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Itaru came to at the bottom of a chasm, with Sakuya beside him and surrounded by the burning remains of what was once the Moving Castle.
Everything that just happened flashes through his mind repeatedly. July with several Moonflower Guild goons attacking the castle (and while Chikage is preoccupied with the air-raid over Ilar, too, those dirty bastards). Masumi and Sakuya battling July; July turning around and charging at Itaru, with fingers sharpened to claws.
Sakuya leaping in front of him at the last second. Letting those claws sink into his chest.
The castle burning, crumbling to pieces, as Sakuya’s hold over it failed.
(The first thing Itaru did upon waking up with Sakuya beside him was apologize, over and over. For inadvertedly leading July to the castle, for inadvertedly causing its destruction, for getting them into this whole mess in the first place; knees and forehead and salty tears kissing the dirt.
Sakuya just smiled at him. Strained around the edges, but sweet as ever. It did not make Itaru feel any better.)
Every part of Itaru’s body aches; but Masumi and the scarecrow must have fallen somewhere not far from here too, and Chikage is still out there in the thick of an air-raid, and Sakuya’s front is soaked in strange reddish-gold blood, so Itaru grits his teeth and wipes at his tears. He has to do something.
He has to do something.
He reaches for the blue waystone thankfully still hanging around his neck. It’s a gamble, but it’s the only solution he could think of; maybe if he could get Sakuya to Chikage, then—
Sakuya catches his wrist. Shakes his head.
“Th—that won’t work.”
It takes Itaru a few seconds to find his voice. “What do you mean it won’t work?”
“That stone—” Sakuya’s voice is shaky, but his grip on Itaru’s wrist is like a vice. “It, it just points to me. It can’t help you, not now…”
He trails off, dropping his hand.
(Itaru thinks, unbidden, of when Chikage gave him the waystone, a few weeks and an eternity ago. Promising it would point him straight back home to the Moving Castle, should he will it such. Promising that, even in Kingsbury, Chikage would be with him every step of the way.
“Do you trust me?” He’d said to Itaru. And Itaru had laughed and dutifully slipped the waystone around his neck.)
Itaru grips the little stone in both his hands. He begs it for a miracle.
Sakuya grimaces. “I said that won’t—”
Blue light spills from between Itaru's fingers. He opens his hands, and lets the waystone dangle from its silver chain.
A trail of blue falls straight down, pointing straight at Sakuya. Just as he said.
But another trail stretches off in another direction—straight across the chasm, and landing on a familiar-looking door.
Sakuya’s voice vanishes.
(When Itaru had escaped from Kingsbury the waystone had emitted twin trails both pointing to the castle, and he assumed that’s just how it worked; but if they were two separate trails all along, then what was the other one pointing to?)
Itaru staggers to his feet, ignoring the screaming of his joints. The color wheel is still attached to the doorframe, the arrow pointing to the black section. The wheel doesn’t budge when he tries to spin it. When he tries the door, it opens to reveal nothing but pitch black void.
The waystone points him straight into it.
Sakuya is still staring at the waystone with wide eyes. As Itaru walks back over to him he hears Sakua muttering: how could that be—I thought the other stones were lost—where even is it pointing to?—
“Well,” Itaru says, and gathers the boy in his arms. Sakuya is surprisingly light; he yelps as Itaru lifts him, but doesn’t struggle. “Only one way to find out.”
He squares his shoulders, and marches right into the blackness awaiting.
The door slams shut behind him.
๋
All at once there is nothing. No sound, no warmth, no smell of smoke or any sensation whatsoever, like he’s suddenly been plunged underwater. Even the weight in his arms feels like barely anything, and he has to look just to make sure he didn’t drop Sakuya somehow.
He looks over his shoulder, but the door has already disappeared. Leaving him and Sakuya as the only things in this endless negative space.
The waystone trail stretches on forward, pointing somewhere into the fathomless beyond.
Itaru follows it.
He follows it, swallowing down the panic rising in his chest. He follows it, trying not to think about how much time he’s spending here. Sakuya in his arms is barely warm, almost weightless, and Itaru has to check every few steps that the boy is still breathing.
He tries not to think about Masumi warning him away from the black door, so long ago. He tries not to think about unknown horrors awaiting him in the dark. He tries not to think about getting lost in here and never making it out.
He tries desperately not to think about the others in danger, outside of this negative space, while he has no way to reach them.
He forces himself to think instead about the magic shop; Chikage and Masumi bickering over potions, Sakuya’s hearth crackling in tandem with the rocking movement of the castle. He thinks about the sleepy Porthaven market, the bustling Kingsbury streets, sunny days out in the Waste that always made him wonder why everyone was so scared of it in the first place.
(He tries not to think about that happy life crumbled to ash and rubble, now.
He tries not to think about the old life he had before all of this—quiet and repetitive, simply drifting from one day to another. He can’t bear it.)
As he walks, the negative space slowly begins to turn lighter around him, and he sees something bright in the near distance. The waystone points him towards it, and so towards it he goes.
Itaru thinks of Masumi, grumpy and stubborn and the most diligent person he knows. He thinks of the scarecrow that guided him to the castle in the first place, its white cloth body and black cloak reminding him a bit of a penguin.
And he thinks of Chikage.
He steps out of the darkness and into——
٠
A blizzard-streaked hillside town, gray stone buildings blanketed in white.
Itaru looks around wildly. He doesn’t recognize this place in the slightest.
The wind is howling, but it sounds muted and barely louder than a whisper to his ears. The snow piles on the ground but the cold doesn’t touch him, and when he loses balance and staggers briefly he leaves no footprints.
It’s like he only partially exists here; like he’s been made a ghost, nothing more than a silent observer in this scene.
But, what is he meant to be observing?
As if to answer his question, a figure emerges through the storm.
The wind buffets at their cloak, almost taking the hood off of their head; but they keep their head down and their arms tucked against their side, hurrying as fast as they could through the deserted streets.
Bent over like that, the person doesn’t even come up past Itaru's waist.
With nothing else of note in the deserted streets, he holds Sakuya tighter and hurries after them.
The person—the child—comes to a stop at an old-looking house, its walls more wood than stone. The wind rattles the door and windows like it wants to tear them off their hinges. A half-faded sign hanging over the door reads TELLORIN ORPHAN HOME.
The child raises a hand and tentatively knocks. A few seconds later a matronly-looking woman answers the door. Her face sours when the sees the child, but she still lets him inside with a click of the tongue.
Only once they’re both inside and the door is closed again, does she start shouting. (Itaru can’t really hear what she's saying, but it definitely isn’t good.) The child stares at the floor, but doesn’t respond at all. The woman scowls deeper, and reaches out to pull down their hood—
Itaru can’t stop himself from gasping.
It’s Chikage.
He can’t be older than eight; but Itaru knows that head of metallic green hair, though messy and cut unevenly short. He knows those stormy blue eyes, even without the round-frame glasses. He knows that face, even round with youth.
Somehow, he’s stepped into a memory of Chikage’s past.
Chikage reels back when the woman abruptly slaps him. (Itaru winces too.) But still he doesn’t look up.
The woman scowls, but seemingly gives up at that. She plants a hand on her hip and grabs him by the scruff in the other, and begins to drag him towards a hallway lined with doors, her mouth still moving all the while.
A few of the doors open, and other children poke their heads out to watch. Chikage keeps his head down and ignores their audience. The woman eventually deposits him in front of one door and loudly knocks. It’s answered by a slightly older, approximately ten-year-old boy with choppy silver-green hair. His eyes widen when he sees Chikage—darting particularly towards the handprint on his cheek.
The woman shouts a few more things before she storms off. The two boys watch her go, before the older one steps aside to let Chikage through.
The room is tiny. There’s one bed, and one rickety-looking chair, and one old dresser, and a rusted sink. And there’s a third boy sitting on the bed, around six or seven years old and with fluffy white hair, who hurries up to the other two boys when they walk in.
Itaru trails hesitantly behind them, a strange twisting feeling rising in his gut. The broom closet back in the moving castle was larger than this. And these boys are made to share it and its singular bed.
(Even as Itaru observes this memory from the outside, he instinctively knows details that he really has no way of knowing. He knows the caretaker woman’s name is Itsuki. He knows the older boy’s name is Misha. He knows the white-haired boy’s name is Hisoka. He knows the three boys have shared this tiny room for two years by now, since Chikage was moved here from a different orphan home.)
Misha begins to fret over Chikage too, already reaching out to take his snow-soaked cloak; but Chikage just shakes his head and pushes past him without saying very much.
His hands are still cupped together, and it’s Hisoka who notices this first. He reaches a tiny hand to poke curiously at Chikage’s knuckles.
Unexpectedly, Chikage whirls around at the touch and staggers away from him. His hands press tighter against his chest, like he’s desperate to protect whatever he’s holding.
Hisoka lowers his hand. Chikage quickly looks to the floor again, but Misha is already stepping closer to him, brows furrowed in concern.
Just as the older boy opens his mouth to ask, Chikage thrusts out his hands and shows them what he’s holding.
Cradled in his palms is a tiny, bedraggled, trembling baby bird.
The other two boys gasp. The chick opens its beak, chirping plaintively as it curls deeper into Chikage's hands for warmth.
Misha’s mouth presses into a thin line. But he looks at the shivering chick, its scarlet down feathers damp and darkened; then he looks to Chikage, now looking at him with pleading eyes. He nods.
Hisoka immediately hurries off, retrieving a towel and the blanket off the bed. Chikage carefully wraps the chick in the towel, and only then does he take off his cloak and let the other boys warm him up.
⭑
Itaru hardly has time to process what he saw. He blinks, and the scene is already dissolving and changing around him.
The boys are older now, though only by a little. They’re in a different bedroom, too, a larger one with two twin beds and an actual window letting in sunlight.
There’s Chikage, sitting on one of the beds while reading a book. There’s Hisoka, napping beside him with his head in Chikage's lap (the book sits on top of the boy’s head, though he seems unbothered by this). Misha is conspicuously absent in this moment.
But there’s another boy, sitting on Chikage’s other side, bright eyes blinking sleepily at the words on the page. This one is much younger, no older than five at most, with fluffy cherry-red hair.
Itaru recognizes the red-haired boy immediately.
How could he not, when he’s holding the same boy in his arms right now?
Sakuya—the past Sakuya—reaches up and pokes at Chikage’s cheek in boredom. Chikage swats his hand away without even looking up. Sakuya pouts. Chikage flips a page. Hisoka sleeps on, unbothered.
Sakuya stamps his foot indignantly. He pushes away from Chikage’s side and he leaps to his feet, jumping once, twice—
Then out of seemingly nowhere tiny wings unfurl from his shoulders, fire spreading from them to engulf the boy's little body. Chikage belatedly looks up in alarm, just in time to see the boy fully transform, mid-air, into a small bird.
Itaru’s jaw drops.
Chikage fully tosses the book aside and jumps off of the bed himself, calling and reaching for the—the baby firebird now flying circles around the room and leaving embers in his wake; his eyes dart to the door, like he’s expecting someone to burst in and catch them.
The commotion rouses Hisoka, who almost doesn’t dodge in time as the baby firebird swoops towards the bed. In another flash of light, the bird is a red-haired boy again.
Chikage is quick to scold Sakuya for that stunt as he retrieves his fallen book. Sakuya winces in guilt; Hisoka quickly hugs him and glares reproachfully at Chikage over Sakuya’s shoulder. Under the twin forces of Sakuya’s misery and Hisoka’s disdain, Chikage relents, and apologetically ruffles Sakuya’s hair before rejoining them on the bed.
He returns to his book, while Hisoka and Sakuya cuddle for a while longer. But eventually, Sakuya grows bored of that too, and wriggles free from Hisoka’s arms.
He doesn’t do anything as drastic as earlier; he conjures a small floating fireball in his palms, and turns it purple, then green, then blue. Hisoka watches with rapt attention; Chikage observes out the corner of his eye in case something goes wrong.
Sakuya blows at the magical fire, and it turns into a cloud of smoke in the shape of a goldfish, that even swims around in the air for a few seconds before dissipating entirely. Hisoka claps enthusiastically, and even Chikage smiles, to Sakuya’s delight.
And then he starts pulling at Hisoka’s hands. As if wheedling him to try it, too.
Chikage hurriedly puts his book aside again. Presumably he starts explaining that they can’t do that kind of thing, they’re still too young to learn magic and don’t even have anyone to teach them yet.
Sakuya puffs out his cheeks. Then he reaches out and grabs both of Chikage’s hands in his. (Sakuya’s hands are still so very tiny, and Itaru can’t stop himself from cooing at the sight.) He closes his eyes like he’s concentrating.
Their entwined hands pulse. Chikage abruptly seizes, and his eyes glow like he’s being set alight from the inside out. Hisoka nearly throws himself at the two of them in panic; but then Chikage shudders and relaxes with a gasp, and his eyes turn back to normal.
Sakuya lets go of him. He mimes the same fire-conjuring motion earlier. Chikage reluctantly mimics him.
And a small bluebell-colored fire promptly bursts to life in his palm.
Hisoka’s jaw drops. Sakuya claps and cheers with excitement, and promptly offers his hands to Hisoka as well. Hisoka takes them, and lets Sakuya flood him with magic too; and then he too can conjure a little yellow fire in his hands.
For a moment they just sit there, twin fires dancing and flickering between them. Sakuya giggles and squeals and claps with childish pride.
Itaru glances down and nearly jolts when he sees Sakuya—present Sakuya, in his arms—watching the memory before them, too. He says nothing. So Itaru lets him be.
Abruptly the door swings open; the three boys freeze, fires sputtering out in an instant.
But it turns out to only be Misha, in worn outdoor clothes and carrying a shabby-looking satchel over his shoulder.
Chikage and Hisoka stare at each other for a few seconds, before bursting out laughing. Misha raises an eyebrow at them, confused; Sakuya, golden in his innocence, bounds up to him and pulls him in to join them.
˖
“Sakuya,” Itaru murmurs, as the memory dissolves.
He’s not really expecting a response. But Sakuya twitches at the sound of his name; and in a flash of gold he shifts into a dove-sized bird with a disorientingly iridescent plumage—shifting between scarlet and turqoise and sunny yellow and pink and—
This honestly explains so much about Sakuya that Itaru feels a little foolish for not realizing it sooner. But also…
“I feel like you should have told me about this upfront,” he remarks, readjusting his hold around the now-firebird, “when we made our contract. It would have been nice to know, at least.”
Sakuya makes a short trilling noise that sounds like a bird-laugh. Itaru chuckles; before shifting his attention to the newest memory.
The boys’ magic is only discovered in their next orphan home. Hisoka was getting teased at school, for his thirdhand uniform and chronic sleepiness, and Chikage retaliated by hexing the bullies bald.
(Really, he meant to make their hair untameably messy as a bird’s nest, but transforming other people is trickier than transforming your own self. Sakuya and Misha are proud of him regardless, for defending his brother and for the hex.)
The caretaker is displeased about the incident, and reacts even worse when the boys show him the full extent of their magic.
Every tutor called to monitor the three of them agree. They're still below the age that most children start to be taught magic in the first place, and there's seemingly no one around to teach them either; and yet their magic is developing fast, and unrestrained in ways that a human’s magic really shouldn’t be.
The boys never tell anyone about Sakuya. Firebirds are rare, and incredibly powerful (their tears can heal injuries, and their feathers are powerful magic charms, and their blood can cure diseases, and their eyes—), and the idea of what those adults could do to the little boy—to their brother—if they found out about him was too horrible. They'd kept quiet about him for years now, through more than one orphan home; they can stand being scrutinized and feared if it meant no harm would befall him.
The orphan home caretaker wants nothing to do with them after the discovery of their magic. So the boys are moved again, this time to Kingsbury; but not to yet another orphan home.
Instead, they are sent to the Moonflower Guild.
*
The memories begin to move faster, like a zoetrope spinning and picking up speed. Little flashes and clips of the past, rather than full moments.
The Moonflower Guild before July took control of it was primarily a research and investigation institute; not an education-focused one. The guild members are aloof and quite strict in their training of the boys, but don’t ever attempt to restrict their magic to be more normal and "orthodox", either.
The boys actually flourish under this treatment. Getting to hone and polish their magic without anyone putting limits on them. Chikage in particular eats up whatever training the guild throws at him; Misha takes a specific interest in magical artefacts and potion-making. Hisoka is a lot more my-pace than his brothers, but he too develops incredibly fast.
Sakuya follows them there as he always has; but by this point he’s old enough that he starts going off on adventures on his own, always thirsting for adventure as is the nature of birds. Every now and then he flies through the window, with new stories and more magic to show to his brothers. They always welcome him home with open arms, and let him stay for as long as he wants to; and when he leaves them again they happily see him off.
The years pass.
The three brothers become adults, and are inducted as full-fledged guild members. They take to their own affinities: Misha opens a magic shop in Kingsbury, while also researching potions and magical artefacts on the side. Chikage, perhaps influenced by Sakuya’s wanderlust, goes on assigned investigations and adventures for the guild. Hisoka is content to stay and run the shop with Misha. Sakuya meanwhile delights in having someone to go on adventures with, and tags along with Chikage every now and then; when the two of them return together, the other two are happy to welcome them both home.
Perhaps their lives could have gone on this way——
If it wasn’t for fucking July.
⊹
As a high-ranking executive within the guild, July rarely interacted with the brothers while they were undergoing training; but once Chikage becomes an investigator for the guild they start crossing paths more often, and he becomes more and more curious.
Most people begin learning magic in their early teen years, but at that age their natural capacity for magic has actually stifled quite a bit; and the way magic is generally taught gradually narrows a person’s capabilities even more, so that by the time a student reaches adulthood they’re pretty much locked into whatever branch/style of magic they chose. While they can hone their skills in their specific affinity even further, they can’t expand beyond it anymore.
But the brothers awakened to their magic at a younger age, thanks to Sakuya, and were initially taught magic the way Sakuya knows it—the pure, natural magic that flows through a mythical creature’s veins like blood flows through a human’s. Their magic grew to be directionless, unconstrained, and unlike most people’s, can continue to develop further.
The magical tutors who used to observe the brothers way back when were terrified by this quirk of their magic.
July instead becomes deeply fascinated by it.
+
“LORD GET THEM THE FUCK AWAY FROM THAT SICK FREAK—”
Sakuya just laughs and whistles as Itaru rages about July.
His thoughts about Chikage and his brothers had felt disgusting. Itaru dearly wishes he could go back in time and keep that young, curious, lively Chikage far out of that bastards reach.
Fortunately for them both, that memory shifts quickly.
(Unfortunately, the next memory is much worse.)
Everything in this particular memory appears curiously blurry around the edges; the details fuzzy and half-forgotten.
Misha and Hisoka closing up the shop on an otherwise unassuming day. Sakuya is perched at the counter, in human form; Misha always insists that he sits down and rests after flying in from somewhere. Chikage is nowhere to be seen.
Hisoka about to flip over the OPEN sign on the door, but someone walks in right at that moment (and he only narrowly avoids getting hit in the face by the door).
July walks in.
The twisted smug look on his face is enough to still them at once.
Misha speaks up first, politely but firmly turning July away. Hisoka remains silent, but he glares daggers at July without even attempting to hide it.
July fully ignores the both of them.
He only has eyes for Sakuya, still frozen behind the counter.
(Not for the first time today, Itaru really wishes he could kill with just his eyes.)
Misha puts himself between July and Sakuya.
July responds by shooting Misha with lightning.
Sakuya and Hisoka (and Itaru) cry out as Misha crumples to the floor. Hisoka angrily hurls a spell of his own at July in retaliation; and thus a duel commences, right there in the potion shop.
Sakuya dodges the fighting and kneels at Misha’s side; but Misha rebuffs him, and points him to the open window.
The message is clear: Run.
Potion bottles and magical artefacts are knocked off the shelves in the scuffle.
Misha pushes Sakuya so hard that he stumbles; the firebird boy just about picks himself up and makes a break for the window. July notices and tries to stop him, but Misha picks up a fallen rack of crystal vials to lob at him as a distraction.
Sakuya leaps out of the window, and transforms mid-air.
Behind him, something in the potion shop explodes. Sakuya has to force himself not to turn back.
𖥔
Chikage is finishing up an assignment when Sakuya tears towards him in a mess of feathers and flame.
He just barely manages to relay what happened at the potion shop.
Chikage does not take it well at all.
But neither of them have much time to grieve; July is still on Sakuya’s tail. He’d already eliminated two of the people Sakuya held dear—what’s one more?
Now they only have each other. And they refuse to take anymore risks tonight.
Hands intertwining. An unspoken agreement.
Chikage leans down, presses his forehead to Sakuya’s. They both close their eyes.
There’s a shout in the distance. Footsteps thundering closer.
There’s a flash of light, and flame, and wings rising and spreading and taking flight—
✦
Everything after that is a blur.
In the aftermath of it all, Chikage alone stands in a burnt field with Sakuya on his shoulder.
July’s goons didn’t even stand a chance.
(It was terrifying. It was breathtaking. This is the true power of the Wizard of the Moving Castle.)
Sakuya abruptly collapses; Chikage reaches to catch him, but Sakuya shifts back to human and Chikage too is dragged to his knees.
Sakuya buries his face into Chikage’s shoulders, and promptly begins to cry.
And Chikage—his response is unusually sluggish and stiff. Hesitates before wrapping his arms around Sakuya. The line of his shoulders never quite relaxes completely.
His face is impassive. More like he’s tolerating Sakuya crying into his shoulder, without quite understanding why it’s happening.
Itaru suddenly understands.
Chikage gave up his heart to form that contract with Sakuya. And it did work, but ironically he lost a lot of his emotions in the process—no wonder Sakuya wanted the contract broken.
He never even got to grieve before he gave his heart away...
𖤓
Then.
There is an ear-splitting crack!
It’s the waystone—glowing brighter and bluer, but flickering, fractures spidering all across its surface. Sakuya in Itaru’s arms flinches at the noise; Itaru wordlessly gathers the firebird closer to himself.
More shockingly, is that Chikage—the past Chikage—reacts to it, too. And is now staring right at Itaru.
They lock eyes.
“Can you hear me?” Itaru blurts out before he could stop himself.
He isn’t really expecting a response; but the past Chikage nods, brows furrowed and mouth agape.
(What does this moment look like from Chikage’s eyes, Itaru wonders? Is he transparent, like a ghost? Is he just some stranger with a waystone and firebird, who materialized out of nowhere?
What is Chikage thinking, in this moment?)
The waystone breaks even more. The blue light sputters like a dying flame.
Itaru swallows.
He shifts his hold on his Sakuya, grips the fracturing waystone in one hand. (As if that will slow the damage, buy him some more precious time; because this moment is more important than anything.)
“Listen to me. You’ll be alright,” he says, words spilling out like water from a dam. “You’ll both be alright, I swear it; and you will find me in the future. Do you understand?”
The burnt-out field begins to blur around the edges. Itaru stamps his foot and keeps going.
“Just trust me! Find me in the future, alright?”
Chikage nods.
And the waystone s h a t t e r s .
And with it, the memory space collapses all around them; a void tears open beneath Itaru’s feet and starts to drag him and Sakuya into it. But Itaru refuses to let it take him just like that.
“Come find me!” Itaru shouts desperately over the shadows creeping at the corners of his vision. “You hear me?! Chikage-san! I’LL BE WAITING!”
Then the negative space swallows him up, and there is no more.
☄
They are spat out of another door. This time Itaru doesn't catch himself in time, sending them both careening to the ground.
They’re back in the Waste, though not where they were earlier. The waystone is gone, and all that is left is its useless silver chain around Itaru’s neck.
But it had done its duty. Because there’s the scarecrow, bouncing around in frantic circles; there’s Masumi, grim-faced where he kneels in the dirt.
And there’s Chikage, his crumpled form nearly unrecognizable under the huge raven feathers. His face, the only recognizably human part of him, is ghostly, in color and in expression.
Masumi and the scarecrow look up when Itaru approaches. Sakuya’s blood stains his hands.
“Sakuya,” he murmurs to the firebird. “Would you be alright if I gave him his heart like this?”
Sakuya raises his head and trills.
Itaru grins. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
In truth he has no idea what the hell he’s doing; so he just does what feels right.
He carefully lays Sakuya on top of Chikage, torso to torso (different-colored feathers; reddish-gold blood staining jet black down). Sakuya puts the tip of his beak to Chikage’s jaw, mirrorring their stance during the initial contract as best he can. Itaru smiles.
“May you have a thousand years,” he says—pours as much intent as he can into the words, willing they be so, “and may you be free for all those years.”
Sakuya untenses as the words settle.
Then Itaru turns his focus to Chikage. Distant, unromantic, infuriatingly brilliant at everything, funny, reliable, wonderful Chikage.
(He thinks of their first encounter, all those months and an eternity ago. Sunlight glinting off of his glasses, a thin tilt of a smile. Cold, steady hands. Ilar beneath his feet, and the swooping feeling of flying.
“There you are,” He’d said, feather-light and warm like he was greeting an old friend. “I was looking for you.”
“Do you trust me?” He’d said, holding our his hand; and Itaru didn’t even think twice.)
“Sorry I took so long,” Itaru murmurs. Instinctively reaching out and smoothing down some unruly feathers. “I swore to you that you’ll be alright—”
His breath hitches.
“Call your heart back,” he says, a little hysterically. “You hear me, Chikage-san? It’s right here. You can call it back.”
Come back to us. We’re all waiting for you. I’m waiting for you—come back to me!
At first, nothing seems to happen.
And then—
The raven feathers begin to shrink, melting back into Chikage from the torso outward; the feathers touched by firebird blood in particular seem to disappear fastest.
Then, Sakuya begins to glow, so bright that it’s hard to look at him; from his back rises the impression of fiery wings, spreading impossibly wide—
And then the firebird detaches from Chikage and takes off, zipping straight into the sky with a bell-like cheer.
Chikage, meanwhile, still doesn’t move for a long, heart-stoppinf moment.
Then his eyes flutter open, and Itaru instantly knew that something’s changed. There’s a light in there that wasn’t there before.
It worked.
“There you are,” he says with a grin. “I was waiting for you.”
Chikage smiles back. A thin tilt of the lips. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”