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randomactuallywrites-57 · 7 years ago

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Live On, Don’t Forget

Title: Live On, Don’t Forget Author: randomwriter57 Rating: G Word Count: 8,091 Event + Prompt: @sormikweek day two - Loneliness/Community (Snow) Notes: you know when you finish the game for the fifth time and all you can think about is epileo angst? yeah. (also this has nothing to do with snow and is only vaguely related to the other prompts oops.) enjoy!

Summary: From the beginning, Sorey was always going to die before him. He just never expected him to leave so soon.

Also on: AO3

It hurts more than he expects it to.

Even before Sorey confessed his plan to dwell in slumber as Maotelus’ vessel, Mikleo knew they would part one day. In Elysia, he barely considered it, too wrapped up in the childish affairs of adventure and exploration. Back then, he hardly noticed how Sorey was different from him.

But as the dangers around them increased, throwing his efforts into self-improvement was all he could do to wash out the thought that constantly crossed his mind otherwise: ‘When Sorey dies, what will I do?’

Because from the beginning, Sorey was always going to die before him.

He just never expected him to leave so soon.

Sorey isn’t dead. That’s his only saving grace, whenever his mind strays into dangerous territory. One day, Sorey will wake up, and they’ll be together again.

He tries not to think about how far away that day is.

After Sorey leaves, Mikleo crashes. He doesn’t think it’s due to grief, though that certainly contributes to his emotional exhaustion. The fact of the matter, though, is that they’ve spent the past - lord, he’s lost track, how long has it been? - fighting constant battles in thicker and thicker malevolence until he practically choked, unable to breathe without the life support provided by Sorey’s domain. They proceeded to turn their own life forces into living attacks, using every last ounce of energy in their beings to defeat the greatest source of malevolence in the world. Taking that into account, it’s no wonder he’s exhausted.

Now he kneels at the edge of a giant crater. What was once a majestic temple, then a shrine of chaos, is now only a ruin of rubble. Around him stand his friends, sans the only one he’s been with all his life.

He doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t have the energy to feel, right now.

It’s only when a pair of red-clad arms wrap around him, pulling him into a tight embrace, that he realises he’s crying.

Scrunching his eyes shut, he buries his face in Lailah’s shoulder. For once, he doesn’t care that the others can see him like this. Right now, he only feels the burning hole in his heart and the empty space at his right hand side.

The last of his energy saps out of him, and the world goes dark.

His seraph companions let him have the time he needs to recover. In Elysia, they give him space, staying only to rest up after the battle. When they part, it is with the promise to meet again, in Ladylake.

Mikleo spends the next days surrounded by the comfort of a grieving family. Together they pay their respects to two family members: the human who changed their lives more than anyone, and the lost lightning seraph, whose death still wakes Mikleo up on the rare occasions where he finds sleep, tears running down his cheeks and a childish plea on his tongue.

These days are for reminiscing, for paying tribute to their sacrifices. They are for cleaning up the damage remaining from Bartlow’s attack, for fixing the broken buildings and setting up a new blessing to cover Elysia’s domain.

Mikleo offers to clean up Sorey’s house. Part of him wishes he hadn’t, especially when he sees the damage done to it by the humans. All of the memories he shares with Sorey from their childhood are here, lying in pieces on the ground. Antique pots and vases, stone slabs with interesting markings, and in some cases, items they found in the ruins with no real historical relevance at all. A tiny, broken laugh escapes his throat when he remembers Sorey picking up a chipped coin, his eyes shining with excitement.

“Look at this!” he’d said. “Where do you think it came from? Who do you think dropped it?”

He manages to pack away their memories into a few neat boxes, two of which are taken up only by broken pieces which he can’t bring himself to throw away. It’s only after working for those days without rest, cleaning every piece of dirt and dust that has built up around the house, that he collapses onto Sorey’s bed.

The scent of musky trees and sweet herbs fills his consciousness.

When he wakes up, the pillow is stained with tears.

Once the village returns to its previous state, though, Mikleo feels different. Detached. Though he is at home here, with his family around to support him, he finds himself craving the outside world. He wants to hear the countless voices crowding the cities, to feel the excitement of finding a new discovery, to taste human food in a warm inn with his companions.

He wants to travel.

This time, when he leaves Elysia, it’s not in the dead of the night. He says his goodbyes properly this time, promising to stay safe, to write letters and visit regularly.

Then, with Sorey’s light at his back, he departs for the world below once more.

When Mikleo makes his way to Ladylake on a path which leaves a lump of familiarity in his throat, his friends meet him there with open arms.

Lailah pulls him into a hug once more, the same sense of maternal comfort filling his chest as had done when they materialised in Camlann. This time, he does not cry. Rather, he hugs her back tightly, offering her the empathy she has shown him.

Once they part, Zaveid claps him on the shoulder, tries to keep his spirits up through remarks about finding time to bond. He offers to take Mikleo drinking, which Mikleo refuses, but it sparks a teasing debate on how long he’d last until he became black-out drunk. If anything puts him off, it’s that.

Beneath the joking exterior, though, Mikleo can tell Zaveid is trying his best, and he is grateful for it. Not that he’ll ever say that to his face, of course.

Even Edna’s teasing, though lighter than usual, feels comforting in its familiarity. She doesn’t bring up Sorey, instead teasing him for other insignificant aspects of himself which he can’t help but be riled up by. When he bites back, it distracts him. It’s temporary, but it’s a relief all the same.

Only when they head to the inn does he see Rose, sitting cross-legged on a bed, sharpening her knives. When she sees him, her grin is as bright as always, which tells him how much she’s hiding behind it.

“Hey,” she greets him, putting down her tools and holding out a hand. “Be my sub lord?”

Just because it’s Rose - because he can hear the strength of her voice, can see the intention in her eyes, trusts her well enough from months of travelling together-

Because it’s Rose, he accepts.

In the first month, Mikleo falls back on what he’s always done: he throws himself into work.

Researching seals, finding new ways to protect Camlann, making sure Sorey stays safe during his sleep - these are the thoughts which he entertains the most. He dwells in Rose’s consciousness at night, staring up at the metaphorical black ceiling provided by her sleeping body, and his mind races. He can’t sleep for thoughts of, ‘What else can I do to protect him?’

(Not that he needs sleep, and truth be told he’s always found it difficult without Sorey’s warmth at his side.)

It’s during a late-night study session in their room at the inn that Rose asks him if she can borrow The Celestial Record.

He looks up from the library-loaned book he’s been reading in the moonlight, surprised to find Rose awake but more so to hear this request. Taking the book out of the pouch he’s taken to storing it in, he feels a pang in his chest.

“I thought you hated things like this?” he says, offering it to her.

Rose shrugs, though she takes the book carefully, trying not to damage it. “If I’m gonna be a Shepherd, I feel like I should at least give it a shot, don’t you think?”

“It’s your choice,” Mikleo says, turning back to the book in front of him. “It’s not like every Shepherd had a book like this to guide them.”

In a low voice, Rose answers, “The important one did.”

For a moment, Mikleo considers that this might be Rose’s way of honouring Sorey. With him being Maotelus’ vessel, there’s no telling how long he’ll be asleep for. By the time he awakens, Rose will almost certainly be gone.

This is the last thing they have of Sorey, except for his light.

From that night, Mikleo and Rose spend a lot of time reading together.

Whenever they’re not cleaning up leftover hellions or sealing hidden passages, the two youngest members of the group sit in a rare state of silence, heads buried in books. For Mikleo, the cover changes but the subject matter never falters; he gets through five volumes on seals before Rose gets halfway through The Celestial Record.

One night, when they’re relaxing at their makeshift campsite in Lakehaven Heights, Rose lets her head hit the tree she’s leaning against with a groan. The campfire in front of her flickers, spreading lines of orange across her skin.

“This book is so boring,” she complains. “I don’t know how you guys are so into this kind of thing.”

“It’s interesting,” Mikleo says, barely lifting his eyes from his own page. “Well, to us at least.”

“I can tell,” Rose says. “You’ve written all over the damn thing! Not that I can make out half of your scribbles, they don’t even look like real words.”

Mikleo glances over at the page she has open. She’s on a spread describing the leaning towers, one which is covered in shoddily-drawn symbols. He has to fight to stop his lips curling upward at the sight.

“It’s the Ancient Tongue,” Mikleo explains. “Sometimes Sorey would practice writing it in the book to help us learn what the symbols meant. We stopped when we became fluent, though.”

Rose trails her fingers over the symbols. For a moment, she bites her lip, thinking over something before she says, “Can you teach me a little?”

“You want to learn the Ancient Tongue?” To Mikleo, this is more surprising even than her wanting to read the book. He’d never have pegged Rose for wanting to learn a language, especially not one as complex as this.

She scratches the back of her head. “I want to know what these annotations say, at least. And I kinda need to know what to say if I ever get a Squire, don’t I?”

“That’s true,” Mikleo says. “Alright, I’ll try my best.”

They spend that evening going through Sorey’s annotations, with Mikleo translating them and helping Rose to understand them better. Part of him forgets Sorey isn’t physically here with them, reading his words. Every word he chose to write down here seems to capture his essence, preserving it in these pages.

Only once the others go to bed and the light of the fire burns low do they reach the end-paper. Mikleo’s mouth goes slack, seeing symbols he’s never noticed in the back of the book.

“Mikleo?” Rose says when he doesn’t say anything. “Is something wrong?”

He can’t bring himself to speak those words.

Written in Sorey’s handwriting, printed with more care than anything else in the book, are the words: Luzrov Rulay. My one and only.

Not long after that, their party splits up.

The girls head to the west, ready to check on Marlind and Rolance whilst Mikleo and Zaveid stay behind, working to finish sealing up Camlann.

At first, Mikleo dreads it. He hasn’t spent much time alone with Zaveid, but knowing what he’s like with the others around, he’s not sure this will be any better. He doesn’t particularly want a repeat of the sauna incident. Or the swimsuit incident. Or the ‘winds of love’ incident either, for that matter.

But Zaveid is surprisingly considerate. Though he jokes around as usual, he’s serious about their work, and they get through it without much trouble. Zaveid does try to chat up a few of the Elysian seraphim when they’re there, of course, but none of them fall for his words.

One night, after a gruelling day of sealing, Mikleo heads out to the overhang outside of Elysia. He remembers this outlook fondly from memories both old and recent. Countless nights, he sat here with Sorey, watching the stars, dreaming of faraway lands they knew only from books and their imaginations. Not to mention that one day, near the time of their final battle, when once more he found his feelings trapped on his tongue.

Now the view has changed. A bright shoot of white stretches through the stars, reaching all the way up and down, embracing the world.

If he wants, Mikleo could fool himself into feeling like Sorey is here, beside him. In a way, he is here. Asleep though he is, Sorey is one with Maotelus right now, which means he is one with the earth itself. Somehow, Mikleo feels like if he says something now, his words will reach Sorey, no matter how far away his body rests.

A breeze brushes against his skin. His words join it in a single breath.

“I love you.”

“Flattering, but I’m way too old and straight for you, Mik-boy.”

Mikleo jolts as Zaveid flops to sit on the grass beside him. He tries to ignore how his cheeks burn in embarrassment. “I- I wasn’t talking to you-”

“Settle down, I’m just teasing you,” Zaveid laughs, patting his back. “Like I said, the wind carries all sorts of messages. I didn’t expect you to take me seriously when I told you that, though.”

“What do you want?” Mikleo says, glaring at the wind seraph.

Zaveid’s laughter dies down, and he looks out onto the skyline, lips pressed in a line. “I lost someone important to me, too. A long time ago.”

This catches Mikleo’s attention.

“Her name was Theodora,” Zaveid clarifies. “Amazing woman. Lively, upbeat… We were happy together.”

A stupid, inappropriate part of Mikleo wants to poke fun at how Zaveid managed to hold onto a lover at some point, but he stops himself.

Instead he asks, “What happened?”

Zaveid lets out a mirthless laugh. “What do you think? She became a dragon.”

Mikleo doesn’t need to ask how the story ends.

“The problem I had was that I didn’t want to believe it,” he continues. His hair rustles in the breeze, drifting around his shoulders, freer apparently even than Zaveid himself. “I convinced myself she was herself, right until the end. If Eizen hadn’t killed her, I might have ended up the same way.”

When Mikleo doesn’t respond, Zaveid turns to face him, eyes burning with a seriousness he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Sorey’s not dead,” Zaveid says. “And he’ll come back someday. But you can’t just hang on to your memories of him. Time changes everyone. It’s not something you can resist.”

Those words strike his core deeply. It’s something he’s told himself before but never wanted to admit, a fear which curdles in his throat, forced down by will alone.

But Zaveid is right.

In a broken breath, Mikleo whispers, “I know.”

A large hand pats his back, and they exchange no more words. Only the wind whispers their shared sorrow into the night sky.

The issue with having a problem is that identifying it is the easy part.

Mikleo shouldn’t be this hung up on Sorey. He’s been trying so hard to keep busy, to drown out the loudness of an empty space, to keep his mouth shut when all he wants to do is turn to his right and find someone listening to him.

He made a silent vow, that night in Lastonbell. When Sorey told him his dream would live on, Mikleo promised himself that he would, too. He’d move on without regrets, without staying stuck in the past. Because he knows Sorey would not want him to live like this.

But it’s hard. Naturally so, given that it’s only been a few months, and he’s lived alongside Sorey for eighteen years. To think of the amount of centuries looming before him would make him waver all the more.

Mikleo has always been stubborn, though. He can’t let himself be held back by regrets, or loneliness.

Sorey will return. Until then, Mikleo needs to live life enough for both of them.

After all, they haven’t achieved their dream yet. There’s still work to do.

When they return from Camlann, Mikleo cuts his hair.

He hasn’t done it for a while, since even when he and Sorey journeyed together they never got the chance to sit down and maintain their appearances. Mikleo only ever bothers with his own when Sorey needs it done. To cut his hair alone feels almost sacrilegious.

But he needs to move forward. Zaveid’s words have lingered in his mind, urging him to take up the scissors. As he stands before the mirror, eyeing up how his fringe brushes lower over his eyes than it should, he knows he needs to cut himself off from this slump. Not that he’s slumping right now - it takes a lot of concentration to make his reflection show up at all.

He raises the scissors to surround a few strands of his fringe.

“Mikleo? What are you doing?”

It happens all at once: the scissors close with a metallic finality, a clump of his fringe falling onto the vanity table. His reflection fizzles out of sight, and Rose shrieks.

“Calm down!” Mikleo says, watching her jump away, putting her arms over her face in self-protection.

Rose glares at him, lowering her arms. “Don’t do that!” she yells.

“I didn’t mean to! You’re the one who made me lose concentration.”

Reaching up to his fringe, he surveys the damage. It doesn’t feel too much shorter than when he’d usually cut it. He can probably salvage it without too much trouble.

(It’s certainly nowhere near as bad as The Incident. For once, he actually feels glad Sorey isn’t here to laugh at him for this.

A lump of guilt forms in his throat, and he stops thinking about that.)

“Are you cutting your hair?” Rose asks, eyeing up the hair on the table. “You any good?”

“Usually, yes,” Mikleo says. “When people aren’t shrieking around me, anyway.”

Rose ignores his prod, instead asking, “Would you mind cutting mine for me when you’re done? It’s getting too long, it’s a real pain in battle.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks!”

She heads out of the room, leaving Mikleo alone once more.

He stares at the empty mirror and lets out a long sigh. Time to try again, he supposes.

From that day on, whenever Mikleo cuts his hair, he trims Rose’s hair as well. If Alisha is with them, he’ll offer his services to her, something which she declines at first, too modest to accept such treatment from the seraphim she is supposed to worship devoutly. He soon convinces her that there’s no reason she should treat him any differently than her human friends, though, and she allows him to cut her hair too.

(He can’t help but roll his eyes when he remembers the true name Rose gave to Alisha. If Rose remembered anything of the Ancient Tongue Mikleo taught her, of course it was that.)

Edna jokes about him becoming a hairdresser for Shepherds and their companions, which irks him for a while. It’s not like he chose this for himself. But the irony comes when Edna plops down on the chair in front of him one day after Rose vacates it.

“Don’t mess it up,” she tells him, laying her umbrella across her lap as a warning.

As he trims away the split ends from her hair, Edna mostly stays silent. It’s different from when he cuts Rose’s hair - being talkative by nature means she never has nothing to say. Even Alisha makes polite conversation, and it’s a far cry from when he used to cut Sorey’s hair. That doesn’t make it unpleasant, though. The silence between them is surprisingly amiable.

“Did you cut your own hair, on Rayfalke?” he asks one day.

Edna takes a moment to respond. “Sometimes, yeah. My brother did it for me, before he left. After that I did it myself.”

“Oh, I see.”

A couple of questions float around Mikleo’s mind. He wants to ask her about Eizen, and more specifically about her life without him, before he became a dragon. He holds his words back, though. Now is not the time to ask them.

Some day, though, he’ll ask, but he needs to give it some time first.

“You’re not telling anyone?”

Mikleo looks up from the book he’s reading. They’re in Marlind’s inn, where nearby there was a resilient hellion causing havoc which they’ve since managed to subdue. Now, Rose sits cross-legged in front of the fireplace, shrugging at Alisha’s question.

“Don’t see a need to,” Rose says. She puts down The Celestial Record, keeping note of the page even though she hasn’t turned it in at least half an hour. “It’ll only cause trouble if people go looking for him, right? As long as they know the world’s at peace, there’s no need to make Sorey’s actions a public affair.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Alisha says, though she sounds uncertain. “It’s a shame, though. No one will ever know of his valiance, of the sacrifice he made for our world.”

“Sure they will,” Rose says easily. “Mikleo’s gonna write a history book or two about it. It just might not come out for a hundred years or so.”

Mikleo gives her an unimpressed look. “I don’t think it will fill two whole volumes, Rose.”

“Sure it will! You’ll be dedicating a whole volume to me, won’t you?” she says with a grin.

“In any case,” Alisha says, “as disappointed as I am that I won’t be able to read Mikleo’s book, I’m glad I lived to witness the events of it happening.”

Mikleo looks down at his lap, subdued. Alisha, just like Rose, is human. It’s something which plagued him with Sorey, and which has began to bother him with the girls, too. They will die, some day. There’s no self-sacrifice for them to make to extend their lifespan. They’ll live as normal humans do, with lives shorter than Mikleo can imagine.

Rose, perhaps sensing Mikleo's thoughts, says, “Yeah. Who cares about being able to read about what happened way back when. It’s better to be able to say you were there when those things happened.”

Alisha smiles. “You’re right. I’ll be forever grateful that I had the chance to journey with two Shepherds, both working their hardest to bring this world to peace.”

“Hey, you talk like you didn’t help at all! People will be talking about you for centuries.”

“Y-you really think so? I’m not sure...”

Mikleo turns his gaze back to his book, though his mind stays locked on their conversation.

Well, so long as Rose and Alisha have no regrets, it’s all he can do to support them until the very end.

One day, years later, Mikleo cuts Rose's hair.

The world is far more peaceful than it had been in their youth, thanks to the hard work of Alisha and Sergei, who kept their countries sane after Sorey made his sacrifice. The air feels purer, nowadays, and it’s rare to find places filled with as much malevolence as the cities used to be.

But there’s still work to do. Mikleo knows in his heart that there’s a long wait ahead of him before the land is wholly purified. At this point, it’s something he’s accepted. All he can do is wait and work his hardest to achieve their dream in the meantime.

Rose is, surprisingly, still the Shepherd. Not that there’s nearly as much work to do as Shepherd now as there once was, but so long as humans produce malevolence, hellions will continue to exist. Whilst Alisha and Sergei work on the roots of the problem, Rose nips the buds of malevolence before they can spread like weeds.

He cards his fingers through strands of vibrant red, which is only a bit longer than it once was, and kept out of the way more often than not. As he lifts his scissors, though, he notices something shining.

“Something wrong?” Rose asks when he hesitates.

“No, nothing,” he responds.

When his scissors wrap around those strands of hair, they take a strand of silver along with them.

Rose only takes on one other Squire in her lifetime.

His name is Tristan. He’s idealistic, that’s for sure. His short, dark hair frames eyes filled with curiosity, ones which search for answers about the wonders of the world. In a sense, he reminds Mikleo of Sorey, though there are more differences than similarities between them. Other than looking nothing alike, his demeanour is more sceptical than sincere. He is genuine in his hopes to follow in the footsteps of his predecessors, though, learning more about the world as he helps to keep it safe.

Though Rose isn’t one for teaching, she manages to show Tristan the ins and outs of being a Shepherd. He soon handles the power of purification without Lailah’s guidance, and eventually he starts taking charge in their battles, allowing Rose time to relax after long days of work.

With his rapid development, it doesn’t surprise Mikleo when Rose announces to the seraphim a year after his becoming her Squire that she’ll be retiring.

“He’s happy to step up as the Shepherd,” she tells them, and the confidence in her gaze makes Mikleo believe her all the more.

Still, with this change comes an abundance of decisions to be made. Tristan has worked hard as the Squire, but he hasn’t gained the power of armatization just yet. Not only that, but Mikleo isn’t sure he wants to continue on this journey as a sub lord. He enjoys travelling more than anything, and being with his friends has given him years of happy memories. But he’s ready to move on, now. There’s more to his dream than purifying hellions, and helping the Shepherds on a journey which has turned into routine hellion clean-up duty will get him nowhere.

When he tells this to Lailah, however, she wears an understanding expression.

“To be entirely honest,” she tells him, “I’m planning on stepping down as Prime Lord, as well.”

“Wait, really?” Mikleo says. “You can do that?”

Lailah nods. “Of course! Even Prime Lords need vacations, right? Besides, I know the perfect candidate to take over for me.”

Mikleo doesn’t know why he expects an explanation, anymore.

In any case, the decision is quickly made: Tristan will soon succeed Rose as the Shepherd, with the seraph Uno taking over as Prime Lord. Lailah will step down and become the Lord of the Land for Ladylake in his place, leaving the other seraphim to do as they please. After all, with the lack of hellions roaming these days, there certainly isn’t the need for a full party of seraphim anymore. It’s time for this Shepherd to make his own journey, where he will find his own companions.

When Rose passes the mantle on to Tristan, and Mikleo hands over the Divine Artifact to Uno, he can only wish them the best of luck.

The last conversation he has with Rose is in a clearing in the Volgran Forest.

She lives in a small town now, known far and wide as a trading outpost for merchants. When she said she’d be retiring, Mikleo should really have guessed she’d continue working in some form; there’s no way she’d give up both her trades as a fighter and a merchant. At least being a merchant is the less dangerous of the two.

With a world spread in front of him, ready to be explored, even now he can’t help returning to visit her every now and then. It would feel strange, not to see her for months on end. And, well, he feels like he’s grown up with Rose, in a way. They’ve known each other since they were both young, after all, and it has been - what, fifty years since they met? He needs to keep better track.

Rose pulls out The Celestial Record from her bag. Mikleo is surprised to see she has it, and intact, too.

“I never returned this to you,” she says, though she doesn’t pass it to him. Instead she lets her hand trace the cover, fiddling with the worn bookmarks sticking out of the top. “But I’m gonna be selfish and ask a favour. Can I pass this on to Tristan?”

Mikleo hums. A part of him wants to refuse, clinging onto the memories held within it and the confession at its end. The part which still aches at the sight of the book is happy to see it go. “I thought you hated that book. To hear you’d actually want someone else to read it is kind of surprising.”

“Aw come on, I got through it eventually!” She elbows him for good measure, and he tries not to focus on how much less force is behind the action than there used to be. “I think this book should live on with the Shepherds. A Shepherd wrote it, and it’s what brought Sorey into being a Shepherd. And I don’t want to admit it, but it’s helped me out a lot, too. I think it’d probably benefit Tristan, and all the Shepherds who come after him.”

Reluctantly, he accepts. “Makes sense. I think Sorey would like that, too.”

“Good!”

She stows the book away, then pulls out a letter. The envelope is already crumpled from age. She passes it to him. On the front, written in a familiar scrawl, is the word, ‘Sorey’.

“You wrote him a letter?” Mikleo says, turning the envelope over in his hands. “That’s not your style.”

Rose laughs. “I know, I know. But I had a lot I wanted to say to him, and he didn’t exactly give me a chance to say it. Pass it on to him for me, will you?”

He tucks the letter away, feeling his heart sink a little with the connotations of it. “Of course.”

“Thanks, kid.”

“You don’t get to call me kid,” Mikleo complains, frowning at her. “We’re the same age.”

“Maybe, but you don’t look anywhere near my age, so I can call you that all I like!”

When she sticks her tongue out at him before bursting into vibrant laughter, he can almost fool himself that they are still both kids, enjoying life together whilst they can.

Her funeral is a quiet affair.

The gravestone stands atop a wind-brushed hilltop.

All Mikleo can think of is how this is only the first friend he’ll outlive.

He stays for a long while, then heads off with the other seraphim, no destination in mind.

(Alisha gives Mikleo a letter for Sorey too, before she passes away. It’s far more well-maintained than Rose’s, kept in pristine condition, and he knows Rose must have made the suggestion to her before Alisha died.

She leaves behind a pair of loving children, the loyalty of the citizens of Hyland and Rolance, and a legacy which Mikleo knows will last for centuries to come.)

After Rose and Alisha die, Mikleo travels alone for a while.

He’s not sure what else to do. Without anything tying him to any place, there’s a whole world waiting for him to explore it. Now is the time when he’ll get to discover everything he and Sorey ever dreamt of seeing. Each place he visits, he notes into his journals, diaries of his travels which span their whole lives. By the time Sorey returns, he swears to himself he’ll have filled at least five volumes.

(Incidentally, he’s already filled two - one with his journeys with Sorey, and the other dedicated to Rose’s time as Shepherd. He wishes she and Alisha were still here to read them.)

The thing with travelling alone, though, is that he has no one to share his discoveries with. He quickly realises, halfway into a shrine to Eumacia in the depths of Westronbolt Gorge, that there’s something inherently uninspiring about exploring a ruin alone.

That doesn’t stop him from venturing through the whole ruin, of course, as well as a couple more. It’s an opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, to think more carefully about how no one is here to hear his theories. Rather than speaking, he learns to put those thoughts into writing, creating discovery logs and making a mental note to talk to Sorey about all of this when he awakens.

(His conscience helpfully reminds him that these ruins may not be standing by the time Sorey awakens. He forces himself to ignore it.)

Eventually, though, he becomes tired. The discoveries he finds don’t enthuse him as much as they once did, and he abandons his adventure halfway through. It is with a heavy heart, of course, but he feels hopeless. How is he supposed to live when the things he enjoys don’t feel worthwhile anymore?

On the way back from a ruin, he bumps into a group of travellers in a caravan, and on a whim, he hops into the carriage.

They’re merchants, not related to the Sparrowfeathers but somewhat reminiscent of them. They fill their journey with lively banter, keeping the atmosphere joyful despite their uneventful surroundings. None of them have enough resonance to see or hear Mikleo, though one of them swears a couple of times that she feels a presence nearby.

The merchants are surprisingly devout, though, and Mikleo feels warm in their company.

(He wonders, fleetingly, if this is why Dezel joined the Windriders. Even before his friend’s death, Dezel must have enjoyed the company of these humans who may not have seen him, but who believed in him all the same. It’s a comforting thought, really. To know he’s being appreciated.)

Part of him regrets leaving, once they reach the merchant town where Rose once lived. But they’re planning on returning into Rolance, and Mikleo wants to go back to Hyland for a little while. Maybe now, he thinks, would be a good time to visit home.

(Probably, he thinks, the cause of this feeling is homesickness. He’s not sure if it’s for Elysia or for something else, though.)

Mikleo doesn’t plan on bumping into Edna.

To be fair, he had no idea she’d be in Marlind when he got there. When he sees her, though, he feels a sense of familiarity, one which is combined with a childish feeling of dread which remains from their adolescent arguments.

“Edna,” he greets her once he reaches her perch in the roots of the Great Tree. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs, twirling her umbrella. For the most part, she looks the same as ever; she still wears the same dress, boots and glove, and her umbrella still holds the normin mascot, which is now just a plushie (or at least, so Mikleo hopes). The only difference is that her hair has grown longer, now reaching below her shoulders, where one of the straps of her dress has a knack for falling down.

“What, can a lady not visit town every once in a while?” she says, arching her brow. “Perhaps I should be asking what a lonely Meebo is doing here.”

He groans. He’d at least hoped she might have dropped the nickname by now. “Just passing through. I’m heading back to Elysia.”

She hums, appraising him. “Your hair’s gotten longer.”

Reaching for the back of his neck, he finds that she’s right. The strands now reach closer to his chin, not unruly but less controlled than he usually lets it get. “Well, so has yours,” he counters.

“My hairdresser decided to wander off on his own. It’s only natural that it would get out of control with such negligence.”

“You could have cut it yourself, you know.”

This time she doesn’t respond, instead hopping down onto solid ground. “The least you could do in return is offer to buy me lunch, you know.”

Mikleo rolls his eyes, but relents. “Fine, whatever.”

They head to a nearby bakery, one of Edna’s choosing, and grab a couple of pastries each. They have to leave their gald on the counter and take their pastries straight from behind the counter, since the bakers don’t have resonance. They’ve both gotten sued to this kind of thing, though. Heading over to the museum, they sit down on a nearby bench, watching as the humans go about their daily lives.

“What brings you so close to the humans, anyway?” Mikleo asks. “I thought you hated them.”

“I did,” Edna says, holding a palmier in her bare hand. “But I can deal with them, now. Besides, I wanted some pastries.”

Humming, Mikleo takes a bite into his Madeleine. The sweet flavour wraps around his tongue. It’s been a long time since he bothered to stop and make something sweet to eat.

“Edna,” he says. “What did you do when Eizen left? Before he became a dragon, I mean.”

For a long moment, Edna stays silent. He thinks she’ll probably leave, or make him drop the question. After all, she’s never been keen on that topic.

In the end, she answers.

“I waited,” she says. “I stayed on Rayfalke and tried to stay busy while hoping he’d come back.”

“You didn’t leave at all?” he asks. “What did you do there all day?”

“I have hobbies,” she says. “I practised fighting, I wrote letters, I cooked. Sometimes I’d scare earth-dwellers away if they started coming up the mountain.”

Part of Mikleo can’t help but ache, knowing that he could be doing the same thing as her right now, biding his time without any action.

Perhaps Edna notices his mood, and she pokes him with her umbrella. It’s gentler than usual, which takes him more by surprise than her poking him at all.

“You shouldn’t do what I did,” she says. “It’s a pretty dumb thing to do. Plus Sorey wouldn’t want you to just wait around for him to come back.”

He turns to her, a rush of gratitude filling her. It’s kind of weird, but he smiles regardless. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Edna.”

She turns away, eating the last of her pastry. “It’s nothing.”

When she stands up to leave a few minutes later, she puts her umbrella up, not facing him as she speaks. “You can grow your hair out, by the way. He’ll recognise you.”

Edna leaves before he can say anything in response.

In a darkened room, the only sound is the scratch of pen against paper, smooth lines of ink creating word after word, filling pages in no time. The candlelight flickers, its glow barely reaching the desk, but it’s enough. Mikleo’s eyes have gotten used to the dark.

The curtains flutter by the window, the outside world visible but darker still than the room he’s in. A breeze brushes his face, making his light falter for a moment.

Mikleo looks up, his eyes meeting the window.

‘Oh,’ he thinks, ‘it’s already night.’

His hand hovers over the paper, pen poised and ready to continue. But now he’s distracted, and he can feel the weight of his eyes dropping closed. When was the last time he slept? He can’t recall. Maybe it was before he returned to Elysia… How long ago was that? What date is it?

Mikleo never intended for time to pass him by. Especially not knowing that that’s exactly what’s happening to Sorey; that only makes him more conscious, to know that Sorey would be disappointed to see him like this. But Mikleo can’t help it. Once he got home and sat down to work, he became so focused that time got the better of him. Without the biological needs of a human to take into account, he can continue working for as long as he likes.

Doing so isn’t living, of course. That’s what aggravates Mikleo the most, knowing that doing this means he’s not living his life, the way he promised he would.

He lays down his pen, forcing himself to stretch tired arms over his head. His muscles feel weak from lack of use, and he berates himself for not thinking to get up and stretch at all. Still, it’s late now, and he’s too tired to exercise at this time. He heads through into the bedroom, shucking off his clothes and burrowing under the covers of the bed, trying to ignore the scent of dust tickling his nostrils. Sorey’s scent has long since disappeared from the house, but the memory of it calms his mind.

For the first time in centuries, he falls asleep without trouble, entering a dreamless void moments after his head hits the pillow.

Time passes him by even more quickly when he’s on the move.

Mikleo spends the next few centuries travelling the continent, researching and exploring unknown ruins, recording all of his discoveries for future reference. He comes across a few seraphim as he travels, who help him learn more and refine his artes. Occasionally, he finds one of his old companions, who he stays with for a while, catching up on the time they’ve been apart.

It’s only when Mikleo hair reaches his forearms and his writing fills four volumes that he speaks to a human.

He’s in a forest near a human village, gathering herbs and other supplies for his travels. Though he rarely needs healing items anymore, he can’t help his own need to be prepared for any situation, no matter what. Besides, the herbs will taste great in food if he doesn’t use them for medicinal purposes.

The young girl finds him near the edge of the forest. Her age is far younger than Mikleo can imagine being anymore, and she beams at him without understanding his surprise.

“Hi!” she says. “What’s your name?”

“You can see me?” he asks without thinking.

Her nodding is filled with enthusiasm, and his heart clenches, the faded memory of Sorey’s grin returning to his mind. “Of course I can, silly! Why wouldn’t I be able to see you?”

For a long moment, he stays silent in awe.

He spent eighteen years of his life with Sorey, dreaming of a day when humans might be able to see him and not remember a time when that wasn’t possible. Now, he’s seeing that reality come to light in front of him.

This girl and her words make his heart lift.

Without restraining his smile, he says, “My name is Mikleo. I’m a seraph.”

Her eyes light up, bright azure filled with the same awe he feels. “Really? My friends are gonna be so jealous when they hear I met a seraph!”

Looking at this girl, for the first time, Mikleo doesn’t think about human mortality.

He looks at her and he sees the future. He sees his and Sorey’s dream living on, and he feels at home.

The next time he sees Lailah is when they visit Camlann together.

She’s able to travel a lot more now, even though she’s still working as the Lord of the Land. Since so much more of the land has been purified, Ladylake doesn’t need the constant blessing of a seraph. It gives her a chance to stretch her legs and see more of the world, which Mikleo is glad for. Ten years had seemed like a long enough time back when she’d first been waiting for a Shepherd to appear.

When she sees him, she spends a good few minutes hugging him, and even longer enthusing about his newly grown-out hair, which he’s now taken to setting in a high ponytail, not unlike hers except far wavier by nature. After she calms down, they greet the Elysians. Their village has grown into a larger town now, with a few humans in their midst, and it’s comforting to see how warmly the humans welcome another seraph as a visitor.

They stop by Gramps’ grave on their way to Camlann. It doesn’t look at all weathered by age, something which Mikleo can only guess is down to seraphic artes. His pipe remains on the grave, cleaned regularly by the seraphim to keep it from harm. After all, this is one of the only things they have left of him.

By this point, Mikleo has long since accepted Gramps’ death. It was something he and Sorey had to do, and though it pains him to think about it, he knows Gramps was proud of them. If Gramps is somewhere seeing the way the world has grown since then, he knows he’d be proud of them for that, too.

Camlann is only a walk away from there, and they spend most of that time catching up on their time apart. Lailah talks of her days in Ladylake, people-watching and listening to prayers. She tells him of the people with resonance, a growing population who often come to greet her, thanking her for her hard work. She tells him of a girl with blond hair and green eyes who reminded her of Alisha, reading a book on the steps of the sanctuary. She tells him about the current Shepherd, who is practically a part-timer compared to Sorey and Rose, but who still serves a vital purpose in this world.

She tells him about the days she spends gazing at the sky, smiling fondly on the memories of their past.

They head into the village, gazing down upon the crater where Sorey rests. His light is as bright as ever, burning gently through the sky, filling it with purity. Flowers have since grown around his resting place, surely aided by the artes of certain earth seraphim. Camlann has become a beautiful place; Mikleo can only hope that once Sorey awakens, they can rebuild the Origin town of peace that Michael wanted to create in the first place.

He tells Lailah this, and her eyes glimmer with emotion.

“I’m sure he’d have wanted that,” she says.

“Wasn’t it hard?” he asks after a moment, as they sit at the edge of the crater. “When Michael left?”

“It was,” Lailah says, holding a hand over her heart. “But I didn’t want him to feel burdened. He was the Shepherd from such a young age, I wanted him to live a normal life, too.”

Her face forms a smile, though, and she looks over to him with eyes filled with hope.

“But Sorey brought peace back into the world,” she says. “Now, we are living in the world which Michael envisioned, and which you have brought into reality. I can’t find it in myself to regret any of that.”

Mikleo looks down. “You’re really strong, Lailah.”

Shaking her head, she says, “Don’t discount your own efforts, though. You’ve been incredibly strong, Mikleo. I’m sure it will pay off soon.”

He can’t find the words to express his gratitude to her, so in the end, he simply turns back to Sorey’s light.

“I hope you’re right.”

It feels better than he expects it to.

Though it’s not a rush of euphoria or an overwhelming excitement, it’s still a breathless kind of joy, a blossoming warmth in his chest, a hope which feels like home.

When he feels Sorey’s hand grasp his, pulling him out of the darkness, he can’t help but grasp on tight, a new resolve forming in his heart.

Sorey pulls him close, and he can feel his skin thrumming with newfound power, an energy Mikleo has lived with for so long that it’s strange to feel coursing through another person. His hair tickles Mikleo’s face as they hug, neither wanting to let the other go.

Mikleo can’t even remember how long it’s been, anymore. They’ve both changed, but the time that has passed doesn’t seem to matter in this moment, as they connect once more. Two halves of a whole, they murmur shared words of affection with teary eyes.

They brush noses, pouring laughter into each other’s lips, relief and comfort and the feeling of coming home emanating through them.

Sorey is back, and they’ve got all the time in the world to make the most of it.

#sormikweek2018 #tales of zestiria #toz #sormik #tales of zestiria fanfiction #PLEASE JUST TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME #i've been working on this for far too long #it was never meant to be this long #and i'm not entirely happy with it #but i've run out of time and i'll probably never publish it if i don't do it now #so i hope someone out there likes these #please enjoy all my headcanons rolled into one giant mess #also you know what i can't do? titles

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tmariea · 8 years ago

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Aftermath

For Sormik Week Day 5 - Lohgrin and Truth (Even though it’s way late, geez)

What they learned at Lohgrin was a lot to take in. It requires quiet a moment for Sorey and Mikleo to talk, and to work their way through their past.

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Dinner at Lohgrin was a silent affair, the night after learning the truth contained in the last Iris Gem, with barely a word exchanged aside from requests to pass this or that. Nearly everyone had their own private grief to occupy them, besides Edna and Zaveid, but they had fallen into the subdued atmosphere just the same. While Sorey hardly spoke, he did glance towards Mikleo several times throughout the meal. After all, their sorrows were very much intertwined.

The whole of the day’s events had settled across his shoulders like a heavy weight, but by the sheen of Sorey’s eyes and the curve of his spine, it lay on him even heavier. That hurt almost more than the rest. Mikleo set his utensils down on the table, appetite dwindled to nothing, and announced, “I’m going for a walk outside the walls.”

“Will you be alright on your own? There are still hellions around,” Lailah said. Her voice sounded normal, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. The guilt of her past charge’s actions kept her turned away. That would be something to address, too, but not right now.

“I should be fine.”

“Maybe I should go with,” Sorey suggested and stood, abandoning his food half-eaten.

Mikleo nodded and turned toward the doors of the tower. Outside, there was little shade to protect from the scorching desert sun, but it would cool quickly enough once the last bits of sunlight slunk below the canyon walls. He kept that in mind as he settled onto the warm stone of the steps; as uncomfortable as it was now, it would be nice later.

“I thought you wanted to go for a walk?”

A shake of his head this time. “You looked like you wanted to get away. To talk.”

“Oh,” Sorey said, and the dropped down to join him. Mikleo did not miss the way he edged closer until their sides were pressed together.

“Where would you like to start?”

“It’s… it’s a lot.”

Mikleo waited for Sorey to speak, and when he didn’t right away, reached for his hand instead. He squeezed gently, and Sorey squeezed back, hard, without letting up. “Ow, Sorey.”

Sorey jumped just a bit as if he’d been startled out of his thoughts. He immediately eased his grip and his face morphed into one of apology. “I’m sorry,” he said, and brought Mikleo’s hand up to kiss the back before lowering it to cradle it in his lap. He was silent for a moment more before saying, “We finally have an answer, and what we have to do.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Yeah. And I feel like it’s the right one. And I know Lailah said it would be far worse to let fear make me waver from my answer, and so I will not waver. I do have the conviction, and…”

“Sorey,” Mikleo said, cutting off his rambling before it could get worse. “We don’t hide anything from each other. You don’t need to justify what you want to say.”

Sorey slumped and murmured towards their linked hands, “I’m still scared anyway.”

Mikleo certainly couldn’t deny that his stomach clenched some at the idea of firing himself into the heart of so much malevolence. “Me too, a little bit,” he admitted, “but we’re strong enough for this. I’m strong enough to do this for you.”

“I know, and I trust you. But it’s one thing to say it to your brain, and another thing to tell it to your heart.”

“That’s true. It’s okay to feel like that if you’re sure you won’t waver.”

“Thank you.” Sorey fell silent again, this time occupying himself by rubbing small circles onto the back of Mikleo’s hand with his thumb.

The sun had finally slipped below the walls of the canyon. Mikleo could let his eyes relax with a sigh of relief, and watch the pink and gold light creep across the undersides of the clouds as he waited once more. He knew that this was only a piece of what was bothering Sorey, and he would get to the rest if given the chance to gather his thoughts.

“And then, Mayvin.”

Mikleo swallowed, and nodded. He was truly unaccustomed, yet, to the nature of losing someone they knew. Unaccustomed to burials, and gravestones. They had been so lucky in Elysia, and so sheltered. Aloud, he said, “Even though we didn’t know him all that well, he was a good man.”

“He was,” Sorey agreed. “And even beyond that, in who he was and how he lived as an explorer, I saw something like a future for us in that.”

“Yeah, he did manage to do a lot of what we’ve dreamed of doing. To me, it seems as if he lived a good life.”

“That’s true,” Sorey said with a nod.

“There’s something else bothering you, still, isn’t there?” Usually, by the time Sorey got what he was upset about of his chest, or Mikleo pried it out of him, he would start to perk up at least a little bit. But, he was still slumped and his face downcast.

His grip clenched around Mikleo’s hand once more, thankfully not hard enough to hurt this time, and his mouth was taught with emotion. When he finally looked back up, his eyes were torn between holding Mikleo’s gaze with a kind of desperation and flicking away. “You died,” he whispered, barely audible even in the silence of the desert.

Mikleo reached out a hand to cup Sorey’s cheek. “Is that what this is all about?”

He nodded, and that seemed to signal the breaking of the floodgates. His eyes filled and then spilled over with tears. Mikleo flicked a few away with his thumb, and then shifted so he could pull Sorey into a hug. Sorey’s arms came around his back as well, hands clinging to the back of his shirt and squeezing him just a bit too hard.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here,” he said into Sorey’s ear, barely audible over the sound of his crying, but he didn’t think that mattered too much. The best he could do for now was rub his hands up and down Sorey’s back, and murmur reassurances while he sobbed into his shoulder.

“You d-died,” he repeated. “You were just a b-baby and you died and we had to w-watch.”

“I’m here now. I’m alive, and healthy, and right here with you.”

Mikleo felt Sorey nod, but the tears didn’t stop, either. He brought one hand up to stroke Sorey’s hair in time with the one still at his back, and began to rock them gently from side to side, the same way Myrna used to when they were small. It was hard to breathe or swallow past the knot in his own throat. He tilted his head up to look at the sky, now fading from blue into indigo, to blink away the wetness in his eyes. It wouldn’t help if they both went to pieces.

As it was, Sorey was doing a good enough job of crying for the both of them, his sobs now falling into the kind of hiccoughing sound that said he was struggling to catch his breath but unable to stop. The last time Mikleo could remember hearing Sorey cry like this was when he broke his leg falling down a trap in the ruins as kids, but even that was put to a quick halt by a strong healing arte. There was no healing arte for this. Only hoarse whispers of, “It’s okay, we’re okay,” in his ear, and kisses in his hair while he waited it out.

Eventually, Sorey’s crying slowed, and then petered out. He tugged himself gently away from Mikleo’s hold and tried to sit on his own again. Mikleo only caught a glimpse of reddened eyes, and wet, red cheeks, before Sorey swayed and whined, “Oh I feel dizzy.”

“What do you expect after crying for so long? Honestly. Come on, lie down.” Even though Mikleo tried to hold some teasing in his voice, he didn’t feel like he did a great job of it. But, he was far more focused on guiding Sorey’s head down so it was cushioned in his lap, at any rate.

Once he got him settled on his back, Mikleo opened the clasps on the Shepherd’s cloak and pulled apart the first few buttons on his shirt. It was really only a symbol, but perhaps shedding some of the weight of responsibility would help him.

Sorey looked back up at Mikleo with a sad smile and a few new tears collecting at the corners of his eyes, and reached up to touch his face. “How are you doing?” he asked, in a voice that was scratchy and stuffy with crying. “It was you, after all.”

“Mostly worried about you, actually,” Mikleo said, and started to run his hand through Sorey’s hair. “I don’t remember any of it, of course. It hardly even feels like it happened to me, almost as if it was someone else.”

“That’s good, I suppose.” Sorey let his hand fall from Mikleo’s face and back to his chest. He rolled onto his side, so that he could press his face into Mikleo’s stomach, and wrap his arms around his waist; the Shepherd’s cloak fell away from his shoulders and was left behind on the ground. “But it’s still sad,” he said, muffled by his position.

Mikleo adjusted so that he could keep running his fingers through Sorey’s hair. “It’s not the fate I would have chosen for myself, no.”

Sorey hummed his acknowledgement. They were silent for a few moments more, while Sorey took up the occupation of gently scratching his nails up and down Mikleo’s lower back. Finally, he asked, “Do you think that’s why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you’re a water seraph,” Sorey finished quietly, as if he was afraid to let the words have too much weight or sound.

Mikleo’s chest constricted. He knew the kinds of images that would be going through Sorey’s head – of a tiny infant just stepping into his rebirth as a seraph and into a world of heat and flames and the scent of burning flesh, even if it wasn’t the fire that had killed him. He still could hardly image that baby as himself, and he was glad his brain wasn’t pressing him to try. “Maybe,” he acknowledged, because it was a logical hypothesis. “I have always thought my element rather suited my nature, though. But I guess there is no way to know for sure if my element was influenced by my nature, or my nature influenced by my element.”

Sorey shoulders seemed to relax with relief and he nodded with more vigor at the thought that his morbid idea wasn’t the only possibility. “Yeah. Okay. Okay,” Sorey murmured, as if he was trying to reassure himself more than anything.

“You know, everything that happened brought us to where we are now.”

“We would have still known each other, though. We could have been normal kids, with normal mothers. I know I would have still fallen in love with you.”

Mikleo had to pause for a moment to tell his traitor cheeks that this was not an appropriate moment to be blushing. It wasn’t as if Sorey could see, though. “And I with you,” he reassured quietly, “but then we would have never met Gramps, or anyone from Elysia. And, there was still a war, with Camlann as a strategic location. Who’s to say we would have grown up normally?”

“That makes sense, I suppose.” Sorey spoke slowly as he conceded, a combination of his mind still being elsewhere, and disliking to admit that Mikleo was winning, regardless of the situation. “But then…”

“No, Sorey,” Mikleo cut him off. “Saying ‘this might have happened, or that’ is just going to make you more upset. Right now, I’m alive and here with you. And starting to get cold, actually. Do you think we could go back inside?”

He felt Sorey nod against his stomach, and he had to bite down on the urge to laugh at the ticklish feeling. Instead, he helped him to sit up again, and then picked up the Shepherd’s cloak from where it lay, slightly crumpled, on the ground. He folded it over one arm, rather than offering it back.

“You know, if you’re cold, you should wear the cloak,” Sorey suggested.

Mikleo could feel himself blushing again and looked away, even as he slung it around his shoulders. He focused on his fingers doing up the clasps instead of looking to his side.

As soon as they stood, though, arms wrapped him up and pulled him to a warm chest. Mikleo held in a squeak of surprise, as Sorey kissed his cheek and said, “Thank you for bringing me out here to talk.”

“Of course. If you don’t talk about these things, they just get worse.” And that’s the path to malevolence. Neither of them said it, but they both understood.

“I love you, Mikleo,” Sorey said. He squeezed him tight once, before letting go and taking his hand instead. “Will you stay with me, tonight?”

“I think I can do that,” Mikleo said, as he turned them back towards the door into the tower.

#tales of zestiria #sormik #sormikweek2017 #tmariea writes #spoilers #for the end of the iris gems quests

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carnelianwings · 8 years ago

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@toradh replied to your post “So I was just thinking: "What if Mikleo somehow dies before Sorey...”

*sniffs* I’m glad to see that all can be sad and unfair, but at least our beautiful queen Lailah is still ship captain and sets things as right as they can be, considering the circumstances. *cries*

Yes! Lailah will always be Ship Captain. But since I’ve had all day to think about that Roleswap Reincarnation Romance AU (yes, that’s what I’m calling it, the alliteration is great) have a few bonus tidbits and headcanons:

The look on Lailah’s face as she watches the sparks fly between Seraphrey and Shepherdleo. She’s hiding this incredibly gleeful grin behind her sleeve, and if either Seraphrey or Shepherdleo had seen her, they’d be asking her about it, but they’re both too distracted by each other to even notice her.

Seraphrey just reading all the history books and legends about Shepherd Sorey, and his love for Mikleo, but never finding out what really happened to Mikleo. He struggles with how detached he feels from the situation - it’s his past after all - but Zaveid also makes a point of telling him that he’s free to live his life as he wishes. He does, spending a lot of time exploring ruins and learning how to use wind artes from Zaveid, but he never quite shakes the feeling he’s missing a part of himself, right up until Lailah introduces him to reincarnated!Shepherdleo.

Also, he tries to learn how to fight using pendulums from Zaveid. It doesn’t take long before they both realize Seraphrey is better at getting them hopelessly tangled into his ponytail than actually fighting with them, so they seek out Edna to get Sorey a sword to fight with instead. Who laughs her ass off for a good hour, but helps them out in the end.

Zaveid running into them as they’re traveling (being a Shepherd is mostly a ceremonial title these days, but since Shepherdleo has a pact with Lailah, he’s still the one who can purify hellions and clear up pockets of malevolence), and at first is all ready for his sub lord pact. And then Lailah tells him, oh no, not this time. And at first Zaveid’s confused, until he catches snippets of the latest discussion on ruins between Seraphrey and Shepherdleo on the wind and he immediately understands.

Bonus: Zaveid tags along for a little while, and decides to offer Seraphrey a hand with romancing Shepherdleo. Seraphrey politely declines, not that it stops Zaveid from asking time and time again.

Edna, however, is not so lucky, and gets roped into it. She spends much of her time grousing about how it’s not much better than it was the first time. In fact, she charges interest on all of this, via her snarkery and snack tax. Shepherdleo, though, is just as easy to rile up as she remembered Meebo being (even though she mercifully refrains from mentioning Mikleo) so at least there’s that to keep her entertained between their moments of pure sappy romance.

It surprises precisely no one when Shepherdleo takes to favoring the wind armatus in combat, to the point where Edna teases him about it, only to have Seraphrey be his usual honest self (”But I don’t mind! I really like armatizing with you!”). Cue Shepherdleo turning into a tomato.

Seraphrey helping Sheperdleo with the weight of the Shepherd’s Burden. He might not have all of his memories of his time as Shepherd, but he does get hazy feelings and glimpses of memories from time to time, and it’s enough to let him relate. During rough spots during Shepherdleo’s tenure, it’s not uncommon for Shepherdleo to fall asleep curled up in Seraphrey’s lap.

And of course, at some point, Shepherdleo passes away from old age, but he reincarnates into a Seraph. And this time, they do get their happily ever after.

#toradh #soymilkheaven answers a reply #roleswap reincarnation au #i had a bit too much fun with some of these

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dustingrayves · 8 years ago

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pairing: sormik WC: 1484 rating: T AU: witch hunt au notes: right so this is the beginning of an au i kinda abandoned, but i dont really wanna get rid of it cause it has a few nice lines that im actually proud of,,,, ://

theres an explanation of the au at the bottom -b

The night, with its twinkling stars and lack of any burning lanterns, provides the perfect cover. Slipping in and out of narrow, crooked alleyways, no one would notice a shadow, silent and quick.

A lantern, dark and smelling of hot wax, dangles in his hand, carefully gripped so it makes as little noise as possible. The other hand hugs a gray cloak close, its edges fluttering to and fro as he walks.

Just a little more.

He rounds a corner, and another. Ducks to the side, crosses the street in two calculated steps. Slips into an alley where even his skin shines likes the moon. Winding the cloak ever closer to himself, he raises one gloved hand and taps the leathered knuckles over a wooden door, thrice.

A tiny slit opens between the heavy planks, two eyes looking through it. They regard him, wait until he pulls the hood back enough to expose his face, his shining eyes, and then the slit closes again.

The door opens with a squeak that could be mistaken for a mouse. He wastes no time and slips inside, the tension fading from his shoulders as if on command as the door clicks closed.

"Is it Tuesday yet?" the guard -Edna, tonight- pipes up, but there's no bite to her barking.

"I had to see him," he sighs, turning to look at her. She had already retaken her seat by the door, a single chair propped against its handle, and is now twirling her umbrella. Opening an umbrella inside means bad luck, his mind supplies immediately. The last thing they need is bad luck. He pushes the thoughts that follow back, forcefully. "How is he?"

"Better," Edna says, as if it were that simple. The concern lacing her brow is still evident, however, no matter how hard she tries to cover it with her usual stoic mask. "Better than before."

Leaving Edna to her assigned duty, he twists on a heel and marches up the stairs, steps muffled by the imported carpet. The upstairs is quiet as well, but if he strains his ears, he can hear the hushed sounds of a conversation.

He follows it to the first door on the right.

They changed it again. The bed that used to be in the middle is now pushed to the side, with just a little free space left between it and the wall. Whether that's to keep it from the cold of the nightly bricks or to ease the access of anyone on cooling duty, he isn't sure. The table is pressed next to it, and the free space is now occupied by chairs, arranged around a smaller table. Three chairs, two occupied.

Lailah perks up, expecting Edna, her eyes calming from confused concern to just understanding, and her shoulders relax again.

"Sorey," she says, instead of a welcome. Zaveid nods his way.

"Hey guys," Sorey replies, pushing the hood back. His hair springs free, tousled and wild. The cloak ends up chucked over the backrest of the empty chair. He can’t resist asking, even though Edna already told him, "How is he?"

"Fever went down," Zaveid tells him. Sorey rounds the sitting spot, leans over the bed. His fingers right the snowy hair before pushing it out of the way so he can feel the Seraph's temperature himself. He isn't a physician, and can't tell if this is Mikleo's normal temperature, but it doesn't feel like his insides are on fire anymore. He breathes an unconscious sigh of relief. "He's been like this since last night. With some luck, he'll wake up soon."

"Thank gods," Sorey mumbles, pulling his hand away.

Like this, Mikleo looks like he's just sleeping. His face is calm, if a little paler than usual. His lips are chapped, but parted. The half empty cup on the table lets Sorey know that either Lailah or Zaveid had made him drink recently.

"Were you really that scared? If anything happened we'd tell you, you know?" Zaveid says, with his legs on the table. If Sorey didn't know him, he could easily take his teasing as nonchalance. But he also knows how much time Zaveid spent sitting by the bed, replacing the cold rag on Mikleo's forehead when he was wracked by the fevers.

"I know." Sorey offers him a smile, one that lights up even the circles under his eyes. "I just..."

Zaveid spares him the need to say the words. "We know, buddy."

Sorey pulls the chair away from the other Seraphim and sits by the bed, looking over the passed out boy with a valiant gaze. "Wake up soon, Mikleo," he whispers, low enough for the others no to hear him.

"-ake up! Wake up!"

He's shaken, but it takes a moment to come back to the land of the waking. Sorey's eyelashes flutter and he stirs, blinking up. Zaveid towers over him, even more than usual now that he's sitting.

"Wakey, wakey," the Seraph teases, "we got breakfast."

"I fell asleep?" Sorey asks sleepily, lifting a hand to rub the sleep crust out of his eyes. According to the crick in his neck, yes, he did.

"Yup," Zaveid confirms, "You'd make a terrible guard."

Sorey can feel blood rushing into his cheeks. "Sorry," spills from him before he can think.

"But you weren't the guard, so don't worry. You gave me some more private time with Lailah." Zaveid lifts his brows in an implication.

"I read his fortune!" Lailah pipes up innocently, a piece of bread with honey poured over it in her hand. She's eyeing it, paying close attention not to spill any.

Zaveid's brows come back down. And then furrow. "She said I would die alone."

"Well, you probably won't die alone," Sorey says, standing up and stretching his arms. His joints pop with satisfying sounds. "You'll probably get killed, and that means that there will at least be your killer around. Probably a whole crowd, in your case."

"Thanks buddy, really appreciate it," Zaveid deadpans.

Sorey drags his chair back to the table and accepts the butter knife Lailah hands him. He grabs a piece of the bread and spreads butter on top, following her example of a honey meal.

Zaveid joins them and they eat in silence. Somewhere along the way, Edna comes upstairs, pulling along her own chair, presumably from the other room (though Sorey wouldn't really put it past her to take it all the way from downstairs). She joins them with only a remark of 'Zaveid's really quiet. Finally.'

They finish their meal and Sorey grabs his cloak again. He does, however, pause in the doorway, eyes falling onto Mikleo's unmoving form again. "I'll come again tonight," he promises.

"You know it's dangerous," Lailah says, her brows furrowing. "What if somebody sees you?"

"I didn't get caught yet! Don't worry!" Sorey tries to reassure her, but he himself knows what would happen if someone were to see and -gods forbid- follow him. Associating with Seraphim is the biggest form of treason, and punishable by a Seraphic trial along the Seraphim. Edna might be able to survive underwater by building a barrier, but he sure can't. He shudders at the thought; pushes it back where it came from, to the dark corner of his betraying mind.

"Just be careful, I don't want to follow my brother's steps," Edna says, using a hendkerchief to wipe stray droplets of honey from her fingers.

Sorey's eyes lower at the mention of Eizen. He puts on his coat in silence, and in silence he also slips out, leaving them alone to tend to Mikleo.

The morning streets greet him with people already bustling about, erecting their stalls and hauling the night's catches over. He can pull the cloak off when he gets to the heart of the market, no one paying him any mind as they mill about, hell-bent on getting the best fish today has to offer before someone else swoops in and steals them.

Sorey stops at a stall and buys a pair of handfuls of freshly caught prawn, despite himself. No one spares him a glance as he's handed the clothed bundle.

No one knows.

It always sends a pang of paranoia through him, when he's around people. He'd be lying if he said he's scared for himself and the possibility of being drowned or hung as a traitor to humanity. What truly strikes fear into his heart is the thought of Zaveid getting set ablaze. Of Lailah being tossed to the bottom of a lake. Of Edna pushed off a cliff, bound and helpless.

Of Mikleo, still unconscious and weak, being buried alive.

He finds himself gripping the cloth bag so tight that his nails bite into his palm through it; his heart is hammering and breath short. He takes a moment to calm himself and slips through the ever-unaware crowd back home.

WITCH HUNT AU;

aka medieval au where all humans hate and hunt the seraphim. theyre very, very ostracized and humans arent allowed by law to even talk to one. getting caught helping one (much less four) is punishable by a public execution. even rumors are enough to get inquisition on your ass; be careful!

sorey grows up alongside mikleo, a boy he met by the lake. mikleo admits hes a seraph a few years down the line, because he trusts sorey. and, just as expected, sorey makes sure to keep him safe and sound.

they meet the gang eventually, because mikleo, being a seraph, can tell when there are others around. lailah gets herself backed into a corner by a mob after badly dodging a question about her looks. burn her. no, she is fire. kill her! drown her! sorey and mikleo snatch her and lead the angry mob on a wild chase around the city that they know like the backs of their hands. edna is outed when she tries defending eizen before his execution. its just wild luck that mikleo was around. it was absolutely coincidental that the lake suddenly formed a tsunami-like wave. absolutely. zaveid finds them. he tries to flirt with lailah in the pub. needless to say, the poor guy is let down. at least the beer is close.

they dont meet rose and dezel until later. dezel protects rose to the best of his abilities, almost to the suicidal edge. rose doesnt even know hes a seraph until they meet the guys

eli told me this is basically canon (the human & seraphim hating each other), so i kinda scrapped this idea since i didnt want to seem like i was. idk. wrongly copying the canon. i know nothing about berseria

#tales of zestiria #sormik #eso's fics #witch hunt au #noncommital shrug #mine

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birbleafs · 8 years ago

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fic snippets

Sorry I haven’t been posting much on this account. There’s been a lot going on IRL, so I’ve been a bit preoccupied overall. Thank you to those of you who are still sticking around though! Before I wrote fic for Zestiria, I’ve only had a handful of followers and now there’s more of you (if I don’t count the bots...lol). It’s both a bit unnerving and nice (?!) since I’m not used to having this many followers for my writing...

AnYWAY, I’m slowly working on a few stories and hope to finish up at least one fic in the weeks to come sorry my writing rhythm is really inconsistent adksjkhjf

Till then, here are a few (unedited) snippets, if you’re interested. Putting under a cut for length:

Dezel, Sorey+Rose brotp, CATS (canon) He shouldn’t have been surprised, honestly. Incidents like these – they were a norm and really, he should be used to them by now. Being part the Shepherd’s posse seemed to bring about both irritability and absurdity in equal parts – he was aware of this even before Rose had decided on sharing the burden and took on the role of a Squire; before she had risked her own life to save the Shepherd brat from certain death because he had been foolish enough to face off with the Lord of Calamity.

Still, nothing quite prepared him for this; he was more of a dog person, after all.

“But why cats, though?” Rose finally blurted out, incredulous. Hell, Dezel wanted to know too – who would come up with such a sick joke anyway?

“I’m not a cat!”

The small silver creature standing in the grass was scowling up at them with narrowed, violet eyes. His mouth was open, as if he were attempting to speak. But the only sound he managed was a very indignant and cat-like meow (it was more a kittenish mewl, really, Dezel thought).

“W-What?” The silver kitten crinkled his nose, tail waving back and forth in confusion. He glanced over his shoulder, gazing at a second cat – a female with a silky white coat and a long, red-striped tail. “Why can’t I… Lailah, what’s going on?”

“Huh,” Sorey said from where he was crouched low to the ground. There was a contemplative look about him as he swept his gaze from the silver kitten to the white cat. Skulking beside his right knee was a smaller, calico-patched kitten with sky-blue eyes and a foul temper, her short tail fluffed up. And draped casually over the kid’s shoulder was yet another cat – a sleek, muscular tom, grey-striped and wearing a languid amber stare. Sorey watched the cats surrounding him for a bit longer, before he reached out tentatively to let the silver kitten sniff his fingers.

“Well, at least she didn’t turn you all into frogs,” Sorey added unhelpfully. “Ow–!” He yelped when the silver kitten nipped a finger.

“This isn’t funny, Sorey!” the kitten said, ears twitching irritably.

Before the Shepherd could reply, the grey tom leapt down from his perch to the grass below, splaying his claws as he stretched his long limbs out easily.

“Better a cat than a frog, eh, Mikster? Though I suppose it might have been easier if we had been turned into frogs – a kiss from the handsome Shepherd himself or a pure maiden should do the trick.” The grey tom glanced up at Rose, a mischievous gleam in his eyes now. “No harm trying it out with cats too, right? How about it, Rose? We all know Sheps here has already reserved his for Mikleo, but I’m sure the rest of us can make do with a kiss from a fine lady such as yourself.”

“Er,” Sorey began hesitantly at the same time the calico kitten growled softly in her throat. Bunching up her paws beneath her, she sprang forward and aimed a swift paw-jab to the grey tom’s face that had him yowling in surprise and backing away.

“As lewd as ever even in this form,” the calico hissed as she swished her bottle-brush tail in contempt. “Just because you’re a fuzzball now doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be gross, Grossveid.”

Rose rubbed at her nape, still confused, as she stared at the gathering of cats. “How are these cats even talking to us? It’s like I’m hearing their voices in my head and that’s creepy. Just like how... whoa, hold on a sec–” She stiffened, eyes widening as she finally caught on. “Is this kitten... Edna?” She flicked her gaze back at the grey tom, who beamed and twitched his whiskers proudly at her. “And Zaveid?!”

Dezel was already internally groaning at Rose’s slow uptake. But Sorey, ever the sunshine of their dysfunctional little band, only let out a chuckle.

“So you can hear them too, huh? This one here is Mikleo!” He reached for the silver kitten who was still puffed up in annoyance, holding up his now fluffy best friend for Rose to take a better look. “Doesn’t he look like the cutest bundle of fur now?” “Ugh, Sorey!” Mikleo the kitten groaned, struggling to bat Sorey over the nose with a paw. This time, it was Rose’s turn to laugh. “More like an overpriced fur stole, really.” “R-Rose?!” Before the two could continue with their good-natured teasing, the white cat with the red tail purred, clearly amused. She bounded up to balance herself easily on Sorey’s right shoulder, gazing over at Rose and Dezel with bright eyes.

“And I take it this one here must be Lailah then,” Rose said.

“That is correct,” the Prime Lord (Prime…Cat?) nodded. “It seems that what we’ve heard from the villagers aren’t mere rumours, after all. With her level of resonance and her apparent skill in transmutation artes, perhaps this woman really is a witch.” “Great,” Dezel muttered under his breath. “That just means more work cut out for us.”

Symmone character study, Camlann illusions (canon) “Why do you still keep smiling, even when I tear open your wounds?” she spat, vehemence laced in every word.

(Many moons later, she would find herself asking the same question, to yet another who smiled just like he did even through the anguish and pain.

How could they…. How dare they? It didn’t make any sense, it couldn’t–)

Her brows creased in anger, Symonne forced herself back up to her feet even as her limbs ached and trembled from the growing exhaustion of battle. Being delicate in stature had its drawbacks; she would tire easily from direct combat in a battle. As such, she had perfected the use of her seraphic artes, weaving illusions and doppelgangers born from one’s own deepest fear. She had not asked for this accursed blessing, never wished for any of it. But it was all she’d ever known, all she’d carried within her throughout centuries of misery and growing apathy. It was she was but it was enough for this, for her Lord – she reminded herself, again, as she struggled to stand upright, pointing her baton at the two humans before her. It was enough that she could serve him, her Master. She won’t stop here; no, she couldn’t stop, she must not fall–

“That’s enough, Symonne.”

The Shepherd’s voice was soft and gentle, and Symonne felt frustration flaring from deep within. She lifted her head, staring up at the disgustingly radiant smile, at the pity in those evergreen eyes.

“Why do you still keep fighting back? How can you smile like it doesn’t hurt?!” she cried, hurling all of her anger and confusion outward, streaks of magic dancing in violent crackles around them. She wants to strike them down, wants to wipe that infuriating smile off his face and gouge the kindness in those eyes.

“Symonne.”

She froze, her muscles tensing in agitation when she sensed the Shepherd’s approach. But he only knelt before her slowly, his countenance soft and heavy with sadness. Standing close by, the Shepherd’s water seraph wore a similar expression of pity even as he kept his staff pointed at her. The Squire herself remained on guard however, her gaze as sharp as the blades she held poised.

“Why do you keep fighting?” Symonne tried again, her eyes burning with tears now. “When all there is at the end is inevitable doom? Is it so bad to want to just let go?” She raised her baton once more, threading wisps of magic through the thick violet miasma around them, even though she was already worn from their earlier battle and now from the crushing weight of Heldalf’s domain bearing down upon her. The illusions danced briefly around them – shadows of the bandit children laughing alongside the Cardinal; of the old Explorer and the blind wind seraph who smiled back at the Shepherd and his Squire – this would throw them off, surely, and turn them to despair, it must–

But the shadows flickered weakly, fading along with the remainder of her strength, and Symonne was left curled against the cold, hard ground.

“Don’t you wish they could have at least survived? I can make it a reality, so why do you keep fighting back, why?!” She wept, feeling a last spike of defiance she glared up furiously at the Shepherd.

Sorey smiled sadly – that abhorrent smile, bright and untouched like the sun, she hated it so – and reached out for her, only to pause and thought better of it, pulling his arm back to rest at his side.

“If Forton, Mayvin, Dezel, and even those children were brave enough to have endured the pain that comes with reality… Then, we as the Shepherd and Squire – we surely have to do just as much and even more.” “That’s why we’ll keep pushing onward,” the water seraph said. “We could never cast away the memory of these people by accepting the illusions, perfect as they are.”

Beside them, the Squire nodded, a rueful look in her eyes. “Doing so would be a disservice to all the pain and hardships they had suffered.”

Sorey+Mikleo, ensemble (Exile/Rogue AU) “Do not let yourself be so readily deceived by all that glitters, by their honeyed words. After all, they murdered your father when he would not be silenced, and then banished us to the Wastelands. They sent your mother to die all alone – you still remember, don’t you? Her terrified screams when she was cut down, the way her blood stained the wheat fields crimson? Remember that always, child.” Sorey flinched from the twist of emotion within his gut. Lady Maltran might not be close by, but the ghostly whispers of her words still sent a trail of ice shivering down his spine. He shook his head, pushing away the taunting memories back. No, Lady Maltran was right – this wasn’t the time to let his guard down. He exhaled slowly, finding his centre again, and drew his thoughts back once more to the present. To focus on what had been drilled into him, what he had been sent to do. To distract himself from the lingering memories, he turned his attention to the dark wooden cabinets that lined the walls of the sitting room instead. They were packed with volumes of leather-bound tomes with yellowing pages. Curiosity getting the better of him, Sorey found himself easily absorbed by the contents of a book he selected from the nearest shelf. It was only when Fiuves’ abrupt movement caught his eye that he’d finally noticed the sound of approaching footsteps. Sorey could feel the marten’s claws twitching from where she was balanced upon his shoulder, a soft growl rumbling from her throat. Just as he was about to turn to see who was approaching him, there was another flash of movement; Sorey felt the book he’d been reading easily snatched from his hands. He blinked, surprised, only to glance up to meet the cool gaze of the young Prince Mikleo.

#tales of zestiria #wip #fanfic #or rather fic snippets #these don't make a lot of sense for now #since i don't really want to spoil the premise yet lol #but hi new followers and sorry i... don't post a lot #feel free to follow/unfollow whenever #now that i've shared these i have my internal deadline CRANKED UP #tl;dr ignore me i'm rambling #ninja posting into the tags when everyone's asleep lmAO #balderdash

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vanuiwrites · 8 years ago

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Tears

Roseali Week 2017 Day 4 - Tears

Rating: T for Tears that are happy and not sad

A/N: Set post canon.

"Oh," Rose says, catching her in her arms. "Wow. I mean, uh, are you... okay? Or are the decorations really that bad?"

She gives a watery laugh at that, sniffling between her breaths, and shakes her head, holding onto Rose tightly and taking in her familiar scent. "They're pretty bad," she admits, staring up at the garish assortment of balloons and streamers hanging off the entryway's main staircase. Compared to the deep earthy color of the rest of the manor's railings and floors, the decorations look a bit like a jungle of mismatched flowers sprouting from every corner.

"Oh."

"But I love them," she finishes, laughing again. Rose huffs in offense.

"You don't need to humor me if they're really that bad," she grumbles, and when Alisha pulls away to peer at her expression, she finds Rose's face contorted into a pout. The sight is adorable.

Poking at her lover's cheek, Alisha blinks away her tears as best as she can and smiles when Rose glances over. "Really, I do like them. Thank you," she says, and her smile grows wider when Rose begins to sport a light blush.

She honestly didn't think the Shepherd would be back in time for her birthday, not that she blamed her for it of course. Rose had set off a few days earlier to deal with a rise in malevolence somewhere in Rolance, and so they'd said their goodbyes and promised to celebrate whenever Rose returned.

That's why, despite the clashing colors decorating her entryway, she is genuinely moved at Rose's efforts, because the sheer amount of decoration in the room combined with how tired Rose must be from traveling truly speaks volumes about exactly how much effort was involved. So she started crying.

(Although, if she's being completely honest, a little bit of the reason she started crying is because the neon streamers hurt her eyes a bit. But Rose doesn't need to know that.)

"I'm glad you liked them, but you didn't have to cry over it," Rose mumbles, rubbing the back of her neck and turning away. Despite the strange half smile, half frown she's trying to hide, Alisha knows Rose is too embarrassed to admit she's relieved. Her Shepherd really is too cute.

"I can't help it. I truly am happy and thankful for your efforts."

At this, Rose's head perks up. "Yeah?" she turns back around, face lighting up.

"Besides, making me cry is just another daily occurrence for you, isn't it?" she teases, and the look on Rose's face afterward has her laughing so hard she's in tears once again. "I'm sorry, Rose. I couldn't resist."

"Do a nice thing for a pretty girl and this is where it gets me," she sniffs, glaring at the still crying and still laughing princess. She pulls away from their embrace and folds her arms over her chest.

"A pretty girl, am I? Well," Alisha starts, grabbing Rose by the shoulders and leaning in close. "I appreciate the compliment," she finishes and presses a quick kiss to her lips that leaves Rose blushing but smiling too.

"A-Anytime. Just for you, princess."

"By the way," she says nonchalantly, adjusting the bandana on Rose's neck and smoothing it out. "You spelled 'birthday' wrong." Finishing with the bandana, she points at the banner hanging against the back wall of the staircase, and Rose quirks an eyebrow and follows her hand. Her eyes immediately widen once she sees what's written there.

"...Zaveid! Where the hell are you?" Rose starts shouting into the mansion, looking around left and right. From somewhere down the hall, probably near the kitchen if Alisha is hearing right, a loud laugh erupts and echoes. "I swear, if he's eating the cake too..."

"You got me a cake?" she blinks, surprised. Rose snorts.

"It's your birthday, of course I got you a cake. And a present, but that's for later. Now come on, everybody else is waiting," Rose beams, pulls her by the hand and drags her forward. "Oh, wait a second." She stops, brings her hands up, and begins to wipe away the wetness still shining on Alisha's cheeks. "There."

Alisha feels like her cheeks are threatening to break from how much she's been smiling in the past few minutes. Leaning forward, she kisses her again. "Thank you," she says when she steps back.

Rose, coughing away the blush, just waves her off and continues dragging her to where she can now hear the seraphim talking amongst themselves. "Don't thank me yet. Let's see if you still have a cake to eat."

She giggles and squeezes Rose's hand in response. "Hey, Rose?"

"Hm?" Still walking, she looks over her shoulder and meets Alisha's gaze.

"You know, 'Happy Babeday' kind of has a nice ring to it."

Rose's steady steps falter for a second.

"...Don't you dare say that to him. He'll never stop using it."

Grinning, Alisha decides she's probably right. But now she knows what she's doing for Rose's birthday when it comes. For now, though, she prepares herself for what is surely going to be a rowdy, yet entertaining evening. After all, with Rose around, it's never a dull day.

Especially when there's alcohol involved. She hopes there's no alcohol involved.

...

(There is alcohol involved. However, considering she wakes up the next morning feeling fairly well rested and curled up naked in the arms of her lover, she can forgive Rose this time.)

#roseali week 2017 #roseali #rosali #tales of zestiria #zestiria #fanfiction #I have a midterm in 8 hours #goodbye everybody

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aurantia-ignis · 8 years ago

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Zaveid!

Omg okay under the spoiler cut

By now please understand that Zaveid is in Berseria thanks

Why I like themI love the way he jokes around, the way he enjoys life, but knows to be serious when it’s time to get down to business. I love his character journey. I love the way he grew and learned through Berseria, to become who he was in Zestiria. I love his loyalty, first to Theodora, then to AIfread. I love how determined he was to save everyone, even at the risk of his own life. And when he finally realised that that would not always be the best answer, he would still fight with everything to save a friend from himself.

Why I don’tHis writing in Zestiria alone was disappointing, considering he came in after roughly 4/5s of the game, and there just wasn’t space or screentime for him to get development. Thankfully, we got more in Berseria, but considering he’s a playable character in Z he should really have had a lot more room on the official plot truck. Honestly, before Berseria I was just casually fond for him, because he amuses me a lot, but I didn’t learn to love him until I found him in B.

Favorite episode (scene if movie)………..Surprisingly… it might be when he fought Aizen in ZX season 1. The way he was yelling got to me really bad ;w; Alternatively, when he protected Laphicet in B.

Favorite line“But I’ll only kill you once you’ve stopped being yourself. Only then.”

Favorite outfitHmmm maybe the vampire outfit from Link/Asteria without the hat. Or the yukata from Tales of Festival!

OTPTheodora ;_;

BrotpEizen. Also with Laphicet. Also with Aifread.

Head CanonHe visits Theodora’s grave every now and then, to talk to her about all he’s been doing. After Zestiria, he visits Aizen’s grave too, although he usually doesn’t talk as much there. He just drinks.

Unpopular opinionOut of the whole Zestiria cast, only he (through Berseria) and Sorey got any character development. The rest are either messily developed or left forsaken by the character journey gods. I also dislike them giving him Dezel’s hat. He’s /not/ a replacement goldfish, dammit.

A wishI kind of hope he finds a resting place one day. Living for hundreds of thousands of years still sounds like torture to me, to be honest…

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happenDON’T LET HIM TURN INTO A DRAGON EVER

5 words to best describe themAbs, promise, whirlwind, bro, tease

Zavi-nii

#thank you for asking #memes

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celestial-leaves · 6 years ago

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We can start over (I wanna be with you now)

The dragon collapsed with a bone jarring thud, sending dust rocketing skywards. It filled the air, blotted out the sunset, and covered everything with a thin layer of grime. It's huge frame convulsed once more, scaled flanks heaving, and claws digging into the soft soil. There was a long moment where no one moved, not the beast or the small figures crouched around it. Slowly, amid the floating dust and rocky particles people began to move. They clambered free of the detritus, falling into each other's arms with shaky laughs and relieved sobs. Desperate hands slid across muddy skin, feeling the rips in filthy clothing and listening to the sound of racing heartbeats.

"We did it," a young man said, hands on his sword hilt and body slumped, as if even the act of leaning on it was more than he could handle. "Is everyone okay?" There were various answers, all but two of the party members responding in the affirmative. "That's good, that's-" He leaned too far, hands slipping off the sword. He would have fallen had his friend not grasped his arm. "Thanks, Mikleo!" He said, somehow summoning a smile, teeth a splash of white in his dirt stained face.

Mikleo shook his head slightly, appearance shockingly clean despite the circumstances. "Mind your step, Sorey, it would be just great if you brained yourself after we'd made history," he said, tone dry, though the corner of his mouth titled up in a smile. Sorey snorted and took a few steps towards the still beast.

A figure was kneeling by it's flanks, small hands pressing into its scaly hide. Like the others her clothing showed signs of the intense battle and her hair, normally pulled back into a ponytail, hung loose. An arm resting across Mikleo's shoulders, Sorey stopped besides her, throat clenching tightly when he saw that her shoulders were trembling slightly. He opened his mouth, hesitated and closed it again, attention turning towards his newest companion. Who was seated on the dragon itself, legs braced against two of it's back spines, greenish light emitted from his hands coloring the winds around him till they glowed. Sorey's stomach dropped to his ankles. He heard Mikleo gasp.

"Ah, you two doing okay?" He asked shakily.

Edna looked over her shoulder, blue eyes watery and pained. She gave no vocal reply. From his perch Zaveid called down, "Maovelance is just about gone, Sheps. Seems you knocked the reaper's curse out alright." His domain winds never still for long swirled even harder around him, turning his hair into a fluffy cloud. "All that's left is to convince this guy that it's safe to come out."

"Can I help?" Sorey asked, ignoring both the fear in his gut and the concerned sounds that the question drew.

"You need to rest," Mikleo said, "you're just about dead on your feet." He gazed up at the massive dragon. "What do you mean convince him? How do you know he's still in there?"

"Be silent, Meebo," Edna said, her first words since dawn and the battle's outbreak. "We'll get him back."

"That doesn't-"

"It's Eizen, bastard never knew when to call it quits," Zaveid called down. "You go huddle up by the fire, Sheps. You'll know when we're done, shouldn't be much longer now." He laughed, loud and rough, but Sorey couldn't bring himself to share his optimism.

Left with little option, Sorey retreated back towards their encampment. Rose, Lailah, and Dezel were already there sitting around a small fire looking just as tired as he felt. He joined them, sinking down and resting his heavy head on Mikleo's shoulder.

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Dusk gave way to true night, the moon partially hidden by the thick clouds that still loomed around the mountain top. Zaveid could feel their stifling presence, but he didn't have the mana needed to harangue up a strong enough breeze that would chase them off. All of his energy was directed into scraping away at the dragon below him. Edna was a silent presence, earthen domain lost among the remnants of Eizen's. Occasionally, he extended his senses just to ensure that she was still breathing. He pressed through the night, and finally, just as the sun breached the horizon line turning the clouds pink, he felt a change occur.

The scaled body, once close to sixty feet in length, now barely half that, began to convulse. The first few were nothing more than small twitches, but soon it's tail began to whip about. Zaveid launched himself skyward, redirecting the wind to form an invisible seat. Eyes slipping closed, he leaned forwards, all of his attention focusing on the trashing creature. He heard Edna scramble away, recognizing the sound of earth cracking as she created a shield. He spread his winds out further, using them to observe the creature. It continued to jerk about, body shrinking with each convulsion, scales scrapping off and littering the soil by the hundreds.

The commotion must have drawn the rest of the party, for he heard their alarmed voices and then Lailah warning them to stay back. Eventually, the sounds ceased, and his winds brushed across bare skin. He pulled them back, breath catching in his throat, and heart throbbing. His eyes burned, a sensation he hadn't felt in centuries. He heard the others scrambling over, and what sounded like Edna crying but he couldn't bring himself to move. He fell back into the wind, bringing his hands up to grip at his chest. His heart was thundering, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or yell. Tentatively he felt around his eyes, but despite their insistent burning, his fingers only encountered dry skin.

Rose's exasperated cry reached his ears and he turned his attention back to the group. They were fiddling with something and it took a second to realize that they were trying to wrap Eizen up in blankets, a delayed attempt to protect his dignity no doubt. He dropped out of the sky, landing next to the shepherd who yelped. Zaveid snickered, an trained reaction, and hastened forwards to grasp up one of the blanket corners. "I know he's good looking," he said cheerfully, "but let's not ogle too much okay, ladies?"

Though it took some maneuvering, with Dezel's help he was able to get the former dragon set up inside the cave on a hastily constructed earth mound. The latter remained still breathing faint but steady, despite their jostling and prodding. Zaveid trailed his fingers discreetly down one of the arms, frowning a little at the coolness of the skin. Eizen had always run at an abnormally high temperature, to feel him so chilled was disturbing. He stepped away, forcing his hands deep into his pockets less he give in to the temptation of mapping out all the different changes he was sure had occurred.

"Zaveid," Lailah said and he turned in her direction. "Could you track down a spare set of pants for poor Eizen, please. I don't think any of Sorey's clothes would fit him."

That was a rather tantalizing image, and he smirked intending to point it out. His oath-seals throbbed, just once, but it was enough to steal the air from his lungs. He nodded instead, fighting back the urge to grab his throat. The winds moved around him, receding and flowing in constant patterns that told him the cave was rapidly filling up beyond capacity. He flattened back against the wall, scooting closer to the entrance. Retreating into Sorey might give him the opportunity to make new pants but there were other options as well. Once outside he gathered his remaining mana and wind-stepped.

The nearest village wasn't exactly close by but he made it within three leaps, stumbling a little from the final landing. He could feel his exhaustion growing. The effort expended on purifying Eizen had considerably depleted his mana stores and travelling with the shepherd was not a particularly stress free activity either. The oath-seals throbbed again and he staggered, letting out an unwilling whimper when they settled on itching instead of returning to a dormant status. They wouldn't remain like that for long, he knew, the itching was only a warning. For better or for worse, Eizen was still alive and by all definitions he'd broken his word.

Finding a clothing vendor was not difficult. Finding pants in Eizen's size was a little more, at least the shop door was open and he could pretend that it was the wind rustling the clothing. Not having had the chance to feel out Eizen's new dimensions earlier, he settled for pants that felt a little wider then his own.

Zaveid stumbled out of the wind-step, pants slung over his shoulder, with a pained groan. The itching was growing steadily worse, leaving his skin tingling and his finger tips stained a little red from where he'd been scratching. To his relief the cave was empty expect for the earth siblings, neither of whom witnessed his immediate slump against the wall. The pants were flung carelessly in the general direction of the bed. Edna growled, but he couldn't bring himself to speak a witty line. There was a tickle growing in the base of his throat, one that refused to be expelled when he coughed tentatively. He scratched a little harder, not that it did much good, and sent his domain winds out in search of a distraction.

Sorey and Mikleo were whispering together, heads no doubt bent over that book of theirs, if the sound of pages rustling was anything to go by. He pressed further out, having little interest in whatever tall tales they were being taught. His wind brushed past Rose next, easily recognizable by the looming presence of stormy, angry, unhappy air that was Dezel's domain. He briefly considered sticking around just to tease the younger eolian but was obliged to let the idea go. He coughed again, feeling as if his throat were trying to inverse itself. The itch kept growing and he rubbed at his neck, fingers skimming over flesh that still felt perfectly normal if a little too warm. He slumped a little further down the wall, using it to scratch at the markings on his back. Not his brightest idea when that made them hurt.

He stilled again, domain winds shifting to track down Lailah, only to retreat a moment later when he sensed her flames. He retreated, checking his own body with it's various aches and wounds. No one had gotten out unscathed, not against a dragon of that skill level, but it was easy to miss injuries with the stress of the past 24 hours. That done he turned the winds towards Eizen, carefully dodging around the area that Edna had staked out.

A small breeze ruffled through blond hair noting it's abnormal length, before tracing down the narrow nose, skimming over pale skin. Head titling, he focused harder listening to the soft exhales, air slipping out between barely parted lips. Somehow, he was still alive, by some- his thoughts derailed, winds slipping out of his control as pain lanced through his flesh. He jerked upright, streaks of fire racing up his arms, curling around his chest, and slipping between his legs leaving a trail of carved flesh in their wake. He crashed to the ground, small stones digging into his knees going unregistered. The oath-seals came alive in a flurry of gut twisting agony. From his calves to his forearms, his whole body was burning up, flesh splitting open as blood splattered across the ground.

Zaveid gagged, fingers digging into the hard soil spasming a moment later when his hands cramped. He chocked. Eyes screwed shut, gasping and coughing as blood bubbled up from the base of his throat, painting his lips red as it escaped. Crumpling, grasping for a hold on something, anything. There was no escaping the pain, it wrung itself out of his very core, cramping muscles as he curled into himself. Every contortion set off a new wave of pain, leaving him sinking teeth into his lower lip trying to bite back screams. Blood continued filling his mouth, clogging his nostrils, forcing him to either spit or swallow. Either action was painful.

Suddenly, there were hands on his skin, his shoulders, back, and - no, no, no, he trashed, domain winds blasting outwards, trying to push them off. He kicked at the ground, rolling over onto his back, struggling to parcel out what the winds were trying to tell him. The hands returned, determinedly catching in his hair, his wrists trying to restrain his movements. There were voices, but there was an even louder sound roaring in his ears. He snarled, striking out with both teeth and winds until he was free once more. He scrambled backwards, feeling stone pressing into his side as his leg bounced off the wall. He shoved himself upright again, hands held up in front, summoning an art through sheer willpower alone. Blood dribbled for every word he whispered, not from his mouth but from his neck. He could feel the new oath-seal forming cutting through the muscles with the precision of a scalpel.

"Ventis concrescunt, Fylk Zahdeya!"

The words ripped through his mind, overriding even the pain for a few deafening moments. Zaveid's mouth snapped shut, biting off the art. The winds fell silent, dissipating even as the words still echoed. Distantly, through the roaring in his ears, he could hear boots shuffling on the ground and heavy panting. He pressed closer to the wall but there was nowhere to go, no way to defend himself should they attempt anything. His heart pounded harder.

"Zaveid."

Though the voice was gentle, soothing even, it was far too close and he recoiled arm striking out instinctively. A warm hand caught his wrist, squeezed it briefly, and then lowered it again.

"Zaveid," the prime lord said again. "What's going on? Is it alright if I touch you?"

She sounded terrified, he could hear the faint tremor in her voice, but even so the thought of her hands on his skin was too great a threat. Zaveid gave the slightest shake of his head. He heard her sigh, the air shimmering as she exhaled heat with every breath.

"Please. You're bleeding a lot, please let us help you."

It wasn't an unfair request but - "don't," he whispered, forcing the word out despite the pain. "Healing artes," he broke off, coughing wetly. Something bumped against his fingers, cold and hard, he recognized it for a metal canteen even as he pulled his hand back. Another domain inserted itself into the mess, soothing and smelling of salt water clashing into century old rocks; Mikleo then. The canteen pushed against his fingers again and he accepted it this time with a near inaudible, "thanks Mickey."

"What do you mean healing artes won't work? Have you tried before? Why'd you start gushing blood? What happened? Is this related to the dragon purification? Is that-"

The questions came in a rush, too many to parcel out, becoming a muddle of meaningless sound. "Too many questions," Zaveid breathed, arm shaking as he lifted the canteen. It slipped from his fingers landing on the ground with a ringing clang. Water splashed against his leg. There was a dismayed cry, followed by the rustling of cloth, and then something firm was being pressed against his lips. He sipped hesitantly and immediately regretted it as the water slid down his throat and encountered the heated flesh. He pushed the canteen away, too exhausted to do much else. "Artes don't work," he whispered, "don't, please." It was all he could manage before the pain became too much.

Zaveid felt his throat close in on itself and knew that the oath-seals had finished forming. His brain was fritzing out giving in to the darkness behind his eyes. It was tempting to just slip away. They'd saved Eizen, gotten rid of his entire curse there was no reason for him to abandon Edna now. The two would be happy as their own little family. His presence would not be needed, not that Eizen would ever trust him again he'd broken his word. The pirate wasn't the type to forgive people who'd betrayed him.

A hand, gentle and warm touched his shoulder, but Zaveid was too tired to shrug it off. He didn't protest when they maneuvered his body, laying it out on something soft. Dezel's aura was an overbearing presence, winds feeling akin to a bristling hedgehog whenever they brushed against his own domain. The hand returned, the lightest of touches brushing his hair out of his face. Unbidden, his thoughts turned inwards where the softest memories lived. Ones revolving around a fierce lady of the winds whose smile was bright enough to melt the coldest of hearts, and to whom the word fear had meant little. With the memory of her hand petting his hair, he slipped out of consciousness.

There was not a segment of Zaveid's body that did not ache. Movement was not a pleasant activity to engage in, but laying in one position for longer than an hour provided it's own pains. He flexed his fingers, tapping an uneven rhythm on the ground. There was little he disliked less than laying flat on his back, incapable of sitting up without his abdomen flaring in protest. There was nothing to do but try to sleep. Yet it continued to evade him chased off by the hovering of well meaning children. Nor could he escape from the scent of dried blood and sweat that permeated the cave. It invaded his senses whenever he drew breath dragging coughs out of his chest that left his breathing even more ragged.

With a sigh that tasted of blood, Zaveid rolled over burying his face in the crook of one arm. Less than eight yards way, Eizen lay, an unmoving mass of smelly flesh. Were it not for Edna's presence, he would be over there now ensuring that the seraph still lived. As it was, he settled for listening to the deep inhales and whistling exhales.

He awoke with screams still ringing in his ears, scrambling into a crouch before his brain caught up to his muscles. His breath - harsh gasps- were too loud but he couldn't slow them down. Behind the darkness of his eyes he could still see the maovelance blotting out the sun. The panicked screams that had cut off abruptly, losing their consistency until they were little more than animalistic grunts. The volcanic obsidian beginning to crack apart and amidst it all a tiny form crumpling to the ground under the weight of his skeletal wings. Eyes just beginning to learn the meaning of emotions now filled with heart-wrenching despair and a mouth that still tried to form words.

Zaveid squeezed his eyes shut, biting hard on his fist as he choked on a sob. He hadn't dreamed of Silva's loss in decades but it seemed that all his regrets were surfacing. Slowly the urge to cry receded, and he turned his attention elsewhere domain winds surging. The siblings were still in their corner, but Rose was by the entrance. From her body position he could tell that she was observing him. He ruffled her hair in reply and she laughed. A moment later she was walking over, boots surprisingly quiet on the compact earth.

"Awake again, I see. How are you feeling?" She asked, voice much too cheerful for the hour. He heard her plop down besides him, falling into a squat with ease.

Zaveid shrugged, hands sliding across the bedding gauging how much room he had. His winds encountered no resistance than they brushed against the squires body.

"Dezel's off training with Sorey," Rose said. Her hand whooshed through the air and Zaveid flinched when he felt it swing past his nose. "Want to go outside and get some fresh air? It's got to suck being cooped up inside like this."

It was an appealing idea. Zaveid grunted and grasped her wrist. Between her pulling and him pushing off the wall, they were able to get him upright. The first step was painful, oath-sealed leg reminding him of it's existence. The second step was even harder, and he was forced to halt until his lungs resumed their prescribed activity. Rose slotted herself under his arm, taking some of his weight with a cheerful comment of; "between you and Dezel, I've been putting on the muscle."

They made their way outside, a vast improvement in Zaveid's opinion. He freed himself from Rose's grasp and stumbled a little ways up the hillside. The wind rushed around him, spilling a dizzying amount of tidings into his ears. Arms spread as wide as they would go he leaned into the breeze and just focused on breathing it in. Eventually, he eased himself down to lay among the spattering of scented flowers. The wind swirled around him melding into his domain and providing much needed comfort. The warmth of a mid-afternoon sun trickled down onto his skin, and the distant cry of birds blended together into a harmonious cacophony.

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Consciousness returned between the span of two breaths. One moment Eizen was deep in an unpleasant miasma of half-baked regrets and sorrows, the next he was staring up at a curved ceiling. There was a vague feeling of familiarity, but the thoughts slipped from his mind when a body slammed onto his chest. Small arms dug through his hair to wrap around his neck and a wet face pressed against his shoulder.

"Ed-" He trailed off, arms wrapping instinctively around his little sister's body. There was no one else with that particular domain, that familiar scent of spiritcrest earth or that uncanny gold-brown hair. No other seraph had that shade of hair, he would have recognized it anywhere. He sat up, atrophied muscles protesting, and eased her into his lap as he pressed his face into her hair.

"Edna," he repeated shakily, desperately. "Edna." The name fell from his lips tumbling out over and over again until it was a prayer. She gave no vocal reply, tears sliding down his skin and soaking the into the blankets pooling around his waist. Eizen couldn't find it within himself to care. Somehow his sister was safe and he wasn't. His grip tightened instinctively and he had to take several steadying breaths before he dared to inspect the hand not rubbing soothing circles on Edna's back. The skin was unblemished, no claws, no scales, just a normal hand. Tiny scars crossed the surface and his ring finger was a little crooked, just like it had been ever since he'd broken it punching an ogre. He inhaled shakily, blinking away the blurriness in his own eyes. "Ed-na," he started but his voice broke halfway through.

Eizen swallowed, taking a moment to breath in more of his sister's domain before dropping a kiss on the top of her head and coxing her back. Edna sat back on his lap, peering at him through red rimmed eyes. She sniffled grossly. Automatically, he reached for a handkerchief but his jacket was nowhere in sight. He sighed, hand dropping back onto the bedding. It required more force than he thought it should to rip off a strip but his hands didn't seem keen on functioning properly. Edna took the blanket strip gingerly and blew her nose. She looked a older- hair hanging almost to her shoulder- and eyes battle-worn. His gut clenched when he spotted a bruise on her arm.

"What happened?" Eizen asked, reaching out to run his fingers through her bangs. She glared at him, though the tears still pooling in her eyes had a greater effect but answered anyway. She spoke of his return to the spiritcrest, of the seeping corruption that had eaten away at the earth pulse, of the irritating wind seraph who wouldn't stay away - he thought that she meant Zaveid - and of a shepherd whose eyes sparkled like polished emeralds as he handed out promises like they were flowers.

"Shepherd?" Eizen interrupted, terror roiling through his insides. His grip tightened further and Edna squirmed, disgruntled. "Did you say shepherd? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Edna said, eyeing him inquisitively. "And I meant shepherd. Maotelus' light bearer and all that stuff." She waved an hand, just a little gesture, but Eizen wasn't listening anymore not truly. Instead, his thoughts were turning inwards. It wouldn't be too much effort for a shepherd to control his sister's words. To feed her lines, to command her every thoughts. His fingers flexed and the earth rumbled softly, answering his call like a loyal dog brought to heel. He'd need to see for himself just who this 'shepherd' was, and what exactly they were doing with his sister, on his mountain.

"Eizen?"

He felt her lean further away from him, scooting out of his lap to sit on the bedding instead. Her hand settled onto his arm, a firm touch, that only served to remind him of just how small it was. Thoughts of clanging chains drifted up from the depths of his memory. Heavy metal encircling wrists thinner than his sister's.

"Eizen, are you listening?"

"Yes," he said, forcing his gaze away from the wall to look at her. She was frowning again, and he found his hand raising automatically to rub the wrinkles away. She pouted but didn't shove it away. "I'm listening," Eizen said, "how long have you been traveling with this," he paused, the word catching in his throat, "shepherd?"

"Been his sub-lord nearly a full year now."

His heart stopped, stomach crawling up to spill into his mouth. He swallowed compulsively, fist pressed against his lips as he stared at Edna. She seemed unaware of his fears, eyes steady and solemn as she looked back the slightest tilt of her head expressing confusion. Eizen forced himself to swallow, gagging a little on the foul taste. "Whose your -"

"Oh! Look who's awake!"

In a flash he grabbed Edna pulling her behind his back despite her protests, rocking to his feet within the next breath. The earth rumbled again, dirt beginning to drift upwards. There was a girl standing in the entrance, human by her scent. She appeared relaxed but Eizen saw the knife hilts poking out from behind her jacket. He inhaled slowly, plotting the best route out of the cave and down the mountain. With his body was already complaining about the simplest of movements, retreat was the better option. The human stepped further into the cave, a smirk on her face and hand raised as if that would ease his suspicions. He could smell the stench of other humans on her. If she wasn't the shepherd than she had no doubt been in contact with them.

A grouchy looking seraph followed her in and leaning against him - the air left Eizen's chest with a gasp, his heart stuttered once, twice and then he was moving. The earth rocked shunting the human aside. He heard her yelp but he had no attention to spare. His approach was interrupted by the grouchy seraph but Rayfalke was his home and the mountain responded to his own spoken will. He stopped a hand's span away from Zaveid and would have stepped closer had the latter not stumbled back into the wall.

Words filled Eizen's head, catching in his throat. The things that he wanted to say, the questions that he needed answered, there were too many to give voice to. He wasn't concerned though, sometime during their centuries of travel Zaveid had picked up the knack of reading his facial expressions. A glance, the curve of a lip, had been enough to convey whole conversations. Yet, despite the questions no doubt racing across his face, Zaveid answered none of them. He remained pressed against the wall, hair hiding his expression for his head was bowed. The panic spread ten-fold and Eizen let out a distressed growl as he took another step forwards. He stretched out his arm but Zaveid flinched again, clearly leaning away from the gesture.

Eizen froze, hand hovering in the air, fingers only a few inches away from that familiar face. The thoughts ground to an abrupt halt. He swallowed and dropped his hand, fingers curling into the rough material of his pants instead. The human was saying something, her voice little more than an irritating buzz. He resisted the urge to swat her. If, as he suspected, he was dealing with bound seraphs then antagonizing them was not the solution. He didn't know their power levels, and while he and Zaveid were evenly matched that did not account for his sister or the grumpy one. They didn't seem keen on attacking him but that meant little in the long run.

He eyed Zaveid, noting the low cut pants but his attention was swiftly diverted by the concerning amount of bandages. They had been wrapped around his chest and arms, over the areas that Eizen knew to contain oath-seals. There was a new one though. A thick wad of cloth wrapping around the base of his neck, passing straight over the jugular, and disappearing under the mass of messy hair. There was only one possible explanation for injuries of that extant. It would explain his own condition, somehow purified and still alive. Eizen growled again, fists clenching so tightly that his nails cut through skin. Eizen took another step forwards, ignoring both the human and her grumpy pet when they made abortive gestures. If the shepherd was responsible for the new oath-seals than he was going to rend them from stern to sternum. He wet his lips with a tongue that felt too small, granted himself one steadying breath, and spoke.

"Hey," Eizen said gently, "you with me?" The words felt odd in his mouth and he touched his teeth, half expecting to feel fangs. There were none. At the sound of his voice, Zaveid shifted. Not away but into a more relaxed posture, thumbs hooking into the loops of his ornate belt. Eizen thought he saw a flash of orange eyes, but they were swiftly hidden by the fluffy hair. His fingers twitched, but he soothed the urge by shoving his own overgrown locks back behind his ears. "May I come closer?" He asked, slipping into the older tongue out of habit. "You're allowed to say no."

There was a clear pause and then Zaveid pushed himself away from the wall, taking half a step towards Eizen before he swayed alarmingly. Eizen felt some of his tension disappear and he hastened forwards. One long stride brought him within touching range, bare toe to ugly boot. Close enough to see the hint of offness on Zaveid's face. It wasn't pain, though that was there in spades, but something else. His hand rose automatically, belatedly remembering that Zaveid had flinched when he'd reached for him before, and paused a finger-span from the fluffy bangs. "May I touch you?" He asked.

There was a barely audible huff and then with a pointed carelessness, Zaveid's head cocked bumping into Eizen's hand as if by accident. His hair was still as soft as Eizen remembered. Automatically, his fingers carded through the thick locks, gently pushing them back until he could get a clear look at his friend's face. Once more the words failed him, thoughts fleeing like fish from the hawk. "What happened?" He asked. Other hand rising and fingers spreading out to frame Zaveid's face, staring into orange eyes that should have been shimmering or tracking or doing something. But, they weren't. They weren't even flitting about, not devoid of thought or life as they were in his nightmares, just sad. "What happened?" He was aware of his voice trembling, teeth grinding together reflexively.

The eyelids slid closed, thick lashes brushing against his skin. The head between his hands gave a little shake. Eizen let out a frustrated noise, shifting closer but the eolian only smiled, somehow emitting tenderness despite wrongness of the situation. With his eyes closed, his expression looked almost peaceful.

"He lost them during an accident."

Edna's quiet voice pulled him from his thoughts. Eizen turned his head to look at her, unwilling to release Zaveid for even a moment less the other disappear, Edna glanced up at him, before looking away again. "There was a rock slide," she said even softer, "Grampveid saved me but he said he couldn't see afterwards. Something about 'it' taking them." Next to him, Zaveid shrugged and bumped into Eizen's shoulder, weight settling there like it belonged.

"Rock slide," Eizen said, deadpan. The explanation made even less sense. Edna shrugged at him, boot scuffing along the ground. She looked up again and were Eizen a lesser malak he would have quailed under the weight of her glare.

"Do you know why he started spewing blood?" She asked.

"I-" His words were halted forcibly by a tanned hand clapping over his mouth. Zaveid pressed further into him, chin burrowing into his shoulder. The message was quite clear. "Mmf," Eizen said, and licked the offending piece of flesh. It didn't recoil.

"Fine," Edna said, "keep your secrets." Despite her words she didn't appear to disgruntled. Turning away, she added, "this is Rose, by the way. She's harmless." There was an offended squawk from the human. Eizen eyed her again, and she smiled at him brightly, too brightly. His eyes narrowed warningly.

"The others are off hunting," the human said cheerfully, "Dezel and I will be outside if you need anything. Zaveid, sit down before you collapse." So saying, she hooked arms with the grumpy seraph and dragged him out of the cave.

Eizen felt the soft chuckle against his neck, before the hand dropped away and he found himself enveloped in a loose hug. He returned it as best he could, until it became clear that standing was no longer a wise decision for either of them. Zaveid didn't complain when Eizen's guided them back to the bedding, sinking down with visible relief. He leaned back against the wall, eyes still closed, but breathing unsteady. Eizen hesitated for a moment, unsure of his welcome until a hand patted the earth bedding in a clear command.

Eizen settled himself carefully, still unused to this body that felt right but also very wrong. He lay down, shifting about until he'd formed a comfortable indent for his frame. As soon as he'd stopped moving, Zaveid pushed away from the wall and crawled up his frame, collapsing on his chest with pin point precision. Eizen grunted a mild protest, but exhaustion was rearing up again, swamping his senses and slowing his thought process. He yawned instead. Zaveid nuzzled into his neck, breathing already steadying out. A quick look showed him Edna in the far corner, still safe, and then his own consciousness slipped away as he fell asleep.

#Who gave me a pen?#zaveid #Eizen #Eizavie #Zaviezen #edna (toz)#Sorey (ToZ)#Mikleo (ToZ)#Rose (ToZ)#Tales of Berseria #tales of zestiria #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Prompt: Damaged Vocal Cords

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tmariea · 8 years ago

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Sand and Scars

Sorey has a whole collection of scars from fighting hellions, and, as scars do, they itch. But he's lucky enough to have Mikleo to help.

This one is a straight up dose of fluff, filed under my headcanon about Sorey having a tong of scars.

Read on AO3

“Okay, someone please remind me why we’re trekking through this godforsaken place again?” Rose said with a scowl, and wiped her brow. The party was half a day out into Zaphgott Moor, and starting to feel the effects of desert travel. All except for Lailah, who was absolutely loving the heat.

“Oh, you know, Lohgrin, Lords of the Land, mutant hellions, and other things of the ‘stupid task variety.” Edna said. She, at least, looked somewhat cool under the shade of her umbrella. But she had been grumbling on and off about some personal vendetta against the concept of sand, so no one was surprised at her annoyance.

Sorey frowned at her flippant tone about their duties, but he supposed he couldn’t blame anyone their complaints. As far as himself, he had decided that the Moor was fascinating, with such interesting geographical features, and new plants and animals to examine. The caveat, of course, was the dry air and hot sun, which made Sorey feel as if every drop of water was being sucked from his skin. He hadn’t expected how it would feel as if it was stretched too tightly across his muscles and bones.

He sighed, and fished out a water skin to pass to Rose. “The sooner we get all of that done, the sooner we’ll be on our way.” And truthfully, he wouldn’t mind that either. Along with the stretch and pull of his skin came the itching. Sorey peeled his glove halfway up his hand and pushed his sleeve up a bit to expose a scar, one of many he’d collected from his time fighting hellions. Normally, the skin was raised and white, but at the moment, it was red and angry. He dug his nails into it, which only made it more angry-looking, and hardly helped with the itch.

Sorey should have expected Mikleo to notice right away. There was hardly a thing that got past his sharp eyes. “Stop that,” he whispered, low enough that the others wouldn’t hear. His hand took Sorey’s scratching one, and gently drew it away. “You know it will just make things worse.

“Mikleo,” Sorey whined. He knew he was whining, and he knew exactly the kind of scowl he would receive for it. But there was a scar on his side starting to itch now, and it wanted, no demanded to be scratched. As covertly as he possibly could, which he knew wasn’t very covert at all, he snuck his other hand around to meet that demand.

He was presented with an unimpressed stare. Mikleo held his gaze for a moment more before sighing and asking, “Can you last a few more hours, until we make camp for the night?”

“Maybe? Can’t I use some ointment now?”

"Do you really want everyone else watching while I rub you down with ointment?”

“Just what are you rubbing onto Sheps?” Asked Zaveid from behind them; neither had heard him come up. Sorey suspected he’d been listening on the wind, waiting for the worst possible moment to insert himself into the conversation.

Mikleo squeaked in surprise and jumped a step away from Sorey. One hand flew up to his face to cover his mouth and burning cheeks. “A-absolutely nothing!”

“Sure didn’t sound like nothing to me,” Zaveid said. “Didn’t know you two were into that kind of stuff.”

“It is nothing,” Mikleo insisted, “and we are into no kinds of stuff!”

“Sure, whatever you say, Squeakleo,” Edna added.

“SQUEAKLEO?” The pitch of his voice was doing nothing to help with this nickname. Sorey figured it wouldn’t be appreciated if he pointed it out. Instead, he was left to hold up placating hands and set to work convincing the two parties to leave each other be. Lailah and Rose helped a bit, but mostly they were too busy hiding their giggles, much to Mikleo’s displeasure.

Everyone simmered down eventually, and Sorey was pleased to discover that the itching hadn’t bothered him quite so badly while he was distracted. The rest of the day he spent any free seconds not devoted to fighting hellions by launching into enthusiastic discussions with Mikleo on every rock formation they found, and generally looking for ways to occupy himself. Setting up camp in the evening was good for that, too, as well as starting the fire.

As soon as they sat down for dinner, and Sorey had less on his mind, the itching was back in full force. He felt bad; he knew his squirming was annoying for everyone else, and did discredit to the lovely food Mikleo and Lailah had prepared for them. He finished quickly, hardly paying attention to what he put in his mouth, and made a note to apologize for that later. As soon as he was done, he looked over at Mikleo with pleading eyes.

Mikleo sighed and set aside his own plate. “Can the rest of you manage the cleanup? We’re turning in.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Rose said.

Sorey ignored Zaveid’s two cents on the matter, which was unsurprisingly crude, and headed for their shared tent.

Inside, they had spread a blanket on the ground, to prevent sand from getting into everything. It probably would get into everything by morning anyway, but for now it was working alright. Sorey pulled off his boots and set them outside the flaps, and ducked inside on bare feet. Mikleo pulled off his own shoes and followed, before buttoning the flap behind him.

“Do you know where we’ve been keeping our healing kit?” he asked, crossing to where the bags had taken up residence in a corner.

“The big one on the left, I think,” Sorey replied. His voice was half-muffled by his shirt, which he was in the process of pulling over his head. The Shepherd’s cloak had been removed and carefully folded away into their baggage as soon as they started setting up camp. His shirts he cared about less; these were discarded in a pile next to him, followed quickly by his pants. By the time Mikleo turned back with the jar of salve, he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the blanket in nothing but his boxers.

For his part, Mikleo just sighed and said, “Are you really going to just leave your clothes on the ground like that?”

“I will get them later. Just please help me, Mikleo, I’m dying.”

“That sounds a bit overdramatic.”

Even as they spoke, Sorey felt one of the scars between his shoulder blades, which he knew he couldn’t properly reach, flaring up. He tried to twist his hand to it anyway, fingers left just short and his face contorted in discomfort. He was half a second away from itching himself against the tent poles like a bear. “If I have to beg, I will beg, I am not above it.”

Mikleo sighed, and the corners of his mouth twitched up a smile that was half-fond, half-amused. “Fine, I’ll be nice,” he said, and picked his way around the blanket to settle behind Sorey. “Lay down on your stomach.”

Sorey complied.

When the first cool, salve-coated fingers touched his skin, he thought he would just about melt in relief. As it was, he gave a heavy sigh. “Mikleo, I love you,” he said.

“I feel like you would say that to anyone would consent to rubbing salve on your back right now.”

“Perhaps.”

Mikleo’s wonderful hands paused in their work and then moved away from his skin. “Well, looks like that’s done, then,” he said, his voice a mask of cheer laid over the top of a heavy dose of teasing.”

“Wait, wait,” Sorey backtracked. “I didn’t mean it! You’re my one and only love. Please, please don’t stop.”

“If you put it like that…” Then Mikleo’s fingers brushed along his back again, first smearing each scar with ointment, and then carefully massaging at the raised tissue. While today the itching was the biggest issue, other nights the scars would twinge and ache, and he’d need Mikleo’s help then, too.

Normally, the process was enough to turn Sorey into a puddle of goo, but tonight, the relaxation wasn’t coming as easily. He shifted his hands before his face and looked at them in the flickering light of the lamp they’d hung from one of the tent poles. The sword calluses he’d had for a long time, ever since he started training with his ceremonial sword. But there were new ones, too, between his fingers on his left hand from drawing the string of their bow, on his knuckles from fighting with Edna. He flipped his hands over to examine the backs; more scars. He wondered what it would have been like for other Shepherds, ones who didn’t have someone so close to help with their scars, both the visible and the invisible ones. It was enough to make him feel a bit melancholy, and also to realize just how special it was for him and Mikleo to be on this journey together. That was the point he should focus on here, he decided.

“Are you alright?” Mikleo asked, shaking Sorey from his small reverie.

“Hm, yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you.”

Mikleo huffed a small laugh and moved to work on a scar on Sorey’s lower back. “I know, I know, you’re glad I’m helping with your itchy mess.”

“Well, yes, that too. But I was thinking in more of a general sense.”

“How so?”

“I know I was stubborn at first, but now I don’t know how far I would have made it without you. So, thank you.”

“A-ah, well,” Mikleo stumbled, and Sorey knew his face would be bright red. But then he recovered and said, “You barely even made it out the gates of Elysia without me. But, I understand. You’re welcome. Hopeless romantic.”

And yet, Sorey still felt Mikleo’s lips press lightly against the point where his neck met his spine. He smiled, and then folded his arms under his head so he could rest his cheek on them.

Mikleo’s hands returned to his task, pushing down the waistband of Sorey’s boxers to reach the far edges of a scar that ran nearly down to his tailbone. Some nights, this would have excited him, but it had been a long day in the heat. Now the air had cooled, and Mikleo’s fingers were cool, and the sand was soft under the blanket. It would be a comfortable surface to fall asleep on. Sorey let his eyes drift shut and fell into a space between waking and dozing while Mikleo worked on the scars on the backs of his legs.

“Alright, turn over,” Mikleo said, eventually.

Sorey lazily rolled onto his back, with only half a spare thought for the fact that he was probably getting salve all over the blanket. He cracked his eyes open to see Mikleo leaning over him with the jar in one hand. The lantern light behind his head lent him an ethereal, haloed glow, but cast his face in shadow. It wasn’t enough to disguise the way the edges of his eyes and mouth tightened as he looked down.

Sorey knew there were more scars on his front than his back. His fighting style still trended too far toward the ‘charge in headfirst’ strategy, and that meant his torso was on the wrong end of a hellion’s sword, or claws, or artes more often than it probably should be. And he knew how much it upset Mikleo. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, and reached one hand up to catch Mikleo’s wrist. “I can manage my front if you’d like.”

Mikleo sighed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before his face smoothed back out into neutrality. “That’s not the problem. I do want to help you.” His fingers dipped into the container again for more salve and touched gently at a scar along Sorey’s shoulder and dragged down its length before massaging in light circles.

This close to his face, Sorey could smell the herbs used in the salve, the mint and camphor tickling at his nose. That didn’t stop him from reaching up to catch Mikleo’s hand and bringing the back of it up to his lips for a kiss. Someone must have been out there listening to his prayers, because he didn’t sneeze – this time. Mikleo made a sound that was partway between a scoff and a small laugh at his antics, but it lifted his face further away from ‘affected neutrality’ and more toward normal.

Sorey let go of Mikleo’s hand, so it could work at the next scar, and asked, “What is the problem, then?”

“It’s the same as always; you make me worry.”

“Aww, you worry about me.”

“Well of course I do. Humans are… fragile.” He ignored Sorey’s scowl and continued, “And you, for one of those fragile humans, seem to have misplaced your sense of self-preservation.” Mikleo emphasized his point with a poke at one of Sorey’s bigger scars on his side.

The end result of this was not remorse, but Sorey’s face screwing up in an attempt not to react to the ticklish sensation. “Oh no, no you don’t,” he started, trying to shift backwards on the blanket as Mikleo calmly set aside the jar of salve, mischief in his eyes. But the tent was only so big, and there would be no end to the teasing if he managed to knock it over and tangle them up, all while wearing only his underwear.

“Maybe I need to get back at you for making me worry, then,” Mikleo said, and reached for Sorey’s sides in earnest.

Sorey was at the disadvantage, being on the ground. He tried to get the leverage to flip them over, but Mikleo sat on his legs and put an end to any further attempts. His arms fought a good fight, trying to both simultaneously swat away Mikleo’s hands, and get in a tickle or two of his own, but it was not meant to be. In a matter of moments, Sorey was a giggling, writhing, red-faced mess. The blanket twisted up beneath him, and sand was starting to get everywhere, just as predicted. Thankfully, Mikleo put a halt to the fight when he noticed this occurring as well, before it could creep too far in and stick all over Sorey’s salve-coated back.

Once his legs were freed, Sorey sat up so Mikleo could rearrange the blanket, and stuck his tongue out.

“Very dignified, Lord Shepherd,” he said, and gave the straightened blanket one last, meticulous flick. Then he used one hand to gently push at Sorey’s shoulder and guide him back to lying down.

There was a moment more of silence while Mikleo worked before Sorey said, “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“I always know that you are. I just wish you would actually be more careful.”

“I try,” Sorey whined, “I really do think about being more careful, and…”

“And then as soon as you hit a battle, your body just takes over and you dash right in, I know,” Mikleo finished with a sigh. “Maybe I coddled you too much when we used to spar.”

“Excuse you, what makes you think you could go harder on me?”

“Oh trust me, I could.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“We’ll just have to have a match one of these days then and see. But not tonight. You’re tired, and we should sleep.”

Mikleo capped the jar and moved to put it away in their bags. Sorey sat up and started pulling on his pants and undershirt again. He could feel the salve sticking to the fabric, but it was better than waking up to a fine coating of sand over his entire body the next morning.

“Sure, we can sleep, in a minute,” he said and beckoned Mikleo to sit in front of him again. He took Mikleo’s hand in both of his and used his thumbs to press at the heel of his palm. After a day of fighting, and cooking, and then working on Sorey’s scars, his hands deserved some special treatment. The skin there was still smooth and perfect; seraph skin didn’t show old injuries or callouses, or other signs of a life lived in the same way his did. But he wouldn’t have Mikleo any other way.

Sorey worked his way across his palm, and then along each finger. In the process he smeared the last bit of excess salve onto his own hands, and certainly wouldn’t complain about it. Once he was done, he lifted Mikleo’s hand to place a kiss in the center, and said, “Thank you, love.” He took up the other hand and began to massage it as well. Mikleo’s face kept up a light sheen of red, but his eyes were soft as he watched Sorey.

Once he was done, he kissed the center of Mikleo’s palm again, and then laced their fingers together.

“Okay, now you do actually need to sleep,” Mikleo said.

“Alright, fine.”

Mikleo changed into his sleep clothes while Sorey pulled out a pillow and an extra blanket from his pack. He did not feel like putting in the effort to set up a full bedroll tonight.

Circlet and feathered earrings were gently removed, with light kisses for the skin beneath, and then packed away into the bags for safekeeping until the morning. They curled into each other as they lay down on the shared pillow, and Sorey took Mikleo’s hand again between them. Mikleo leaned down to kiss at the tiniest sliver of scar visible above Sorey’s collar, and then made a face at the taste of salve. They both laughed softly, but it tapered off into the small sighs and hums of settling in for the night, and then, into the silence of sleep.

#tales of zestiria #sormik #suremiku #tmariea writes #sorey #mikleo #mikusure #fanfiction #fluff

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carnelianwings · 8 years ago

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Mikleo for 002 on that ask meme

(For this ask meme! Already answered: 001: SoreMiku, RosAli, Emil/Marta, ZaviLai, Puzzleshipping 002: Lailah 003: It’s open for asks!)

How I feel about this character:

Absolute favorite, must protect, must give all the happy endings (except when I’m being a Cruel Fanfic Author and Writing All The Sad AUs), Sorey’s perfect partner, absolutely adore him, have you seen how pretty he is, like have you guys read all the times I write from Sorey’s POV just so I have an excuse to wax purple over him, like really he’s so gorgeous, I still don’t get how they made him prettier for the epilogue, like shit I don’t know how Sorey doesn’t just stand and stare all the time, he just tries so hard just to be supportive you know, and he makes all the best snacks, and he just deserves all the hugs at the end and . . . and . . .

*ahem* I think you get the idea. Mikleo is currently the one holding the Favorite Character Ever title, in case it wasn’t obvious, haha. (Rest behind cut because since when have I ever been able to keep it short when it comes to Mikleo?)

All the people The person I romantically ship with this character:

Short answer: Sorey. (For the long version, see my answer for SoreMiku linked above.)

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Edna or Zaveid. Mostly because I believe both Edna and Zaveid would make a point of checking in on Mikleo pretty frequently in the intervening centuries because neither of them want to have to Mercy Kill someone close to them again. So they make sure that Mikleo’s okay without Sorey - Edna I can see just showing up and heckling Mikleo for what appears to be shits and giggles, and Zaveid just “randomly” bumps into him every once in a while and hangs out with him for a bit and keeps him company. I’m not sure which one I like better, just because it’s two very different friendships, but both of them are coming from the same place. Even if Mikleo thinks Edna’s brand of showing how she cares could include fewer parasol jabs, lol.

My unpopular opinion of this character:

None really, unless you count my shipping preferences as an unpopular opinion for him. Especially on the Edna bit. I really have a hard time seeing their friendship in a romantic light (especially when Sorey’s a much much better match for Mikleo), and I see them as Those Two Bickering Siblings of the group, maybe even bordering a little on Vitriolic Best Buds.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened in canon with this character:

Because they teased it a bit early game, especially with Lailah’s comment that water is easily tainted: a fight against a tainted/brainwashed Mikleo, probably as the result of Symonne’s illusions. For one thing, it would have made Symonne feel threatening as a villain. For another, after that comment from Lailah, I was actually expecting it to happen all game. I can just see the entire scenario going like the others wanting to step in to help, worried that Sorey might become tainted himself as a result, but Sorey insisting that because it’s Mikleo, he has to do it himself. And he does.

I can also see this as a really annoying boss fight, mostly because Mikleo’s actually really good in both melee and ranged combat, plus while poison won’t stop you from stepping around the battle arena, it can kill you if you don’t recover from it quickly. But I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t have enjoyed every second of that fight. (Plus the angst! And the drama!)

My crossover ship:

No ships, although I do eagerly await for the day Kimura Ryohei (Sorey), Ohsaka Ryouta (Mikleo), and Touma Yumi (Raine Sage from Tales of Symphonia 1/2) appear at a TalesFes together. Just imagine, the original Ruin Maniac meeting the Ruin Nerds. It’d be glorious. And literally no other character on stage with them would know what was going on once the discussions start, lol.

A headcanon fact:

I’m not sure how much there is that’s headcanon that I haven’t already shared or written, but the one I always love is just how by the time Sorey wakes up, Mikleo’s become ridiculously powerful (I mean, he was keeping up with the likes of Lailah, Edna, and Zaveid at 18) but because of Edna’s constant teasing and him just working his ass off during the journey, he still thinks he’s the weakest out of the four of them. Meanwhile, there are literal poems written about how beautifully he manipulates his water artes (no, not written by Sorey, at least, not yet), and everyone thinks he’s basically an incarnation/avatar of Amenochi. But in his mind, he’s still that 18 year old seraph practically tagging along on this journey with Seraphim far more experienced than he is - not that he would have budged to let another water seraph take his place because this is Sorey we’re talking about here and he’d become a dragon first before letting Sorey leave on a journey without him.

#soymilkheaven answers an ask #ask meme #this one got long but i'm pretty sure all of you expected that from me by now #Anonymous

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celestial-leaves · 6 years ago

Text

Number 26122594

1500 BCS

The egg cracks one sunrise, in the eighth month of the year. It takes the nest by surprise, sends them scurrying about in a panic. After all there is early, and then there is weeks ahead of schedule. A nest mother sends the required missive to the Abby, but it's still hours before one of their lore keepers trudges his way up to the Craigs. In fact by the time the human makes an appearance, he's already found himself a soft pillow to snuggle against. At least, that's what they tell him. It's not as if he remembers that far back. They tell him many things that he recalls not. About how his first words were sung, and that time he'd tried to fly when he barely knew how to walk. He's not sure he believes them, his earliest memories are of a much different nature.

He remembers the wind in his feathers, it's true, and the view from atop the Craigs. More than that though, he remembers the soothing song of the mountain breeze in his ears.

He's five summers old, when they force him to learn his name. Before that, he'd been a variety of things, usually eaglet or chicklet. The new one is hissed out around a stalk of tobacco by a human more than three times his size. Though he hears the numbers, he ignores them easily enough, too busy wriggling his fingers next to the cold metal they've attached to his ankles. It pinches at the skin and he doesn't like it. They're clang loudly and he walks funny with them on, stumbles over rocks were before he'd been able to bound.

It takes him only two days and the helpful hint of a nest mother to realize that if he answers when they shout the numbers, he's less likely to receive a smack from the leather straps. It takes a lot longer for the numbers to stick in his head, there are a lot of them and he struggles to say them right. The humans aren't as patient as the nest mothers who teach him his letters, they like to yell and wave their ham sized fists around. He learns to fly in narrow tunnels, when his feet hurt too much to walk. He learns not to wince when ham sized fists leave bruises on his skin. He learns to see the Abbey through the heavy weight of a wooden mask.

He's twelve summers old, the first time he leaves the safety of the Abbey. Another cherub, a small fire malak, goes with him. It's a simple assignment, but it's the most fun he's had in since he began training, and he forgets himself. In a moment of careless folly, he removes the mask, and wanders the town. The dried meat he eats is too salty and yet tastier than anything he thought possible. He ignores the little cherub that dogs his heels, once the boy proves to be uninterested in exploring. He completes the assignment in a timely manner and returns with his head held high. The humans do not see it his way. He limps for weeks afterwards.

After that, he keeps the mask on. Always. Inside, visiting the chicklets. Outside, on assignments. Everywhere. The memory of that first assignment refuses to fade, not even when he shoves it down into the depths of his soul, it insists on slipping into his rare dreams.

He's sixteen summers old, when he first sees her. The blood sticks to his gloves, drips down his skin, and makes a general nuisance of itself. The body lies still and very dead under his feet, but he finds himself rooted in place. He thinks that she might be the prettiest Eolian, he's ever encountered. Tall and loud, she's surrounded by little cherubs of varying elements. She herds them down the streets with terrifying ease. It's rather endearing, how they all crowd her and call for her attention.

He forgets about her by the next sunrise, too busy drowning in blood and confusion. The nest mothers screams haunt his dreams until he learns how to forgo sleep all together. He still sees them when he flies around the Craigs, so he ceases to go.

He ceases to do a lot of things, his mission load increases as he adds more inches to his wingspan. He encounters her again, one sunny morning as he drags his latest assignment to the local outpost. She stands in the sun and nods his way with a bright smile. The surprise is strong enough that he fumbles his prey, and has to chase after it. Ever since the massacre, his fellow eolians flee his presence, her greeting befuddles him. She becomes a regular presence when he reports in at all hours, always ready with a quip or teasing comment. Through trial and error, he learns that her name is Theodora. She hits him when he expresses confusion and asks for her actual name. So, he chalks it up to her having been raised in a different Abbey.

Still, when she asks for his, he gives it readily enough. The numbers slip out while he's still elbow deep in a cow, and so he misses her facial expression. He flings intestines her way when she asks if he goes by any other, it seems only fair.

He's halfway through his sixteenth year according to the Abbey's calendar, when she asks if she can call him Zaveid, she claims that his real name is too much of a mouthful for her to pronounce regularly. His feathers bristle uncomrfably, but he says yes anyway, and her smile makes everything worth it. He grows accustomed to hearing that name from her, she's the only one who uses it, and that's okay.

He still introduces himself by his name, when others press into his business. It seems to be what they expect. He upgrades his mask, picks up white seals one summer, and kills his first wyvern. At least that's what the report says, it's not like he remembers. One morning, he sees Theodora speaking with a Fire Malak. He approaches, feathers beginning to bristle though he's unsure why. The newcomer greets him like they're old friends, but he has no recollection of ever meeting him. He says as much and the Malak laughs, seeming unbothered by it. Theo frowns at him though, her own wings shift restlessly.

Seven months go by before he sees her again. As usual, she's full up with cherubs and children. He loans her a hand and smiles. It's easy. Theodora makes the solid lump in his chest beat harder and harder, until he grips it just to ensure that it stays in his body. He enjoys her presence, and though the missions continue to weigh heavy, he finds that coming home is nice.

He runs away from the Abbey shortly after his nineteenth birthday. It's an act, he commits on a whim. Stupid, foolish, but ultimately worth it. Theo tracks him to a volcano, and sits besides him until he works up the courage to take off the mask. She kisses him under a moonless sky, and he laughs.

He swaps masters, swaps Abbeys, swaps masks, yet Theodora is a constant that never fades. He forgets things and learns others. He kisses Theodora under the festival bridge where the Abbey won't see, and she teaches him how to braid hair. He teaches her charges how to count, and she teaches him how to write. For awhile, he forgets about the Abbey and Craigs. It's nice.

He meets the human while on an assignment far from Theodora and the children. The human changes things with a boisterous laugh and a heavy hand that knocks the fog clean out of his head. For the first time in years, he finds himself without his mask, at the mercy of a creature that could kill him, and he hates it. Despises the fact, that he's feels afraid of humans again. The human lets him go, tells him kindly that he doesn't kill his kind, and disappears. He remains on the ground for hours, stares at his broken mask, until his wings can't handle the strain anymore.

He's well into his sixth century, when he meets the group of chaotic misfits. They've got a cherub with them and he bristles automatically, concern for the little one harshening his words. Though he is far from Theodora's influence, he feels her protective instincts urging him to secure the cherub. He forgets all of that when the earthern goes for his throat, with a heavy swing that reminds him of the human that broke his mask. It pisses him off. He fights harder than he has in years, and slowly the anger fades to enjoyment. He flares his wings and tosses out comments just to see the earthern snarl.

The human with the blood-thirsty hand destroys both of them. A loss is a loss, so he helps with their little barrier problem. It's not difficult after all, he's known how to dismantle them since his second century. The earthern confiscates the gun which irritates him, but he gives his name anyway. It's the first time that he reads pity in another Malaks eyes. He chooses to retreat instead of punching it off the frowning face.

He forgets what it's like to live without Theodora and her eternal posy of children. He takes her presence for granted, trusts her when she says that she's got no plans to leave. It's a mistake. He ignores the warning signs, the way his domain and blessing feels weaker when he sleeps besides her. The darkness and anger that sometimes brews in their children's eyes. He forgets the feeling of blood soaking into his skin, it's not needed, he doesn't serve the Abey anymore. He forgets that Theo still reports to a higher power.

After close to two hundred years of her presence, he loses her not to the Abbey or to a hellion, but to another Malak. An earthern that speaks of death as if its salvation, and hides his own turbulent thoughts behind icy walls.

He learns how to live without her.

It hurts.

He starts wearing a necklace, no one looks at him twice when he scratches his neck. The phantom feeling of chains is still there, but the warm leather is a shield in its own way.

It's comforting.

He learns how to lie.

It's easier than he expects.

He learns how to protect himself from the humans. He stops using the Abbey's name for him. It's not a name, he knows that now.

It's hard.

He learns how to laugh again.

The cherubs trust him swifter when he smiles at them first.

He relearns how to kill.

It's harder the second time, memories resurfacing until sleep ceases to be a necessity.

He learns how to love again.

It hurts just as much the second time.

#Tales of Zestiria #Tales of Berseria #Zaveid #Theodora #Eizen #Theoza #Who gave me a pen?#Dragon Slayer! AU

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