#im taking a step back from fury's reign for a little while

[furysreign]

I just wrote nearly 3,000 words of ‘the dead are bitter’ in one sitting. who the fuck am I and what have I done with regular me?

[lunaastoir]

“maybe someday”

childe x gn! traveler! reader

i had this little idea stuck in my head and i had to get it down,,, i’ve been having sm childe brainrot recently and i’d like to chalk it up to the fact that it’s due to his banner but i’m 99% sure it’s bc im a simp 😔🙏

anyways!!! angst down below - enjoy <3

this is set before childe’s story quest

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it wasn’t supposed to go like this. it was a simple errand - the tsaritsa wanted him to check up on things in mondstadt, so he decided to visit zhongli on the way. simple. so, so, simple. right? 

then why was he up on the rooftop of bubu pharmacy, frozen in place, while he watched you laugh merrily down below. he hated to imagine what he must have looked like in that moment; lips parted, azure eyes widened, cheeks softly flushed. the chill of the night air harshly snapped him back to his senses as he mentally chided himself. if he was caught in liyue, he was as good as dead. he couldn’t afford to be distracted, he’s a wanted war criminal after all. quietly cursing, he softly padded his way across the tiles, mentally counting down the distance to the edge of the building. just a little more and he could blend into the mountains while sprinting toward wangsheng funeral parlor. he kept his eyes trained in front of him, refusing to take a good look at you. idiot, idiot, idiot he cursed internally. just a foot more and he would be free. the urge to run at you wouldn’t be so heartachingly strong if he could just cross that foot of distance. 

another loud laugh and he immediately stopped. loudly exhaling through his nose, he struggled with his desires. one last time he whispered. i’ll give myself one last time. his head turned towards you in defeat. azure eyes greedily took in your features, the sweet curve of your lips, the gentleness of the wind against your hair, the twinkling eyes that seemed to reflect the brightness of stars while glistening with mirth. despite the way childe felt his heart wrench, he subconsciously felt the corners of his lips tug into a soft smile. you balanced qiqi in your arms, the little girl softly cuddling into you while holding a bouquet of freshly picked qingxin flowers. the peaceful expression adorning her face as she burrowed into the crook of your neck prompted you to gently run a hand down her back, lulling her to sleep. his smile only grew when he saw how you cared for the girl. you were happy he concluded, from the look of peace on your face. you were whispering in hushed tones to a woman, keqing was it? the wind carried some of your words as he made out “qiqi...qingxin flowers...xiao...was happy...picked more...back” ah. so that’s what happened. a soft giggle left your lips and he watched you slowly start walking back into the bustle of the city, leaving him alone on the rooftop.

the serene expression on his face melted, leaving behind a dull ache in his chest. when he went back to snezhnaya following the acquisition of the gnosis, he couldn’t help but feel... distressed? perplexed? uneasy? no, no those weren’t the words. guilty. that’s what he felt. the guilt gnawed at his insides, growing in size whenever word of liyue reached his ears. not guilt for what he’d done to liyue - don’t mistake him for a righteous man. guilt for what he’d done to you. paimon’s words echoed in his mind, “that’s not how most people make friends is it?” no, it isn’t. he admitted he was unconventional. as a harbinger, it’s his duty to sweet talk others and exploit them to fulfill the tsaritsa’s will. yes, he does occasionally feel bad when something nasty transpires, however, he comes home, wipes the blood off, and does it again the next day. he’s found that not dwelling on the sins of his past keep him sane. but that day, in the icy coldness of his homeland, he felt a different ice than what he was accustomed to. it settled into his bones, and wormed it’s way into his heart. he remembered saying, “i hope we can still be friends” along with the expression on your face when he uttered those words. the betrayal etched with reigned in fury burned it’s way into his mind, searing the consequences of his actions forever. you never were just a friend to him, were you?

childe is many things - a war criminal, a liar, a manipulator, the list goes on. however, dense is not one of them. the minute he could feel himself thinking of you outside of the times you met - when he was doing paperwork at the northland bank, when he got dinner and realized he got your favorite dish, when he picked out a trinket he might like to give to you - he knew he was in over his head. the pit of dread that formed in his stomach only grew with every passing day as he told his subordinates to watch your every move - he needed the location of the exuvia after all. he felt his heart break with every relaxed gesture you made. the roll of your eyes, the hint of a smile when he teased you. he was breaking down your barriers while slowly getting you to trust him - he was accomplishing his goal. but with every “i can’t eat with chopsticks ojou-chan, will you help me” and “i saw this, it reminded me of your smile” he wanted to scream at you to push him away so the inevitable betrayal would hurt less. so he wouldn’t have to live with only the memory of your anguished face forever.

the truth is, it never would have worked out. you wormed your way into his heart in a matter of a few short weeks, where you would reside there for eternity. even if he had broken your walls to the point where you perhaps might have felt the same way, it was over before it began. you were on the tsaritsa’s wanted list, and he was her favorite soldier.

as he finally makes his way over to the edge of the building, tracing his steps onto the mountain, he wonders if you would give him a second chance. if things might be different if he tried again. if you would let him into your life once more, just so he could see you sometimes. 

but he knew, no matter how much he wanted to be yours, he could never have you. for you were the earth, and he was the moon who would always darken your days. 

[kohakuhime]

The Reluctant Guardian, ch. 20

*gross sobbing*

Needless to say, this is not a fun chapter by any stretch of the imagination. Once again, buckle up. Also, a special thanks to @mpuzzlegirl for help with this chapter.

Disclaimer: this takes place post canon, and this refers to events that take place in an alternate verse. Michael belongs to @mpuzzlegirl; Rowen, Sylvie, and the twins belong to me; and YGO and its associated characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi.

Never in a million years did Michael expect to find himself in a situation such as this.

It had been bad enough separating from Rowen in that building, fearing that he would lose his cousin. It had been bad enough fleeing through the strange complex, using every single skill he had learned from his father about evasion and redirection. It had been even worse returning and facing not just the twins, but a frantic Sylvie who had woken up to find her brother gone and in danger.

Then Dartz had appeared from literally nowhere, whisked past them all as a maelstrom of fury and magic, and then disappeared through the front door. Michael had thought then that the situation was astronomically worse, because Dartz had been palpably furious.

When Rowen had come back, Michael had initially been so relieved to see his older cousin safely home that he had not taken full stock of his cousin’s shell-shocked and dazed expression until Dartz had started yelling at him. It was uncalled for and he had stepped in to defend his cousin. When Rowen had not made a move to defend himself, though, he had taken stock of the older boy. That was when he had noticed the pale features, his lips thinning and brown eyes darkening until Michael did not recognize Rowen.

When Rowen spoke, his voice was soft. "You knew."

He only said two words, but it was as if he had yelled. The twins flinched and Sylvie moved behind Michael, her eyes wide. Michael instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulder, watching Rowen with wariness for the first time he could ever remember.

Rowen had only used that tone of voice once before. Once, in all the fourteen years Michael had known him, and if he was using it now then something was wrong.

"You. Knew." Rowen repeated, and Michael frowned. Knew what? He held up a hand to quiet the twins when they started to ask, a strong sense of foreboding twisting his stomach uncomfortably.

There was a long pause, in which Dartz seemed to weigh his response very carefully. Then his shoulders slumped and the man softly inhaled. "…I did.”

At this point the twins looked to Michael and both mouthed what are they talking about? He was aware of Sylvie’s eyes on him as well, since her older brother was not looking at her. Michael could not explain anything yet and so kept his focus on Rowen.

"Why?” Rowen asked at last. There was an angry tremor in his voice. “You watched us for almost two weeks, Dartz. You knew we were grieving, you watched us mourn and cry for what we lost, and you knew the whole time we mourned for nothing."

The foreboding grew stronger and Michael felt something in his chest clench. He couldn’t be talking about…it was not possible…

Was it?

Rowen’s voice rose into a snarl. "They need your help! You've known, and yet you've done nothing to help them!”

Michael had been frozen by the sudden realization—the full significance—behind Rowen’s sudden anger. Rowen was so hard to rile up and to make angry, and the only reason Rowen would ever be so furious was if it was directly related to his family or those he loved.

Michael’s knees shook and he paled, the room starting to spin. The twins were stiffening in place, Claire’s hand rising slowly to cover her mouth. The older children, in one moment of horrifying clarity, realized who Rowen was talking about.

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN OUR PARENTS WERE ALIVE?!”

Rowen’s roar echoed the one that thundered in Michael’s thoughts.

                                       ++++++++++++++

Rowen felt as if he was coming apart, legs trembling and eyes burning. He wanted to yell, he wanted to throw things, he wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to punch Dartz, he wanted to do something, anything, that would stop him from hurting so badly.

“Our…our parents are alive?” It was Claire who had spoken, her voice thin and fragile. The amount of hope in her voice, however, made Rowen’s heart break. “Rowen, they’re alive?”

“Are they okay?” Michael asked, his voice matching Claire’s and holding just as much hope and disbelief as hers. “Did you see them? Are they safe?”

Rowen did not get the opportunity to answer. Dartz had quietly sighed and in a moment his focus was back on the other man. The anger, which had cooled at the sound of his cousin’s voices, blazed back into life.

“I’ve known for some time.” Dartz’s voice was cool, neutral. His eyes were blank, nothing reflecting his thoughts in any lines of his features. “I have not known for months at a time, but I have known longer than you that your parents lived.”

“Some time,” Rowen repeated. He did not even realize it was his voice that had spoken—he did not recognize the cold derision in his own voice. “How long is some time?”

“This is not something I want to discuss with you being this distraught, so I want you to—”

“NO.”

Rowen’s voice was a snarl. Outside, there was one final clap of thunder before the heavens opened up and the rain started slashing against the house. This was Rowen’s storm, and it had begun to unleash its full fury.

He waved to his cousins and sister, jaw clenching. “We have waited long enough. That was my father, Dartz. My. Father. He is back there, in some generic office building, being held hostage to play teacher to a bunch of demented lunatics and doing so with a damn bomb strapped to his neck. I. Want. ANSWERS.”

“A WHAT?” Sora’s eyes widened, while Claire swore sharply. Sylvie looked ready to cry. “Uncle Raph has a bomb on ‘im?”

Rowen could have kicked himself—great, now he had scared his cousins even further. He could not make himself look at them at that moment. If he did he knew he would lose what little control he had left over his emotions. Still, his heart twisted as he heard the start of a whimpered sob bubble from his little sister.

“You’re in shock, Rowen,” Dartz said quietly, bringing him back to the conversation.

An unsteady laugh rose out of his throat. “Oh really? That tends to happen when someone comes face to face with their dead father.”

“You need to calm yourself. I am doing what I can for your parents.”

“Like what?” Rowen challenged suddenly, his own eyes flashing. “Tell me how you’re helping them. For that matter, how is your progress with stopping a dead magic from reviving, hm? You don’t seem to be any closer to solving this problem!”

Rowen had come dangerously close to saying the Orichalcos out loud, and even in his anger Rowen knew better than to say that out loud. Still, he knew he would have to deal with the mention of magic with his cousins later. It was only a distant realization, however—his current focus was on the long-haired man in front of him.

“I have already told you I am doing what I can,” Dartz said. He sounded as if he was struggling to reign in his temper. “I need you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Rowen’s laugh was bitter. “I’ve been doing just that! I’ve tried! In spite of what I heard about you, in spite of everything you’ve done, I trusted you. You asked me to give you a chance, so I did. And yet, you reward that by telling us half-truths or not telling us anything! And look how that panned out!”

“Rowen—“

“You know what I think? I think the reason you won’t tell us anything is because you don’t want to admit that you haven’t made any kind of progress whatsoever! You’re too proud and mighty for that, aren’t you?”

Rowen had expected a rebuttal or a redirection, or even Dartz ending the conversation following that remark. It had come from nowhere, and really had no founding or bearing on their current topic. But it had been a thought that had been hanging around for days, unspoken but ever present.

Instead, he got silence. Dartz said nothing, a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw, but his eyes…

“You…you have been making some form of progress, right?” Rowen asked slowly. “You had to have, given how much time has passed since we got here. You’re keeping it to yourself because you don’t want us involved, aren’t you…?”

He trailed off, understanding traveling through his thoughts like wildfire. Dartz did not want them to know the truth, because the truth of the matter was—

“You haven’t gotten any closer, have you.” His voice was matter of fact, knowing. Accusing.

The continuing silence was answer enough.

“Oh that’s just perfect!” he said bitterly, throwing his hands up. He felt wrung out and fragile, but his anger still burned strong. “So what have you been doing, then?”

“I have been doing what I can.”

“Would it be too much to ask if I begged you to give us a straight answer—for once?”

“I’ve already told you, this does not concern you now. The only thing you need to immediately worry about is your family.”

“Hey, uh, genius. Guess what? My family includes my parents!” Rowen snarled viciously.

“You can do nothing for them in this moment, Rowen,” Dartz replied. His voice was stern, his expression still impossibly neutral. “The family who needs you most is here. Your sister, your cousins…they need still need you. Don’t lose control now.”

Rowen’s laugh this time sounded distinctly unhinged. He saw Sylvie flinch, and it took a considerable effort not to start yelling again. Even as angry and distraught as he was, in that moment he remembered his younger cousins and sister. Hold your temper for their sake. Try, Rowen.

“I have been, Dartz,” he said, and his voice cracked and his vision blurred. “I’ve been keeping control for two months. I’ve been keeping control so I wouldn’t break down in front of my baby sister. So I wouldn’t let down my grandparents when they needed me most. So I could be there for Sora and Claire, and for Michael, while our worlds fell apart and we tried to figure out how to move forward. I kept control even when I didn’t want to do anything more than sit down and cry.

“I don’t think it unreasonable to ask for answers. I don’t think it’s losing control to want to save my parents, and since you haven’t been very clear on what you’ve been doing I can only guess you’ve done nothing for them. I shouldn’t be so surprised at your inaction—when have you ever done anything for their benefit?”

A small part of Rowen’s mind protested. He was pushing the limits, he was being unfair, he was speaking out of anger—Dartz surely had a reason, he would not have done this on a whim. The remainder of his mind, the part that was exhausted, at the end of its limit, and burning with protective fury and betrayal, cut over it.

When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse and shaking, strained from the shouting. “Well then, Lord Dartz, forgive me for speaking out of turn. Clearly I don’t understand your wise and powerful logic in this situation—after all, I’m directly affected by your decisions, what would I know? You’re only toying with my family and their lives. No big deal, right? You’ve done it before. So long as you don’t get hurt, that’s what matters.”

Dartz flinched, the first sign that Rowen’s words had hit their mark.

“We are not our fathers! We are not your Swordsmen, Dartz!” he said, his voice trembling with anger. “We will never be your Swordsmen, so quit treating us as if you expect us to blindly follow you and not question you!”

A ringing silence fell, Rowen suddenly and horrifyingly aware of what he had just said. Swordsmen. He had just revealed the word in front of his sister and the twins. He could already see something shift in Sora’s and Claire’s faces, Sylvie’s tears momentarily stopping their silent trek down her face. No…no, not this. He couldn’t do this on top of everything else. Don’t make me shatter their faith in their father.

“Come on.” It was Michael who spoke, his voice soft. He was not speaking to Rowen or even Dartz, but to the younger members of his family. He lifted Sylvie up into his arms, moving past the twins and nudging them toward the stairs. “We can’t stay.”

“But they’re discussing our parents!” Sora snapped, eyes flashing. “We have a right to—“

“Twins. Go.” There was no room for argument in Michael’s voice. “We can trust Rowen to tell us what’s happening later.”

The word trust was bitten out, Michael’s gold eyes flashing furiously at Dartz. It was obvious Michael’s shock had subsided, his own anger growing. But he, like Rowen, was suddenly and painfully aware of the twins and Sylvie. They couldn’t discuss their father’s pasts and Dartz around them, and Rowen could not back down to get them out of the room.

Rowen’s breathing was unsteady, shaky, his eyes burning and his heart pounding. Still, he held his tongue until he heard the door upstairs close. He was uncertain of where the conversation would go from here, the momentary lull making him feel off-balance.

He had never felt more lost in his entire life.

                                             +++++++++++++++

The moment the word Swordsmen had entered the conversation Michael had jolted out of the dazed shock. Rowen’s anger had burned and filled the air around them, powerful and paralyzing. Rowen was so very rarely this furious, and it had frozen them all. The one word had been enough, however, and Michael had snapped out of it. His eyes went to Sylvie, who was silently sobbing beside him, and then to his other cousins; Sora and Claire were bundles of nervous energy, fidgeting in place and looking very much as if they were in the fight or flight stage.

He had acted out of instinct, picking Sylvie up into his arms and moving her upstairs after rounding up the twins. Sylvie did not need to see this. She did not need to see Rowen so angry and hurt and betrayed, and neither did Sora and Claire. Rowen was also limited in what he could ask, since any mention of the Orichalcos would draw unnecessary attention to their fathers and their former jobs.

He ushered them all into the room Rowen and Sylvie shared, as it was the furthest away from the family room. The moment the door closed behind them he set Sylvie down on her bed, kneeling before her. “Hey, little fey—“

“Is it true, Michael?” she sobbed, her small hands rubbing her eyes as tears continued to fall. “What Rowen said about Papan, is it true? Is he really alive? Is Mama okay too?”

His words died on his tongue, Michael unsure of how to answer. The most he knew was that Rowen had seen his father—there had been no indication of the other parents in his explanation. He felt the eyes of the twins on him as well.

He nodded, his voice a whisper. “…Yes.”

“Why was he taken? Who took him? Why did he take them? Why won’t he let Mama and Papan come home, why didn’t Mister Dartz help them—!”

“Sylvie, shhh…” Michael pulled her into a hug, Sylvie’s arms latching around him in a desperate hug. “It’s complicated…very complicated…whoever is behind this is after us too, little lamb.”

“Ro’s really mad.” Sora’s voice was small, uncertain. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”

“He’s got a right to be, if what he said is true!” Claire said, and her own voice was fierce. “This git was sittin’ on that information while we cried for them in front of him. He knew Ma and Dad were alive! And just what did Ro mean by Swordsmen? What, is this bloke that’s got them turning them into his henchmen or something?!”

Michael flinched. Of all the conversations to have, this was not one he wanted to start especially with emotions running high. He fished for the words to say, trying to think of how to either avoid the topic or how to explain to his family the terrible truth of their father’s past.

“I’m scared.”

Sylvie’s voice was so soft that Michael nearly missed it. He looked down to find Sylvie watching him. “I’m scared,” she repeated, tears welling again in her blue eyes. “Rowen…”

Michael felt something in his chest squeeze, the air leaving his lungs. In the face of Rowen’s anger, would Sylvie fear him now? That would be a terrifying blow to both of the siblings if that was the case. Rowen would never forgive himself if he had frightened his little sister to the point of forever fearing him. “Oh, Sylvie,” he breathed. “Rowen’s not mad at you. He wasn’t yelling at you.”

“I’m not afraid of him…I’m scared for him.” Sylvie’s voice held a wobble. “He’s hurting so much and he’s scared. He tried pretending he wasn’t, but I know him, Michael. Isn’t there something we can do?”

The three older children collectively breathed a sigh of relief. Sylvie had read between the lines and had seen the fear and pain beneath the anger. The relationship between the siblings was safe.

However…

Michael had worried about Rowen for a long time, even before this situation had happened. He had known that a breakdown had been inevitable. Rowen had been bottling everything up for so long, only rarely allowing himself to grieve or to show weakness; he had not addressed his own needs, rather those of his family first in these long months. It was uncharacteristic for his cousin, and obviously a huge strain on the normally easy-going Rowen.

Now, however, Rowen had been pushed past his limit and once the anger burned out…Michael was genuinely worried as to what would be left over.

“I don’t know,” Michael said softly. He was not addressing just the little girl in his arms, but his cousins too. “I just…I don’t know. All we can do is be there for him.”

                                              +++++++++++++

Downstairs, neither of the two remaining occupants in the room had spoken since the younger children had left. It was a standoff, each side waiting to see who would break the silence first.

Rowen did not feel the conversation was over, and he was not backing down. Not this time. Not until he had answers. He had calmed in the lull of the conversation, enough for the edge of his anger to dull, but it had not dulled the need for an explanation.

“I do not need more Swordsmen, Rowen. That was never my intention.” Dartz was the one who had broken the silence first. His voice was soft, something old and tired in his voice. “I do not intend to have any more child soldiers. That was why I kept you in the dark. To tell you meant involving you.”

“Yeah?” Rowen’s voice was bitter. “Well thank you so much for lying. That was clearly the best decision you made.”

“And is what you’re doing any different?” Dartz asked. His voice held an edge now. “You won’t tell your younger sister, or Sora and Claire, the truth about me. Even in the middle of a heated discussion you still won’t allow them in the room to hear about my involvement in your family history.”

“Don’t you even dare compare that to what you did!” Rowen snarled, eyes flashing. His anger roared to life once again, and outside the storm intensified. “You know that keeping quiet about our fathers stealing souls is not the same thing as outright lying about our parents being dead.”

“Oh, well forgive me then for failing to make that distinction. After all, lying to avoid hurting anyone is clearly a sin.” Dartz’s voice was cold. “You are not in a position to where you can help anyone, Rowen, least of all your parents.”

“I know that! I didn’t live like Dad did, I know I don’t have experience here. But if you’re not thinking we can help, then you should tell someone!” Rowen burst out. “You didn’t even have to tell us! You could have told Uncle Noa, or Aunt Isabel, or Mister Mutou—Kaiba—Uncle Joey, someone, anyone! Tell someone what’s happening! Reach out for help! Swallow your pride and ask for some help, before it costs my family their lives!”

“I am trying to tell you, Rowen, that I cannot involve them without—“

“Find a way, Dartz!” Rowen snapped. “I know, I know that you don’t want anyone else involved because this enemy seems to be all powerful and makes everyone disappear! But if you can sit there and arrange for my father and uncles to be your Swordsmen, if you can live for ten thousand years, could take over Kaiba Corporation, and if you could threaten the balance of the world so much, then why can’t you find a way to help them now? I don’t understand, Dartz! Help me understand!”

There was a plea, a desperate cry in his voice. Rowen was not even angry any more, just upset and sick and tired and stretched too thin. All he wanted was just a reason. Just a reason, some insight, some answers. Why hadn’t Dartz helped his father in all this time? Why was Dartz so afraid of this new threat? Why had he not accomplished anything to stop this person from targeting them? Why couldn’t Dartz simply let people help them?

“I do not have to answer to you, Rowen,” Dartz said, his voice cool. “You are not in charge here. I am, and what I say goes. I do not want you involved, and I do not want anyone else involved in this predicament. This is my responsibility and I will handle this on my own.”

“But—!”

“This conversation is over, Rowen.”

It was a dismissal and a shut down, and Rowen felt something within him break.

“Then I hope you enjoy being responsible for my parent’s deaths, Dartz,” he said, and he could not tell if there was anger or tears in his voice. Maybe both. “I really hope your pride is worth their lives.”

“…Fine.”

It was a complete departure from the conversation, one word that left Rowen frozen and brought his emotions to a screeching halt. Dartz’s voice was cold, eyes flat, lips a thin slash in a suddenly pale face.

“You wish for action to be taken? Fine. Then I will, as you so articulately put it, do something. Why? Because Rowen, congratulations—you have very likely triggered this enemy into speeding up his plans. In all likelihood that was the last time you will ever see your father alive, and if so it will be because of your actions earlier today.”

Dartz turned away, moving for the front door. The man pulled it open with a wrenching motion, and when it slammed closed sparks flew from the doors and the windows cracked.

A ringing silence followed, Dartz’s parting words echoing in his thoughts.

That was the last you will see your father alive, and if so it will be because of your actions today.

Rowen felt his knees buckle, cold waves washing over him as he hit the floor. He stared at the wooden floor, ears starting to ring again, vision blurring to the point where he could not see. Dartz’s parting words echoed in his mind, relentless and cruel and crushing him in every passing second. He had been so angry and betrayed, pushed past his limits, but now he just felt sick to his stomach and far too brittle.  

Had he signed his father’s death warrant? What if by going through the door he had killed his father? How could he have known? If he had known, he wouldn’t have gone…but if he had stayed, he would not have seen his father face to face or even learned as much as he had about the situation.

He was not sure how long he sat there. Seconds, minutes, hours, he didn’t know. But then there was a hand on his shoulder, a small and hesitant one. “Rowen?”

He looked up mutely, his eyes on his little sister. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and a wave of guilt washed over him. He had made Sylvie cry on top of everything else that had happened—a cardinal sin in Rowen’s book.

“Hey, lamb,” he said gently, his gaze softening. He reached over to ruffle her hair, relieved beyond measure that he did not see her stiffen or flinch away from him. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“Ro?” Now it was Sora and Claire, followed by Michael. All three of them were watching him, concern and uncertainty lining their features as they moved in front of them. They all looked uncertain, and his heart clenched with guilt once again. “Ro, are you okay?”

Rowen nearly tried to lie before he shook his head. He was too tired to pretend he was fine.

“Sora, Claire. Michael. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see Uncle Valon, Aunt Serenity, Aunt Carmon, or Uncle Alister. I didn’t even see Mama, just Papan.” His voice was hollow, empty, dull. “I don’t know if they’re alive. Papan just said that they were alive two months ago, before they were split up.”

A pause. He didn’t have to look up to see the dejected slump in the shoulders of his cousins. It only compounded the sudden guilt he had, because here he had failed them again. He had already blown up at Dartz, he had likely killed his father with his actions, and now he could not even tell Sora, Claire, and Michael if their parents lived.

“He said he loved us.” Rowen’s voice was so soft and gentle, something terribly fragile in his voice. “He said he didn’t want us forgetting that, no matter what. Last words,” he said, finally putting the thoughts into the open. “That was the last thing he said before he left to help me get out, and I may have…he…Dartz said that by going into that building I ki…”

Rowen couldn’t put it into words. He didn’t dare, not when he had upset his sister and his cousins so much already by his anger. He did not even know what to do or what to say. The lump in his throat had returned, almost choking him. He kept his gaze fixed to the floor, not daring to look at his family.

It was Sylvie who moved first, sitting down in front her older brother. She did not say anything, her arms wrapping around Rowen’s neck to hug him silently. It was not just to seek comfort this time, but to give it.

And that was all it took.

The tears had been threatening for almost an hour. From the moment his father had left him in that office to this moment, the tears had been building; if he was being honest, they had been building for the entirety of the two months since his parents had been taken. Rowen had not allowed himself to grieve properly, had pushed his own emotions aside because Sylvie and his family had needed him and looked to him to for answers. They had needed him to be the strong one.

Now, however…Sylvie’s quiet hug had been the final straw.

The sobs bubbled out of him before he could stop them, his own arms circling his little sister and holding her tightly. He couldn’t stop, he tried because the instinct to stay strong, don’t cry, they need you was flaring to life, but he could not hold them back anymore.  

He was babbling, unaware of what he was saying until his own voice reached him. It was a keening wail, fragile and broken and desperate. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry, I couldn’t do anything to help—I can’t stop, I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t be crying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—!”

And then there were the sounds of footsteps, arms wrapping around him and Sylvie from three different directions. Then whispered reassurances, voices filled with tears and hands that rubbed his back and shoulders soothingly.

Rowen sagged into the embrace of his family and he finally allowed himself to fall apart.

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