Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The comms crackled in Lucien’s ear, barely keeping up with the chaos erupting on the other end of the line.

“Left flank—Lucien, you were supposed to cover it!”

A pulse of static followed the voice, then silence.

Lucien exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the tinted glass of his visor. He’d stayed back—again. Deliberately miscalculated the timing—again. And now half the squad was scrambling to recover from a mistake that should’ve never happened.

And none of them knew.

Not yet.

“Lucien, status?” That voice—field operator Rosco—dry and unimpressed. Just the voice in their ears. Always watching. Always logging. Never bleeding.

“I—took a hit,” Lucien lied smoothly, dragging his voice low, strained. “Just a scratch. I'll catch up.”

He switched off the comms before Rosco could pry further.

Because what could he say?

"I sabotaged the mission because I wanted to die, maybe not truly, but just enough to see Cass's face again."

That wouldn’t go over well.

Not even with the people who knew him best.

Lucien crouched behind the fractured shell of a transport shuttle, letting the sounds of battle fade around him. He pressed a hand to the shallow gash on his arm—not nearly fatal. Not even painful. He could’ve dodged it. Should’ve. But he didn’t.

Because for just a second, he thought maybe—

Maybe he wouldn’t survive this one. Maybe he’d finally miscalculate enough.

And maybe he’d get to see him again.

Cassian.

Cass.

Lucien’s hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. His other hand trembled faintly where it rested on his thigh, unseen beneath the black tactical gloves.

Cass’s face haunted every breath of silence between missions. Golden eyes. A smile warm enough to melt the frost from Lucien’s undead skin. That halo of silken white hair, always tied back with care, a few stubborn black strands refusing to be tamed. Every inch of him practically glowed, in every way Lucien didn’t.

The memory wasn’t even fading. If anything, it grew sharper each time Lucien brushed death’s edge.

---

“You’re not sleeping again,” Cass said one night, concern blooming in his soft voice.

Lucien shrugged, eyes distant as he watched the stars beyond the glass dome of their quarters. “Don’t need to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

There was something in Cass’s voice—not judgment. Never that. Just... tenderness.

Lucien looked over. “It’s quieter at night.”

“Too quiet, sometimes.” Cass stepped closer, the folds of his robe whispering across the marble floor. “I miss you when you drift off like this.”

“I’m right here.”

“No,” Cass whispered, raising a hand to Lucien’s cheek. “You’re not.”

Lucien didn’t answer. He didn’t know how.

Instead, he leaned in. Kissed him. Let action speak where words always failed.

---

But Cass wasn’t here now. And he hadn’t been, not since—

Lucien didn’t let himself finish the thought.

His comms pinged again.

This time, the voice that came through was softer. Familiar.

“Lucien?” It was Gale—his squadmate, his friend. Someone who'd been through multiple battlefields beside him. “You’re okay, right?”

There was a pause, like Gale wasn’t sure if he should press further. Lucien appreciated that.

“Still breathing,” he said.

Barely.

---

Back at base, Lucien cleaned the dirt and blood from his gloves slowly, almost methodically. Gale stood nearby, arms crossed.

“You’ve been off lately.”

Lucien shrugged. “Everyone’s off. It’s war.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He finally looked at Gale.

And maybe Gale saw something in his face—some crack he hadn’t noticed forming.

“You’re not subtle, Luci.”

Lucien flinched slightly at the nickname. Cass always called him that.

“You do the same thing every mission,” Gale continued. “You’re always just a few steps late. Always ‘almost there.’ But you’re not. You don’t want to be.”

Lucien didn’t respond.

“Is this about him?”

Lucien stared at him, and didn’t deny it.

“I know what grief does,” Gale continued. 

“I’ve seen it chew people up, spit them out half-alive. But you, Lucien, this isn’t just grief. This is a death wish.”

Silence.

Gale stepped back, frustration in his gaze now.

"You are not the only one who's lost someone."

Lucien’s voice came out brittle. 

"...I know that."

"Then why act like you are the only one allowed to break?"

“I’m not—” Lucien faltered. “I just... if I mess up enough—maybe, maybe I’ll get to see him again. Just one more time. Just to tell him...”

Tell him what? That he missed him so much it made him reckless? That he wanted to fall just far enough to feel Cass’s warmth one last time?

Gale’s voice softened. “You think that’s what Cass would want?”

Lucien turned his face away.

“I think,” Gale said quietly, “he’d slap you.”

Lucien let out a hollow laugh. 

“He never hit anyone in his life. Well... maybe except for that guy that tried to steal his wallet on the escalator."

“He’d make an exception. For this.”

Lucien looked down at his gloves again. 

“I don’t want to live without him.”

“I know,” Gale said. 

“But he loved you. Enough that he’d want you to.”

_

Chapter Text

Lucien didn’t go on the next mission.

He requested to stay behind—maintenance check, he claimed. He wasn’t lying.

He just didn’t trust himself not to sabotage again.

So he stood alone in the hangar, the glow of the dock lights casting sharp shadows over the cold floor. He stared at the old flight logs—Cassian’s name still etched there, clear as day.

Colonel (OF-5): Cassian Floros.

Mission: Shield Escort 7.

Status: KIA.

Killed in Action. Those three letters were a brand he could never scrub clean.

Lucien let his head fall forward against the console, eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wasn’t there. I wasn’t enough.”

Silence.

Then, in the quiet, a memory.

Cass, laughing. Arms looped around Lucien’s shoulders, pulling him in. 

“You’re always enough, Luci. Even when you think you’re not.”

Lucien opened his eyes, tears unshed.

---

Lucien didn’t sabotage the next mission.

Or the one after that.

He showed up. On time. Steady hands. A little too quiet, maybe, but Gale didn’t call him out on it. Not directly. Just handed him his gear with a nod, sometimes with a longer-than-necessary glance, as if searching for the shadows behind Lucien’s eyes.

They were still there.

They just weren’t winning anymore.

---

That night, Gale found Lucien on the roof of the barracks, sitting with one leg drawn up, arms draped loosely over his knee. His hair, mussed from removing his gear, fluttered in the wind.

“You know,” Gale said, climbing up beside him with a grunt, “you should try to move on."

"It's war dude, gotta be dependable.”

Lucien didn’t move. 

“Didn’t think I had to be.”

“You don’t have to be alone in this. But you gotta heal.”

“I’m not good company.”

“You never were,” Gale shot back lightly. “That didn’t stop Cass.”

That got a ghost of a smile out of Lucien.

“Do you want to talk about him?”

Lucien considered it. Then, with his chin tilted to the sky, he murmured, “He always hummed when I was brushing his hair. Something soft, something I never recognized.”

Gale didn’t interrupt.

Lucien closed his eyes. “And he had this little way of tying it back, looping the black strands over the side like he was hiding them. He never could. They always slipped free again. He’d pretend to be annoyed, but I think he liked that I noticed.”

“You always noticed the quiet things,” Gale said softly.

Lucien let the silence settle, before adding, “He called me Luci, like you did, earlier."

“I know,” Gale replied. “He said it like he was saying something sacred.”

---

That night, Lucien dreamt.

He stood in a field of pale grasses, wind slicing through like whispers. At the center of it all: Cass, back to him, hair shining silver under a soft sky.

“Cass...?” Lucien breathed.

Cass turned, smiling with all the warmth of a sunrise. 

“Took you long enough, Luci.”

Lucien staggered forward, only to stop short, afraid.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he whispered.

Cass’s smile dimmed but never vanished. 

“Then why do you keep trying to come?”

“I miss you.”

“And you think I don't?”

Cass stepped forward, reaching out, and his hand was warm when it cupped Lucien’s cheek. “Live, Luci. Please. Don’t give yourself up just to chase ghosts.”

Lucien clutched his hand like it was all he had. 

“I can't imagine living without you any longer...”

“You’re not,” Cass said gently. 

“I’m still here. In how you fight. In what you protect. In what you remember.”

Cass leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. 

“You still love, Luci. That means I’m not really gone.”

Lucien woke up with tears running down his face.

---

Days passed.

Then a week.

Gale brought up old stories Cassian used to tell—ridiculous ones. About sparrows who fell in love with sea serpents, or tea kettles that hissed prophecies if you insulted them just right. Stories from his elven days. Stories from before both of them had to assimilate to human society.

Stories before all hell broke loose.

Lucien remembered laughing with Cass about those.

One evening, Lucien found himself smiling at a joke Gale made. It surprised them both.

“I thought your fangs would fall out if you ever smiled again,” Gale said, deadpan.

Lucien rolled his eyes.

“I’m a vampire, undead, not joyless.”

“Same thing, some days.”

Lucien let out a laugh. Just one. But it stayed.

Chapter Text

The archive room was cold, lit by the sterile glow of soft white strips along the ceiling. Gale hadn't meant to be here this late, but the system logs had flagged something strange: a personal file buried under layers of inactive tags, hidden beneath an access code that didn’t match anyone on the team.

Except one.

Cassian Floros.

Gale blinked at the terminal.

Personal Archive - Cassian Floros 

Timestamp: One week before KIA.

Tagged Recipient: L. Lunaris

Lucien.

The screen pulsed gently, awaiting verification.

Gale hesitated.

This wasn’t meant for him.

But Lucien wouldn’t go digging through memory banks. He barely entered the command center unless he was forced to. He hadn’t even spoken Cass’s full name aloud since—

Gale entered his override code with a quiet sigh.

If there was something here, something Cass meant Lucien to find, it deserved to be seen.

---

Inside the file was a video, labeled only: “For When He’s Alone.”

Gale watched the first five seconds before stopping, heart in his throat.

He copied the file onto a private chip.

That night, when he found Lucien sitting alone under the dimmed lights of the hangar, watching the shadows ripple across the metal floor, Gale didn’t say anything right away. Just sat beside him.

After a while, Lucien murmured, “You’re quiet tonight.”

Gale nodded. “I found something. Something Cass left for you.”

Lucien froze.

Gale offered him the chip without ceremony. “I wasn’t snooping. I swear. It was buried in the logs. Hidden under his name. I think he meant it for you all along.”

Lucien didn’t take it.

He stared at it like it might burn him.

“I can’t,” he said, voice dry. 

“If I hear his voice again I’ll—”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Gale said. 

“I’ll be outside. Just... listen. Please.”

---

Lucien locked the door behind him.

The chip slid into the slot with a soft click.

The lights dimmed.

Then—

A room bloomed on the screen. Bare walls. Soft daylight. A stool. And Cassian—sitting cross-legged, violin balanced in his lap, bow resting lightly between his fingers.

Lucien’s breath stilled.

“Hi, Luci,” Cass said, his voice as warm as a soothing kiss.

“If you're seeing this... I’m probably gone. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you again.”

...Cass, pre-empted his death?

He looked down, smile rueful.

“I know you haven’t played since the war started. Neither have I. But I’ve been thinking a lot about our late nights. When you’d sit with your guitar in your lap and I’d pull the bow across the strings and we’d make something that wasn’t for the world. Just for us.”

A beat. His fingers brushed the scroll of the violin.

“I recorded this not because it’s perfect. It isn’t. But it’s ours. Or at least, my half. And I hope you’ll play yours one day.”

He raised the violin.

No flourish.

Just a breath—and a beginning.

---

The melody was simple.

Soft, aching, the way Cass always played when he was thinking of Lucien. The violin cried and sang, swooping low, then soaring into quiet, open skies. But beneath it was a gap—a silence that waited. Phrases ended early, as though expecting an answer.

Lucien realized—

It was a duet.

A song he knew.

They had written it together. Years ago. In the spring, when the world hadn’t yet turned to ash.

Cass had recorded his half.

And left the rest empty.

For Lucien to return to, if he ever could.

The last note held. Vibrated.

And faded.

Cassian lowered the bow. He looked straight into the lens.

“I hope it’s not too late,” he said quietly. “For you to come back to it. Not for me. For you. For your hands. Your voice. Your music.”

A pause. He blinked once, like he wanted to say more.

Then—

“I love you, Luci. Always. And if you ever feel alone, pick up your guitar. You’ll hear me in the spaces between.”

The screen went dark.

---

Lucien sat for a long time.

Then, silently, he rose.

Went to the far corner of his room, where an old cloth-covered case rested beneath a stack of field jackets.

He brushed off the dust.

The guitar inside was worn but whole. Strings still good. The wood still warm from memory. His fingers curled around the neck. Muscle memory, dormant but not dead.

He tuned it slowly.

Then sat cross-legged on the bed, just as Cass had, and lifted the instrument to his lap.

He waited.

Let the silence hold him for a beat.

Then he began to play.

The answering half.

Quiet at first. A little rough. But steady. The guitar wove under the violin’s ghost, filling the spaces Cassian had left behind, not erasing him—but joining him.

A living harmony.

His throat tightened, but he didn’t stop.

Outside his door, Gale sat against the wall, head tilted back, eyes shut.

He could hear it—Lucien playing again.

And if he listened close enough…

He swore he could hear two voices.

Chapter Text

Years passed.

The wars ended.

Some quietly. Some with fire. But they ended all the same. And afterward, the headquarters where Lucien once stood in blood and shadow was dismantled, piece by piece, until it was no more than stories told over cooling drinks and long roads.

The soldiers scattered.

Gale left first. He didn’t say goodbye. Just left Lucien a note on the table:

You deserve something better than silence. Go find it. I’ll be listening.

And Lucien did.

He returned to the city where he’d once lived before everything fell. The buildings had scars, but they still stood. And in the quiet corners of rebuilt parks and lantern-lit walkways, music began again.

Not all at once.

But steadily.

The first time Lucien played in public, it was for no one. Just a quiet bar, a single spotlight, and a cracked guitar on his knee. His voice, raw from disuse, trembled on the first note.

But he sang.

And people listened.

From there, it grew.

A stage. A crowd. A following.

Then: Lucien Lunaris, known across the regions simply as Luci. The one who played like he’d lived a hundred lives and still hadn’t shaken the echo of his first love.

His music was never flashy. It never had to be.

It was honest. Sad. Beautiful.

And it was his.

Chapter Text

The Violin Half: A Tribute Concert to a Love Once Lost

Location: Solstice Dome, Capital District

Date: Year 15 Post-War Restoration Era

Tickets sold out in thirteen minutes.

It was the first time Lucien Lunaris—Luci—announced a full-scale tribute show. No tour. No supporting acts. No encore promises.

Just one night.

One name.

And one purpose.

The Violin Half: A Tribute Concert to a Love Once Lost

It was printed in silver letters across the glowing dome, against black banners strung like constellations. The world had long since rebuilt itself, but tonight—just tonight—it would pause again, together.

---

Inside the Dome

The lights dimmed. The crowd—thousands deep, quiet, reverent—waited.

No countdown. No flashy graphics. Just a spotlight on the center stage.

Lucien walked out in silence.

His hair was longer now. Streaks of white in the black, still wild in the parting. He wore simple black—no glamor, no armor. Just himself. A single strap across his chest held the worn guitar he always traveled with. The same one from that first song. The same one that answered Cass’s violin.

He approached the mic.

And spoke.

“Fifteen years ago, I got a song.

 Half of one.

 A melody that didn’t finish itself.

 This concert… is the other half.”

The screen behind him lit up—not with animations, but old footage. Still frames. A blurred shot of Cassian with a violin. A photograph from wartime. A sketch of two figures in the garden, one sitting, one playing.

Then Lucien began to play.

---

The Concert Setlist (Partial)

🕊 “The Violin Half” – Opening performance, solo acoustic

🌙 “Soft in the Winterlight” – New piece, composed from Cassian’s old recorded tuning patterns

🔥 “Watchtower in Silence” – Instrumental duet with pre-recorded violin from Cass’s archive

💔 “Still You, Somehow” – Lucien sings this one sitting on the stage floor, legs folded as if Cass were beside him

🎻 “One String Between” – A full orchestral arrangement built around Cass’s last recording

🌌 “Again, and Again” – Final performance; Lucien doesn’t sing. Just plays. Then steps back and lets the violin track finish alone.

---

Fan Reactions:

> @marcie_ontheroof:

"i can’t believe luci just… sat there. and let us hear cass’s violin play the last note. i was sobbing. everyone was sobbing. the air itself stopped moving."

> @pulse_92:

“This wasn’t just a concert. This was love. This was grief healing in front of us. I think I believe in soulmates now.”

> @NOVAbeatReview:

“No artist has ever peeled themselves open onstage the way Lucien Lunaris did tonight. It wasn’t vulnerability for performance—it was real. And it changed us.”

---

Media Headlines (Post-Concert):

📰 “Lucien Lunaris Honors Fallen Lover with Hauntingly Beautiful Tribute” – The Capital Sun

📰 “Fifteen Years Later, ‘Luci’ Still Plays to the Dead—and We All Listen” – Pulse Magazine

📰 “Violin Half Concert Becomes Highest Rated Broadcast Since Unity Treaty Signing” – InterNet Public Channel 7

Chapter Text

One night, years into his rising career, Lucien stepped onto the biggest stage of his life. The open-air venue was filled wall to wall, lights like stars swinging above the crowd. His long black coat swayed behind him, white streaks catching in the stage beams like falling threads of moonlight.

The audience hushed.

Lucien stood at the mic, guitar on his back, expression distant—but peaceful.

“Tonight,” he said, voice low and steady, “I’m not just here to perform.”

He looked out—not searching, just holding.

“I want to tell you why I started. Why I kept going when I shouldn’t have. Why I’m standing here now.”

He paused. The hush in the crowd deepened, leaned in.

“There was someone,” Lucien said, gently. 

“Someone who reminded me that music is a kind of remembering. A way to keep love breathing even when the world doesn’t. He… left a song for me.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Lucien smiled faintly. 

“Just a half. The violin half. The rest was silence—waiting. And I spent years learning how to answer it.”

He pulled the guitar forward, fingers sliding into place. His gaze dropped to the strings.

“This is our song. His and mine. And if you’ve ever lost someone who made your world safer, brighter, happier… this is for you too.”

He began to play.

The melody was gentle. Familiar. The same one Cassian had left behind—but now, full. Whole. The guitar and violin once written in isolation, now joined as one voice.

Lucien sang, soft and aching:

You were the breath between strings, the pause before the sun,

And I—I was the echo you left when the war was done.

You gave me your half, and I carried it far—

Now here is mine, wherever you are.

The crowd was silent.

Not a phone raised. Not a whisper.

Just the weight of something real.

And when the song ended, Lucien let the silence hold for one long, sacred moment.

Then he whispered, “Thank you, Cass.”

And stepped back from the mic.

---

Somewhere Far Away…

A small, quiet cafe. Ivy spilling from windowsills. Old paperbacks stacked like bricks beside a dusty radio.

“…known simply as Luci, the artist closed his set tonight with an emotional dedication to a long-lost love. Many believe this track—known as The Violin Half—was written during the war era, though Luci has never before spoken publicly about its origin unlike today…”

Inside, a man with silver at his temples sits by the counter, tea steaming in hand. He’s alone, but not lonely.

Gale.

The concert plays on a mounted screen in the corner.

He doesn't turn to face it. He doesn't need to.

He just listens.

He hums along, barely audible—he still remembers the melody.

Click. 

His hand rests on the radio button he's turned off. The reporter's voice faded.

From the screen, another song began.

Not a recording.

It was a live performance.

Lucien’s voice.

Lucien’s guitar.

Gale didn’t move for a full minute.

Then he settled down from the couch and sat on the floor beside it. Cross-legged. Like Lucien used to. Like Cassian did. The mug warmed his hands, but it was the music that warmed his heart.

He didn’t cry.

Just closed his eyes.

And when the final note ends and the audience erupts in sobs and applause, Gale lifts his mug to the air.

“To you, Cass.”

Then adds, with a small smile:

“And to you, Luci. You really did it.”

The camera pans out, as if the world were leaning in to listen just one more time.

He didn’t need to send a letter. Or call.

They really haven't talked in a long time, him and Luci.

But this moment was enough.

Lucien was out there.

Still playing.

Still answering that violin half.

And Gale? He was still listening.

Chapter Text

Some songs don’t end. They echo.

Through silence, through years, through people who never even knew the names that started them.

And sometimes, all you need is one string left vibrating—

—to play the rest of your life.

_