have you been back to Bergil recently?”

Crow’s never heard of Bergil. “Remind me where it is?”

“Little place not far from Celdic. We had a clash with you and Ordine there in the first war.”

That is not something that happened, but the waiters are all listening with baited breath, so he shrugs. “Was that the one with the windmill?”

“That was Gunloth. Bergil was the one with the hop yard. Clearly Rean hit you too hard in the head that time. Anyway, they’re doing some fascinating things with hybrid technology in the old oast houses there. We’ll have a pot of tea, please. No dessert.”

“Yes, Lord Jusis,” the waiter squeaks, and lingers until Jusis glares him away.

They continue talking about oast houses until no one is in earshot and then Crow asks softly, “Do those places even exist?”

“Do you think I could talk that convincingly about the brewing process if they didn’t?”

That is a question better left unanswered.

“That’s beside the point, though. Our last waiter is the worst gossip in the place.”

“How can you tell?”

Jusis’ accent is at its most cut-glass. “Please. Until I was nine years old, I bussed tables every weekend. Of course I can spot a gossipy waiter.”

And yet no one looking at him would expect him to even notice the staff. In his own way, Jusis is as sharp at manipulating expectations as his brother ever was.

Their tea is served and then Jusis rises to his feet and remarks, “If you’ll excuse me, I must see a man about a dog.”

“Of course,” Crow says, waving his hand magnanimously.

He starts a mental countdown

“Sir, please excuse my forwardness, but I just had to speak to you. They’re saying round the club that your name is Armbrust.”

Well, hello, little fishy. Crow grins, lazy and welcoming, and drawls, “They’ve got that right.”

His catch is a mousy guy, the kind that would look dapper and professional in plain clothes but is instead clown-like in the excess frills of an overcompensating minor noble. He’s also clearly caught in the grip of some strong emotion. He clasps his hands together and gasps, “Oh, gracious, is it possible that you’re related to the Azure Chevalier?”

Crow winks. “Wow, it’s been a while since anyone called me that.”

And that gets exactly the reaction he’s been hoping for. Baron Lutz is overwhelmed—no, he’s honoured. He’s Crow’s greatest admirer. He never thought he’d see the day—he’s just lost for words. Crow spends a lot of time smiling in a vaguely encouraging way. He accepts the invitation to join Lutz and his friends at their table and would be just delighted to play pool with them (and then there’s a lot of cheating involved to keep them winning because they’re universally terrible).

By the time Jusis returns from taking an implausibly long time to piss, Lutz is a wink and a head pat away from humping Crow’s leg.

“Good heavens, Turgan,” Jusis sneers. “Have you taken to importuning my friends now?”

That is not the tack Crow was expecting him to take. Lutz puffs up indignantly. “Lord Jusis, are you accusing me of politicking in my club?”

Nobles are so damn weird. Belatedly, Crow realises this is his cue and holds his hand up. “Hey guys. I don’t want to see my friends at odds. What’s the big deal?”

“Well, perhaps you could settle a dispute for us, Armbrust,” Jusis says, looking down his nose. “Turgan here seems quite convinced that the former chancellor is still lurking in the shadows plotting against Erebonia.”

“Sorry, my friend,” Crow says, and starts dropping his voice in case he needs to bring out the big guns. “I was there. I watched him fall.”

“Yes, but we all saw him fall the first time,” Lutz argues and blinks. “You were there?”

“Damn right I was,” Crow says and lowers his voice again, remembering how to speak like C. “I’m a man who has passed for dead myself and I can assure you of this: I have dragged my soul from the depths of perdition to ensure that tyrant met his doom. Do you truly doubt my word?”

He watches it hit Lutz, and glances up to see if it’s enough for Jusis. He can lay it on a bit more if need be.

Jusis is white as a sheet, his hand clenched on the back of the nearest chair.

Crow needs to get him out of here before any of his enemies notice a weakness. He rises to his feet, trying to hold Lutz’s attention, and says, “And that, I think, is a good note to end our meal on. If you’ll forgive me, gentlemen, we’ve got a meeting with the Cayenne estate and can’t be late. We’ll have to continue this later.”

He ushers Jusis in front of him as he makes the most rapid exit possible, sees his shoulders set and and his chin rise. Whatever’s just fucked with his head, Jusis Albarea will not bend.

Crow kind of loves him for it, in that fierce, bewildered way he’s always loved the rest of Class VII, who crept past his defences despite his worst intentions.

Jusis makes it three hundred arge down the road before he swerves into an alley and tries to punch the wall. Crow moves fast enough to catch the punch on his shoulder and Jusis full-on snarls at him before dropping his fist.

“What did I say?” Crow asks.

Jusis’ face twists up. “It was the fucking voice.”

Crow can’t remember ever hearing him swear before.

“I didn’t even realise that was still on my list of nightmare fodder.”

“I’m sorry,” Crow says. Shit, but he’s done so much to fuck these kids up. He still doesn’t understand why they welcomed him back. They’re not Rean, who is loyal past the point of reason or restraint. They should have turned their backs on him, put themselves between him and Rean’s dangerous compassion.

He can’t leave Jusis this shaken, though, so he steers them both through the streets until he find a neighbourhood bar that doesn’t look either too posh or too scummy. It’s quiet inside, so he can push Jusis into a booth at the back and have a chance at privacy. He considers scotch, but orders them coffee instead and takes the time to fire a message to Machias.

ChaosRaven: Accidentally messed with Jusis’ head. He’s freaking out. Advice?

JusticeBolt: Where are you?

ChaosRaven: Feathered Cat in Sankt district.

Jusis is still looking wan. He says, trying to rise, “I’m fine now. We can continue.”

“We’re taking a break.”

“For how long?”

“At least until your hands stop shaking,” Crow says and it comes out just as calmly as if he was talking to one of the kids back in Leeves. It’s easier to focus on keeping Jusis calm, rather than the knot of guilt twisting in his gut.

This, too, is his fault. He hadn’t even taken a moment to consider how hearing C too rise from the dead would effect Jusis. Hell, he’d conveniently managed to forget that he’d not just been a terrorist, but one who had hounded his own friends and classmates.

“We really don’t need to sit around any longer.”

Crow shrugs. “Well, unless you really have a meeting with the Cayenne Estate, we’ve got time for you to drink your coffee.”

“Coffee,” Jusis mutters in disgust, which is probably a sign he’s feeling better.

Machias stomps in twenty minutes later, unwraps his scarf to drop over the back of the bench, and slides in next to Jusis, wrapping his arm around Jusis’ shoulder and scowling at Crow. “What did you do?”

Jusis lets his perfect posture slump slightly. On anyone else it would be barely noticeable—for him, it’s snuggling. He also glares at Crow. “I was not in need of rescuing.”

Machias snorts and his glower deepens. “One of you had better start talking.”

Jusis sighs, as if deeply put upon. “He used the ‘C’ voice.”

“Well, that would give me nightmares. I don’t remember you being on the receiving end of that blasted sabre, though. I took the brunt of it more than you.”

“I am quite aware of that,” Jusis mutters.

Crow says, trying to push the guilt back down, “Well, that’s adorable.”

“Please, at the time, I just considered it my sole right to make his life miserable.”

“Still does,” Machias grumbles, but his arm is steady around Jusis’ shoulders, and he is really not happy with Crow.

He has to apologise again. He’s getting worse at apologies over time, not sure whether he’s burdening them with too many or offending them with their absence. Closing his eyes, he says, “I am sorry. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I should have anticipated—“

“If you had, it would have likely still blindsided me,” Jusis says. “No apology is needed.”

“Though it’s appreciated,” Machias says.

“And it wasn’t a bad idea, as such. I did ask you to impress the man, after all. I think you achieved your objective.”

“Oh, Goddess,” Machias groans. “What have you two done and is it going to make dinner with my father awkward tomorrow?”

Crow crosses his arms behind his head and whistles at the ceiling. Jusis says, after a painful pause, “Ah, is it tomorrow we’re seeing your father?”

Machias drops his head onto the table. “Seriously? I should have left you to suffer.”

“Well, it’s not as if you were obligated to rush to my rescue.”

“Man must be smitten,” Crow observes.

Machias raises his head. “Oh, please. As if we don’t all know Rean would break down the gates of hell if you looked a little sad.”

“In all fairness, Rean would break down the gates of hell if any of us looked a little sad.”

Jusis sneers. “But you’d do it for him too.”

Crow shrugs. “Who wouldn’t?”

Machias bangs his head on the table twice. Jusis rolls his eyes.

Time to change the subject. “So, you guys need any more help today?”

“Reiner is still jumping at shadows.”

Jusis considers it. “You were very useful, but the rest of my day consists of dry paperwork, I’m afraid.”

Crow looks between them. “Well, you have that in common. Never been a thing I enjoyed much. Does it really keep you happy?”

They exchange looks. Then Machias sits up properly and says, “It’s not the paperwork as such.”

“Though I daresay we both suffer it better than you would.”

“Let me talk. Look, it’s—well, we both decided, a while back, that we wanted—no, that we all deserved—a long and happy life.”

“How’s that going?”

Jusis says, “In the short term, not so well, and I daresay we’ll be required to save the world a few more times. That’s besides the point, though—“

“Saving the world is beside the point?”

Jusis ignores him. “What matters is the difference we make in the long term. Defeating existential threats is one thing, but how do we ensure that the world we save will continue to grow into one that is both compassionate and just for all? That takes time—and, yes, considerable paperwork.”

It’s simultaneously far more mature than Crow thinks he’ll ever be and so idealistic as to be unimaginable. In short—“Class fucking VII,” Crow says, banging his own head against the table.

“As if you aren’t just as bad as the rest of us,” Machias says, before he finishes Jusis’ coffee and rises to his feet. “And with that, I have to get back for a meeting. Are we done here?”

“Unless Jusis has anything else for me to do.” Despite the wobbly ending, Crow’s rather enjoyed himself today.

“I’m afraid not. If you’re willing, I’d be glad of your help in future.”

“Any time. Hey, if you’ve got a full time post going…”

“Just an occasional favour, if you’re planning to stay in the Heimdallr area.”

Machias laughs. “Where else is he going to go?”

“If you’re done mocking me, I’ve got a train to catch,” Crow says. “And, yeah, thanks, guys.” He doesn’t specify what the thanks are for, but he’s pretty sure they know. It’s not just been a day trying out something new. They’ve opened their lives to him, just enough that he feels he knows them better than he ever has.

Weird, how people can keep surprising you, even when you’ve known them so long.

Back in Leeves, the sun is setting by the time his train gets in. It’s still winter, though there’s none of Ymir’s snow or the gales that roll over Jurai. The days may be longer but it still gets dark early, and the lights outside the shops come on long before the school day is over. Rachel calls him over as he crosses the square, waving at him with excitement.

“Rean’s jigsaws came in! Do you want to collect them now?”

“Sure,” he says and wanders over. Rean had bought out her small stock the day they got back from Ymir and they’d gone down so well that Le Guin had sent him back to order more. Rachel’s pretty excited about them, and he’s not surprised to see she’s set up a new display rack.

He hasn’t taken to them to the same extent that Altina and some of the other kids, but he has to admit she’s got a nice selection, including two double sided ones which are probably going to start fights. She saves the best for last, presenting the box to him with a flourish.

It’s the Courageous II, in three dimensions.

“Aw man, Rean’s going to be gutted he’s not here to start this.”

“Hide it until he gets back,” Rachel suggests.

Crow laughs. “He wouldn’t know whether to feel grateful or guilty. Hey, have you got any more of these in?”

“I most certainly have.” Her grin promises financial pain.

Well, Le Guin keeps putting money in his bank account. Might as well spend some of it to save Rean from angsting.

He even springs for some gift wrap. As he’s watching her smooth the edges crisp, a thought occurs to him, “Who’s making these, anyway?”

“Little company working out of Milsante. I think this is their biggest order yet.”

“Ask them if they’ve sent Prince Olivert one. Hell, offer to do it as their distributor.”

“You think he’d like it? An imperial endorsement would send sales right up.”

Crow grins at her. “He’d be ecstatic.”

“I’ll get on the phone tomorrow.”

He takes the puzzles back to the dorm, stacks them into the racks, and runs the one he’d bought Rean upstairs to leave on his desk. It’s still a little too early for anyone else to be back, so he changes out of his fancy clothes and wanders up through the dusk. He’s left the notes about tomorrow’s cover work on the spare desk he’s been using in the staff room. Lessons will finish soon, but at the moment Leeves is still quiet and peaceful. As he approaches the campus, that peace is disturbed by the noise of construction—there’s a new dorm being built out the back in preparation for the new first years heading their way in a couple of months’ time. Towa and Major Michael will be moving there, along with Linde and Becky. That should free up enough space in the old dorm for Crow to have a room of his own.

If he’s still here, that is, which he won’t necessarily be.

Michael catches him in the staff room. “Armbrust, yet again you have failed to submit your time sheets on time.”

Crow’s never submitted a time sheet. He’s been wondering if Towa’s been doing them behind his back, but she’d get them in early. It must be Rean.

“You know I don’t actually work here, right?”

Michael casts a scathing glance at the spare desk, which is, admittedly, covered with Crow’s stuff. “In which case, like any other freelance contractor, you will submit your time sheets promptly. We’re not running a volunteer program here.”

Michael’s a dick who would make his life miserable if he did work here, but he is at least fair.

“Now, since you’re here, what’s your availability tomorrow?”

“I’m covering Rean’s history first thing and Class VII’s combat training in the afternoon.”

“Can you cover Herschel’s Political Economics with Class IX after break? I need her eyes on next year’s timetable.”

The timetable, Crow has come to realise, is a cryptid of the educational world. Michael has been snarling at it for weeks. Last week, Rean had been foolish enough to make a joke about the RMP and timetables and had almost been eviscerated on the spot.

“Sure—I’ll catch up with Towa later.”

Michael fixes him with a cold stare. “For your information, the current version has you teaching on that line next year. Towa will be mentoring new staff, and you’re more than capable of taking a first year class. If you’re not planning to commit yourself, you had better find me an appropriately qualified replacement.”

He’s gone before Crow can rebut that. How is recruitment his job?

It’s not until that evening that Rean’s absence begins to weigh on him. The dorm goes quiet piece by piece, voices fading and lights switching off until their room is the only one illuminated. Usually, they have a dim light in the corner of the room—a child’s night light that Rean had brought home almost defiantly after Crow’s nightmares woke them five nights in a row.

He doesn’t like to sleep in the dark.

So tonight, he’ll keep all the lights on, and try not to stare at Rean’s empty bed, or become conscious of the way he can’t hear Rean breathing from the other side of the room. They’ve been sharing like this since everyone finally stumbled off the Courageous Two, weak-legged and shocky. It’s because the dorm’s overcrowded with staff, at least officially, but the truth is that they both sleep better in the same room.

It’s why it’s so frustrating to hear Class VII, past and present, tease about their relationship—to assume they’re in love. The truth is so much messier than that. It’s Rean sitting outside his door every night in Ymir until Altina snitched and another bed suddenly appeared in Rean’s room. It’s the first look either of them take each morning, not out of some romantic urge, but because every night carries the fear that one of them may not be alive to see the dawn. It’s the way that Ordine and Valimar had hitched their souls together and somehow that bond has held. There’s nothing starry-eyed and tender about them.

Not that Crow wouldn’t or isn’t.

He can’t say he wouldn’t touch Rean—he’s thought of it, after all. Nights on the Pantagruel were long and lonely, with only his hand for company, and yeah, he thought about it. Rean had been the underclassman he liked to tease, the friend who crept past his defences, the potential awakener who came closer and closer to matching the secret side of his life with every floor of the old schoolhouse they’d cleared. So he used to imagine it, some other quirk of fate or history where they could indulge. He’d imagined everything—the two of them teamed up against the world, but just as much he’d imagined Rean’s hands on him, his on Rean, Rean on him, under him, in him. He thought about it so damn much in had been a constant warm comfort under his skin, carried with him until even Ordine stopped teasing.

And, look, he thinks at the ceiling and Rean’s empty bed—look, obviously, he can’t say he isn’t in love with Rean. He’s not stupid or oblivious, whatever his classmates may imply. He felt it building even as he was desperately trying to avoid any commitments, back before the Civil War. Sometimes Fate just fucking throws you at someone, so hard you can’t help but splatter all over them. He gets it—gets that his death broke Rean apart and that his coming back hasn’t quite mended the cracks. Rean needs him to live, which isn’t really the same as needing him to love, but when those cracks are finally filled, when time does its job and heals everything, what will be left?

He can’t imagine a future for them.

He can’t really imagine any future at all, no matter how many jobs he tries out. Everyone else in Class VII seems to have found their purpose. The only purpose he ever had turned out to be a sham.

Fuck, he misses Ordine. He’s not going to sleep tonight. Before, he’d have got up and crept out of whatever town he was in. All he would have needed to say was, “Let’s hit the air, man,” and Ordine would have whipped them both up and away, the whole damn sky their playground.

Eventually he sits up, rubs his eyes and goes over to the desk to check his ARCUS. Rean hasn’t messaged again. He could check the group chat to see if anyone’s up, but he hasn’t got enough energy to cope with their concern. Eventually, he ends up scrolling through his Pom! Pom! Party! contacts. At this time of the morning, no one’s playing.

Except Lechter, who is somehow on everyone’s contact list, always awake, and really fucking annoying to play against, with a tendency to drop poms seemingly at random until one fits into the last available space and the whole damn screen cascades away.

Well, really fucking annoying might be a good distraction right now. With a sigh, he sends a challenge.

By the end of the week, he’s bleary-eyed enough that Towa starts fussing. Ash’s insults start to include the phrases ‘pathetic insomniac’ and ‘lovesick loser.’ Altina starts to hover anxiously.

And even Lechter won’t play him at Pomto any more.

It’s Saturday lunch time when his ARCUS finally buzzes with the message he was waiting for.

AshenTachi: All rogue archaisms cleared out of the cave system. Should be back in Heimdallr by lunchtime tomorrow.

“Rean’s heading home,” Crow remarks to the table at large.

“I am very happy for you,” Altina informs him.

“You’re a fucking embarrassment,” Ash mutters.

“Yay!” Juna is very loud and far too close to his ear.

Towa pats his arm gently. “And it’s a free day tomorrow. Are you going to meet him at the airport?”

“I’m meant to be meeting Emma and Laura for lunch, so I’ll be in town anyway.”

He sits in the staff room for a while after the day ends, getting his marking done before Rean gets back. There’s not too much to do, and he doesn’t quite get why Randy is always six weeks behind with his.

“Because not all of us have freakish time management skills,” Randy grumbles at him. “You and Towa just set the bar too high.”

“Just skip all the punctuation,” Crow advises him. “Saves time and makes Ash scream like a stuck pig.”

Randy lifts a finger at him and Crow laughs and makes his escape. Even on a cold winter day, he always likes the atmosphere on the evening before a free day. The kids have all scattered to their clubs—as he comes out, he can hear the thwack of tennis balls on rackets and laughter from the garden. He swings by the hangar and finds Mint moping.

“I miss Val,” she confides. “The Panzer Soldats are cute, but they don’t chat in the same way.”

Valimar had always seemed a little too austere to chat with a mechanic, but Crow’s also pretty sure nobody looking in from the outside would have known the true extent of Ordine’s tendency towards bad puns. He scoops Mint up and deposits her with the modern music club (and doesn’t the very fact that exists warm his heart so much?). By the time he’s got to the end of the hall, the maximum volume on their speakers seems to have gone up a few notches, and there’s a flute in the mix.

He gets almost all the way to the classroom before Musse ambushes him. “Did Instructor Rean ask you to cover his evening patrols as well, or are you just equally selfless?”

“Bored without your usual victim? He’s back tomorrow.”

She pouts at him. “Whatever could you be implying, instructor?”

“What do you want, Musse?” She’s highly entertaining, but he hasn’t always got the patience to play along.

She follows him into the classroom, where he props the door open and starts tidying up—he’s got time, and there’s no need for Rean to come back to find his space a mess. Musse, who is sweet under all the nonsense and manipulation, immediately starts to help. She says, not quite casually enough, “Have you spoken to Ada lately?”

Fritz and Ada had quietly transferred to the branch campus after Prince Cedric disappeared. Fritz seems to have adapted well—he’s joined the chess club and gets along well with several of the other boys. Ada has struggled more, but he’s thought she was starting to settle down. “I thought you guys were friends?”

“We are, but that doesn’t mean she trusts me with everything. Normally, I’d wait for Instructor Rean to get back, but I’m worried about her. You do have a way with people yourself, instructor.”

Crow sighs. This is somehow Rean’s fault, or maybe Towa’s. He’s pretty sure he never volunteered to be a good guy.

Trying to overthrow a corrupt government for the sake of the people does not count. The body count was too high.

“Is Sidney being a pain?”

Musse giggles. “Oh, I could deal with that. No, he’s very sweet.”

“Where is she, then?”

“She went back to the dorm. Perhaps you could speak to her in the morning? She hasn’t joined a club yet, so I’m not sure where she’ll be.”

It doesn’t take long to finish up the room after that. He and Musse walk back to the dorms together. She's been spending more time in Ordis lately, and it’s interesting to hear her perspective. She’d been in Heimdallr while he was there learning to pilot Ordine, but the place has made its mark on both of them.

The cooking club have helped Celestin with dinner tonight, and the warm rich smell of beef stew greets them as they come in. Kairi and Wayne are bent over a puzzle in the foyer. There’s a faint clash of steel in the practice room which probably means Crow needs to go and haul Kurt out by the collar and throw him in a bath before he forgets to eat dinner again. The radio is on in the dining room and Crow takes a moment to wonder where Vita is right now.

By the time, he’s dragged Kurt and Jessica away from their match, intercepted Pablo and Tita before they start to take the dining room heater apart to find out why it’s rattling, and moved just fast enough to stop Freddy embellishing the side salad, dinner is ready. Musse has settled down to chat to the principal and Leonora. Crow’s kind of curious, so he drifts that way and gets dragged back into the conversation, which has evolved into an unsurprisingly fierce debate over the best restaurant in Ordis.

It’s a good evening, even without Rean, and it ends with Randy dragging him out for staff drinks with everyone except the principal and Michael, who is heading into Heimdallr with a faint smile on his face (must be an opera weekend). After a week of poor sleep, Crow’s a cheap drunk. Randy pretty much has to shovel him back through his door at the end of the evening, and he face plants straight into bed and passes out.

When he wakes the next morning, he’s puzzled by the way the light seems to be slanting the wrong way across the ceiling. Then he realises he’s in Rean’s bed and just groans.

Randy’s left a bag hanging off his door—one curia balm, one teara, and a bottle of water—because Randy is a good bro. Crow takes them gratefully, heads down for a bath—and unexpected conversation with Becky through the gap in the wall. She’s making Hugo’s life hell again and he feels it’s deeply unfair that everyone rags on him and Rean about being oblivious when she still hasn’t noticed that every second word out of that poor guy’s mouth since they were seventeen has been her name.

He finds a list of tasks in his mailbox, pinned to yet another contract. He shoves the contract back in there with the last three and glances at the tasks. They’re all optional, but Leeves has made him welcome, so he doesn’t mind helping out. He needs to track down Ada as well, which should keep him busy until it’s time to head into Heimdallr.

He’s whistling to himself as he heads out. Sorting out Rachel’s missing delivery turns complicated fast, but missing deliveries usually do. Munk’s got questions about Jurai for some radio drama he’s working on. Crow calls Altina to help him taste test Lisa’s new recipe. Le Guin informs him that she’ll be taking Class VII through Einhel Keep this afternoon, so he swings round to warn them all, resolves a Vantage Masters dispute in the process, and finally finds Ada sitting by the fountain in the main square. She is very obviously moping about something so he throws himself down beside her and asks, “What’s up, kid?”

She sniffs. “Just because you’re covering his lessons, it doesn’t mean you have to cover his do-gooder duties as well.”

“Just one newcomer looking out for another.”

“Says a member of the original Class VII. I don’t need rescuing. Please leave me alone.”

He shrugs at her. “Sure. When my legs start working again. I’ve been running around all morning. I tell you, Rean makes this shit look easy.”

The look she sends him is unimpressed. “To be clear, I know who you are. A few simple chores wouldn’t tire you out at all.”

“I’m getting old. It comes to us all.”

This sniff is almost a laugh. “You’re twenty-two.”

“That’s right. Retirement is looming on the horizon. You, however, are still young and full of energy and yet here you are, sitting with this old man on a bench, humouring his infirmities.”

“You came over here!” she starts indignantly.

“You should be hanging out with kids your own age,” he tells her and she finally gives in and giggles. He grins at her and says, “See. That’s better. Seriously, why aren’t you in a club? Were you in one at the main campus?”

“They don’t have clubs there any more.”

That sucks. He may not have had time to join one himself, but he’d helped out with all sorts of club shenanigans in his time. What was it with military types and taking all the fun out of life?

Ada mutters something.

“What was that?”

“I was going to run for student council.”

Aha. Now he’s getting somewhere. “Sounds like that might be coming your way by default if you don’t pick anything else.”

“But that isn’t right!” Ada bursts out. “It’s not supposed to be a punishment. Getting elected is supposed to be an honour. I can’t just run by myself because no one else wanted to, not when…” Her voice drops to a mutter again, but Crow’s pretty sure the next words are no one would have voted for me anyway.

“So set up an election,” he says.

“Do what?”

“One thing I’ve learned about leadership is that if you set up a system, people will use it. Someone’s got to do the hard work to get it up and running, but once that’s done, hey presto! Besides, when else do you get to invent an entire system of student government from scratch?”

Her jaw drops. “But— I mean, I couldn’t, could I? Anyway, the school’s too small to need one, or we’d already have one.”

“But we’re going to get bigger when all the new first years start in the spring, aren’t we? They’re going to need something, even if we’re muddling through at the moment. I mean, we could probably make do with one person doing things full time, and others helping out when they’re needed, at least for the first few years.”

“I can’t just start a student council by myself.” But she sounds like she’s seriously considering it now.

“Hey, the main campus didn’t have one for about fifty years. Someone had to get it started.”

She says, slightly dreamlike, “I could definitely organise an election. A real, democratic one.”

“Attagirl. You know who might be able to help? Towa.”

“Instructor Towa? I heard she was an amazing student president.”

“Best of the best.”

“But what if people think I’m interfering—coming in and changing things when I have no right?”

“You’re a student of the Branch Campus, Ada. You have every right. And, hey, if anyone complains, sic Towa on them. Or, y’know, Linde was on the Student Council her second year. Becky was treasurer. Rean and I both helped them out a bit. We’ll all back you up.”

She lifts her chin. “That’s very kind, but it’s supposed to be a student council.”

“Better get some students on side, then. Maybe drop in on some clubs and talk to them about the idea.”

“Well, obviously we’d need representatives of the clubs,” Ada murmurs. “And perhaps the class presidents from each class could join us.”

Yup, she’s up and running. It’s going to be fun to see how this plays out.

If he stays, that is.

Ada’s bounced to her feet. “I’m going to talk to Instructor Towa.”

“Try the library.”

To his horror, she bows to him. “Thank you, instructor. You’re still just as interfering as Instructor Rean, but that did help.” She pauses, bites her lip and then rushes out, “And, actually, um—we’ve met before. I should have mentioned it earlier, but you had that bandanna back then and you’re obviously much taller now, and I wasn’t sure for a while.”

Crow can’t remember seeing her before the last year. “Uh, I’m sorry, but—“

“I wouldn’t expect you to remember. It was seven years ago. Michael Gideon gave a public lecture in Heimdallr. I was interested in politics even then, so I got permission to go. You were standing at the back, and you were the only other person there who was anywhere near my age, so I decided to sit near you.”

Oh, hell. He does remember this. “But the audience got pretty heated, and then the RMP came in and broke it up.”

“I was so frightened,” she says simply. “But you were there.”

“You were the little girl in the yellow dress?” The memory of her face was one of the things that haunted him back then, the terrified kid with her pigtails, her broken glasses and blood on her best dress, crouching by an overturned bench, the crowd stampeding around her, the RMP’s whistles sounding, the crashing and shouting, the screaming and smack of fists against flesh.

She nods tightly. “You grabbed me and carried me into the corner and stood in front of me while everything was—well, it was one of the reasons I decided on Thors. I never wanted to have to rely on someone else to defend me again.”

He’d recruited Gideon to the ILF the next morning, both of them still seething over the way a peaceful lecture ended.

Ada keeps going. “And I’ve been wanting to thank you ever since, but you vanished afterwards. So, thank you. You saved me that day and I am very grateful. So, if we do make this election happen, I would be very honoured if you agreed to be our student adviser. And I’m going to talk to Instructor Towa now, thank you.”

And she dashes away, her cheeks suspiciously pink.

“I might not be here,” Crow says weakly, but she’s gone. And, seriously, did he somehow actually turn into Rean while he wasn’t paying attention?

He ends up giving Kurt a lift into town. Laura’s teaching at the Arseid school all week, and Kurt’s got permission to join them this afternoon. He’s actually chatty for once and Crow welcomes it. Kurt’s little swordnerd crush on Laura is considerably simpler than anything else in his life right now. He leaves the bike parked by the Arseid school and walks round to the Art Cafe to meet the others. Emma’s brought Dorothee along so he greets her with a hug.

“Hey, Dots. Loving Volume Seven.”

“Don’t call me Dots,” Dorothee says automatically and then lights up. “Oh, you liked it? What did you think of the growing tenderness between Roland and Shion?”

“Wasn’t sure at first, but you’re winning me over. What’s with this Rykel dude, though? Surely he’s not going to come between our loyal childhood buddies?”

Laura looks extremely confused. Emma’s shaking her head in dismay.

Dorothee says archly, “Well, you’ll just have to read the next volume to find out.”

Crow winks at her. “Looking forward to it. But you know what I say—no such thing as a love triangle that can’t be resolved with a good threesome.”

Dorothee giggles. “Not in this series. Although, that does give me an idea.”

“Just mention me in the dedication.”

She laughs and hugs him again. “I have to get back to work. Do call me when Rean finally swoons into your arms.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He watches her go, fondness stealing over him. He’d been such an angry kid when he arrived at Thors but surliness just rolls off Dorothee and straight onto her page. She’s infuriating, but becoming her friend and occasional unwilling muse had put one of the first cracks in his armour.

“Do you have to encourage her?” Emma wails softly.

Laura is still looking puzzled. “When she says Shion, does she mean my ancestor Shion Arseid? I was unaware that she was writing about real historical events.”

“She’s not,” Emma says urgently. “She’s definitely, definitely not, not in the slightest, and you must never ever read them, Laura.”

Crow laughs and sits down. “Good to see you both. I may have to love you and leave you at some point—Rean’s going to message me when he’s half an hour out, and I’m his ride from the airport.”

“Of course. It sounds like his mission has been fascinating.”

A multi-branch cave system full of rogue archaisms and fungoid monsters doesn’t strike Crow as fascinating, but Laura’s always going to Laura. “You should have begged for an invite. Bet they’d have welcomed an Arseid along.”

“Alas, with father still recuperating, I have many teaching commitments to fulfil.”

“You should totally let me help out with that.”

Her smile is graceful. “Sadly, you lack the dedication to the way of the sword required. You should seek out your own purpose in life and devote yourself to that.”

Crow sighs. “You were much nicer about that than either Jusis or Machias.”

“Oh, have you seen them lately?” Emma asks. “They’re so busy these days.”

“Pfft,” a voice says from under the table. “You missed your chance there.”

“Celine!” Emma protests.

As far as Crow recalls, Emma’s crush on Machias lasted for all of three weeks. Celine’s hilarity over it is hitting the three year mark.

“You should ask Millium,” Crow tells them. “She has a room in their house.”

“Aww,” Emma says. “I still can’t quite believe that those two are going to be get married.”

“It does seem unlikely,” Laura agrees and turns to Crow. “Almost as unlikely as you and Rean, and yet here we are.”

“Here we aren’t,” Crow says hopelessly and they both smile at him like he’s a small child.

Under the table, Celine snickers.

“Come on, talk about something more interesting. Emma, what are you doing these days?”

It’s feeble, but Emma’s kind, so she picks up the conversation, describing life as a wandering witch. Crow doesn’t think it would suit him—too lonely and unstructured, but she’s got good stories to tell and Laura weighs in just as eagerly. Crow adds stories from the branch campus and their lunch goes by on wave after wave of laughter. He’s so caught up that he's taken completely by surprise when a familiar voice says, “You guys sound like you’re having a good time.”

“Rean!” Emma exclaims and Crow has to slap his own face to stop the feelings from showing.

“What happened to messaging me when you were half an hour out?” he grumbles to hide the way his heart is expanding.

“We had good winds and got in early and I didn’t want to interrupt your lunch,” Rean says. Laura’s already on her feet wrangling another chair for him, and within moments he’s squashed in between her and Crow. The table’s too small for all four of them, and his thigh is pressed right against Crow’s.

Rean seems oblivious but Crow—well, he’s a disaster, isn’t he?

Emma’s looking sympathetic, though he’s pretty sure Celine is laughing at him.

“,,,probably not going to make it back in time for Einhel Keep,” Rean is saying.

“Le Guin’s taking them through it. Hope you bought them souvenirs to apologise.”

Rean laughs, because of course he bought souvenirs. “Isn’t Kurt here?”

“I shall make him earn his prize,” Laura promises. “But tell us, Rean, how was your journey? Did you take the opportunity to learn from the Divine Blade of Wind?”

The way of the sword promptly starts to dominate the conversation. Emma sighs and sips her tea. Crow rolls his eyes at her and murmurs, “Should have brought my Blade cards.”

“We could play with my tarot deck but I hate to think what future that would predict.”

Crow grins at her, terrifying as that thought is, and leans in to interrupt. “I hear it’s not about the size of the sword, but how you swing it.”

Laura squeaks. Rean chokes on his tea. Emma drops her face into her hand in mortification and Celine says snidely, “Well, I see someone’s been spending a lot of time with Fie lately.”

“I’m insulted you think I can’t manage my own innuendo,” Crow tells her. “Who do you think taught Fie everything she knows?”

“Sara,” Rean says, and Crow claps his hand to his heart and pretends to swoon onto Emma’s shoulder.

“Boys,” Celine huffs.

Laura eventually has to depart for her lesson and Emma heads off too, after a round of hugs from her and Celine’s failed attempts to dodge the inevitable head pat. Finally, they’re alone and Crow just relaxes, something tense and taut within him suddenly easy again.

“Did you bring the bike?” Rean asks.

“Of course.”

“I’m driving.”

Crow quibbles and the argument takes them all the way to where it’s parked. He’s going to let Rean win this time, but there’s no point in making it easy, especially when Rean’s souvenirs fill up the sidecar to the point where it’s obvious they’re going to be riding together.

“Shades of the academy festival,” Rean says.

It’s a good memory so Crow grins and shrugs. “Still don’t get why you ignored all the class hotties to invite me along.”

“I like you,” Rean says and snags the keys out of Crow’s grasp while he’s still blinking.

Sometimes it’s hard to know how much Rean is aware of all this—of the complicated messy not-quite thing between them. The puzzle of it keeps Crow distracted as they thread their way through the Heimdallr traffic, keeps his mind off the way his hands wrap around Rean’s hips, the warm tickle of Rean’s hair blowing back against his face, the scent of him, steel and leather.

And now they’re out of the city, and Rean’s opening up the throttle, and the pure clean speed of it is exhilarating. Crow’s probably never going to admit how much he loves driving with Rean, who drives like he fights, swift and controlled and fierce. Caught in this speed, trusting in Rean without hesitation, all of his uncertainties blasted out of him—it’s the safest place he knows.

They make it back to Leeves too soon.

“Ten minutes to spare until the meeting,” Rean says. “Where do you think we’re going this time?”

“You haven’t taken these kids to most of the east yet, have you? Roer maybe? Unleash them on Bareahard while Jusis isn’t looking?”

Rean laughs. “Roer would be good. Think there’s any chance of Nord? I think they’d love it.”

“I’ve barely been there.” Nord sounds good.

Rean goes to stow the bike away. Crow spots Juna, where she’s lying on a bench, arm over her eyes.

“Good training?” he enquires.

She opens one eye and gives him a death glare. “I can’t believe you left us with that monster.”

“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”

“That’s what she said. Right before she told Schmidt to turn the difficulty up.”

“Are any of you dead?” Rean asks over his shoulder, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Not quite. Though that’s no thanks to either of you.”

Rean shakes his head. “Guess you don’t want a souvenir from Leman, then.”

That perks her up. “You brought us presents?”

“Yeah,” Crow says, “but we’ve got a meeting. Round up the troops while we’re busy.”

“You can’t promise presents and then walk away,” Juna protests, but Crow’s already steering Rean away.

Unlike their students, Le Guin doesn’t look like she’s broken a sweat all afternoon. She’s in a good mood, though, which doesn’t bode well for Class VII’s general well being.

Or perhaps it’s not Class VII who are the worst off here, because once everyone has finally assembled, she announces their destination.

The next Branch Campus field exercise will be in Jurai.

To reopen the Door, bring me the Azure Chevalier and  his equal who arose from the ashes.

(Note for those reading this after Chapter two becomes available--the second chapter did not originally become available until Chapter 17 of Labyrinth of Steel. You may wish to return to the frame narrative before proceeding) 

Chapter Text

He’s not entirely sure how he gets to Heimdallr. His ARCUS is thrumming with messages and he's two pints in by the time Sara slides into the other side of the booth. She's got her own ARCUS open, and she speaks into it. "I've got him. Leave it to me."

Crow finishes his drink and fights the urge to walk away.

Sara plants her elbows on the table, rests her chin on her fist, and says, "Wow, it's like you have a homing instinct for shitty bars."

"Pretty sure you've been in worse."

"Well, yeah."

“How’d you even find me?” He’s not even sure where he is—somewhere on the east side of the river—the kind of bar that rarely changes the sawdust on the floor or cleans out their beer taps.

“I’m good at what I do.” She’s still studying him. “Did you really have to ride on the roof of the train?”

Huh. He had been running on pure instinct. “Used to sneak out of Trista that way all the time. Especially after someone assigned me a dorm room overlooking the tracks.”

“Astonishing that you haven’t died even more times. What was wrong with the highway?”

“Well, I had this teacher who used to get drunk down in the lobby so no one could get past her to break curfew.”

“And I thought I was being subtle.” She sits back, though, as if something he’s said has reassured her.

“Like a sledgehammer,” he tells her, and a little more of that frantic panic in his head fades away.

“Want another or are you ready to go somewhere where they wash their glasses more than once a month?”

He’s not ready to go home, but another pub doesn’t sound too bad. “After you.”

Once they're outside, the place becomes more recognisable. Crow rolls his shoulders out and eyes the lock gates. "Oh, here. Is there still that little place round the corner with the stuffed skunk over the bar?"

"What is it about you and shitty bars tonight?"

"Hey, I have fond memories of that place. Scarlet and Gideon tutored me through the Thors entrance exams in there."

Sara laughs incredulously. "You're not serious."

Crow shrugs. "Sunday School dropout here. I wasn't going to pass without help. Vita did her best to drum some culture into my head and even Vulcan weighed in with some military tactics and finance."

"What an image," Sara murmurs. "Mind you, Arngarmr always did well for themselves. They were a decent little outfit. I remember my old man being pretty troubled when they got wiped out."

"So, up for the Pickled Skunk?"

"Over my dead body," Sara says and pulls him towards the tram. "Let's pick somewhere we won't have to knock sense into a whole succession of foot pads."

"Spoilsport," Crow complains, and waves nonchalantly at the little gang of men lurking at the side of the road. "I bet those guys were just gagging to take on a bracer. You could have softened them up for me."

Sara smacks him around the back of the head. "Don't taunt the criminal element or I'll stand back, let you at them, and then mark you on your skills."

"I'd just like to point out that you're not my instructor any more." The would be foot pads are looking increasingly reluctant.

"Oh, fine, you can mark me. Instructor Crow."

"I'm not actually..." Crow sees the lights of an approaching tram, and raises his voice. "Hey, if you guys are going to do this, can you make a move? I don't want to miss that."

Sara sighs. "Couldn't we have at least tried to make it out of the docks without a fight?"

"They won't take long. The foot pads round here aren't up for much. I probably beat up their big brothers five years ago."

The thugs slow even more. Sara slaps her forehead, grabs him by the scruff of his neck, and puts him on the tram.

Crow pouts. He'd been starting to enjoy that.

"Take it out on some monsters later, not some innocent little criminal wannabes."

"Eh, monsters." He slumps onto the seat and watches the docks rattle past. They're the only ones on board, so he doesn't worry about stretching his legs out into the aisle. "So, Rean brief you as to why he's calling in the cavalry?"

"Sure did." She leans against the side of the tram and surveys him. "So, what's the big deal? Not like it's the first time you've been back to Jurai."

Crow shrugs. "Different thing, though, isn't it. Last time, I was putting all my effort into making sure no one recognised me. This time, I'm going back as me."

"How the hell did you pull that off, by the way. I was with you most of the trip, and nobody took a second look."

"Vita pulled some don’t-notice-me shit," Crow says. "She couldn't erase the name Armbrust from half the memorials in town, though. I was shitting myself that someone would put all the clues together."

"I'm sure Emma could come up with something similar."

Crow shakes his head. "I'm trying to cut down on the lies. 'Sides, everyone has to go home and face the music eventually. I promised Stark—" He closes his mouth on that, because he still can't quite make sense of Stark's faith in him, despite the gap of years. “Can’t say I’m thrilled by the prospect, though.”

Sara hums and gazes out the window. After a while, she asks, "Never wanted to go back now everything’s over?"

"Didn't like what I saw last time."

"No?"

"Turns out I was sacrificing it all for a place that was better off part of the Empire. It wasn't...well, it wasn't a place I fully recognised."

"Been there."

Her bravado is a better disguise than his slacker mask ever was. It's easy to forget that North Ambria forged her, wherever she calls home now.

He nods in acknowledgement.

The tram turns to climb onto the Anor bridge. For a moment  they look down on the bright lights of the docks crammed along the banks, the ships' lights moving slowly down the water, the part  of the city that truly never sleeps, whatever the clubs and bars of the city centre claim.

They're moving into Ost when Sara stirs and says, "So was it just personal, after that?"

Crow shrugs. Rean's the only person he's really spoken to about all this. "Kind of the opposite. I had to accept that I was on the wrong side of history, but that wouldn't bring Arngarmr back from the dead or rebuild Scarlet's home or restore Michael's job. He was married, you know. She left him when they banned his books and stormed every place where he tried to speak."

Sara doesn't speak but he's pretty sure she does know. She has a lot of sources both within and beyond the guild.

"And it wasn't just them. Everyone in the ILF had survived some injustice which had left them broken. We dealt with it the wrong way, but the cause was just." He can't stop the words spilling out of him but he tries to save it, turn it lighter. "What can I say? What's a terrorist but an idealist who puts his cause above all moral decency?"

The ex-jaeger sitting opposite him grimaces. "And then one day you realise that the ends never did justify the means."

"They never do, do they? And then someone tells you you're going back to see all the people who knew you before that and you're going to have say, Hey, guys, this is who I am."

"Been bottling that up a while, haven't you?"

Crow lets his head tilt back and groans.

"Thing is, I'm not going to feed you some line about secretly being a good person all along. Some things are just too awful to excuse away. But if you try to go forward just to make up for everything you’ve done, you’re not going forward at all. Make amends to those you can find and live your life trying to be a half-decent person. We can’t travel backwards to change the past.”

“So what, just keep on going until Aidios makes a judgement call?”

"You can take that up with Gaius. I just do what I need to live with myself."

"Yeah." He's not sure he's there yet, not ready to put the past in the past. But Sara's done far worse in the service of her country than he ever did for Jurai. She's there as overt, unavoidable proof that there might be a future where he's a bit less fucked up.

"Did Rean ask you…?"

Sara sighs. "Kid, your world might revolve around Rean, but not everyone's does. I volunteered."

He's not going to embarrass them both by gushing, but he is grateful. "Appreciated."

Sara's pretty good at picking up what's meant rather than what's being said. She nods at him and says, tone lightening. "So, what say you to another bar? I could do with a drink."

"You could always do with a drink, but sure. I'm buying. We can toast the places we were born and make fun of the stupid shit Erebonians do."

"Aidios knows I'm never forgiving you that," Sara grumbles. "My entire first year of teaching, not one person looked at me in commiseration when some idiot tried to go through a wall rather than over it or started waxing lyrical about a duel their ancestor won five centuries ago."

Crow grins. "Remember that time Lambert tried to joust with a windmill?"

He ends up crashing in the Guild that night and makes it back to Leeves just as the bell rings for the start of school. It should be an opportune time to sneak back into the dorms.

Unfortunately, he is intercepted at the entrance, where Stark is leaning casually against the fence. He says, "Rumour has it we're going home."

Crow rolls his eyes. "Firstly, is there no such thing as a secret in this place? Secondly, shouldn't you be in class?"

"Shouldn't you? Instructor."

Crow points at him. "Don't you start. I'm not teaching until ten. What's your excuse?"

"Study period."

"Got an answer for everything, haven't you? Smartass."

"I can't imagine where I got that from," Stark says.

He's still there when Crow gets out of the shower, sitting on the couch in the foyer and frowning over a book.

Crow is reminded of a much younger Stark, too short for his legs to touch the floor, concentrating just as hard on his very first piece of Sunday school homework. He really shouldn't steal this piece and make Stark chase him round the room to get it back.

"I know what you're thinking and you're not stealthy enough to pull it off," Stark says, standing up and putting his book away. "So, is it true?"

"That's what I'm told. Have you been back since you started here?"

"Not yet. I'm glad for the chance." He laughs. "Not the best time of year, though."

Crow follows him outside. "What could you be implying there, young Stark? Our beloved city is beautiful at every time of year and we're going to be very disappointed in anyone who says otherwise."

Stark snickers. "Rain? What rain? This hardly counts as real rain."

"Don't you find storms so exhilarating?" Crow adds.

"Look, it's just not real hail until it's bouncing off your teeth."

They both crack up. Yeah, the branch campus doesn't know what it's letting itself in for. Crow says, "Oh, I'm so going to make Class VII climb up Balefirefell."

"There's a cable car now."

"I know that," Crow says, "but Ash and Juna don't."

"Yeah, but you need to get it past Musse too. Don't underestimate her."

Crow laughs again as they turn up the hill. He's still dreading it, but now there's a little anticipation mixed in.

Stark says, a little hesitantly, "I had a thought."

"Hit me."

"When we went to Ymir, you and Altina and Instructor Rean went ahead. Is there any chance we could do the same?"

"Not sure the principal would go for it."

"Doesn't hurt to ask. My parents would like to see you again, and we might not have time during a field exercise."

Crow thinks of Stark's kind, voluble mother and his stern, steady father. He's not sure why they would want to see him, given everything he's done, but it does set up a quiet yearning. He hasn't been homesick in years. It was a luxury that his mission didn't allow.

It would be easier to return to Jurai with fewer eyes on him.

"I'll ask," he tells Stark.

"Thank you. Let me know what she says, so I can call home." He adds ruefully, "They still only have the shop phone, despite all my efforts to get them onto the orbal network."

Crow finds that reassuring. At least not everything has changed.

Le Guin, capricious as ever, agrees with one condition.

Crow should probably have seen this one coming.

He heads up to Class VII's room, just as the lesson ends. Rean's still in the room, and he waves Kurt and Musse away as Crow comes in. Altina is more reluctant to move, but Ash hauls her out, which is uncharacteristic enough of him that Crow needs to check up on what he's up to later.

Perhaps he needs to have a surreptitious look at the sweepstake again. He can’t remember where Ash currently has his money.

"You okay?" Rean asks.

"Yeah. Sorry for bailing on you last night."

Rean's look is one of those awkward ones where he seems to be measuring Crow against a scale he doesn't understand. "I get it. What's up?"

"So, it's a good thing you haven't had time to put your pack away because you're being treated to an exclusive preview tour of Jurai by its favourite son."

"Oh, Stark's coming with us, is he?"

"Think you're funny, don't you. Also, yeah, he is. Le Guin's sending us up early to finish setting things up, restore Stark to the loving embrace of his doting parents and, y'know, find some hilarious shit for Class VII to do."

Outside the door, Ash says incredulously, "Wait, is that why our last field exercises sucked so much? Who's letting that loser pick our tasks?"

"You should lower your voice so they don't overhear," Altina observes, also quite audibly.

Rean puts his face in his hand. "Were we ever like this?"

"In all fairness, none of you noticed your greatest nemesis was living down the hall."

Rean rolls his eyes and raises his voice. "What I can overhear is two people who are already late for the principal's art lesson."

Hurried footsteps sound from the hall and Crow gives in to the laugh rising in him.

Unfortunately, Rean turns his stern look Crow's way next. "And shouldn't you be somewhere too?"

"Reviewing the first year syllabus with Towa." And, yeah, Towa's schedule doesn't have enough give in it for him to be late.

"Go. I'll catch you later and introduce you to the infernal art of writing meaningful cover lessons."

They spend the evening packing, which is to say Rean packs and Crow lounges on his bed and makes fun of Rean's terrible packing skills.

"All that time as a fugitive and you're still carrying a complete set of Carnelia everywhere you go. Travel lightly, my man."

"Oh, shut up. They're useful for trade."

Crow laughs at him.

Rean grins back at him. "Also, has Sara not inducted you into bracer bingo yet? Winner is the person who manages to sneak the most volumes of Carnelia into Toval's pack in a month."

"Well, given how many you've got you're either really good at this game or absolutely terrible."

"Terrible, to be honest. Fie usually wins."

"Typical. Now, what's the excuse for this many curia balms? There's an art for that, you know."

"I'm sorry, I thought you'd met the new Class VII. There is no such thing as too many healing items."

They're interrupted by a knock on the door. Stark's waiting outside. Crow waves him in.

"I spoke to my parents. They would be very happy to put us all up until the Derfflinger arrives."

"That's very kind of them," Rean begins cautiously, as Crow is flooded with memories.

Stark adds, "I have been told, and I quote, to 'tell that young rascal that we still have his room ready and a tin of sand cookies with his name on.’"

Crow's throat feels too full to speak. Rean asks, "Sand cookies?"

"You wouldn't like them," Crow lies.

"My mother started making us separate tins when he kept stealing mine. Of course, then he just made me use them as stakes in every card game he cheated on."

Crow points at himself, feigning indignation.

Stark's smile is broad. "Nobody in this room is fooled by you."

Rean's looking at them in fascination, but he doesn't comment.

"What time is our train tomorrow?" Stark asks.

"5:45," Rean says with a grimace. "We'll meet you downstairs at 5:30."

When he's gone, Crow flops back across his bed, staring at the ceiling but doesn't see plain white plaster. Instead, he sees the slanting wood of a traditional peaked ceiling, smells the scents of gingerbread and cinnamon drifting from the kitchen, hears the soft rush of rain and the deeper sigh of the waves against the quay.

He wants to go home.

He won't be welcome there.

Except there's a tin of his favourite childhood cookies waiting for him.

"You okay?" Rean sits on the bed next to him. Crow controls the urge to roll over and bury his face in Rean's lap.

"Crow?"

"I'm good. I just... Well, I haven't been home for a while. Kinda worried about the reception I'm going to get." He's kind of proud of himself for putting it into words at all.

Rean hums and Crow sees his hand move but makes no effort to dodge the head pat. He needs the touch right now and he's not going to complain about Rean stroking his hair.

Sigh, possibly, but not complain.

Rean says, obviously picking his words carefully, "I don't know the place like you do, but I'd be willing to bet any reaction you get will be mixed. Some people will welcome you, but others won't and it won't always be the ones you expect."

Crow pulls himself up a little to stare. He doesn't like hearing that note of resignation in Rean's voice. "And here I thought you were the conquering hero."

"It's the conquering bit which cause problems, especially in Crossbell."

Crow wants to kiss him. That's pretty synonymous with breathing these days, but he particularly wants to sit up and wrap his arms around Rean and kiss that bitterness out of him. Instead, he throws his arm over his eyes, and complains, "I just used a four syllable word inside my own head. What am I turning into?"

"A teacher."

Rean dodges off the bed before Crow can kick him, but he's laughing again.

Crow goes back to relaxing.

"Should I put that spare gladiator belt in?" Rean wonders aloud.

"Don't we already have four of those between us?"

"Better safe than sorry."

Crow groans.

A distressing thought occurs to him and he sits up.

Sure enough, all that's in Rean's laundry basket is the outfit he wore yesterday.

"Did you even unpack anything from your last trip before you started stuffing more crap into your pack?"

“I’m just going to unpack it in a few days anyway.”

“And what about the stuff you were wearing in Leman?"

"Huh." Rean has clearly forgotten about that. He prods the bottom of his bag with his foot and says, "I mean, it's quite a long way down, and  I've got everything just right on top of it…”

"I cannot believe you have women chasing you the length and breadth of Erebonia."

"The stories are exaggerated." Rean eyes his pack like he's contemplating wrangling his dirty laundry out of the bottom, but shrugs and adds another tear balm instead.

Crow rolls off the bed, grabs Rean's nearly empty laundry basket, and drops it over Rean's head.

"Hey!"Rean flails, arms trapped and eyes covered, and goes stumbling across the room.

Crow ignores the protest—Rean is a Divine Blade and therefore perfectly capable of escaping that, for all he’s staggering around blindly right now—and goes to sort Rean's pack out. He finishes by plucking the basket off Rean's head and filling it with everything he found festering in the bottom of Rean's pack, including three pairs of rock hard socks which look like they've been there since the Civil War.

"I might have needed those," Rean protests.

"What, to throw at the monsters?"

Rean sighs and pokes forlornly at his much lighter pack.

"You'll thank me when you're sixty and your back starts to play up."

Rean's face lights up. "Maybe. Since we're actually going to live to see sixty."

"Yeah," Crow says slowly and he knows he's smiling like an idiot.

"Of course, you've got the grey hair already."

The resulting scuffle is loud enough to bring Towa to their door to scold them for interrupting her marking.

It's dark when they leave the dorms the next morning. Even Stark looks sleepy still and Crow can't stop yawning. Once they're on the platform, he just leans on Rean's back until the train comes in.

"I still think we should have got an airship," Stark says, rubbing his eyes.

Rean sighs. "The principal specified that since the rest of the school are travelling by train, we must too. No preferential treatment."

"If one must suffer, all must suffer," Crow intones into the back of Rean's neck. He’s too tired to stand up by himself and Rean is right there to keep him upright.

"I'm just saying that we could cross to the other platform now, get a train to Heimdallr and then get an airship. That way we would be home by lunchtime and we wouldn't have to sit on a train for an entire day."

"She'd know," Rean says darkly.

Stark doesn't even try to argue with that, and the train's coming in.

They change onto a faster train in Grenville. There are a few more travellers now, holiday makers heading for Raquel and businesspeople on the way to Ordis. It's still not busy, so they have plenty of space. Crow fishes out a pack of cards.

The other two both sigh. Stark says, "I'm not playing for anything more valuable than sweets."

"How about the loser buys lunch?"

Rean laughs. "How about the first person caught cheating buys lunch and doesn't borrow the money for it off his innocent friend or student?"

"I don't know what you're implying," Crow protests as Stark laughs at him.

They play for penny sweets, like they used to when Stark was a kid. Stark's got a lot better over the years. Rean's got worse, his tells more obvious.

Or possibly Crow just knows him better.

It's a long run across the heart of the Empire, from the long viaduct across Lake Gala to the deeper and deeper cuttings as the hills begin to rise into mountains. The views of rock walls get more alike by the hour, and cards can only stave off so much boredom. Stark gets a book out.

Rean says pointedly, "A book would be nice right now. If only I still had one in my pack."

Crow rolls his eyes. "I'll buy you a paper in Ordis."

"Ordis is three hours away."

Stark says, "I have some spare books with me, Instructor, if you would like."

The spare books in question are Infrastructure Challenges in the Orbal Network and Beyond Osborne's Revolution: Politics of the New Empire.

"Kid, you need to learn to have fun," Crow points out as Rean, trapped by his own good manners, picks up one of the books with a notable lack of enthusiasm.

Stark says, without batting an eyelid, "Are you saying learning isn't fun, instructor? Would you prefer us to apply that precept in your lessons?"

"I'm not your—Who taught you to be such a brat?"

"You," Stark points out. He's reading a novel.

Crow gives up and nabs the political one for himself. He wants to see if he's in the footnotes.

By the time they get into the canyons, they've all getting hungry. He gets outvoted when he suggests lunch in Raquel, but he can't help standing up to watch as they slow into the station. Even at this time of day, there is the suggestion of flickering orbal lights about the place.

His stomach grumbles as they draw out again.

"You could have said you were that hungry," Rean says.

"Nah, you were right. Ordis has better food."

He will always associate Raquel with hunger, and with that slow burning realisation that so many of the desperate around him could trace their ruin back to the same man.

"Are you okay?" that man's son asks, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Crow makes an effort to pull himself out of the mood, "I'm good."

Rean looks sceptical. Stark looks up from his book, the same little line between his brows that used to be there when he was worried about one of his Sunday school friends.

Honesty, Crow reminds himself. Honesty was supposed to be his new policy.

He says, trying not to look at either of them, "I washed up in Raquel for a while after I left Jurai. Scrubbed a lot of pots for a pittance, got into some fights, met a lot of people far worse off than me, and started to build up a head of steam about it."

Stark's frown deepens. "You could have stayed with us."

Crow tries to keep his tone light. "Well, you know me. I never was much use at doing what was good for me."

"My mother cried."

Oh, hell. He doesn't need to know that, and  he's pretty sure he knows what guilt and anxiety lies behind it. "Kid, there was nothing anyone could have done to stop me. I was too hellbent on getting away."

“But—“

It's getting uncomfortable, so Crow deliberately stretches and yawns. "Please tell me you guys aren't going to be like this for the whole trip. What's the point of a holiday if you're not going to relax?"

Rean sighs and rubs his forehead. Stark says, "If it's any comfort, instructor, he's always been like this."

Crow grins. "Irresistibly handsome and charming?"

Rean says drily, "Yes, Crow, that was clearly what we were implying." But his smile is so fond that Crow goes hot.

Stark seems to find them both very entertaining.

Ordis in early spring feels full of ghosts. The mist curls off the bay and Bryonia Island is invisible. The food stalls are all shuttered and closed. They have lunch in the waterfront tavern, listening to the creak and chime of boats sitting in the fog. The lighthouse isn't be fully mended, not yet, but someone has restored the foghorn, and it booms out its warning at regular intervals.

Miranda brings their food over. She'd been an assistant cook here when he first came to Ordis, drawn by dreams of a thunderous voice calling his name and the growing certainty that someone—something—was waiting for him. He had haunted the docks, picked up odd jobs here and there and, like most of the stray kids in Ordis, had been fed leftovers out the back of the tavern.

Miranda stops to chat, beaming at him. "It was so good to see you dashing in and out during the crisis," she tells him. "And look at you now, here with Leonora's teacher, and finally looking like you're eating properly."

"Oh, come on," Crow complains as 'Leonora's teacher,' gannet in human form that he is, steals chips off the side of his plate.

Miranda threatens Rean's knuckles with a wooden spoon. "We all thought you'd run off with one of the escort fleets. We were frantic when none of them had heard of you."

"Why didn't you run off with a fleet?" Rean asks.

Stark suggests, "Given his tendency towards drastic action, he'd have turned pirate within a year."

Rean's eyes widen. "You'd have made a very dashing pirate."

Crow's pretty sure that Rean, mountain boy that he is, has formed his whole concept of pirates from, at best, novels, or, at worst, porn. That's somewhat gratifying, especially given Rean has gone rather pink and hazy, except...

"I get seasick," he admits. 

Stark says, his tone at odds with the hilarity in his eyes, "As have some of the greatest admirals in history. I'm sure the pirate life would still welcome you. If you haven't settled on teaching, that is."

"Don't give him ideas," Rean says, looking dismayed.

Crow points out, "You could run away to sea with me."

Miranda covers a smile with her hand. Stark is very obviously messaging Musse.

Back on the train, they settle into the final stretch. This train is quieter, which he's glad of. So much of his life was changed by the existence of this line.

"Bad memories?" Rean asked softly.

"Only time I've done this line is with Class VII. First time I left Jurai, it was on foot. I took the coast road."

Stark says, voice low and shaking, "That explains why the guild never found you."

Rean says, "I didn't realise there was much of a coast road coming out of Jurai."

"It's closed now," Stark says. "It's unsafe."

Crow could argue with that—he’s fought his way through much worse places. His brain has caught on something, though. "Why was the guild looking for me?"

"Because my mother paid them to," Stark says.

Crow gawps.

There's welcoming him back with cookies and there’s throwing good money after bad. He’s genuinely bewildered when he asks, “Why?”

“Why?” Stark echoes sharply.

Rean’s hand is suddenly tight around his.

Stark, who has been so composed in this new adult mask of his until now, chokes on his words. “Why? You were just gone. My mother—she thought he’d made provisions for you and by the time we realised he hadn’t you’d vanished and then we went into that house and—she begged the guild to find you. My father posted a reward. We had a room ready for you, the moment you were found—she had the papers ready to adopt you, but no one could find you and we kept trying. We plastered pictures of you all over Jurai—every night, my father and I met the train and asked everyone getting off if they’d seen you. Even when the guild told her to stop, she’d try again, every year on your birthday, until those damn soldiers came from Duke Cayenne and threatened—“ He shoves to his feet. “Please—excuse me. I shouldn’t have—“

He disappears down the train and Crow ought to go after him, ought to comfort him, ought to let him know that he matters. But he can’t. He can’t move.

Rean’s arms are around him, and he can’t breathe. He just buries his face in Rean’s shoulder and shakes.

His grandfather had died and it had felt like the inevitable end of the line. There had been nothing to stay for, just the vast emptiness where love had been. He had never thought to look up—to see if anyone was looking back.

Rean’s cheek is pressed against his hair and Rean’s hands are warm on his back. He’s whispering, “I’ve got you, Crow, I’ve got you. I wish you could see how many people care about you.”

He doesn’t deserve that—not Rean’s love or Stark’s pain.

 The train lets out a long whistle, and the windows flicker dark to bright as they plunge into the first tunnel.

Crow never wants Rean to let go, and he knows if he breathes that out loud, Rean never will. He's so close to not caring about the injustice of it, of how Rean deserves better than a weight around his neck. Right now, Rean's set on keeping him close, but Crow's not a long term kind of guy. He's not going to grow old peacefully, whatever they joke about. Sooner or later, another disaster, or his own demons, will drag him down, and what will Rean have gained from it beyond more grief and missed opportunities?

You're supposed to let the things you love go free, and he knows he needs to make a choice, break them out of this half life of indecision, but it's so hard to let go, especially when Rean's arms are tight around him and Rean's lips soft against his hair.

Rean’s whispering his name, so tender it burns, and the train is rattling down this track like the beat of his foolish heart. He says, "Look at me, Rean. All that angst and drama, and it turns out someone did want me around. I was just too dumb to notice."

"Grieving," Rean corrects. "Scared. And, okay, maybe a little dumb, but forgivably so."

All Crow would need to do is lift his face. All he'd need to do is ask, and Rean would kiss him, take all this uncertainty away.

Instead, he says, "I should check on Stark."

Rean's sigh is pure frustration. "Give him a moment to get his composure back. He idolises you."

"He shouldn't."

"Shouldn't doesn't come into it. Don't embarrass him."

Crow sighs and pulls away. "Could you..."

"I'll check on him. Stay here."

Rean firmly steers Crow into the window seat, and sets off after Stark.

Crow stares out the window. The line has come down to the coast again, and they're creeping along the side of the cliffs. Below them, lacy arches and stacks reach out to sea, waves crashing around them in arches of glittering spray, and monsters moving in the shadows, gleaming like oil. This line had been recognised as a great feat of engineering when it first opened, feted and lauded across the continent for traversing such a challenging coast.

Rean and Stark come back. Stark is a little red around the eyes, but he's brought snacks.

"Clearly, I trained you well," Crow says.

Stark rolls his eyes. "Yes, it was your childhood inability to leave a cookie unmolested, and not the year I've spent acting as the Branch Campus' quartermaster."

 Rean says, "Either way it's appreciated."

Crow shrugs but makes himself look straight at Stark. "Looks like I owe you one. You were right to suggest we come up first."

"Think nothing of it," Stark says and then his face lights up. "Look! There's Jurai!"

It's barely visible around the far curve of the bay, but it still unmistakable, bright buildings spreading up the steep banks of the fjord. Crow leans close to the window, Stark at his shoulder, and watches until its hidden behind a bend of the land again.

They're going home.

 It's going to be a while before they get there. The coast is steep and driven through with inlets and the train's speed is limited by the terrain.

Stark settles back in opposite them and fishes in his bag for his book. Rean unfolds the paper he bought in Ordis.

Crow yawns.

Stark says, “We’ll wake you up when we cross the bridge, if you want to sleep.”  

He ought to bear witness to this line, but the rhythm of the train and the string of sleepless nights are catching up to him.  

 When Rean wakes him, it's just in time to watch the arches of a long bridge go past the window.

"And that's it," Stark says. "We've crossed the border."

Crow thinks, But we're still in the Empire.

Rean's arm is still around his shoulders. "How long now?"

"Fifteen minutes or so," Stark says. He's looking, for lack of a better word, shifty.

Crow narrows his eyes. "What are you up to? Spill."

Stark says, "Er, well."

Rean sits up straight, because that sort of prevarication is alarming. "Stark?"

"I should probably have mentioned this before," Stark says.

"Mentioned what?"

"There was a bit of a, well, a miscommunication, really."

Crow's bullshit alarms are ringing. "About?"

"So, my parents may be under the impression that you're engaged."

"To?"

"Each other."

Rean facepalms. Crow is not buying this. "And you couldn't correct this misconception?"

Stark says earnestly, "I was going to next time I came home, but it made her so happy to know you were settled."

Crow really needs to check that damn sweepstake. Trust Stark to manage the odds to his advantage. He folds his arms and says, "Let me guess. You’re procrastinating because she’s finally stopped hinting about grandkids."

"I can tell you've met my mother," Stark points out, which is fair enough.

Stark turns his attention to Rean. "I know it's an imposition, instructor, but I don't suppose you could hold off on explaining. She's been so excited to have him home, and I don't want to spoil that."

Rean visibly wavers. Crow's got about twenty seconds to decide whether to expose Stark's scamming ways or double down.

It's got the potential to be hilarious, and Crow hasn't forgotten how badly he's slept all week or how hollow eyed Rean gets without him. An excuse to stay close would be helpful.

Rean says hesitantly, "Well, I'm not sure that's fair..."

"Potentially," Crow says, "how many tins of cookies do I get over the next year if we go along with this?"

Stark says, "I'm sure we could come to an agreement."

Rean blinks. "I'm sorry, are we bartering Crow's virtue for cookies now?"

"And yours too," Crow points out.

"At least tell me they're good cookies."

Stark's looking very pleased with himself, and, yeah, they could have made that harder. Crow isn't sure what Rean's thinking, but he's aware he likes the idea too much to resist.

He's used to thinking of Jurai Station as a new building, but it's beginning to look worn in the corners. He follows Stark down the platform, and smiles when Rean notices the water below the planks.

"Built on a pier," Stark explains.

Crow doesn't even realise what he's listening for, over the rumble of the engines, until the sound comes through clearly—the tide on shingle, that low rattling pull of the ocean.

He’s home. He’s finally home.

Stark’s face lights up. He lifts his arm and waves frantically.

And—oh, oh they look so much older, but still unmistakable—there’s grey in her hair now and wrinkles around his eyes, but they’re right here waiting for him.

Ilsa’s running by the time they make it through the ticket barriers, but she’s not charging at Stark like she should be. She wraps her arms around Crow and gasps, “Oh, when did you get so tall?”

“Auntie Ilsa,” Crow says, leaning down to meet her. His throat is locking up.

“Oh, look at you. So grown up and you lost that silly bandanna. Oh, I can’t believe you’re finally home.”

“Man, what did everyone have against the bandanna?” Crow grumbles but he submits to her hug without fighting. He doesn’t remember her being this short.

When she finally releases him, he turns to find Rean and Stark talking quietly to Stark’s dad. This will be harder—Auntie Ilsa has always spoiled him, but—

“Good to have you back, son,” Uncle Geir says quietly and claps him on the shoulder.

Oh. Oh. Crow flails out a hand, and is somehow entirely unsurprised when Rean takes it.

“So, this is your young man,” Auntie Ilsa says gleefully.

Rean does the bashful celebrity thing, complete with sheepish smile. “Rean Schwarzer, ma’am. I’m delighted to meet Crow and Stark’s family.”

“Well, isn’t he a handsome one,” Auntie Ilsa says happily.

Crow manages to wink at her. “As if I’d settle for less.”

Uncle Geir says to Rean, “We’ve heard a great deal about you from Stark’s letters. You are very welcome to our home, instructor, and would have been even if you hadn’t brought this reprobate back.”

Crow gives Stark a look. Stark smiles back blandly.

Rean’s gone pink, but his hand is steady in Crow’s. “We appreciate the hospitality. I’ve never been to Jurai before. I look forward to getting to know the city.”

Auntie Ilsa giggles. “Well, I hope you’ve brought your waterproofs. Tourists at this time of year, really!”

Crow relaxes. “Ah, don’t worry. I packed for him.”

She beams. “Well, isn’t that sweet?”

Stark, who has listened to Rean bitch about his half-empty pack all the way from Leeves, suffers a sudden coughing fit.

Uncle Geir is looking amused. “Well, let’s get you boys home. Tell us, Instructor, how’s our Stark doing?”

“Very well,” Rean says seriously. “Did he tell you that Crow’s teaching now too?”

Auntie Ilsa seizes his arm again. “Oh, really? And to think your grandfather was worried you’d go to the dogs. And now you’re respectable.”

Stark adds, so earnest Crow’s going to need to sort him out later, “Did you hear that he’s a reservist too, Mum? The Duchess of Lamare herself helped reinstate his rank when he came back.”

Crow is still seething over that. Musse, damn her manipulative ways, has somehow rewritten his past to turn a terrorist sponsored by Duke Cayenne into a blacks op officer of the Lamare Provincial Army. He objects to being made respectable, even if she did add back pay to sweeten the deal.

Rean, who has found the entire thing hilarious, adds, “Technically, he’s an officer, but he doesn’t like to use the title now he’s not in active service, do you Captain Armbrust?”

Crow glares death at him.

Stark comments, refusing to meet Crow’s eyes, “And now he’s engaged to a noble, you could even say he’s an officer and a gentleman.”

Crow may have to dropkick him into the harbour now they’re home.

“Oh, Crow,” Auntie Ilsa says, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m so proud.”

Behind her back, Stark lifts his hand to offer Rean a discreet fist bump.

To his relief, the bookshop hasn’t changed at all. There are still books stacked everywhere—new releases in the front rooms and secondhand books in the labyrinthine back rooms. Rean’s eyes go wide and dreamy at the sight. Crow’s worried he’s going to lose him to the history section, but Ilsa hurries them all upstairs.

And it smells like home—the resin still haunting the wood, the faint hue of books, and warm scents from the stove. Crow stops dead and has to swallow twice to find his voice.

“It’s good to be back,” he says hoarsely.

Auntie Ilsa pats his arm again. “We’re so glad to have you. Now, we’ve got an hour until dinner, so let me show you boys your room.”

So they are going to be together. That’s a relief. Crow isn’t ready for anyone but Rean to witness his nightmares.

It’s his old room, and the nostalgia overwhelms him for a moment, until he realises Rean has gone completely still.

There’s only one bed, a broad double heaped with duvets and tucked close under the slanting eaves.

“Uh,” Crow says.

“No need to blush, dear. We pride ourselves on being modern.”

Stark really needs to see a doctor about that cough.

Rean says, while Crow is still panicking, “We appreciate it. You’re very kind.”

The Rean Effect is not what it once was, but Crow still sees the moment when it hits Ilsa. She blushes and flaps her hand at them. “We just want you to be happy.”

Crow clears his throat. “Thank you, auntie.”

She leaves them to settle in, dragging Stark after her. Crow sits down on the bed abruptly.

Rean’s still standing in the middle of the room. He says carefully, “Quarters were tighter on the Merkabah.”

They’d all slept head to toe on hard bunks on the Merkabah. There had been none of the danger of a soft warm bed shared with the person Crow wants more than anything else in the world.

He forces himself to smile. “We’ll cope.”

“I see why you don’t want to disappoint her. They’re lovely.”

“Yeah. They were my parents’ friends and they helped my grandpa out when he got stuck with me.” Crow grins. “You should have seen Stark when he was little. Cute kid, but stubborn as they came.”

Rean laughs. “I can imagine. Oh, wow, look at that view.”

Crow’s seen it many times before. “Yeah, yeah. This used to be my room when my grandpa was working late and they looked after me.”

“They obviously adored you. I bet you were a great kid.”

“You’d be wrong. I was a troublemaker.”

“But a charming one, I’m sure.”

Flustered, Crow gets up. “I’m going to bug Stark. Want to come with, or are you okay here?”

“I’ll unpack. You give him hell.”

He gets a fist bump as he goes past.

Stark’s tucked away in his own little room, staring at his ARCUS.

“So,” Crow says, lingering over the word. “When exactly do you have your bet in?”

Stark goes still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh. Musse’s sweepstake. ‘Oh, instructor, I accidentally made my parents think you were shagging each other.’ I’m guessing early tomorrow morning. Or do you think we can hold out until tomorrow night?”

Stark opens his mouth, closes it again, blatantly runs through a range of excuses and finally says, “Uh.”

Crow flashes him his most evil grin. “Cash me in, and I’ll double your winnings.”

Stark narrows his eyes. “So you are planning to seduce him?”

“Or maybe I should just tell Musse you’re trying to rig the results. I don’t think she’d like that.”

Stark says urgently, “It’s not like that—I don’t want her to think… I’m doing this for you, Crow.”

“You seem to care a lot for Musse’s opinion,” Crow throws out speculatively and is rewarded by Stark turning a vivid pink.

“Uh,” he says again.

Well, isn’t that adorable. “Double or nothing, Stark.”

Stark says piously, “Honesty is its own reward. No deal. Go and get your man, idiot.”

“Maybe I will,” Crow says. “Maybe I won’t. It will be on my timescale, either way.”

It’s not the best exit line he’s ever had, but he doesn’t even remember his dying words so he’ll make do.

Rean looks up as he wanders back in. “Is he still alive and in one piece?”

“Couldn’t throttle him in his parents’ home. Got some good blackmail material, though.”

“Really?”

“Seems our Stark has a thing for Musse.”

“That’s very sweet,” Rean says and then frowns. “Actually, on reflection, that’s a terrifying prospect. How long would it take them to take over the world?”

“A year or two at most, but it would be a very well-run world.”

Rean catches his eye. Crow’s mouth twitches. Then they both descend into laughter.

“So, are we doing this?” Rean asks.

“If you don’t mind. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

Rean winks. “I’ll be the best fiance you could ever have.”

Buh. For a moment, Crow’s brain just stops.

“Um, is something wrong?”

“What? No—I’m fine.”

Rean doesn’t look convinced. “Let me know if you need a break at any point. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks.”

Rean mercifully changes the subject. “I didn’t know Stark’s parents ran a bookshop.”

“Best in the north west. They supply collectors in Ordis and beyond.”

“We’ll have to find a way to cover Towa for an afternoon so she can visit.”

Crow pokes through his pack until he finds his second ARCUS. “I’m sure Class VII don’t need both of us tagging along. We’ll make it work.”

“You should take them alone out one of the days. Mix up the dynamic and make them try new strategies.”

There are new messages on that group chat Crow’s not supposed to know about. This should be fun.

IronStark: Um, guys, don ’t want to worry anyone, but Crow definitely knows about the sweepstake.

Crossbell Pride: What? How?

CantBeatFie: uh oh I smell trouble

Crow grins and starts to type.

DeadlySilver: Oh, no. Are you sure? What makes you think so?

CrossbellPride: Hi, Elie!!!!!

IronStark: He just told me he did.

Lloyd: Juna, that ’s not Elie.

SilverRain: I ’m Elie.

CrossbellPride: What? Who is DeadlySilver, then?

FluffyButDangerous: I don ’t recognise that ARCUS number. 

“Should I be worried by that smile?” Rean asks.

“Just having fun at our dear friends’ and students’ expense.”

“Play nicely.”

Crow considers his options. There are many ways he could prolong this, but eventually enough is enough. Time to bring the whole thing down.

DeadlySilver: Man, like none of you have ever used a burner ARCUS?

BlackRabbit: I told you it was a bad idea to have this many people in the group.

OnlyAdultintheRoom: CROW? Is that you? What do you think you ’re doing? How long have you been here?

DeadlySilver: Couple of months. And Crow? Am I Crow? I thought BloodandAsh was Crow.

BloodandAsh: Fuck you, bitch.

CantBeatFie: tut tut Ash. language.

CantBeatFie: there are children here

DeadlySilver: Aw, guess I ’ll have to be Crow, after all.

IronStark: I can ’t believe you.

DeadlySilver: Shouldn ’t have tried to cheat, Starkums.

Rean says, not sounding too worried, “Was that Stark screaming down the corridor?”

FluffyButDangerous: Oh? Do tell.

IronStark: He ’s got a burner ARCUS and you want to talk about MY strategic choices?

“Nice deflection,” Crow murmurs. The kid’s going down fighting.

CantBeatFie: yeah starks definitely cheating

WindBlade: Perhaps more to the point, did Instructor Crow actually spend that much money on a second ARCUS just to stalk us?

DeadlySilver: Comes in useful for other things. Who doesn ’t need an extra identity every now and then?

Scarecrow: Eh, kinda amateur to reveal it, though.

BloodandAsh: Who the FUCK added LECHTER to the group chat?

FluffyButDangerous: That aside, let ’s talk about Stark’s cheating now, everyone.

“Do I want to know what’s going on?” Rean asks.

“I mean, I could tell you, but you’d have to be disappointed in them for about a month and you know that makes you cranky.”

“Is anyone at risk of injury, physical or emotional?”

“Just a bit of embarrassment. Towa knows what’s going on.”

“I suppose it’s fine, then. Do you feel sufficiently avenged against Stark?”

The group chat has descended into chaos. Hah. Job well done. Mind, he’s probably going to have to buy bloody Lechter a drink the next time he whirls through Leeves.

 Auntie Ilsa’s voice sounds from below. “Boys! Dinner!”

Stark’s eyes are wild as he comes out to join them. He points at Crow. “Why are you like this?”

“Devastatingly gorgeous and always three steps ahead of your game? I was born this way.”

“You are banned from the group chat!”

Crow grins. “One of me is banned from the group chat.”

Stark urgently flips his ARCUS open again.

Uncle Geir says pleasantly, “Did you forget the house rules while you at school, son? No devices at the table.”

Crow will treasure the memory of Stark’s face for a long time to come.

The evening is easier than he had feared. Auntie Ilsa’s cooked his favourite meal and they all retreat to the parlour with coffee and piles of cookies. Stark gets his revenge by saying mildly, “Oh, Mom, did you tell Crow that you’ve been looking after his baby pictures?”

Rean is the perfect back-up, asking questions about the book trade, complimenting the food, leaning over Crow’s shoulder to look at pictures and ask about the people in them. He’s obviously fully committed himself to the charade, because his hand barely leaves Crow—warm on his shoulder, lightly on his thigh, tight in his when they turn the page in the album and his grandpa is there grinning crookedly back at them.

“He looks just as much a troublemaker as you,” Rean says and how is he faking that much sincere fondness?

Maybe he isn’t. Crow’s not trying that hard himself—this is more like dropping a mask than lying.

Rean’s good at making his masks shatter.

“So when’s the wedding?” Auntie Ilsa asks.

Damn. They should have probably come up with an answer to that one.

Rean says, without batting an eyelid, “We haven’t set on a date yet. The legislation is still going through the Diet and even after that, working out the logistics is a challenge—we were originally thinking about Ymir but there’s only so much space for guests. Leeves would be more practical, given the transport connections and all the hotels in the capital.”

So they’re having a big wedding, are they? Probably inevitable. Crow adds, for verisimilitude, “We were thinking about the spring, for the lino blossom, but it’s not going to be feasible this year.”

Rean’s expression goes all soft and dreamy. Huh. Well.

There is a distinct possibility that if they keep going along with this, they might actually end up married without ever having to have any difficult emotional conversations.

Tempting, but ultimately self-sabotaging, Crow decides. Not to mention that Towa would call in assassins. She’s big on emotional communication these days.

Stark seems to have regained his equilibrium and is frantically messaging on his ARCUS again.

It gets awkward later on, when they’re alone in the room with that one wide bed now impossible to ignore. Crow goes over to the window, lingering for a minute to stare out through the rain-speckled glass at the lights of Jurai. It’s hard to tell through the rain, but there seem to be even more of them than there were on his last visit.

He closes the curtains and turns round.

“Did you pack pyjamas for me?” Rean asks, sounding surprised. “I could have slept in my shirt.”

“Gremlin,” Crow mutters. “How do any of your clothes last more than a year?”

Rean laughs and begins to strip off, with that utter lack of self-consciousness that comes with growing up in a hot springs town. It’s always fascinated Crow, even when they were just dorm mates in Trista, the way that modest, self-deprecating Rean can be so comfortable in his own skin in this respect.

Of course, it tends to make sharing a room all the more challenging, especially when that room has no privacy screens. Crow has seen Rean’s naked ass more times than anyone who isn’t sleeping with him should have done.

Tonight, he’s not strong enough to feign indifference. He turns his back and pulls his own nightwear on as fast as he can.

“Do you want the wall or the room?” Rean asks. “I’m likely to be up first.”

“I’ll take the wall, then.”

Rean is decent again, though there’s something about him barefoot in flannel pyjamas that makes Crow’s heart clench a little. He really watches to just reach out and pull Rean in, wrap him up in his arms and hold him tight.

Rean’s gone a little pink.

Crow takes a deep breath, slides past him and climbs into bed. He holds up the duvet for Rean.

“Do you want the lights out or did you want to read?”

“Out—unless you want them.”

“I’m good,” Rean whispers and turns out the light. He slides clumsily into bed, crowding across until he’s knocking into Crow, right under his arm. Crow lets the duvet fall, and it settles on them, trapping them together.

“Sorry,” Rean whispers and for a moment they are tangled together, both trying to make space for each other and neither of them succeeding. At last, they’re separate, but Crow can still hear Rean breathing, feel his presence in every slight shift of the mattress.

It would be so easy to shift forward, to fumble through the dark until his mouth found Rean’s and Rean’s hands were on him.

The easiest thing is rarely the right thing. He’s been reminded of a lot of past choices today, a whole crowd of people he could have been. Maybe, in some other version of the world, there’s a pirate version of him seducing an honourable navy Captain Schwarzer; maybe there’s a Crow who stayed in Jurai and became a local politician who met the Ashen Chevalier at a party in Heimdallr; or maybe he stayed here and went to Thors, dated an underclassman he’s now just waiting to marry. Maybe he could have survived the Vermilion Castle, been pardoned, had Rean’s back in the Northern War and gone with him to the Branch Campus as his trusted partner.

But none of those things happened. None of those men are here today. All their futures are just fantasies and he cannot see his own.

If something happened between them, it would break Rean’s heart when he lost him again. It would destroy Crow’s, obliterate the last shreds of kindness and decency in him. That’s not good for anyone.

He sighs.

“Can’t sleep?” Rean asks.

“Thinking.”

“Can I help?”

It feels, so close, so intimate, together in the dark. These are dangerous waters, so Crow reaches for any innocuous idea he can think of.

Rean’s hand settles on his chest, right over his scar. Crow wonders if Rean can feel the way his heart begins to race.

He says, stupidly, “So, if I’m still kicking around Leeves next year, we’re both going to end up teaching some swimming lessons. What’s the most ridiculous thing we can get new students thinking about the matching scars?”

Rean says thoughtfully, “In general, I find they’re quite good at concocting ridiculous rumours of their own. Tragic training accident with a combat shell that took us both out at once?”

“That’s your best answer? Got to start with a gambling debt, a bottle of champagne and a bet you couldn’t back out of.”

It’s funny how he can tell Rean is rolling his eyes, just from the tone of voice. “Add a few beautiful women to the mix and you’ve got a full tabloid headline right there.”

“I’ll add it to Fie’s scrapbook.”

“I hate that scrapbook. Okay, how about a monster mishap? We were simultaneously speared through the chest by a giant marlin—“

“—out to avenge all its relatives you’d brutally caught and delivered to Sandy as lunch ingredients? The amount of time you must all spend dragging fish back to camp.”

“We just make Ash carry them.” Rean’s getting into the spirit of this now. “We need more melodrama.”

“Your life is non-stop melodrama.”

Rean’s sigh is so gusty, Crow feels it against his face. Maybe it’s that, maybe it’s the sudden panic at the intimacy and how close they’ve moved without him realising. “Maybe you rescued a kidnapped prince from a no-good terrorist and got hurt in the process.”

There’s a moment of silence before Rean whispers, “That was you, Crow. Mine’s less noble.”

“Let’s tell them you were the hero. That makes more sense.”

“Or we could pretend I tore my own heart out and gave it to you,” Rean says furiously. “Pretend I actually got to choose this scar—that I chose you.”

“You’ve always chosen me, even when you damn well shouldn’t have.”

“And I always will.” Rean’s right up in his space now, so close the only place Crow’s hands can go are his shoulders (his chest, his hips, so many places, but his hands are locked on Rean’s shoulders now and he can’t—)

“Crow, what are we doing?”

“Nothing,” Crow lies, though every syllable stings. “We’re not doing anything, Rean.”

“Why not?”

The words sit between them, and Crow’s eyes are burning. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“You sat there this evening and planned our wedding and yet you—“

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Rean, please.”

“I’m never going to stop choosing you.”

He wants to believe it, wants it so badly it hurts. “Chose someone better. Someone less broken.”

“I’m broken too.”

“Not forever,” Crow whispers. His hand has crept up into Rean’s hair now, cupping his skull. “You’ll mend and I won’t, and that will break you all over again.”

“Can’t we mend each other?”

Crow can’t imagine that. He can imagine a happy future for Rean, but he can’t see a place for himself in it. He pulls his hands out of Rean’s hair and covers his own face. “Please. Don’t.”

“Crow.”

“It was a good evening. Don’t ruin it.”

Rean’s sigh is all frustration. He pulls away, crashing onto his back. Crow makes himself small, bracing in case this is the time when Rean finally gives up on him.

But Rean reaches out and takes his hand, fingers locked tight around Crow’s.

Crow holds on. It takes two swallows before he can speak. “I wish I could be what you want.”

Rean’s voice is thick. “I want you to be happy. I wish it could be with me. I wish I was good enough.”

Crow closes his eyes against the sudden blaze of tears. “You’re too good for me. Go to sleep, Rean. You’ll see sense in the morning.”

Sleep doesn’t come easily, and when it does he’s restless. Every time he wakes, he’s rolled closer to Rean, touching him in some new way—a hand on his chest, a leg over his hips, face buried against his shoulder. Each time, Crow pulls away, lies on his back and tries to keep his hands to himself.

He’s woken when Rean breathes his name, desperate and agonised. The dawn is putting its first grey frame around the window, the rain is lighting softly on the roof and the waves sigh to shore not far away. He’s so confused, forgetting for a moment where he is and why Rean is here with him.

Rean says in his sleep, voice breaking, “It’s okay! That doesn’t matter right now!”

Oh, no. Crow’s seen this nightmare enough times. He sits up, reaching for the light.

He doesn’t really remember dying—just the pain, and the surge of Emma’s mana, and Rean’s arms around him. He’s pieced some of it together from watching Rean revisit it night after night. He doesn’t really know what he said to them all, and he’s not going to hurt them by asking.

He has to wake Rean gently from this one, so he slips an arm behind his shoulder and pulls him up. “Hey. Wake up, now.”

“No… Don’t talk like that…”

“Come back to me. Everything’s okay now.”

Rean’s eyes flutter open. “Crow?”

“It’s March 1207. We’re in Jurai and we’re both alive. It’s over now.” He’s tried a lot of phrasing over the past few months, but this seems to work best.

“Alive,” Rean echoes and his face crumples. He sits up fast and latches onto Crow, burying his face in his shoulder. “You’re alive.”

Crow can’t deny him this. He wraps his arms around him tightly and rocks them both gently. “We’re alive. We’re both alive.”

Rean’s voice is still raw. “I dreamt I lost you.”

He’s still half-lost in nightmare. Crow’s done this enough times now that he knows there’s no point trying to explain the nuances. He just holds on, resting his cheek on Rean’s hair, and keeps rocking them both. “I’m right here. I’m here for you.”

Rean’s shaking slowly subsides. He eventually starts to slip back into sleep, and Crow settles them both against the pillows. Usually, this is the point where Crow leaves him and goes back to his own bed.

Staying in his arms shouldn’t feel like such a luxury. He can’t bring himself to let go, though.

Slowly, he fades back into sleep and this time he doesn’t wake until morning.

He’s still tangled up in Rean when he comes to, arms loosely around his waist, legs knotted, Rean’s ear right in front of his eyes. Crow wants to nibble it, just to see how Rean reacts.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Crow grumbles. “Go back to sleep. It’s not morning.”

Half-asleep as he is, he doesn’t hesitate to tug Rean closer to keep him from escaping. He’s so warm and it’s so cosy under the duvet, and Crow never really wants to let him go.

“It kind of is. It’s just the rain making it dark.”

“Rean, it’s still sleeping time.”

“I should go practise.” Rean lifts up the side of the duvet.

Crow complains. “Cold. Stay here.”

“I really do need to get up.” He’s sounding less convinced by the second.

“Can’t do that inside and it’s raining. Stay with me.”

Rean laughs and doesn’t fight the tug into Crow’s arms. “If only you were this easy when you were fully awake.”

 “Mmm.” It’s amazing how well they fit together, bodies settling around each other, everything just right. Crow wraps one leg around Rean’s hip, tugs him close, and well, yeah. They’re both morning hard and getting harder, and it feels so good.

Rean whispers into his ear. “Well, good morning to you too.”

Crow vaguely remembers they’re not supposed to be doing this. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just morning.”

“Liar. And, for your information, mine’s all for you.”

He’s been worrying about the moment when Rean will inevitably give up on him. Maybe he should have been more worried about what will happen when Rean gives up on holding back.

Why’s he worrying about anything? He feels good. Everything else can wait. He slides his hands up under Rean’s shirt and tugs him closer. Mmm, skin. “C’mere, you.”

“Gladly,” Rean murmurs, and snuggles right in, rocking his hips.

Oh, that’s nice. Crow can feel the heat of him through two layers of clothes. He wants more, more of this slow, lazy heat, more of Rean. He mumbles happily, eyes drifting shut again so he can just enjoy the sensation. “You’re naked under these clothes.”

“That’s generally the way.” Rean’s breathing isn’t fast but it is deep and very controlled. He lets it out slowly and asks, reluctance clear in his voice, “Crow, how awake are you?”

“Awake enough to do you.”

“My mind is clear,” Rean whispers wretchedly. “My mind is—fuck, Crow. No, my mind is clear. Crow, where are we?”

Isn’t it obvious from the sound of the waves? “Jurai. Duh.”

Wait, what? Crow opens his eyes, and stares at Rean, flushed and breathing hard above him. “Why the hell are we in Jurai?”

“Field trip. We’re staying at Stark’s.”

It’s coming back now and with it comes a surge of panic. He shouldn’t be doing this.

“And there it is,” Rean says sadly. He leans in, kisses Crow’s forehead, and climbs out of bed.

Crow doesn’t know what the fuck is going on any longer.

Rean purses his mouth at the cold and falls into a battle stance.

“What are you doing?” Crow asks.

“I can run through forms without a blade.”

Right. That makes sense. Sure, just go from making out with your best friend to practising the way of the sword. That makes perfect sense.

Crow’s brain offers up a whole selection of sword-based innuendo. He ignores it to flop down on the pillows, arm over his eyes.

 Rean says, voice low and intent, “Crow, look at me.”

You can’t disobey a command like that

And, look, Crow hasn’t been a virgin since well before Thors. He’s no innocent, for all that he hasn’t had time for anything in recent years, between being busy, being dead and being in love with Rean. The point is that he’s experienced (sort of). There is no earthly reason why Rean Schwarzer, barefoot in his pyjamas, should be the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

But Rean’s eyes are fixed on Crow, with a quiet intensity that hints at flames. His pants are still tented, but every movement is utterly controlled, each form performed at quarter-speed, slow and relentlessly perfect.

What that control could do to him—no, what would it be to see it shatter?

Crow’s breathing turns rough.

Rean smiles very slightly, steps through a version of Gale that touches perfectly at every corner of the room and unleashes his full speed to blur back to where he started.

He’s somehow managed to lose his shirt along the way, and that’s just not fair.

“Rean,” Crow breathes, fists clenching in the duvet.

Rean lifts his arms into the third form, smile sharpening. It does things to his muscles, things Crow is beyond naming but wants to press his hands against.

He’s light-headed, so hard it hurts.

Everything else fades away. All he can hear is the thunder of his pulse. All he see is Rean. All he can feel is unfulfilled desire, blazing with potential.

By the time Rean stills at the end of Void, Crow’s existing in that need. Nothing else has meaning.

Rean steps forward lightly and kisses him.

It feels like a benediction: the firm, sure press of Rean’s lips against his, the way Crow can’t help but open to it.

But Rean pulls back, still with that uncanny level of control, and says, as if this is the end of a long conversation, “But the thing is, you’re mine.”

As if they don’t both already know that.

“And that means I can wait for you. I don’t understand what’s happening in your head, but I won’t hurt you. If you need me to wait until you’re ready, I can wait. I might not always wait passively, but I won’t give up.”

Crow asks weakly, “But what if I’m never ready?” How is he supposed to commit to a future he can’t believe in?

“Then I will wait forever.”

No. That would break his heart. “Rean.”

But Rean is stepping slowly backwards, and with every step the intensity fades, until he’s just sleep-rumpled, friendly, ordinary Rean again, as if he hasn’t just reached down to Crow’s soul and claimed him yet again. He says, as if everything is normal, “Where’s the bathroom? I should wash off the training sweat before breakfast.”

Crow says, “Uh, last door on the right. Kick Stark out if he’s hogging the shower.”

When Rean’s gone, he just sinks back against the bed. Fuck. This was not how he expected it to inevitably end. What the hell is he supposed to do now?

It’s looking increasingly likely that the answer to that is a spring wedding in Leeves.

After breakfast, they head out. The rain has faded to a light drizzle in the wind, which is gusting from the sea. It feels cold and brisk, salt against his lips and a snap in the air which makes him stand up straight. 

Home.

Stark's heading off to meet up with friends so Crow leans against the harbour rail and asks Rean, "What's the plan, then?"

Rean's looking around with fascination. It's probably a sight for an outsider—the rows of steep-roofed wooden buildings, all painted in differing autumn hues. The bookshop is a row back from the water, but Crow’s footsteps have led him straight here. No point coming to Jurai and ignoring the sea.

"Uh, I thought you could show me around. We've got a lunch meeting with the mayor, and I'd like to check out the Bracer Guild."

That had been a surprise. He'd assumed it would be closed like most of the ones in Erebonia, but Uncle Geir had mentioned it at breakfast. It's supposedly newly reopened.

Rean adds anxiously, "Of course, if there's anything you want to do alone, I can explore by myself. You’re not obliged to keep me company all day."

"Let you out alone? You'd be rescuing someone from mortal peril before I took my eyes off you."

"I'm not that bad," Rean protests, wholly inaccurately.

"Or getting washed away by the rain. That happens to soft southerners round here."

"Is this where I remind you what happened when you tried to snowboard?" Rean asks. “For a hardy northerner, you can’t cope with snow.”

Okay, that hadn’t been his finest moment.

"Like I said, learn to trust the locals. I'll take you along the waterfront first and we can cut up to the old cattle market from there—help you get your bearings."

"Lead on," Rean says and confounds Crow by taking his hand. They're been pretending to be just friends so successfully for the last hour that it takes Crow aback.

"No?" Rean asks and he's gone pink again. It probably isn't the wind.

Crow shrugs very casually and tightens his grip before Rean can pull away. "It’s cool here. Less weird about relationships than Erebonia. Same sex marriage has been legal in Jurai for a while. Or it was before the Empire came."

"Really?"

Crow leads him along the waterfront. "Jusis is making good use of that to get the Reformists on side. Having different rules for different provinces scarcely seems in line with the Reformist agenda now, does it?"

Rean snorts. "I'm not sure whether Machias helped him come up with that or whether it makes him scream indignation every time he hears it."

"Probably both, with these two. This has changed a lot since I grew up—even since last time I was here." The old warehouses, many of which had been derelict or on the verge of it when he was a kid, have nearly all been restored. There are restaurants here, two more casinos than last time, what looks like an art gallery. It's bustling, even at this hour of the morning.

"Looks like a thriving city," Rean says.

"It is now. When I was a kid, it was struggling. Losing the North Ambrian trade put a lot of these merchants out of business. Geir and Ilsa stayed afloat because they've always traded more with the Empire, but the Salt Pale even messed up the fishing grounds. I didn't really understand at the time—you don't as a kid, but it was a hard time."

Rean squeezes his hand. "I can't imagine."

Crow thinks of Sara, of the Northern Jaegars, of a whole country making war to afford food, and says, "And we definitely didn't have the worst of it."

Rean nods, and they proceed along Jurai's now busy waterfront. Even at this season, there are boats on the water. Some businesses are already starting to repaint after the winter, though Crow thinks it's too early to risk it. All they need is a late gale and they'll have to start from scratch.

The scent of fish grows stronger. The fish market didn't come down this far before, but it seems to have grown too, filling extra warehouses on either side. 

Rean wrinkles his nose. "That's strong."

"Breathe in deeply," Crow advises. "That's the true scent of Jurai, that is. Fresh northern cod, ripe for the frying."

"I notice you have your scarf over your nose. "

Crow grins. "Yeah, but I'm giving you the full tourist experience. Sniff the fish, Rean. Imagine just how much bait you'd go through to equal all that."

"It's net fishing, then?" Rean asks, perpetually interested in everything. 

The other side of the fish market is where the city begins to climb up the hillside. Crow spot the new cable car up Balefirefell, and points it out to Rean.

"We should stop by there as well," Rean says. "I'm assuming there are some monsters up there if we take Class VII exploring?"

"Plenty. Nastiest shit is on the old coast road, of course."

"Excellent," Rean says, pulling out his ARCUS to make a note.

Crow gazes uphill, to the bigger houses on the western slope. The rich have always lived upwind of the fish market, and he can pick out familiar crests and colours under the eaves of some houses. Are the same families he once knew still living there, or have they been displaced by wealthy Erebonians? 

"What's up there?" Rean asks.

"Posh people."

"Crow."

"I was born up there. My parents had a house there, but my Grandpa preferred to be close to the water. He started in the fishermen's union, see. Didn't like to think himself as one of the elite."

"Do you remember it?"

"Nah. They were gone before I was a year old. Ship went down, about this time of year."

"I'm sorry."

"I never knew them. It was one of the reasons my grandfather grudgingly accepted the railway, in the end. Trains have a better chance of surviving even the worst gales."

The rain comes in heavier, on a gust off the bay, and Crow tugs Rean under the shelter of a shop's awning. He remembers this place—it sold his grandpa's favourite tobacco, but it looks a lot more spruced up now, windows polished and window display well lit. 

Rean is frowning at his ARCUS. "That's quite a lot of messages."

Crow gets his own out to have a look. He's got plenty too.

"Oh, Goddess help us," Rean mutters. "Musse's sending me suggestions for wedding bouquets."

Forget kicking Stark into the harbour. Stark's ARCUS is going first. "Lucky you. Fie's sending me pictures of wedding dresses. With a cut out of my head stuck on them."

"Altina wants to be chief bridesmaid."

That's kind of cute, until Rean adds glumly, "So does Elise."

Since they seem to be joking about this now, Crow slings an arm around Rean's shoulder and says, "We should probably just elope."

Rean's eyes are full of mischief, but his voice is serious. "Absolutely not. You promised me lino blossom."

The Bracer's Guild is in a new building, on the corner of the market square. Crow has only vague memories of the old one, of running between and under the noticeboards while his grandpa conferred with the guild, of dusty corners and the three bracers who shared most of the load—tough men and women with laugh lines around their eyes.

The new guild isn't like that. It has clearly been refurbished very recently—the floorboards are still light and the baize on the noticeboards a fresh green. A bell rings on the door as they go in and the young man behind the counter turns to greet them.

"Welcome to the Jurai branch of the—holy fuck!"

Wow. Looks like Rean's glasses are yet again an inadequate disguise. Truly, who could have predicted that?

The bracer—receptionist?—vaults over the counter and it's not Rean he's heading for.

"Crow Armbrust!" he says. "Dude! We thought you were dead! Damn, look at you. Finally lost that stupid bandanna."

Rean doesn't even try to hide his laughter.

Crow has no idea who this is—he's in his twenties, round face, brown hair, freckles. He could be anyone.

"Uh," he says.

The bracer offers his hand. "Sorry—you probably don't remember me. Tomil—I sat next to you in Sunday School."

Crow gapes at him. The Tomil he remembers was a lot shorter and rounder than this, the kid who always got the answers right and somehow never took the blame when Sister Volla caught them passing notes or firing spitballs at the girls in the front row.

He takes the offered hand. "I see it now, but—wow. In my head, you're still thirteen. You bracering now?"

"Yeah. Bracer and receptionist at the moment. How about you? Finally coming home?"

"Just here for a visit," Crow says.

Rean says firmly, "We both work for the same school—Thors Branch Academy."

He offers it hesitantly, as if people might not have heard of Thors out here in the wilderness. 

Tomil says, "Isn't that where Stark went?"

"He's kicking around. We're staying at the bookshop."

Tomil grins. "Bag me some cookies, for old times sake." He blinks. "Wait—you're a teacher now?"

"Well," Crow starts.

"He certainly is," Rean says firmly. 

"Sister Volla will have a fit," Tomil says. "She's still at the church, you know."

Crow blinks. Of all the people he hasn't thought of in years, his Sunday School teacher is top of the list. He's got a new appreciation for her now, terrifying as she was when he was the loudest smartass in her class. "She's not retired?"

"Not her. You should pop in and say hello. She was upset when you left."

"Sister Volla was upset? I'd thought she'd have thrown a party."

Rean snorts with laughter again. "You never were a model student, were you?"

"I was a delight, and you know it."

Rean looks at Tomil and says, "He was my classmate at Thors. When he managed to both show up and stay awake."

Tomil's staring at him again. "You ended up at Thors? We were convinced you were dead."

No, Crow's not going to have fun with that, not when Rean's in earshot. "That's a story for another time."

"You staying long enough to fill me in?"

"We're here for a few days."

Tomil makes his way back to his counter. "Well, in that case, since I'm guessing you didn't come in for a reunion, how can the Jurai Bracers Guild help you out?"

Rean is in teacher mode. "I'm hoping we can help you out, actually. We're bringing our students up in a few days time for a field exercise. We have one group being trained for special missions, who have co-operated with the guild in the past. We were hoping you might have some things we could help out with."

Tomil's shoulders slump. "Oh, wow, aren't you guys a blessing in disguise? I haven't stopped for a month."

"Lots of problems?" Rean asks sharply, in his oh-fuck-these-field-exercises-are-cursed voice.

"Understaffed," Crow guesses.

"Yeah, more the latter, although we are seeing a bit of a surge now the guild's properly established again. Usually my wife is here too. She's just been an acting receptionist the last few months of course, but at the moment it's just me—"

Aidios, Crow has definitely been away too long. "You got married?"

"Yeah. You remember Rillie?"

Crow's got a dim memory of perky blonde pigtails, an infectious giggle and a good right hook. "Congratulations, man."

"It was a couple of years ago, but thanks. If I'd known you were still out there, I would have sent an invitation. Anyway, our first is a month old—"

Holy shit. There are no words for that.

Rean says for him, "Again, congratulations. You must be very proud—and exhausted. If there's anything we can do to help—"

"Never mind that," Crow says, cutting across him. "Boy or girl? Dude, pictures!"

Tomil lights up and gets his ARCUS out. "Girl. We called her Wren. Here she is."

She looks like every other scrunched up baby Crow's ever seen, but other babies don't belong to people he's known since the first day of Sunday School. He says, feeling one of those storms of tears starting to build, "She's beautiful."

Rean's hand is warm on his back. "She's lovely. How would you feel about let us cover the guild for you one of the days we're here? With five students and the two of us, I'm sure we could clear your job list."

Tomil looks overjoyed, but then shakes his head. "I appreciate the offer, guys, but a lot of the stuff that comes our way is too dangerous for students."

The laugh he gets from that dampens Crow's tears. "Yeah, these aren't typical students. They're pretty tough."

"They all have significant combat experience from the Great War. We were all part of Operation Shining Steel."

Tomil whistles. "Shit. Rillie and I were with the resistance up here, but that was small fry in comparison. Guild headhunted us afterwards."

"Don't underestimate good work," Rean tells him. "Every single one of you made it possible for us to do what we did."

Crow sees the moment when Tomil finally makes the connection and leaves Rean to deal with the inevitable Ashen Chevalier gushing while he considers options. He's glad the guild's here, but these two are clearly green. He knows the guild's stretched damn thin at the moment, but maybe he and Rean can pull some strings and get a senior bracer to swing through occasionally.

Hell, given their connections, they could probably convince Prince Olivert that he could pull off the world's second worst disguise up here. He could bring his hot bracer fiancee and his Vander and let off some steam before the wedding.

"Crow?" Rean asks.

"Just thinking."

Tomil is shaking his head at him. "Dude, come to dinner tonight. You've clearly got some stories to tell."

Rean says, "You should catch up with old friends."

Tomil's eyes flicker to Rean's hand on Crow's arm. "Both of you, please. You're especially welcome as Crow's, er..."

"Fiance," Rean says with a bashful smile. He's clearly given up on playing nicely.

Tomil's smile is broad. "That's so great. Now, I've got to hear how the worse tearaway in Jurai landed a national hero."

Rean opens his mouth. Crow puts his hand over it, because he can see where this is about to go. "Don't you dare start. Is there anything we can bring?"

"Just yourselves. Maybe some of Ilsa's cookies."

"Consider it a done deal. We can work out the details about the cover tonight."

He drags Rean out, gets a faceful of rain, and has to take his hand away to wipe his face.

"You're so bashful, Crow. I'm sure your friend would have loved to know about all the times you saved the world."

"You're going to be one of those fiances, aren't you?" Crow grumbles.

"Never doubt it." Rean gets distracted by a market stall. "Oh, do you think Elise would like that?"

"Already souvenir shopping?" Crow asks.

"You've got to take every opportunity."

Crow glances across the square to the sturdy tower of the fishermen's church. "I might leave you to it."

"I'll be right here."

Crow doubts that very much. There's a whole city here, full of little girls with lost kittens, country tourists with missing wallets, and a whole stall selling fishing gear which just promises that they'll be spending an hour up to their thighs in surf at some point in the next few days. 

The old church hasn't changed at all. It's oddly reassuring, in the middle of a city which is just slightly off from his memories. He sits in a pew, looks up at the vaulted ceiling, and sighs. He remembers sitting here when he was small enough to swing his legs and get half the words to the hymns wrong. It had been easier, then, when making the right choices was the straightforward stuff of parables and fables.

"That's a heavy sigh for a young man," an elderly voice says.

Crow sits up straight in an instant, feeling instinctively guilty. He even checks the back of the pew in front in case he's been carving his initials into it without noticing. "Sister Volla!"

Her hair is all grey now, new wrinkles in her forehead, but those blue eyes are still keen. She says, as calmly as if she'd been expecting him, "Crow Armbrust. Finally shown up again, have you?"

"Yes, sister." He'd once drawn an extremely unflattering caricature of her in chalk on the church steps. She'd made him scrub it off with a toothbrush. His grandpa found the whole thing hilarious.

Here's someone who won't be offering him facile forgiveness. It's rather a relief.

"And are you attending church on a regular basis?"

"Uh, kind of." He always goes when Gaius is in town, and Rean sometimes drags him along in-between. He feels like he's better off not attracting too much of Aidios' attention. She might change Her mind about that second chance.

"We've not seen you here in some time."

"I did leave town, sister."

"I'm well aware, child. Your grandfather's funeral was the last we saw of you, wasn't it?"

That was here. He doesn't remember much of it, just feeling utterly alone, too angry for the quiet tears and murmured condolences around him.

"Silly old fool. Too busy nursing his grievances to count his blessings."

Well, that hurts. "That's not fair. It wasn't his fault."

"Didn't say it was, did I? I suppose you're still one of those blessings, if you're still idolising the man. Come along now."

Crow's somewhere between angry and relieved. He's been wanting someone to be honest with him. He just wasn't expecting it to be his old Sunday School teacher.

"Where are you going?"

"Well, you're not going to be getting those troubles off your shoulders sitting here in silence. I'd say at least two cups of tea."

Huh.

He follows her in bewilderment. She's not as snappy a mover as she was and he's never been able to look down on the top of her head before. She's still able to send everyone in her path scattering with a stern look, though. 

Hopefully Rean is still thoroughly engaged with buying souvenirs for everyone they know, because he could be here a while.  

He ends up making the tea, to her very specific requirements. By the time he's poured it and two cups are steaming gently in front of them, nostalgia has given way to seething resentment. 

"Acceptable," she says, with a sniff. "Well, sit down, boy. Tell me what wild craze you're off on this time."

"Aw, sister, you confiscate one pack of Blade cards off me when I'm nine and you think you know all my secrets?"

"Rather more than one pack, if I recall correctly. No, something drove you out of town, and given what an angry child you were last time I saw you, I'm pleased to see you're still in one piece."

"Getting soft in your old age, sister?"

"Not so soft I can't rap your knuckles if you need it."

Crow manages not to sit on his hands, but only just. He's pretty sure Sister Volla's skills with a wooden ruler could take down McBurn.

"Not that you were wrong to be angry, though. Shame on the rest of us for not seeing it before you did something stupid."

Huh? 

He says, "I was old enough to know better. It was a stupid, selfish thing to do. Kind of my speciality."

"And what's wrong with being a little selfish when you're hurting? Aidios tells us to care for all living things. That includes ourselves. You're not much help to others when you're hurting too much to look after yourself."

Crow begs to differ. He's done a few things he can admit were good deeds, and he was pretty messed up when he did them. Of course, he also died. He's pretty sure Sister Volla isn't going to be impressed by that. The sheer frustration of it mixes with the near tears from earlier, making his heart pound and his throat tight.

"Now, since you seem to have survived whatever nonsense you got yourself caught up in, let's hear it. What are you doing with that life of yours?" She adds reflectively, "I always told your grandfather that by the time you were twenty you'd either be dead or teaching."

Crow almost spits out his tea.

"Chief troublemaker among your cohort, but it was always, 'Why, Sister Volla? Why do we have to learn this, Sister Volla? Why do we have to do it this way, sister?' Why, why, why." She narrows her eyes. "What's that face for, child? Was I right?"

"On both counts," Crow tells her, and his voice sounds strange. "I did die, and then I came back, and now I think I might be a teacher. Everyone else thinks so, at least."

Sister Volla puts her cup down, eyes widening, but he can't see her through the tears blinding him. He doesn't want to do this here, in front of someone he hasn't seen in years and who never liked him much anyway, but he can't hold it back. 

He ran away and he got it all wrong and he died and he doesn't understand why more people aren't angry with him when he's so damn angry with himself.

It's worse than when he saw Towa after the Twilight, worse than the times he's woken up when Rean's been gone, worse than the pure panic that sent him careening into the worst pubs in Heimdallr. He just crashes to his knees and cries and cries until he can't even breathe, his throat closing around every gasp. 

He doesn't even realise Sister Volla is still there until a healing art rolls over him, oddly gentle for such a tart woman.

Her hand is on his head, and she says, as he draws in a shaky breath, "Oh, child. Coming back is so much harder than leaving, isn't it?"

He crumples again, in a way he can't in front of Rean or anyone else who loves him, anyone else who had to live through it too.

When he's finally able to breathe without sobbing, Sister Volla gets up and makes another pot of tea. He drags himself into the armchair and watches her in numb bewilderment.

She says, measuring out the tea leaves, "Now, why don't you tell me everything. Start at the beginning."

It's not the most coherent account he could have given her, but he's never told anyone the whole thing before. Everyone's already known part of the story.

And weirdly, given how much he loathed her as a child, he trusts her judgement. She's not like Rean, who loves him so much he'll always be forgiving, or anyone else who knows him. She's also never been one to soften the truth, even to simplify it for a child.

When he's done, he sits back, feeling drained but somehow better, and awaits her judgement and her idea of penance.

She sips her tea, clearly thinking. When she speaks it's to say, "And what are you going to do about it?"

"What?"

"Hardly a complex question. You were always a rather dramatic child, but you had a good brain when you chose to use it. Undoubtedly, your life has been somewhat challenging, but that's not why you showed up to brood in my church, is it? The question is, what do you do next?"

"I don't know," he says.

"You're alive and in possession of a range of useful skills, you have a good job, and a young man who clearly adores you. So, what now?"

"I don't know," Crow repeats in frustration. "I don't know how I'm supposed to do it."

"Do what?"

"Live."

Sister Volla sniffs. "I find that as long as one does the bare minimum to nourish and protect the body, that tends to happen without any further input."

"That's not what I meant."

"No?" She tales another sip and says, "Drink your tea before it gets cold. I can see the challenge, of course. You've lived the last decade going from one mission that demanded your life to another. It's scarcely as if you've developed any ability for long-term planning. Even so, it's no excuse."

"Hey."

"The most straightforward way to live your life, young man, is simply to live it. There's no need to make it more complicated than that."

"But—"

"Can't guess what marrying your young man will be like? Well, marry him and you'll find out. Not sure what growing old looks like? I can assure you you'll know when it catches up with you. No idea how to live a dull and ordinary life? Doesn't matter. Just get on with it and stop second-guessing yourself."

"But—"

"No buts, young man. What do you say when I give you an instruction?"

Crow remembers this one. "Yes, Sister Volla."

"Quite. Now finish your tea and be off with you. I'm sure you have plenty to be getting on with."

Crow's never hugged a sister before, and given the look she's giving him, he may never dare do it again.

He steps back outside as the clouds actually deign to part. Maybe Aidios is backing up Sister Volla.

Huh. Maybe if he does ever get to heaven, he'll find Aidios is just as terrifying as Sister Volla. He wonders how Gaius would react.

He feels empty, a little giddy, but it's the emptiness of a broken fever or a purged stomach—a little grimy but a step in right direction, albeit one that makes him want a bath.

He wonders if the sauna is still open at the top of Balefirefell. Rean would like that.

Of course, he'll have to find Rean first. 

He takes a slow wander through the market, noting what's new and what's familiar, and finds Rean chatting with the man at the fishing stall. He turns to Crow happily, "How far is the beach from—what happened?"

Crow probably looks like hell. Oh, well. "Nothing too bad. The beach is just beyond the end of the wharf—how long have we got?"

"An hour until we have to meet the mayor."

"Just enough time," Crow assures him.

This time he takes Rean's hand, and ignores the startled glance he gets. 

The beach is a long slope of shingle by this point in the spring, each wave that rolls in retreating with a rattle. It's high tide and they don't have to slither down too far to reach the water's edge.

"Are you really okay?" Rean asks.

"Yeah. Just an unexpected reunion and some advice I wasn't quite ready for."

They're not far out of town, but there's not another soul in sight. Rean reaches up and touches his face lightly. "Sure?"

"Sure." He wants to kiss Rean, as always, but it feels a little different now, less guilty. He smiles, chooses not to, and says, "Go catch some fish, Rean."

He settles higher up the shingle bank to watch as Rean tests out the waters.

So, you can just live your life without knowing what you're doing? If he's honest, he suspects he might have been doing that for a while. In the end, very few of his schemes worked the way they were intended.

Rean catches three fish and makes a bad job of scrambling up the bank. Crow offers a hand and pulls him the rest of the way.

"Could Ilsa use these?" Rean asks.

"Almost certainly. Want to swing by before we meet the mayor?"

"Where are we meeting her?"

"Restaurant called the Marlin's Spike, somewhere on the waterfront."

Crow's hasn't heard of it, so it must be part of the new Jurai.

When they do get there, it's very modern, all gleaming glass windows and fairy lights. It's got a stunning view of the harbour, though, and the menu looks good.

The current mayor isn't anyone he recognises, which makes a nice change after the rest of his morning. She seems a little unsure of them, suspicious of what a prestigious Imperial school could want with Jurai. 

Crow settles back and watches as Rean switches the charm on and starts to name drop.  There's something about watching Rean be competent which just soothes him, makes him feel like it doesn't matter if he fucks up, because Rean will always save the day.

Once mollified, the mayor has a few suggestions for tasks. The waiter appears and Rean smiles at Crow and says, "Order for me. You know what's good."

"Have you been here before, Mr Er?" the mayor asks politely when he's done.

"I grew up here," Crow says. "Been away for a while, though."

"You must notice the changes, then?"

Rean's foot nudges against his. Crow thinks it's meant as reassurance, but he doesn't need it. That first visit with the first Class VII had hurt, but he's accepted it now. He'll take his time to remember, while he's here, but there's no turning back time.

"It seems more prosperous," he says. "I definitely don't remember this many decent places to eat."

She nods eagerly, "We've invested a lot into the tourism trade. With the revised Eight Metropolis plan and improved air routes, it's our fastest growing economic sector."

"See, I still remember it as a fishing town. How do you keep that authentic identity going to bring the tourists in?"

Yeah, take that, Rean. He can be diplomatic too.

It's strange to hear her talk so passionately about it, a quiet reminder that this Jurai is not the one he remembers. She's heartfelt though, clearly with the best interests of the city at heart, and that hurts a little too.

"Now," she says to him, fiddling with her fork anxiously. "There was another request I was considering, but listening to the Ashen Chevalier, I really don't think it's suitable. Not for high-ranking Erebonians. I mean, obviously we're all Erebonian now, but you know what I mean."

"Sure do, and honestly, there's a real mix of social class in the group who will be deployed here. Getting to know all aspects of a location is part of their curriculum."

"Well, if you're local, you'll know what I’m talking about. The spring fishing festival is nearly upon us."

Oh, wow. "Madam mayor, if you want us to do a taste test for some of the stalls, we would be more than delighted."

She relaxes a little. Rean clearly laid it on too thick. "Not exactly. Do you remember the floats?"

Oh, Aidios absolutely loves him today. He lies with his best face, "Best part of the festival by far."

The food is the best part. The floats are daft, but if she's about to suggest what he thinks she's about to suggest, he's not going to do a thing to sabotage it.

"We have a lot more these days—it's the very start of the tourist season, you see."

In March? How desperate for tourist money are they?

"But we're struggling to man them all. We've still got some of our young men waiting to be demobilised—"

Rean's mouth goes tight. It's Crow's turn to nudge him under the table. It's not like he's not pissed off about that, but Rean seems to take it personally.

"—and others have taken up new work now or settled elsewhere."

"We'd be delighted to help," Crow assures her. "Our students will be examined on the different economic strengths of different regions of the Empire and how better to learn about the fishing industry than to dress as a fish for a few hours?"

Rean chokes and takes a rapid sip of water.

Crow glares at him. This may be the only chance they ever have to force Ash into a man-sized herring costume. He'd better not ruin it now.

The mayor assents gracefully. "We would be very grateful for their help."

"I'm sure they'd be delighted to offer it," Crow assures her with his most sincere tone.

Rean takes another swig of his drink.

"How big is the group?"

"Five." He's not volunteering the two of them for this.

"Oh, that's perfect. Two herring, a cod, a lobster and an oyster, then."

"We'll have them decide for themselves who should take which role," Crow suggests. "It's all about developing their independent decision-making."

Rean has to hide his face behind a napkin.

The mayor beams at him. "It sounds like such an interesting curriculum."

Crow winks at her. "We're both graduates of the same program."

"Well, isn't that lovely. I'm sorry, I never did catch your name?"

There's a chance she's too new here to recognise it. "Crow Armbrust, at your service."

"Oh, Armbrust is a very historical name here in Jurai. Why, we had one as mayor not that long ago. Our last independent mayor, in fact..." She stops, eyes widening, and breathes, "Holy Lady of the Tides."

He hasn't heard that in a while.

The mayor says, hand flying to her mouth, "You're the lost Armbrust heir! Everyone thought you were dead!"

So much for anonymity. Crow groans and offers, somewhat lamely, "Reports of my demise may have been greatly exaggerated."

"No, they absolutely weren't," Rean mutters, quietly enough that only Crow can hear him.

When they eventually manage to get away from the mayor, Rean slides his arm through Crow's and remarks, "So somebody once told me nobody cared you were gone. I think he must have been misinformed."

"Oh, shut up, you."

"It's almost as if the whole damn city cared that a vulnerable thirteen year old was missing."

Crow hunches his shoulders up. "Come on. It seemed that way at the time. Like you weren't the least bit over-dramatic at that age."

Rean looks sheepish. "Okay, fair point."

Crow definitely needs to ask Elise about that.

Rean says, "So, where now? I think we've got enough to keep them busy. Anywhere you need to go?"

They've got an invitation for dinner, which means they should probably save the cable car and the sauna for tomorrow. They do still need to check out the spot reserved for the Derfflinger, but the mayor has given Rean the key, and it won't take long.

There is somewhere he wants to go.

"Crow?"

"I'd like to see my grandpa. He's up on the west headland." Whatever faults he'd had, whatever Jurai had blamed him for, they'd buried him with honour.

"We can do that. Do you need to go alone?"

"I'm honestly not sure." He swallows. "Come with me, and we'll work it out as we go along."

They walk up through Jurai, along winding streets and up steps between buildings. The sun stays out, ironically enough, but the wind is still strong, and grows more challenging as they climb. Even Rean, child of high mountains, is a little breathless by the time they reach the cemetery gates.

It's set on the headland, high above the port and the harbour. Crow remembers visiting his parents' empty graves and his grandpa walking him through the rows afterwards, telling him the history of the place.

Rean likes history, so Crow says, "They say the city was founded by a great sea-raider, back in the Dark Ages. When he died, they buried him in his boat, under a mound here, and the women of town tore their clothes and wept for a week because their lord had fallen."

Rean looks intrigued. "Really?"

"That's the legend. You and I both know how much and how little truth is in them. Mound's still here, though."

"Should I go and look at that while you talk to your grandfather?"

Damn it. Why is this man so perfect for him?

"Do you mind?"

Rean leans in and kisses his cheek and, yeah, Crow's doomed. He's not going to make it through another day. He hopes someone who deserves it has claimed this bit of the sweepstake.

His grandpa is at the far end of the cemetery, close to the edge. Crow looks at the view his grandpa loved so much, all of Jurai spread out below them, more thriving and busy than it has ever been, and crouches down on his haunches.

"Hey, Gramps. Guess I'm back. Sorry I didn't come by last time I was here. I was kind of a fuck up back then."

The grave cannot speak. There is no response save the wind.

"But, yeah, here I am. Not sure what to tell you. I mean, I guess some folks would say you've watched the whole thing from heaven, but I dunno. Never quite the same looking in from the outside, is it? I miss you. Wish you were still here so we could do this properly."

He has been so angry at his grandpa, so angry for him. He has blamed him, idolised him, tried to be him and tried to be anyone else. 

Now, he looks across at Rean, as if that will help him work out what to say. Rean is contemplating the ancient mound at the far end of the cemetery, face serious and coat flapping in the wind.

And just like that, Crow can see it. This won't be the last time they come here. He'll see Rean standing in just that spot, again and again, to the point where his hair is streaked with grey and his shoulders start to bow. And he believes, without any doubt, that Rean will always turn and smile at him, just like he’s smiling now, even when they’re old enough to be grandfathers themselves.

And that unlocks his words. He closes his eyes, imagines one last might-have-been, and says, "That's my guy, Gramps. He's ridiculous and wonderful and I'm crazy about him, and I hope to hell you like him too, because I'm never giving him up, even though he's too good for me."

He stops there, thinks about it, thinks about what Sister Volla had said, and about Rean turning to him in the night, the intensity of their need for each other, the way they fight in perfect harmony  and the little stupid things, the evenings in the dorm and Rean's abysmal laundry skills and the way they team up when the rest of Class VII tease them.

"I'm good for him too," he confides, eyes still closed, imagining his grandpa there beside him, listening to him babble as he always did, with a wry grin and a sympathetic ear. "He’s hard on himself sometimes—needs someone to make him see sense. We're a good team. We saved the world together and we make each other laugh and I love him more than the world itself, sappy as that sounds."

He takes a breath, lets it out shakily. "And I wish you were here to meet him. I wish you'd had your own Class VII, or at least that you'd looked up and seen all the people ready to help. But I guess you couldn't do that, and I can't not forgive you for it. I loved you too damn much to be that much of a dick."

He shed all his tears an hour ago, but when he opens his eyes he feels better. His grandpa is long gone. There's nothing left to do to avenge him or bring him back. All Crow can do now is remember him fondly.

Rean has moved on from the mound to reading gravestones with a solemn expression. He's such a dork and Crow loves him so much.

It's strange how easy it is to let it all go. He's died and felt more troubled than this.

He is who he is. 

And he's starting to realise that's okay.

Crouching there, watching Rean, hearing the waves far below, and feeling the wind against his cheeks, he finally makes a choice. 

It only takes one message on his ARCUS to confirm it.

He gestures at Rean, calling him over, and Rean comes to him like an arrow from a bow.

And then, of course, he gets mawkish, because you can always rely on Rean Schwarzer for a sentimental speech. He spends some time informing the gravestone about all the things Crow has supposedly achieved in recent years, while Crow buries his face against Rean's back and raises objections.

When Rean is finally done, they head back into the city, and Crow barely notices how tightly Rean is holding his hand.

There's no RMP field camp here, but there is the old construction yard that was used to store materials when the line was being built. It's connected to the main line and has a goods yard big enough for Panzer Soldat exercises off to one side. As far as Crow knows, it hasn't been used for at least a decade.

He leads Rean across the high suburban districts of Jurai until they reach the top of the winding path which links it to the city. As they pick their way down the steps, it begins to rain again.

"Do you ever get a dry day here?" Rean asks.

"Not at this time of year. We're officially the rainiest city in Zemuria. Got to embrace that claim to fame."

"And LeGuin couldn't send us here in summer?" Rean grumbles.

"You're expecting her to make life easier for us?"

"Fair point."

The old freight yard is not in good shape. The metal awnings are rusty and there's a rustling in the attic which suggests monsters have settled in. There are two long platforms, though, with enough space to set up cooking fires and supply stations. There's shelter from the rain, which is now coming down apace. 

It'll do.

Rean surveys it and nods thoughtfully. "We should do something about those monsters and set up some sepith lights to keep them away. Otherwise, it's not bad."

"There was a cargo entrance at the back. Should be able to get the bikes out to the coast road that way."

"Closer to town than we're used to, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's not a bad set-up."

Crow surveys the rusting canopies and weedy corners. "Positively luxurious, by branch campus standards."

Rean laughs. "Yeah. Have to say, I like it here."

"Here?" Crow says sceptically. It's a dump.

"Jurai, idiot."

"Yeah, it's not bad." He's always going to love it, even though it's not quite home these days.

Rean looks troubled for a moment, but pastes a smile over it. "So..."

"So?" Crow asks.

"You've got a lot of people who care about you here. Are you going to stay?"

Dear Goddess, Crow loves the man, but he's an idiot sometimes. "It's been a long time since I had a future here."

"But..."

"Rean," Crow says gently. "No. Whatever crap is going through your head, no."

"They really need help at the guild."

"So we'll tell Sara or Toval. I'm not about to drop everything to be a bracer in Jurai and you'd better not even be thinking about it."

"If you want to come back, I could—"

Crow lays a finger across Rean's lips. "No."

Rean swallows hard. "I said I'd give time but don't ask for distance too. Please."

Crow sighs. "Rean, listen to my words. I am not about to move back to Jurai."

He's not that man, not now. The Crow who loved Jurai is still in there, but the Crow who loves Rean matters more. All those other roads he could have walked have come to nothing. He's here, right now, and he's the man his choices made him.

That man isn't for Jurai, not any more.

"I don't want to take you away from your home," Rean says.

"My home's in Leeves."

Rean doesn't seem convinced. Damn it. Crow's going to have to tell him. He was going to save it until they were back in that bed together tonight.

"Rean," he says, very seriously, "I can't stay in Jurai. I just signed a contract for LeGuin. I'm pretty sure Michael's written me permanently into the next three years of the timetable by now."

Rean's mouth opens in shock. "You... what? Why now?"

Crow shrugged. "Figured out that it didn't matter that I couldn't predict what's coming. I just need to make a choice. This seemed like the obvious one. Besides, how else am I going to afford a big spring wedding?"

Rean’s just staring at him, mouth open and eyes wide. “That’s not real, though, is it? We’ve just been pretending?” His tone is wistful.

“Yeah, notice neither of us put up much of a fight? Maybe we’re not quite at that point yet, not without actually having a proper conversation about it, but you and me—we belong together.”

Rean murmurs, “Until our strength runs dry and our souls burn out.”

Crow rolls his eyes. “Or something less cheesy than that.”

“Like you can talk, Mr Flames of Silent Anger ”

Crow shrugs. “Hey, at least one of us knows when to stop with the inspirational speeches. So, without the fancy language, you and me, right? Because, can’t tell a lie here— I love you, and I’m pretty sure you love me right back.”

Rean’s expression is fierce. “Always.”  

And in the end, it’s as easy as leaning in.

He kisses Rean softly, here where they’re sheltered from the falling rain, and after a moment Rean’s arms come up and clutch him tight. It’s not some wild kiss—no challenges or demands between them now. They’ve done all that. This is what lies beyond, the softness of Rean’s lips brushing his, the beat of his pulse when his hand cups Crow’s neck, both of their hearts whole, and the warmth rising through him. He knows where he truly lives and it’s no one city or province. It’s here, safe in the circle of Rean’s arms, while the rain lashes down around them but does not touch them. He still can’t see it clearly, but he chooses to trust this, his destiny.

He’s not quite sure what this strange, bright feeling in his chest might be, but he thinks it could be hope.

This, after all, is where he belongs.