What it is to burn

by The_flabbergasting_blobb_of_fluffyness

Summary:

These flames are nothing.
You will know what it is to burn.

Joshua had almost laughed. He knew. He had been nothing but a child when he had first burned; his brother's claws shattering his ribcage, snapping his spine and carving out his heart.
Oh yes. He knew.

Years later, he would think about Ultima's words and laugh again. A bitter laugh, like poison on his tongue.
He had been so wrong. So, so wrong.
He had known nothing.

----------

Why it is a very bad idea to seal an evil god inside your chest.

Notes:

General warning for blood and violence, all around psychological distress, loss of self
Further trigger warnings in the chapter descriptions.

Have fun, because Joshua surely won't ~

Chapter 1

These flames are nothing.
You will know what it is to burn.

Joshua had almost laughed. He knew. Oh, he knew. He had been nothing but a child when he had first burned; his brother's claws shattering his ribcage, snapping his spine and carving out his heart. He had continued to burn for a long, long time. No longer a child; not after the agony had burned away everything it meant to be a child. Not after he had tasted his father's blood on his lips and stared into his empty, empty eyes. Not after he had learned how wrong he had been to believe what every child believes; that some things were absolute. His brother's love, the promise that he would always be protected. His father's strength. His own life.

No, only one thing was absolute, and it was the pain that carved its way through his body and ate at his mind until there was nothing but darkness and fear and the constant pulsing of every single one of his nerves being on fire until it drove him mad. Until his entire being dissolved into a single, desperate thought make it stop make it stop make it stop makeit stopmakeitstopmakeitsto pmakei tsto pm ak e i t s t o P m a K e I T S T OPM AKEITSTOPMAKEIT -
Oh yes. He knew what it was to burn.

Years later, he would think about Ultima's words and laugh again. A bitter laugh, like poison on his tongue.
He had been so wrong. So, so wrong.
He had known nothing.

********

He was drifting.

A sea of acid, eating away at his skin. Bubbling, melting.

No -

It was inside, spreading through his bones. Coursing through his veins, along his nerves, hollowing out his body. A sharp pain in his chest - not again, not again, not again - and he wanted to sob, to beg for it to stop.
Breathing hurt.

Why was he breathing if it hurt so much?

(it does not have to hurt)

The acid was in his lungs; they seized around it, trying to force it out. Then it was in his throat, and he was choking.

('Breathe, Your Grace, just breathe. It will pass, I promise.')

Hands on his too-sensitive skin. His body creaking and cracking as they pushed and pulled, but he was not choking anymore. The hands still hurt.

A ball of flame in his chest, slowly consuming him and building him anew around itself, only to burn him to ash once more. He tried to reach for it, tear it out

('Please, stop scratching it. You will hurt yourself. Please...')

but his fingers found no purchase as they grew slick with something wet, something warm. His skin was split apart but the fire was still there.

(you could make it go away)

The fire was in his throat, on his brow. Something cold touched his skin, the feather-light pressure too much too much too much, the cold was alien, invasive, and he shrunk away from it.

('You have a fever, try not to move.')

The ball of flame was hiding something dark inside of it, swirling, sickly purple. It was seeping out like light through a crack in a door, light that was no light but the opposite. It was chained up inside his chest, eating him up, and he could not get it out

Get it out

Get it out

Get it out

(it could be so easy)

Someone was screaming. Maybe it was him.

There was something inside his mind, like a worm, a parasite, cold and wriggling and wrong.

There was something sliding down his throat, warm and slimy, and his body fought against it weakly no more, please...

('You need to eat something, please Your Grace, if you don't eat you will die.')

Dying. Why had he been afraid of the word before?

(you just have to give up)

He was tired.

('Why... why did you do this?')

There had been no choice... had there?

(why hold on when it hurts so much?)

Why

('You almost died once before, trying to protect your brother from himself. Was once not enough?')

Brother.

(is it not enough?)

His...

('Please come back to me. Please, I...)

Brother?

(just loose yourself to the pain)

('I cannot loose you.')

He opened his eyes.

********

The room was dimly lit, but even the faint trickle of daylight reaching his bed seemed to stab into his skull like a white-hot blade. His breath hissed through his raw throat - he faintly remembered screaming until his tongue had tasted like iron - and the air of the room was grating against his sensitive skin. It was faintly familiar; waking in a body that was too frail to move, a prison of flesh that echoed with a pain too vast for the mind to understand.

He tried to move an arm, then a hand, a single finger, but his muscles would not obey his will.

Panic clawed at his throat. He was trapped, trapped in this body that would not move, that threatened to shatter like glass at the slightest breeze, not again, nonono... trapped with the constant thrum of a mind that was not his own festering behind his ribs. Panic, because he could not remember what it all meant, why he was here, why he was feeling like this. If he had ever felt any other way. Had there been something before the pain? There had to be, the pain was wrong, wrong enough to turn his stomach, but why could he not remember?

There was a sound in his throat, hoarse, incoherent. It was all he could do, entombed in his own flesh as he was.

The door flew open, light streaming inside. To anyone else it would have seemed soft, gentle, but he cringed as it assaulted his eyes with sharp fingers. The figure that entered the room was familiar as well, though he could not remember why. He could only remember the pain, and the other pain before that, similar yet somehow gentler, muted. He had been... smaller, then, and there had been someone there to protect him. To keep the pain outside, not rooting around in his skull, spreading greedy tendrils into every last corner of his self. He almost wished he could be back in that other pain. At least there, he had not felt that sense of wrongness, that squirming in his chest.

The figure said something, but it was hard to follow the words. A hand touched his arm, the side of his face. It hurt, but not as much as everything else. Not as much as his insides hurt.

He heard a pityful little whimper when the touch withdrew; he did not know where it had come from, but it made the touch return. It was good. The touch gave him something to focus on beside the wrongness.

His eyes fluttered closed again. He hoped the touch would still be there when he woke again.

If he woke again.

********

Last time, he had been fortunate. He had not understood how much, not until now. Back then, the Phoenix had curled around his shattered self, held together the pieces and shielded them from the worst of the pain while his body healed. The Phoenix was old, ancient; he had seen battle and strife, had felt pain and loss, more than any human could imagine. He could make sense of it all when Joshua could not, could cradle him in his soothing flames and sing his thoughts to sleep until the worst of it had passed.

Even so, it had almost driven him insane.

Now, the Phoenix could not help him. The pain was inside his mind as much as it was in his body, a presence churning and pulsing inside of him and the firebird needed all his strength to keep it from eating them both alive.

And so Joshua was left to fight by himself. Fight to keep his eyes open, as dry and swollen as they were; fight to keep his chest rising and falling, even though it felt like his ribs should shatter from the slightest breath.

Fight to keep his mind from caressing that sweet, tempting thought

(it could be so easy)

swirling around in his head when the pain was too great, the desperation of having to do this all over again, again and again and again

(you don't have to do it)

the fear that this time, he might not be able to.

(just give up)

Around and around and around it swirled

(just)

(like)

(that)

********

He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from screaming as Jote carefully lifted his shoulders to wedge some cushions behind his back. He could see in her tight expression that she still knew - she knew nothing, how could she ever know - and regretted the pain she caused him with every fibre of her being. After he had sunk back into something resembling a sitting position, she reached for the bowl on his bedside table. His eyes followed her hand with weary reluctance. There was some kind of broth sloshing around in the bowl, and the savoury smell seemed to clog his nose and crawl down his throat as she stirred it.

'You have to eat something', she had said when he had eyed the tray she had carried into the room with barely concealed disgust. 'It should be easy on your stomach, and help you build up your strength.'

Saliva was pooling in his mouth, but not from hunger.
Jote looked up, her hand with the spoon raised halfway towards his mouth. When she saw his face, she hastily put it down and grabbed his shoulder to roll him on his side, just in time for him to throw up bile and blood over the edge of the mattress.

The blood was dark, almost black. He stared at it with clouded eyes as he heaved and retched, his body determined to turn itself inside out even though the thing it really wanted to get rid of was firmly lodged in his chest. Bound by unbreakable chains of his own making.

When his stomach had somewhat settled again, Jote guided him back onto the cushions. Her eyes were dark with worry, her face drawn and tired.

'I will clean this up. Just a moment, Your Grace.'
He swallowed and stared at his hands on top of the pale sheets. They were thin, almost skeletal. The hands of a corpse.

Today, he had succeeded in bending seven of his fingers, two more than yesterday.

His tongue did not obey him yet, but even if it had, he was not sure whether he would have had the courage to ask Jote how much time had passed since Drake's Head.

She had said that Clive was alive, and that was all that mattered. More than his own frail body, more than the pain in his chest, the malicious glint of crystal right over his breastbone. He had seen it when Jote had changed his clothes and washed his clammy limbs. From the outside it looked like a flat shard lodged in his skin, dark blue and smooth to the touch. But he felt it extend inwards, jagged edges cutting into his heart with every single beat.

He wondered how many beats it could bear until it was sliced to ribbons, filling his chest with blood and drowning him in it.

Jote returned, silently cleaning up his mess on the floor next to the bed. He knew that he should be grateful, so grateful. But it was hard to find something to be grateful for when he felt like a wraith haunting his own skin, woven from pain, pain, pain... He was just tired.

********

It took a week for him to be able to speak again, his voice weak and scratchy like that of a much, much older man.

'Clive', was the first word he uttered, pressing it through his gritted teeth as his body trembled with the effort.

'Your brother escaped Drake's Head as it fell', Jote said, gently wiping the sweat from his brow with a damp cloth. 'As far as we know, he was able to leave the city unharmed. After that... we lost his trail.'

A frown pulled at his face, causing the skin to stretch too tightly over sharp bones. Jote lowered her head as she felt his disappointment.

'The Undying were preoccupied with your care, and with researching your condition, Your Grace.'

He felt a pang of... annoyance.

(none of that matters, he is the only thing that matters, the only thing that ever mattered and they lost him)

The feeling was strange, a flash in his head that was gone as quickly as it had surfaced. He brushed it aside. He supposed he could be forgiven for being a little irritable these days.

Still, Jote had seen the shadow passing over his face.

'I will send people to inquire about his whereabouts, if that is your wish', she hurried to say.

He nodded. Yes, he thought that he would feel better if he knew where Clive was.

Clive and...

And Jill and Torgal. Right. They were important, too. ...Weren't they?

(he is the only thing that matters)

He should go to sleep. His thoughts were wandering along strange, looping paths, slipping from his control.

Sleep.

And when he woke again, maybe the Undying would have found Clive. It would be better once they had found him.

Everything would be better.

********

It took a month for him to regain enough of his strength to wander around outside his room without assistance, and the Undying had still not found his brother.

He busied himself with the exercises that had helped him back on his feet once before, but his temper was growing shorter the longer he was cooped up in the building in the middle of Tabor that the Undying used as a safe haven.

Five months he had been delirious after Jote had pulled him from the remains of Drake's Head. Five months of him dancing on the edge between life and death.

The physicker attending to him said that he was making excellent progress considering his condition. That it might take years to regain his old strength. Just the way it had before.

But Joshua knew better. The ball of flame in his chest, bound in place by chains of Phoenix fire, was sapping his strength faster than he could build it back up. He did not have years, not if he did not want to be consumed by it.

He had to get out there again, he had to do something. Somehow.

(we have to find him)

He did his exercises. He practised with the sword that was too heavy for his trembling arms, still more bones than flesh. He snapped at everyone trying to convince him to rest. After a while, they let him be; settling for picking him up from the floor whenever the exhaustion overtook him, and carrying him back to his bed.

Every time he woke, Jote was sitting with him; watching him with her dark, worried eyes.

********

It took a year until he was ready to travel again. He could see the relief in Jote's face when he promised her that the shard in his chest was not bothering him as much anymore, and the new spring in her step as they finally left Tabor and the house that had been his prison behind was almost enough to make him feel like things could be alright.

It was a lie, of course. He had simply gotten better at hiding the wince when the crystal cut into his heart with every single movement, every single breath.

The ball of flame in his chest was burning and pulsing and growing hotter, every minute of every day.

 

********

********

 

The inn was built from simple, unadorned wood, as most establishments out in the countryside. The farmers and craftsmen whose huts gathered around the big building on the hill did not care what the walls or the furniture looked like, only how efficiently they could get drunk on the meagre contents of their purses.

The big, dimly lit room was a melting pot for all the gossip and complaints wafting through the surrounding villages, the travelling traders coming through adding a hefty dose of outside news and scandals. The low murmur of voices sloshed around between the walls of the inn like the ale in the cups of its patrons.

Joshua had pulled the hood of his cloak deep over his face as he sat in the corner, a nearly untouched cup of ale in front of him. His eyes were fixed on the stained wood of the table as he listened to the conversations around him, trying to pick out anything that might be of interest.

He had found early in his travels that taverns were an excellent place to gather information, if one knew what to look for. And it did not bother him to take it upon himself to look, quite the opposite - it gave him an opportunity to mingle, to breathe a little of the air of normalcy, of banality. Things he sorely lacked under the watchful gazes of the Undying.

Maybe it was just his curiosity about something he had never experienced himself, but he thought that there was a sort of poetry in a simple life, in thinking about nothing but the most immediate concerns. Sometimes he envied these people.

(insignificant)

He shook his head. The constant pain in his chest made him irritable, short tempered. The noise of the room, lively and interesting, invigorating, was starting to grate in his ears far too quickly. He would have liked to enjoy it a little longer, but his body would not let him.

It had grown stronger while on the road, but the ache in his bones - a cold, sickly ache despite the fire steadily consuming him from within - still seemed to spread every day. He felt tired and restless at the same time, as if the pain grew worse the more respite he allowed his body.

(we have to find him)

His fingers were drumming on the table. Maybe this was what the drunkards on the streets felt like looking for their next cup, movements sluggish and desperate. Like something was missing, something that would fill the hole in their chest, something they could not go without.

Only they knew what that something was. Joshua almost envied them, too.

(vermin)

He frowned. It seemed the pain was really getting to him today. He rubbed a hand across his forehead as if he could calm the squirming beneath it - wrong, wrong, wrong - soothe the constant thrumming, restless thoughts that would not be silent please just let me rest, just for a moment. Just one moment of peace.

He knew it was futile. He had not known peace since facing Ultima two years ago.

It was itching at the back of his mind, under his fingernails - the thing that was missing, he had to find it, he had to...

If only he were not so fucking tired.

Tired of hurting, tired of that... annoyance that seemed to come over him more and more often, tired of snapping at Jote when she only tried to help. Tired of these

(stupid little people and their mindless chatter, why won't they just be QUIET - )

'Everything alright there? Ale not to your liking?'

He jumped at the sudden voice next to him and looked up to find the face of the landlady hovering over him. Life had made this face hard and stern, but underneath that, there was kindness.

He cleared his throat.

'No, it's fine, thank you. I merely had a long day of travel.'

She peered into his face. He knew that he looked terrible; still much too thin to seem healthy, the dark circles under his eyes the colour of old bruises. She uttered an unconvinced 'hmpf' and turned around to disappear behind her bar again. He thought that might be the end of it, but after no more than a few minutes, she stood at his table again and placed a steaming mug in front of him.

'There, that might be more to your taste. Don't ask me what's in it, it's a family recipe.'

He frowned at the mug. Some kind of tea, the smell sweet and fresh at the same time. Calming. He reached for the purse on his belt but the landlady just waved him off.

'It's on the house. No offence, but you look like you need it.'

And then she was gone again. Joshua reached for the mug, closing his bony fingers around the rough pottery. The warmth was seeping into his hands as if he was cradling one of his flames, soothing the cold ache. The flowery taste on his tongue was refreshing, much better than the sticky, bitter ale. As the warmth travelled down his throat and into his chest, he believed to feel how it made his overstrung body soften, uncurl. It was nothing more than a drop of water on a wildfire, but he still deflated with a content sigh at this tiny reprieve. He would make sure to leave the landlady some extra coins when paying for their room.

He still had half of the tea left when Jote returned. She slipped into the room quietly, her dark clothes allowing her to melt into the background as she made her way past the occupied tables. Her eyes observing the patrons, looking for anyone who might pose a risk before she sat down on the bench across from Joshua.

He gave her a faint smile as she studied his face, hoping to convince her that while he was not much better than when she had left him, he was not worse, either. Which was all they could hope for these days.
It did not seem to reassure her - it never did - but at least she did not ask him how he was feeling. Small victories.

'I bought supplies for the next week', she said quietly. 'The prices are going up due to the blight, but we should be able to make due until we stop in Tabor again to get new funds.'

He nodded. The Undying had several sources of income, not all of which he knew - or wanted to know - of. Every now and then, him and Jote were able to earn a little on the side during their travels as well, but the opportunities seemed to get rarer and more risky by the day.

'Did you hear anything interesting?', he asked her. He hated how much he could feel his heart beating in his throat, hopeful, desperate.

Anything. Give me anything at all.

'I'm afraid not. Nothing that could point us towards your brother.'

The itch in the back of his mind was growing worse. He dug his fingernails into the wood of the table.

'I see', he said stiffly.

'What about you?', Jote asked, casting a quick glance around the room. 'It seems if anyone would talk, it would be here.'

'Nothing.' His voice was hoarse.

They had come here because it seemed like a likely place for Clive to have come through on his way to Phoenix Gate. It was a desperate attempt, hoping to find the trail of a single traveller who might have been here more than two years ago. Especially since they could not very well ask around if someone had seen him, not if they did not want to put Clive in danger. He was a bearer, a deserter at that, and drawing attention towards him would be the last thing he would want. They had hoped that someone would remember him after a few subtle hints, maybe talk about him if they were deep enough in their cups - he was not an easy man to forget - but they'd had no luck so far.

There had to be something. Joshua could feel it in his bones, along with the ache, with the cold. He was looking for something, maybe Clive, maybe something else, but he was close.

Please, let him be close.

Jote sighed.

'The locals said that there is a trader from Oriflamme who made camp close by. I will try to find him, maybe he has heard something.'

He just nodded. Maybe.

The tea had grown cold, the hard clay knocking against the bones of his fingers uncomfortably as he picked up the mug. He scowled at it. The only pathetic little comfort he had found since... he was not sure. Too long. And he had wasted half of it.

He cast a glance around the room. Nobody was paying him any mind. Still, it was risky. His powers had been harder to control since Drake's Head; sometimes near impossible to wake, other times flaring wildly at the faintest call. But the thought of that delicious warmth sinking into his bones made it hard to concentrate on being careful.

He closed his hands around the mug, cradling it against his chest. His palms heated up, just a little until the tea was steaming again. Hoping that nobody had seen the golden glow of Phoenix fire between his fingers.

He could not bite back the relieved groan as the heat spread through his body in gentle waves at the first sip.

After he had emptied the mug, he abandoned his table and made his way towards the stairs in the back. The landlady gave him a smile from behind the bar as he passed her.

'Turning in already? How was the tea?'

'It was lovely, thank you.'

She nodded, satisfied.

'Come, let me show you to your room.'

'Do not trouble yourself, I remember the way.'

She snorted and rounded the bar, waving him along towards the stairs.

'It's no more trouble than chasing lost patrons out of the storeroom, believe me. Those doors all look the same.'

He did not think much of it, until she lead him straight into his and Jote's room and closed the door behind them. He stiffened in alarm as she took up position between him and the exit and put her hands on her hips.

'Now don't look so startled. I just want to have a quick talk.' She looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow. 'I know what you did down there. Quite a risk for a cup of tea, if you ask me.'

(kill her)

The thought was so sudden, so alien in his head that he stumbled over his own feet; the worry about the immediate danger he was in forgotten, as were all possible attempts at talking himself out of the situation. For a moment he felt petrified, until the thought was replaced with horror, revulsion.

Why... why would that be the first thing to cross his mind?

(she is in the way)

True; if she sent the constable, or worse, the imperials after him for being an unmarked bearer, it might set back his search by months - I cannot wait that long, it will drive me insane, please - but still. He would never kill except if absolutely necessary.

(oh but that is a lie, and you know it)

There was the taste of ash in his mouth, the scent of charred flesh. The crumbling, blackened walls of Phoenix Gate flashed before his eyes.

No. Not again. I won't. Never again.

(it is only a matter of time)

'No need to panic. I won't give you away, don't you worry.'

He tried to get his breathing under control as the landlady raised her hands placatingly, trying to calm him even though she had no idea that the sudden terror in his face was not caused by fear. Not fear of her.

'Maybe you should sit down.'

She reached for his shoulder and he flinched, afraid of that violent thought to come back, to force his hand to pull her in, to

(snap her neck like she would a chicken's, it is so easy)

He stumbled away from her, blindly feeling around for the edge of the bed behind him. He found it, and sunk down just in time before his legs could buckle under him.

She was staring at him with a frown crinkling her brow, keeping a careful distance for entirely the wrong reason. Then she pulled out one of the rickety chairs that were grouped around the small table in the corner and sat down facing him, her elbows resting on her knees.

'Bugger me - you really had a rough go of it, didn't you?', she mumbled.

He barked a laugh, bitter and humourless. She had no idea how right she was.

'Well, let me start over. My name is Martha.'

'I figured', he rasped. 'The name of the inn does give it away.'

Her lips twitched.

'What it doesn't give away is that I... help people. People like you.'

He forced himself to look up, to really look her in the eyes without thinking about what they would look like empty and broken.

Stop it.

'Is that so?'

She leaned forward, her voice lowered to little more than a whisper.

'Listen. You don't have a brand, but you don't exactly look like you have an easy life, either. If you ever need help, a safe place to stay, I know a man who can provide it.'

He had already opened his mouth to politely decline, anything to get her out of here, far away from him, when suddenly he hesitated.

If she had contacts...

Clive had a brand.

Clive was a deserter. He would need a safe place. People to trust.

Clive might have come through here.

'Who is this man?', he asked.

'His name is Cid. I can't tell you much more than that; our... business is risky enough as it is. But I can put you in contact with him.'

His heart was beating painfully fast.

Cid.

Cidolfus Telamon.

There was no guarantee that it was the same man, but... he had been with Clive at Drake's Head, that much the Undying had been able to find out. But he had died.

He licked his lips, his pulse roaring in his ears. His fingers trembling.

A drunkard smelling the scent of alcohol, so close, so close, salvation, finally, please...

'Was there a man here', he croaked, 'a long time ago - a bearer, black hair, blue eyes, carrying a big sword on his back? Accompanied by a wolf and a woman with silver hair?'

Surely there was no harm in asking her, surely if she was sympathetic towards bearers she meant no danger to Clive. It did not matter one way or another, because he had to ask, he had to know, he had to...

She narrowed her eyes at him.

'Well, look at that', she said. 'It seems you don't need introducing after all.'

(we found him)

The relief washed over him like a tidal wave. He felt it pulsing in his torn chest, a sensation travelling through his entire body, warm, warm, a soothing numbness spreading behind his ribs. Not wiping away the pain, but dulling its teeth, allowing him to breathe deeply for the first time in years. Sweet, sweet air.

(you did well)

He almost sobbed at the feeling. The presence deep within him seemed to purr with contentment, and he would give anything to hold on to this moment. This one moment in which both his body and his mind were finally, blessedly quiet.

Peace.

The feeling faded, slowly trickling away like sand through his fingers, and he wanted to scream. He reached for his chest, wildly digging his fingernails into his skin as if he could catch the warmth, force it to stay.

There was an alarmed voice next to his ear, someone trying to pull away his hands, but he barely noticed it. He just curled up around the slowly fading warmth, the pain that started to push back in, cold, cold, cold, and wept.

Anything.

He would do anything to get it back, that feeling of peace.

Just one moment, one more second.

Please.

Anything at all.

 

 

 

Ah.

Is this not so much better?

 

 

 

Chapter 2

Notes:

CW: Suicidal thoughts

Thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter, happy to spread the misery :)

Year of the Realm 878
Five years after the fall of Drake's Head


The white tents rose over the lush green fields like a city made from cloth, pristine and almost arrogant in their perfection. The proud banners bearing the crest of the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon cracked like whips in the sharp wind that chased the clouds across the brilliant blue sky.

From his position on the hill, Joshua had a perfect view of the camp; of the knights in mythril armour patrolling the well-tread dirt paths, the handful of civilians - merchants, attendants, stablehands - hurrying to and fro with their heads lowered in deference. The latter were all carefully avoiding the far corner of the camp, the one farthest removed from the chocobo pens. It was there that the knights kept their beloved beasts of war; wyverns, dragonets, and even a fully grown dragon as far as Joshua could discern. There was something about the massive winged shape that plucked at his mind and made his eyes linger. Something far away, almost forgotten.

'Is it true that they get as big as houses?'

'Not quite as big. But once I pet one with teeth as long as my arm!'

'You can pet them? Will they not bite you?'

'Not me. They know that I am a dragon as well, I think.'

'Will you show them to me? When I come visit?'

Joshua chased the memories away like flies buzzing around his head.

The camp and its inhabitants were of little importance. His target was the command tent at the center, easily distinguishable from the rest by virtue of its size and height, and the veritable swarm of banners flying overhead.

Getting inside the camp itself should not be too difficult, considering the colourful array of people at work on the outskirts. Getting close to the command tent however would require the help of one of the sentries that were posted all around the perimeter.

The one closest to Joshua seemed bored, pacing up and down at his post. The path he was guarding passed a group of trees and shrubbery, shadows hanging between the low branches like dirty rags. They were an effective shield against curious eyes that might stray his way from the direction of the camp.

Perfect.

'Your Grace.'

There was a hand on his arm, and if Jote had not spoken first, he might have incinerated it on instinct alone. His skin felt too thin these days, too tight. Every touch invasive, bordering on painful. He ground his teeth and removed his arm from her grasp inconspicuously.

'We agreed', Jote said, voice insistent. Imploring. Her hand was still hovering near his arm as if she fought the urge to grab him, hold him back.

He gave her a faint smile.

'No casualties', he confirmed. 'I know.'

He had not slipped up even once in the almost three years since Dhalmekia. Not in any significant way, at least.

None of them are significant.

But to Jote, the blood of that day - granted, it had been an impressive amount of blood - was still wet. And she still seemed all too worried that he would slaughter his way through the camp to get to his prize, as if he had not needed her support this very morning to so much as leave his bedroll.

As if we need a sword to get what we want.

He straightened up, but Jote was still looking at him with her worried eyes.

'Your Grace...'

She composed herself, squared her shoulders. She was almost a full head shorter than him, but something made him take a step back, even though the voice in the back of his head growled at the offence.

'You intend to use his power.'

She disapproved, it was clearly written on her face.
Joshua felt himself stiffen, but he took great care to keep his voice soft. That soft, gentle tone which he knew would make her give him anything he wanted.

'And what else would you have me do?'

He put a hand on his chest, on the cold, pulsing pain. The wound had grown these last years, the skin around it hot to the touch from both inflammation and the Phoenix fire that desperately tried to contain the festering darkness inside it. Raw from his own fingernails raking over it when at night he longed for a pain that was under his control, that would stop tearing into him when he commanded it to.

'My body is breaking down. You know that. But our enemy only ever grows stronger, and I need all the power I have at my disposal to fight him. Even if it is his own.'

'But -'

'I have it under control.'

He softened his smile and stepped closer until he could feel her warmth on his skin. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips brushing her cheek. The touch felt like ants burrowing under his skin and he fought the urge to wipe his hand on his clothes.

'Jote.'

The right tone of voice. Her being lay before him, the bonds weaving her inner self as easily distinguishable as the strings on a tapestry. He just had to pluck the right ones.

Such simple creatures.

'You have my trust. Will you not give me yours in return?'

She melted in his grasp, as she did every time. He could never quite extinguish that doubt, that worry; but he could smother it, silence it for long enough to keep her out of the way.

We should kill her.

The thought was not unfamiliar, but something in him bristled whenever it crossed his mind.

No. He could not go on without her. Sometimes it was hard to remember why, but... he needed her.

Still holding on to those bonds? Very well. We will sever them soon enough.

A shiver ran down his spine but he pushed the feeling aside.

'Stay here. I will secure us a way in.'

Jote opened her mouth as if to protest, but then she deflated; she knew a futile battle when she encountered one. Without looking back, Joshua left her behind and made his way down the hill, towards the bored sentry.

He felt Jote's eyes on his back. She longed to run after him, he could feel it. Could see the frayed threads of her consciousness reaching out towards him.

Too late.

Once, maybe.

Once, he had wanted her to. If she had, back then, maybe things would have been very, very different.

********

Three years earlier

He did not notice Jote entering the room in a panic, presumably after Martha had told her about him breaking down. He was distantly aware of her taking his hands, talking to him as he lay curled up on the bed, his eyes far away. It was of no importance. Nothing was important, because the pain was back and it was unbearable, inescapable, please just make it stop, I cannot do this anymore...

It was not worse than it had been before, the opposite even - the pain seemed slightly dulled, not quite as vicious anymore as it chewed through his insides tirelessly.

It was still living hell compared to that sweet moment of peace he had been granted after finding his first lead on Clive after months of searching. He almost wished he had never known that peace, for how could he bear the pain now that he had tasted even a single breath of air without it?

I cannot do this anymore.

Jote was dabbing at his chest with a cloth. It seemed like a strange thing to do, until he remembered scratching his skin bloody in desperation. He did not feel the wounds. He did not feel anything, except that ache in his bones, slowly consuming him. The pulsing ball of flames in his chest, the light that was no light slowly seeping out, poisoning him. Not just through the cracks in the door, not anymore - the door was ajar now, just a little, just enough to push the tips of his fingers inside if he had wanted to.

He did not want to.

He just wanted it to end.

I cannot do this anymore.

'Your Grace...'

Jote's voice was strangled. He had not noticed that he had said the words aloud.

'Please', he whispered.

For a moment it almost seemed like she would reach out to pull him into her arms. He hoped that she would. Suddenly, he could not think of anything he wanted more. To be touched. To be held.

When was the last time someone had hugged him?
His twentieth nameday, yes, in a town he had forgotten the name of. He had told Jote some flimsy excuse about a supply run and then he had taken his purse to the whorehouse instead of the market, hungry for something he could not quite name. But as soon as the girl whose face he could not remember had touched him - bold and unreserved and so human - he had been too busy fighting the tears. The sudden, desperate craving for the comfort of a simple touch, a touch that was not driven by necessity or tempered by reverence. She had complied; had held him, stroked his hair and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. Skin hunger, she had called it. Then she had given him back half of his coin and sent him off with a smile, and he had never felt so pathetic in his life.

Or so loved.

He hoped Jote would hold him as well, now. Hoped she would, for just one moment, push aside the golden bars the Undying had erected between him and them, the only kin he had known since he had been ten years old. That she would remind him that he was human, that he was real. Not just a vessel for whatever force would claim him next until his skin ripped apart and his bones cracked under the pressure. Just one pleasant sensation in the maelstrom that was tearing him under, one happy thought he could hold on to.

Please.

Just once.

Maybe it would drive away the cold, even if the pain remained. It would be enough.

'... I will fetch you some water, Your Grace.'

And then she was gone, and he was alone; alone with nothing tethering him to the here and now, alone with the pain and the cold and the sickly, purple light.

 

The pain would not let him sleep, but he let his mind drift in the darkness and it granted him at least a small reprieve from the confines of his weary body. It was night when he was pulled back to consciousness by the grating sound of a whetstone being run over a steel blade, again and again and again.

He opened his crusted eyelids and saw Clive sitting on the same chair Martha had occupied earlier. He was sharpening the sword in his hand, not the greatsword Joshua had last seen him with, but a short, slim blade.

The Burning Thorn. The same sword their father had given to Joshua on his tenth nameday. Back then, it had felt very big in his tiny hand. In Clive's armoured fist, it looked as small and fragile as a toothpick.

Again and again and again the whetstone licked over the metal, the sound in tune with the pulsing pain.

'You are not a very good brother, are you', Clive said.

Joshua stared at him with empty eyes.

'If you had not lost control that night, I would not have awoken. We would still have a father, a country.'

Clive raised his head, the brand on his cheek weeping tears of black that were dripping down his neck like tar.

'And I would not have this mark on my face.'

'I'm sorry', Joshua whispered. His voice was swallowed by the wailing sound of the whetstone.

Again and again and again.

'If you had not gotten yourself captured by Garuda', Clive continued in a casual voice, 'I would not have come looking for you. And maybe Ultima would never have found me.'

He checked the sharpness of the blade with his thumb.

'And even when you came to save me at Drake's Head, you were too late. Ultima had almost taken me. Had killed someone dear to me. So when you think about it -' He rested the sword across his lap, his piercing bright eyes catching Joshua's clouded ones for the first time, '- that bit of pain you are experiencing is nothing compared to the suffering you have caused.'

I know, Joshua wanted to say, but his voice would not obey his will.

Clive slowly leaned his head to the side, watching his brother intently.

'But I promised I would look out for you. So...'

He held out the sword.

'Take this, and stab it through your heart. It's easy. Just a little more pain, and then you are free.'

Joshua's breath hitched. The cold steel glinted in the moonlight. Wicked. Dangerous.

Enticing.

He reached for it, movements sluggish like in a dream; but it was too far away, his aching body not permitting him to stretch any further.

He wanted to scream his frustration into the night; but then he caught Clive's eyes watching him, like a hawk does a mouse, and recoiled. This was wrong. His father had given him that sword to protect himself. Clive should know that. Know that Joshua could never bear raising this sword against himself, any other, but not this one. That he could never bear seeing his brother look like that, so cold and cruel, even if it was what he deserved. Clive deserved more. Joshua wanted him, soft and gentle and caring, not this, never this.

Even if it could free you from the pain?

He hesitated. The steel was glinting, almost, almost close enough to touch.

It's easy.

Terribly easy.

You have nothing else left.

Jote had turned away, and he had been alone with the pain.

All alone.

He let his hand sink down on the mattress again.

Clive's smile was mocking.

'Or...', he said, laying a finger on his chin in thought. His movements were exaggerated, staged, like back when he had put on his favourite plays in their childhood chambers. Saying his lines with far too much pathos, causing Joshua to end up rolling on the floor every time, giggling uncontrollably.

'...or you get out of that bed, and make yourself useful. There is much to do.'

'I don't know if I can', Joshua whispered.

Clive rose from the chair and crouched down next to the bed, until his face was level with Joshua's. Just like he had done when they had been children.

'I know', he said, and this time his words were soft. His eyes sad and gentle, full of compassion. Joshua drank it in like a man dying of thirst.

'But every man has his duty. Ours was decided long ago, before the dawn of humanity. It is your duty to bear this burden.'

Joshua's lips seemed to move on their own; the words familiar, rehearsed and recounted in his head over and over agai

'What about you?'

Clive reached out and his fingers stroked Joshua's hair; the touch not quite real but it was almost as good. A simple touch. He had craved it so much. It brought with it an echo of that blessed peace, that warmth.

'I will always be there for you, no matter how hard it gets.'

Jote had turned away, and the fingers were warm, warm in his hair.

Joshua wept silently; he felt the tears sliding down his cheeks, felt those not-quite-real fingers wipe them away.

'You said it yourself', Clive's voice murmured close to his ear; gentle, so gentle. 'You would do anything.'

'Yes', Joshua breathed. 'Anything.'

He saw his brother's smile, and it was wrapping him up like a warm blanket. Soothing his aches, caressing his strained mind.

Happiness.

Was this what it felt like? He could not remember.

'Good', Clive said, and had his eyes always been so pale, the vibrant blue being swallowed up by flat, lifeless silver? Or maybe that was just the reflection of the moon...

'After all, we have so very much to do.'

********

The sentry had stopped pacing and was now leaning on his lance as if he was close to falling asleep where he stood.

A tin soldier, so terribly unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

Disposable.

But Joshua had an agreement, and a body this close to an army camp was far too risky. Especially since antagonizing the camp's commander would render this entire affair moot.

The man was a patch in the endlessly intricate fabric of the world, rough and undefined. A chaotic collection of memories and hopes and fears, haphazardly stitched together with nothing but the sheer will to survive, to thrive - to dominate, to prevail.

This time Joshua did not stop at plucking a few strings; he reached into the mass of threads that was the man's being, rooting around until he found what he was searching for.

The eyes beneath the helmet grew hazy. When Joshua reached him, he was already trapped; like a fly in a spiderweb. Only that the web was of his own making, the human mind all too eager to get lost in itself with nothing more than a little nudge to help it along the way.

Everyone had something buried deep within them that called to them, that made them despair.

For the dragoon, it was a boy; thin, maybe twelve years old. Joshua could see him through the man's eyes as he approached him, his soft hazel hair, eyes a muddy green. The side of his head was caved in, his clothes soiled with blood and dirt.

'You did not save me.'

A village near the front lines. The dragoon had shown the awestruck boy how to hold a sword. Laughter and the smell of fresh bread, a pale morning sun. A small comfort while the waloeder army had gathered on the horizon like storm clouds. He had seen the boy again, after. Those muddy green eyes, wide with fear and pain. The agony frozen in time, like the boy himself.

'You told me that everything would be alright. And then you left me to die.'

The dragoon swayed on his feet. Joshua could not see his eyes under the helmet, but he knew that they were full of anguish. The mind too far entangled in itself to question what the eyes were seeing.

A hand rising as if to grab the boy's shoulder, the fingers only grazing the threadbare fabric of his shirt. Joshua shuddered at the touch. Never quite sure whether he was part of the illusion or merely a spectator

Trapped, trapped within, just another fly in the web, just like them

He forced the thought down.

The touch was unsettling, but he endured it. Let the vision linger a little longer, just until the dragoon's thoughts were frayed enough for him not to question whatever he would see or do next, as long as it brought him relief from the waking nightmare.

'Take us into the camp', Joshua instructed im quietly. 'We have business with His Highness.'

The dragoon raised a shaking hand as if to wipe over his eyes, the motion stopped by the metal of his helmet.

'Yes', he said in a rough voice.

Joshua gave Jote a sign to join him, and let go of the power in his veins. He did so reluctantly - letting it flow through him numbed the pain in his chest, made him feel more steady on his feet, more in control. His body a sharp tool instead of the frail, confining vessel it had grown to be.

He gritted his teeth as the pain came flooding back, the weakness.

It got harder every time he did it. The allure of smashing the cage inside his chest and letting the power within set his body alight tasting sweeter every day.

Jote reached him just in time to support him as he stumbled before hunching over and coughing up a mouthful of blood. He spat it out and waved off her helping hands, then gestured for the dragoon to take them into the camp. Jote bit back any words she might have wanted to say and settled for hovering by his side as they walked, ready to catch him should his legs refuse to carry him any longer.

Thankfully he made it all the way through the camp without such assistance. There were some curious looks following them, but their guide lead them down the dirt paths swiftly and determinedly, preventing anyone from questioning their presence.

Joshua waved him off as soon as they stood before the command tent. There was a guard stationed in front of it, and he perked up as they approached; his hand closing around the hilt of his sword. He opened his mouth to say something but Joshua was tired; his body felt like a tattered piece of clothing that was too small, too restricting, pressing down on him from all sides. He just wanted to get this over with. So he pulled on the power in his chest again - just a little, a little could not hurt, he was so damn tired - and slammed a hand against the man's chest, sending him flying through the entrance of the tent. He felt Jote stiffen next to him but he payed her no mind. He composed himself - prim and proper and in control, as he should be. Shoulders back and head high, no matter how much it pulled at the wound hidden beneath his shirt. Then he stepped into the tent.

Joshua had not seen Dion since they both had been eight years old; however, the Prince had not changed much in all these years. The same regal features, the same straight posture. The same amber eyes, their colour too soft to quite fit his stern face - unless he smiled, a soft smile under a canopy of trees, will you show them to me when I come visit?

He was not smiling now. He stared at the intruders warily, his hand at his side sizzling with the aether gathering in his palm. The arm above it was wrapped in bandages. Joshua wondered whether they were concealing a battle wound, or the curse eating its way through the Prince's flesh. He hoped for the former.

It does not matter. He is a tool, like everyone else.

Joshua gave a hint of a bow, just enough to be polite. Not enough to aggravate the wound in his chest and make the constant ache turn into a rusty knife to his heart.

'Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness.'

Once, they had called each other friends - long, long ago. He wondered whether Dion remembered.

It seemed that he might, considering that he did not form the aether in his hand into a spell nor reach for a weapon.

The amber eyes narrowed, boring into Joshua's face as if they sought to look past his skin and into his soul, searching for... something. A short, breathless moment as recognition sparked.

'I know you.'

********

The tent was very quiet after Joshua had stopped speaking. He had never told anyone the story of what had befallen him since Phoenix Gate and doing so felt inexplicably... good. Even if he had not told everything by far.

'That is quite a tale, Phoenix', Dion finally said. 'If another had told it, I might have thought it a fairytale. But I do not believe you came back from the grave just to mock me.'

It is more than that, Joshua thought. You want it to be true. You want to believe that a power other than your father is responsible for what has become of your homeland.

'I would not have come to you if I was not convinced that what I told you is true.'

Dion nodded. His eyes were lost in deep thought. They were sitting at the table that dominated the front of the tent, several maps depicting the Isles of Ark between them. The single white wyverntail still lay in the middle of the table where Joshua had placed it earlier.

He had felt the Prince's anguish clinging to the bloom like drops of dew when he had held it in his hand. The anguish of a good man whose own noble heart had trapped him in service to a cruel master. The elegantly curved petals were a beautiful collar - but a collar they were nonetheless.

'How did you survive?'

The question was soft, and it caught Joshua off guard.

I did not, he thought. I am a ghost haunting my own corpse. And the only time I feel alive is when using the very same wretched power I am seeking to destroy.

But Dion was looking at him with those eyes the colour of molten amber, looking at him like a miracle come to life. So he forced himself to smile instead.

'I had loyal... friends who recovered me from Phoenix Gate and nursed me back to health.' He shot a glance at Jote who was lingering in the corner. 'Without them, I would not be here today.'

'I mourned you.'

Joshua swallowed. There was something deep in his heart that seemed to crack at the quiet confession. He did not know why he felt so choked up all of a sudden

It does not matter, none of them matter

but for once, he did not quite believe the insistent voice in the back of his head.

'Thank you.'

It was all he could think to say. It sounded wrong to his ears, but Dion accepted it with just as much grace as he had shown Joshua since he had set foot into the tent. The Prince took a deep breath and straightened in his chair, jaw set.

'I have urgent business with the Emperor, now even more so after hearing what you had to tell', he said. 'I am sure there is more to talk about, but first I must see with my own eyes what may or may not have become of my father.'

Joshua inclined his head.

'Of course, Your Highness. If I may - I would accompany you to Twinside. As you said, there is more to talk about. And our foe is one best not faced alone.'

'I would be grateful for your company.'

There was that warm, content feeling in Joshua's chest. Yes. He did not know the Why just yet, but Twinside was where he was supposed to be. With Dion.

For just a moment, all was right in the world.

'Then I see no reson to wait.'

'Your Grace, if I may?'

Joshua stiffened in his chair, but he nodded for Jote to continue. She took a step towards the table, her words adressing Joshua but her eyes settling on Dion.

'Our mounts and supplies are not far from here. If you would delay your departure until I have brought them here - they would serve us well and it would allow you to rest at least for an hour or two, Your Grace. Our journey here was long.'

Joshua's fingers dug into the armrest of his chair.

No!

He had to go now. His weary body was of no consequence, nothing was until he reached Twinside. Jote stared him down, her expression both stubborn and pleading.

An image flashed in his mind, of him driving his sword through her shoulder and pinning her to one of the wooden supports of the tent like a butterfly. Blood soaking the dark fabric of her coat as she struggled Do not interfere.

He clawed at the wood of the armrest and hoped that neither Dion nor Jote would see how ill he suddenly felt.

Dion's eyes jumped from Jote to Joshua, a faint frown on his brow.

'Forgive me', he said. 'You must think me a terribly rude host. I was indeed about to leave for the palace straight away when you arrived, but... as much as I wish to put this unfortunate affair behind me as soon as I am able, I admit that it is unlikely for anything to be lost if we delay for but a few hours. It would be far more harmful to our cause if you were to succumb to fatigue before we even arrived.'

The turmoil in Joshua's chest calmed to a nebulous, uneasy feeling.

He trusts. He cares. Wet clay in our hands, ready to be moulded.

No, that was not... it was not about...

Dion rose from his chair.

'Rest, Phoenix. We will ride to the palace first thing in the morning.'

His eyes were soft. Open. Human.

It felt... warm, but not just because the voice in Joshua's mind was satisfied. No, there was something else... there was a point to it all, if only he could remember...

Friends. They had been friends, once.

Two children sitting under a canopy of trees, the gardens feeling as wide and wild and untouchable to them as the deepest woods. They had talked for hours. They had laughed, together.

A memory, innocent and untouched by guilt, by fear, by pain. Such a rare and precious thing.

'I have a request, once I have rested to my attendant's satisfaction', Joshua said in a voice that sounded too rough, too strangled. Quickly, he had to say it quickly, before he forgot again.

A lifeline.

'Speak, and if it is within my power I shall grant it.'

There was something he wanted, something...

For once, just this one moment, he wanted to be saved. He wanted it desperately.

'...Would you show me the dragons, Your Highness?'

Dion seemed confused for but a heartbeat. Then his eyes widened by a fraction, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

'Of course, Phoenix.'

 

The dragoon that had been with Dion showed Joshua to a tent close by. Terence. Joshua had plucked the name from Dion's mind as they had talked - he had not meant to pry, but the two men's bond was strong enough to permeate the air between them, noticable even without looking for it. Trust, friendship, love. The faintest twinge of bitterness - 'My Prince'. He both hates and loves it when you call him that. He wishes you would use his name when it is just the two of you.

They reached the tent and Terence excused himself with a bow. Then, Joshua was alone.

The light seeped through the fabric of the walls along with the noise of the camp, muted and soft around the edges. Joshua closed the flaps and as soon as he was out of sight of prying eyes, he felt how the strength drained from his muscles. In a way it was a relief, to no longer have to hide it; his shoulders slumped as he hunched over, his spine refusing to keep him upright any longer. He pressed a hand against his chest, against the pulsing pain, and staggered towards the bed. Cold. He was cold, his skin raw from hands touching him, from too many people staring, staring, wearing his body down with their intrusive gazes, their thoughts clinging to him with vicious little claws.

He let himself sink down on the thin mattress and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning.

When he opened them again, Clive was sitting next to him on the bed. He put a hand on Joshua's arm. Warm. Not painful, or irritating, just... warm.

'You are not real', Joshua rasped, as he always did. Though he was not quite sure whether he needed to remind Clive of the fact, or himself.

'Does it matter?', Clive asked. As he always did.

They both knew the answer.

No.

No, it did not matter.

'You know that if you had told him everything, he would not have taken a second look at you before throwing you in a cell.'

Clive's breath was warm too, warm against Joshua's ear as he leaned in.

'Or he would have executed you right where you stood', he whispered. 'He would not have been able to stand your presence, your knight in shining armour.'

Joshua pressed his lips into a thin line.

'I know.'

Clive's eyes were flat, lifeless silver. Cold. Dion's eyes had been warm.

The grip on Joshua's arm tightened.

'I will always be there for you', Clive's voice whispered in his ear.

'Yes', Joshua said.

I know.

 

 

 

Notes:

Enter emotional support wyrm. Joshua will need it...

Chapter 3

Notes:

CW: the usual

I was so intrigued by last chapter's comments because each was interpreting what was happening just a little differently. Very very curious about your thoughts as the story goes on!

It was early in the morning when Joshua heard the camp come to life around him. The light shining through the fabric of the tent was still pale, the air crisp.

He slowly uncurled his stiff body, carefully testing his range of movement. Some days were worse - some days, he could not get out of bed on his own, every fibre of his being screaming at the slightest strain. Today, it was... fine. His chest a pulsing mass of dull pain, his muscles tight and aching. No worse than any other day.

He heaved himself upright with awkward motions. Glad that for once, Jote was not hovering over him; that he did not have to try and hide how weak his body was. It gnawed at him - the inquisitive looks, the helping hands, offered far too quickly. The knowledge that he needed them more often that not.

This morning his own hands would have to suffice. And what a relief it was to snarl and hiss and grind his teeth as he forced his body into an upright position instead of bearing it all with a straight face, always mindful of who was watching.

It only made the frustration taste that much more bitter in his throat when he heard a knock on one of the wooden beams supporting the tent. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and filled his sore lungs with a deep breath.

'Enter', he called, his voice rough.

He straightened up, trying to compose himself; but in that moment pain flashed in his chest like a bolt of lightning, making him double over and clutch at the front of his shirt.

Hands caught him, steadied him as he staggered on unsteady feet. He hated how welcome they were.

Weak.

The pain vanished as quickly as it had come. Joshua breathed through the aftershocks, steeling himself to fight off Jote and her fussing. But when he looked up, it were not Jote's eyes he met, but Dion's.

The Prince had a worried frown on his face, but when Joshua straightened up he quickly let go of his arm and stepped back.

'Apologies', he said. 'I hope I did not overstep.'

Joshua swallowed down his weariness and allowed his lips to stretch into a faint smile.

'I suppose I am in no position to complain, considering my lack of decorum just yesterday.'

The Prince did not smile back. His eyes were drawn downwards and suddenly Joshua was all too aware that his shirt was still in disarray from him sleeping in it and his scarf was missing, baring the dark pulsing crystal on his chest to the cool morning air. He smoothed out the shirt as best he could and sharply turned around to gather the scarf from where he had thrown it aside the night before.

'Does it always pain you like this?'

Joshua was slinging the scarf around his neck as the question made him freeze. Dion cleared his throat awkwardly.

'Forgive me. It is not my place to ask.'

Joshua finished draping the fabric over his shoulders, his chest safely hidden from view once more. He turned back around slowly.

'You must think me quite foolish', he said quietly. 'To do something like this to myself willingly.'

Dion blinked in surprise.

'Not at all', he said. 'I believe you are remarkably strong. And that your brother is very fortunate to have you watch over him.'

I will always be there for you, Clive's voice whispered in Joshua's ear. He clenched his teeth.

Dion's words were calm and honest and Joshua wanted to believe them - even though he knew that Dion was not seeing him for who he really was, how could he. But hearing it was a balm on his strained soul, a small spark of warmth.

Tell me that I did the right thing.

Tell me I am still a good person no matter it does not matter none of them matter pathetic little creatures worthless worthless worthless -

The sudden thoughts were grating against the inside of his skull, like nails on a chalkboard. He pressed a trembling hand against his lips, suddenly afraid that the words might spill out between them, out of control.

'What are you doing here?', he asked instead, the words harsher than he had intended.

'Ah, yes.'

Dion was watching him, a slight crease on his brow. Amber eyes too perceptive, too open, too human and Joshua wanted to claw them out of Dion's perfect fucking face just so they would stop looking at him, looking as if he were something worthwhile, something more than this wretched thing that should never be allowed to bask in the great dragon's divine light.

'Your attendant is readying your steeds for our departure', Dion said. 'Terence is doing the same. I thought that while we still have the time, I might make use of it and fulfill my promise to you.'

For a moment Joshua was utterly confused, the contrast between the poisonous thoughts swirling in his mind and Dion's calm voice too jarring to remember any kind of promise. Then it came back to him.

'The dragons. Right.'

'Only if you are amenable, of course.'

Pointless sentimentality. A waste of time.

But Dion seemed hopeful, and Joshua had to

earn his trust

No, he did not... he wanted to...

make him ours, our tool

That was not...

He...

He could not bear to disappoint him.

Was that right? It... felt right.

The voice in the back of his head snarled and squirmed - and fell silent. Its sudden absence was almost dizzying.

Joshua took a deep breath. His skin felt wrong, as if his mind did not quite fit the form of his flesh. He opened his mouth and was glad that his voice did not tremble.

'Lead on, Your Highness.'

Dion smiled at him and Joshua did not know whether he felt like screaming or laughing hysterically. Something was... different, and it was tearing him up inside. A part of his mind urging him to push his fingers into the cracks and start pulling, to see what was on the other side.

It did not make sense.

He followed the Prince out of the tent and into the sunlight, the lively bustle of the camp.

Nothing made sense.

********

The miles melted away under the chocobos' swaying gait. Each step a jolt of agony in Joshua's chest, but for once, he did not pay it much mind.

His fingers were still tingling with the memory of smooth scale against his skin; the childish awe he had felt as the dragon, its shoulders easily thrice Joshua's height, had lowered its head and ruffled his hair with a gust of hot breath.

Joshua had gently petted the tiny scales coverig its muzzle, his thoughts almost unsettlingly quiet. Smothered by the dragon's overwhelming presence, the memory of trees rustling in the wind, of bright children's laughter. A promise, easily spoken, whimsical; and more binding than any chain.

Dion had teased the beast like a playful puppy, entirely unfazed by the gigantic teeth mere inches from his face. Joshua had watched with fascination until Dion had caught his gaze and laughed.

'He knows that I can be bigger than him if I wish to', he had said. 'And he is a gentle soul, even though he would never admit to it.'

Such a strange thing. Bahamut was one of the most powerful beings in creation, even among the Eikons. It seemed unfathomable that he would use this power to envoke loyalty instead of fear, affection instead of reverence. It filled Joshua with a profound kind of confusion, and at the same time... he felt like once, he would have understood it perfectly. It was like grasping at mist, something just outside his perception. Every time he was about to get a hold of it he was thwarted by a sick churning in his chest, the feeling of wrong wrong wrong until it made his head hurt. A mystery, an itch he could not scratch no matter how hard he tried.

And at the centre of it all...

Dion.

He was riding ahead of Joshua, no longer smiling but tense and grim, his eyes firmly set on the road ahead. Every now and then, his gaze wandered towards the dragoon riding at his side. Terence returned the gaze every time, a silent understanding beneath the formal posturing, and the line of Dion's shoulders softened by a fraction.

Such a strange thing.

Jote was riding close to Joshua, just one step behind. He felt her eyes on the back of his neck, a constant presence that made his skin prickle. Once, they had shared that same wordless bond, that same trust... had they? He could barely remember.

It does not matter.

Dion seemed to shake off some of the tension that sat between his shoulderblades and turned around.

'Phoenix!', he called.

The Eikon in Joshua's chest preened at the sound of his name. His presence was stronger than it had been these past years, with the fiery cage sapping too much of his strength. But the Phoenix and Bahamut had always been fond of each other, as far as any of their vast memories reached back. Fire and Light, Healing and Hope, Compassion and Righteousness. Joshua wondered what they might think of him now; but if either of the Eikons disapproved of his choices, they did not make it known to him.

He spurred on his chocobo to catch up with the Prince.

'Yes, Your Highness?'

'We still have a few hours of travel ahead of us and I fear there will be little time for idle conversation once we arrive. Would you regale me with tales from your travels? I admit that I am most curious about the world beyond the borders of the Empire.'

The voice in Joshua's mind was mercifully quiet, content with their steady advance towards Twinside. Muffled by the memory of smooth scales against his fingertips, of trees rustling in the wind.

'Of course. What do you wish to know?'

Dion regarded him thoughtfully for a while, then he shook his head with a quiet snort.

'I am not entirely certain. It is strange to think that I have spent so little time at home these past years and yet have seen just as little of the world. By the time I reach new lands they have usually long been devastated by war.'

And it pained him that it was so, Joshua could feel it. The Prince took no pride in his victories, his glory.

Power beyond imagination, and you would still think yourself a servant to even the lowest beggar. Shackling yourself to these insignificant creatures even though you could be their god.

'There are yet places untouched by both the war and the blight', Joshua said. The words came out of his mouth without thinking, as if someone else had said them (or maybe as if they had been truly and entirely his own) 'And they will survive, to see more fortunate times.'

Dion's smile was faint.

'You will have to show me', he said. 'In more fortunate times.'

There was an image flashing in Joshua's mind, like a memory, or maybe a vision. A world wrapped in twilight, the sky choked by heavy purple. Empty houses and empty streets, the silence of a graveyard.

More fortunate times.

'Tell me of these places', Dion said, his voice pulling Joshua's attention away from the image before he could make up his mind whether he found it haunting or... peaceful. 'Tell me of the people there.'

Joshua hesitated.

'I'm afraid I am not very good at telling stories', he said slowly.

I am not sure I remember how to speak of these people without contempt. Without disgust.

Dion would not want to hear either. Not when the tangles of his mind were so interwoven with everything and everyone around him, his wings ever casting their protective shadow over those he deemed his own. Joshua traced the intricate bonds, so fierce and strong, and he felt... loss. Gnawing and empty.

'I find that hard to believe', Dion said. 'I remember that as a child, you were quite an avid storyteller.'

'If I recall correctly, they were mostly tales of my brother's heroic deeds. I could not think of anything more exciting at the time.'

'That and enraged speeches about the inherent malignance of vegetables.'

Joshua raised his eyebrows.

'Really? I don't remember that.'

'Oh yes.' Dion chuckled. 'And truly impressive speeches at that. Once I was back home, my nursemaid had to spend an entire fortnight convincing me to eat carrots again. I think she still resents you for that.'

Joshua laughed. The sound scratched in his throat, pulled at the wound in his chest, rough and unfamiliar. It felt like something was shaking loose; like stretching a muscle that had been curled too tight for too long - painful but so, so freeing.

Then he remembered that they were not alone. He glanced over his shoulder to see Jote staring at him with an unreadable expression and the weight of her eyes on him slammed him back into his body - into the pain, the cold, the leaden weariness of his bones - with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs. He grasped at the memory of the levity he had felt just a moment ago, but it was already dissipating in the air like smoke; until he was left alone, alone in his body that suddenly felt much too tender and brittle to withstand the gentle sway of the chocobo's back under him.

Dion was watching him with a frown. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Then he turned to Terence who had fallen a few steps behind.

'The birds need a rest if we are to continue at this pace until Twinside. See if you can find us a spot to feed and water them.'

They could have easily continued riding for another hour or two. Joshua felt the familiar irritation return, the urge to press on, he had to reach Twinside, he had to.

But Dion's face was smooth and even, bare of the pity Joshua had expected to see, and it soothed the squirming in his chest at least a little bit.

He clenched his teeth and swallowed any protest stuck in his throat. All the while, he felt Jote's gaze burning on his skin.

 

They dismounted in a clearing next to a small stream gurgling along in the shade of the trees. As soon as his feet had hit the ground, sending a painful jolt through his stiff body, Joshua led his chocobo along the stream away from the group. He needed some quiet, some space to think.

He ducked past some branches and then he was stepping out of the shade of the trees, finding himself on top of a hill overlooking the countryside. The air felt lighter here, the soft breeze soothing on his skin.

He just needed a moment. To ground himself, to inhale the aura of peace that lay over the land in front of him. Just a moment.

There were footsteps behind him and he tensed. Jote's eyes were boring into his back.

He took a deep breath and forced his hand to relax around the chocobo's reins.

'What is it?', he asked, his voice as calm as he could make it. He could still hear the tension in his words, like a bowstring ready to snap.

Jote hesitated.

'If I may ask... what are your intentions with the Prince?'

Joshua did not turn around. He kept his eyes on the green meadows stretching all the way to the horizon, the clouds drifting across the sky. Calm. Peaceful. He forced down the ugly swirling thoughts fighting to rise to the surface and tried to think of nothing else but the clouds.

'I need him as an ally if I am to prevail against Ultima. You know this.'

'Yes, Your Grace.'

She sounded doubtful. Joshua waited, counting his breaths, watching the clouds pass by. Holding on to that peace with a white-knuckled grip.

'I merely wondered why you would not seek out your brother instead.'

His grip slipped. He felt a cold smile tug at his lips, sharp and uncomfortable.

'Come now', he said, and his voice did not quite sound like his voice. 'You do not want me to find Clive. If you did, you would not have tried to hide from me that we crossed paths in Dalimil.'

Jote went very quiet behind his back. He could imagine her staring at him, standing frozen like a rabbit under a coerl's gaze.

'Did you really think I would not sense my own brother's presence?'

'Your Grace...'

'It does not matter', he cut her off. 'I have other things to attend to.'

And she feared what his efforts might amount to. He could taste it; the fear, thick and heavy in the air. This was not about Clive, or Dion. This was her trying to stall him as long as she could, hoping to make sense of his actions.

Kill her.

His hand closed tighter around the reins, until he felt his fingernails digging into his palm.

No. He was still in control. Everything was fine.

Jote's voice was quiet, but it was strong. Determined.

'Do you truly believe what you are doing is right?'

Kill her.

Everything was fine.

'I understand that you do what you must to fight this foe, but is this truly serving your cause?'

Kill her.

It was fine.

'What brought this on?', he asked. It was hard to form the words with how tightly his jaw was clenched.

He heard Jote approach; a few, quick steps that stopped maybe an arm's length away.

'The Prince. You are right in that he seems to be an invaluable ally. But you also have a bond. What if he can not only aid you in your fight, what if he could... if you would talk to him... what if he could help?'

Joshua turned around stiffly. Jote was standing close, her eyes wide and pleading.

She thinks you weak. Mad. A rabid dog, just waiting for the right time to put you down. And she wants the Prince to think the same.

'I'm fine.'

Had he been more in control of himself, he could have convinced her. Twisted her mind until she could not remember why she had ever doubted him. But he had let down his guard, and now the rage was boiling, too close to the surface; that cold voice in the back of his mind that told him to -

'I beg of you. Think of Dhalmekia. Were those truly your own actions?'

Blood, blood in the desert sand, blood dripping down his fingers, almost cool against the searing heat, Please tell me you had no other choice.

The voice jeered in his head

She thinks you mad.

Jote stepped even closer, raising her hand as if she might touch his arm, but then let it drop to her side again instead.

'Please', she said, the word barely more than a whisper. 'What of -'

Don't say it.

'What of Oliv-'

'Stop.'

His fingernails were cutting into the flesh of his palm, drawing blood.

'Jote. Stop.' He had to force the words past the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him; bile and blood and the memory of a child's eyes, wide with fear and agony as the blue glow crept in and swallowed them whole (I'm sorry, little brother)

He was shaking, and the voice was screeching in his mind

Kill her kill her KILL HER

It would be easy. The stream was only a few paces away, narrow but deep and fast. He could tell Dion that he had sent her away on an errand, no need for protection when he was travelling with the dragoons.

'Go', he rasped. 'Now.'

For a moment it seemed like she might protest, but whatever she saw in his face made her eyes widen and she took a step back. Then another.

She turned to leave, slowly, reluctantly. The growing distance between them made it just a little easier for Joshua to get a better hold of himself and suddenly he felt horribly empty. The wound in his chest a gaping nothingness that ate away at his being until nothing was left. Nothing but fragments, held together by a thread, thin as spider silk. Fading. Crumbling.

He pressed his eyes shut and listened to Jote's footsteps sounding farther and farther away.

'Are you afraid of me?'

At first he was not sure if she had heard the words, rough and broken as they were, but the footsteps stopped.

'No, Your Grace.'

There was a pained smile tugging at his lips.

'That is a nice lie.'

He turned back around to look at the clouds that were still peacefully drifting across the bright sky.

'I will be with you shortly', he said.

He heard the rustle of her footsteps again; one, two, then they halted. She was almost out of earshot, but he could hear her words as if she was etching them straight into his mind.

'I am only ever afraid for you, Your Grace. But I know that you can make it through this. And I will not abandon you.'

Then her footsteps picked up again, until they faded into the distance.

Joshua closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing but the clouds, even while Jote's voice echoed in his head.

Such a nice lie.

********

Three years earlier

Martha did not tell them where to find Cid's sanctuary. Him and his allies were weary of outsiders; too many lives depended on their silence. Her refusal almost cost her a hand, or maybe her tongue, though none but Joshua would ever know about that. She did tell them that Cid had last been busy in Dhalmekia, being entangled in a bloody conflict with the Men of the Rock. If Joshua and Jote did not want to wait at the Rest for one of the cursebreakers to come by and take them to their hideaway, they would have to look for the man himself.

Joshua did not remember much about the journey to Dhalmekia. Just like the one to Martha's Rest, just like the one before that, it was an endless series of days, overshadowed by the constant rise and fall of the pain in his chest. He would trudge along quietly during the day, keeping his mind firmly on his feet, one foot in front of the other; always just one foot.

Easy.

Again and again and again. The crystal in his chest cutting deeper with every jostle, every step. In a way it was almost peaceful, not thinking about anything besides that next step, that next stab of pain.

Over and over and over again.

At night, he would toss and turn and try to ignore the constant throbbing, the pulse that accompanied every beat of his heart. Sometimes it would not let him sleep at all; those nights he would lay awake, staring at the soft glow of the dying campfire and Clive's silhouette sitting next to it. His face would be shrouded in shadow but Joshua could always feel the gaze of those cold silver eyes on him.

Endless days. Longer nights.

 

He was standing in the shadow of a street corner, pressed against the warm stone of one of the simple houses making up the poorer parts of the town. The wall was the same colour as the cobblestones, the same colour as the endless expanse of sand beyond the town's outskirts. Joshua vaguely remembered the last time his travels had brought him to this corner of Storm, years ago. He remembered being enchanted by the merciless beauty of the desert, the towns with their colourful fabrics and spices and music, splashes of life amidst the ocean of sand.

Now the sights and smells and sounds seemed abrasive, smothering. Grating on his already too-tired mind. The long travel had left him weary and drawn, but he could not allow himself any respite. Insisting that he was fine was the only way to escape Jote's hovering for a few hours, and he sorely needed the time alone.

He remembered enjoying her company, once. Long ago.

They had asked around until someone had let slip that men from Hugo Kupka's private guard were stationed in town; strange, considering that there should be nothing here that might peaque the interest of Titan's Dominant. Which could only mean that they were on the trail of a certain outlaw.

Cid.

Clive.

We have to find him.

I know, he would have liked to shout. It is all I can think about every single waking hour.
His sleeping hours as well, judging by ho

w wrung out he tended to feel upon waking.

'It will get better', Clive whispered somewhere close to his ear. Joshua whipped around but his searching eyes found nothing but dust and empty air. 'Soon', Clive whispered. 'The time is almost upon us.'

Joshua slumped against the wall, the roughly cut stone digging into his back.

He was so tired.

The pulsing in his chest would not stop, a drumbeat rattling his every bone. Pulling at his mind, seeking to sweep him away.

It was hard to resist.

So hard.

Just one moment. One moment of peace.

It was so tempting.

Just once.

The door was ajar, the purple light that was no light swirling behind it.

Slowly, he loosened his grip on it. Stopped fighting against the tide.

Just for one moment.

The colours of the town and its people seemed to blur before his eyes, slipping from reality. The thrumming in his chest grew quieter - or maybe it grew louder, loud enough to swallow everything else. The world was made of the endless drumbeat, and behind that...

Thoughts, memories, emotions. Every human mind an endlessly complicated tangle in the fabric of reality. Strangely beautiful but so fragile, unravelled with the pull and snap of a single thread.

Look at them. Teetering on the edge of madness with every step they take. The chaos of their existence held together by naught but their precious will.

A woman walked past the side street Joshua was standing in; her mind brushed against his, fragments of thoughts, of memories, half forgotten. He had but to reach out and pull and it would all come apart, her existence bent to his will, her very being plunged into darkness, a broken toy.

No!

He stumbled back, his heart racing in his chest as a feeling of nausea rose in his throat.

No, no, wrong wrong wrong WRONG not right, not right...

He had to... he had to get away, away from this... vision, away from people, he had to...

He stumbled farther down the narrow alley, away from the busy main streets, away, away. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the blurry colours to form solid shapes again.

When he opened them again his perception had returned to normal; but then fatigue flooded his limbs, the pain in his chest roaring like a hungry beast as he fumbled his steps and crashed into the nearest wall.

He pressed himself against it, digging his fingernails into the comfortingly solid stone until it hurt. Deep breaths.

'Do not run from it.'

A ball of flame exploded against the wall, leaving dark scorch marks on the sand coloured stone. The street was empty. Slowly, Joshua lowered his hand, Clive's voice still echoing in his ears. His fingers were trembling.

'Do not deny this power.'

He let himself slide down the wall until he was curled up on the scorching hot cobblestones, his hands pressed over his ears. But the voice was inside, lodged in his skull like a splinter, impossible to pull out. He believed to feel Clive's breath against his cheek, the warmth of his body next to him, looming over him.

'We have so very much to do.'

'I know', Joshua whispered. He wanted to run but he knew that it was futile; so he rocked in place instead, trapped, desperate. 'I know.'

He could not see Clive's face - he had a feeling that he would if only he turned his head, but he did not want to see it, he just wanted to be left alone, just for one moment, please - but he could imagine the smile on his brother's lips.

'I will always be here', Clive said.

Joshua was no longer sure that was a good thing. He closed his eyes, suddenly dizzy with exhaustion. He swayed, the darkness behind his eyelids soft and inviting and pushing in, swallowing him up...

 

Blood. Blood in the desert sand, blood dripping down his fingers, almost cool against the searing heat. The hilt of his sword was slick with it. It slid out of his hand, his fingers slackening as his awareness slowly sharpened.

The blood was on the sand, the cobblestones; on the walls of the buildings surrounding him. On the uniform of the man lying motionless on the ground only a few paces away, eyes broken.

The body right next to him was not wearing a uniform. It was dressed in rags the same colour as the sand had been, the cobblestones, the walls, before the blood had soiled them. The dark lines of a brand stood out black against a tanned cheek.

Joshua's eyes drifted around, from one body to the next. To the next, to the next, to - someone was shaking him. He blinked and did his best to focus his eyes on the face in front of him.

Jote.

She had her hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and her face was white.

White as death.

'Tell me they attacked you.'

Her voice was shaking like a leaf in the wind.
Had they attacked him? Joshua remembered... he remembered...

The soldiers were cornering a group of bearers, Cid's name on their lips. The bearers were pleading with them We don't know anything, we have nothing to do with this.

(They were in the way)

'Please... Your Grace...'

One of the soldiers was standing away from the others, keeping watch. And Joshua needed him to talk, to trust, he needed it so desperately that when the voice whispered to him he did not even hesitate before letting his vision blur and his perception expand until the man's mind lay in his bare hands.

(They were weak. They did not have the right to live)

'Please tell me you had no other choice.'

Joshua could see the woman through the soldier's eyes, the key to his heart. Could feel the threads of his mind reaching out for her, longing. A clouded gaze on him - on her - and then hands on his skin, on his raw, brittle skin, the soldier caressing the woman's cheek and crowding her against the wall, eyes lost in a dream. Joshua's heart beating painfully in his chest as the feeling of revulsion crawled up his throat, as revulsion turned into panic, as his grip on the man's mind threatened to slip, as he realized that he would not have the strength to fight off an armed soldier. The look in Clive's eyes as he stood right behind the man, idly twirling the Burning Thorn in his hand.

I can help you. It is so easy.

And it was.

It was.

'Your Grace!'

Joshua blinked numbly. Jote's fingers were digging into his shoulders. He brushed them off and bent down to pick up his sword from the ground. Then he turned around and walked away.

********

The spires of Twinside appeared on the horizon not long after they had taken to the road again. Joshua remembered seeing them for the first time years ago - even then, he had been captivated by the city's beauty. But he could not remember it having quite such a... pull. Like a hum in the air that resonated in his chest and grew stronger the closer they came.

As soon as Joshua's mount set foot on the central isle on which the capital was built, he felt it deep in his bones; relief, contentment as the spires, reaching into the sky with sharp fingers as if seeking to tear apart the very heavens, welcomed him like an old friend.

Origin.

The word had no meaning to him; but still he knew, without a doubt, that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

He was home.

Chapter 4

Notes:

I'm sorry if this takes a little longer to update, but the updates will come! I love writing this story even if it's got to be one of the most emotionally devastating things I've ever written.
Also I'm so incredibly curious about your thoughts on this chapter since it took me forever to start, but once I did, I went into a three day writing trance until it was finished with barely any time to go over what I wrote. So I'm dying to dissect it with you :D

CW: identity issues, some iffy consent regarding touching and kissing

He was walking - no, stumbling. Unsteady feet shuffling across polished stone, one hand gliding along the wall for support should his legs give out under him. The corridor was empty, high walls and high windows, his dragging steps echoing loudly in too great a space.

His pace slowed to a crawl as his mind started to clear - where was he? A hallway, white stone and gilded plastering. Dim light as the sky outside the windows was hidden behind a curtain of rain, bolts of lightning illuminating the heavy clouds with their twitching fingers of blinding white.

His feet came to a halt, nails digging into the blank stone of the wall.

Remember.

They had arrived in Twinside along with the first growl of thunder on the horizon. Dion had disappeared towards the throne room as soon as they had set foot in the palace, and one of his men had discreetly shown Joshua to the guest chambers. And then...

He was not sure.

His head had been clouded ever since they had ridden through the streets of Origin Twinside, his mind floating as if it was no longer inhabiting his body. The purple in his chest humming a maddening tune that drowned out his thoughts, threatening to consume him. It was still humming now, vibrating in his very bones. There was a pull to it, the same pull that had driven him out into this deserted hallway.

Why?

He swayed on his feet. He just... he had to think. He knew that pull. That compulsion, it was familiar, whispering in his mind and promising relief from the pain that was ever burning under his skin.

The same pull that had forced him to look for Clive, years ago.

(No, that was... wrong. Clive was his brother. Of course he had looked for him. Of course he had wanted to know where he was, if he was fine.)

It was his own, was it not?

The same pull that had lead him to Dion.

(He had needed Dion, Dion was his friend, Dion could help him fight Ultima, that was why he had sought him out.)

Was it?

The same pull that had driven him into the arms of the dhalmekian soldiers and pushed him to slaughter them, them and the bearers they had cornered, until the cobblestones had been awash with their blood.

(He had needed the information. He had needed to defend himself, he...)

It was stronger here, the presence, too strong to hide in his own thoughts. Alien and wrong in his mind, choking him. And there was a crack, deep inside, it had opened the first time Dion had smiled at him back in the tent and it was ripping open, ripping, tearing, splitting his skull.

He had to think. He knew... he knew something, something was wrong, if only he could remember...

The pull.

The same pull that had lead him to...

To the...

...boy, a young boy with pale hair. Standing right in front of him, in the empty hallway. His head leaned to the side curiously, the lightning painting flickering shadows on his face.

No, not a boy. A puppet. An empty skin, with swirling darkness underneath.

Joshua felt his stomach churn, a chill running down his spine.

Wrong wrong wrong

The boy puppet took a step forward.

Joshua took a step back.

The puppet stopped, leaned its head to the other side. Lightning cracked outside the window and for a moment, its eyes flashed cold, burning blue.

'Hello, brother.'

********

One year earlier

He was no longer looking for Clive.

Or rather, he was - but the burning urge had dulled after Dhalmekia, as if the blood he had spilled had soothed that itch inside of him.

'Why am I no longer looking for you?', he had asked Clive one evening, and his brother's silver eyes had flashed with amusement.

'Why would you?', he had asked Joshua in return.

'You let us in. You asked our help and we gave it. You are ours, now.'

Blood, blood in the sand, one moment of panic, one moment of weakness. Just one moment.

(They did not deserve to live.)

'But I did not find you.'

Clive had brushed a hand over Joshua's cheek, the touch warm and tender and just real enough.

'Little Phoenix. We never needed you to succeed. We only needed you to break.'

 

He was wandering. Listening to the whispers the Undying carried to his ears. Brushing away Jote's concerns.

His body was a crumbling ruin held together by sheer will alone, but it was holding. For now.

Most days his mind was dulled to the pain, like a fly buzzing in his ear without relief. Most days he was strong enough to walk, to fight.

Some days he woke screaming and sobbing from the agony in his chest, though he always tried to swallow the sounds before Jote could hear them.

Some days he could not speak at all, could not move, for fear that his body would shatter.

Some days he was driven across the realm by something he could not name, into a town, towards a person. It was fine. It was important. It was for the best.

He did not wonder about the Why anymore.

 

The caravan had stopped to huddle under the massive shape of a Fallen ruin, seeking protection from the elements as men in imperial armour hurried to set up tents for the night. They were but half a day's travel from the rosarian border, and Joshua could see the familiar hills in the distance. It made something ache within him, something that had nothing to do with the wound hidden beneath his shirt.

Meaningless.

He was walking past the men like a spectre, one mind ensnared in his grip, then another. He could almost feel them flicker across his face; the visages he plucked from the soldiers' minds, the ones that would instill trust, or longing, or terror.

He certainly felt their touch when they reached out towards the vision, that hated touch, but he endured it to pull them just a little deeper. A hand on his shoulder, a breath on his neck, lips brushing over his cheek and fingers grasping at his flesh.

It does not matter.

Even if he longed to draw his dagger and peel off his own skin after.

He left another empty-eyed soldier in the shadows of the ruin, out of sight of the others, and finally he had reached the tent. Something was squirming in his chest, a sickening feeling of satisfaction, of anticipation. The pain dulled to an icy thrum, his second heartbeat.

The tent was lavishly decorated, excessive for a single night's accomodation. Joshua's eyes were drawn towards a fine coat that was neatly draped over the back of a chair. A woman's coat, white and blue, intricately decorated with pearls and lined with soft fur.

The former duchess of Rosaria had done well for herself.

She is a puppet, a worm who thinks herself a snake. Nothing more.

He averted his eyes. He had not come for her.

He pulled back the curtain dividing the tent into two areas. A bed; small, laden with the finest blankets. The child was asleep, face burrowed into the pillow. Joshua reached out, but his hand faltered halfway. The boy looked out of place among the precious furs and fabric, the pomp and finery of the tent, as much as any small child would in the middle of such arrogant perfection. His pale blond hair tousled in sleep, open mouth drooling on the pristine white pillow.

There was a memory, dim and far away, of another bed and another boy, staring up at a figure leaning over him. Closing his fingers around a hand much larger than his as he looked into sparkling blue eyes brimming with love. The feeling of trust, of absolute safety.

It has always been an illusion. Mythos was ours from the beginning. There was nothing for you to hold on to.

His hand closed the distance and cupped the child's face.

He felt the flow of aether in his fingertips, spreading like poison. The child's eyes flew open; but it was too late to make a sound, too late to flee, as the blue was already swallowing the trembling irises. Burning away every human expression and leaving emptiness in their wake, emptiness ready to be filled.

Joshua watched, impassive. The pain was dulled, almost enough to fade into the background. Enough to let him breathe easier, even if just for a moment. Everything was right. Everything...

The boy's eyes were staring at him. There was nothing imperfect about him anymore, a porcellain doll lying in its bed. Waiting. Empty.

The look of pain and fear those eyes had held mere moments before seemed burned into his head.

The feeling of grief hit him so hard his knees almost buckled under him. There was a thought inside his head, unbidden and strange, echoing in his mind more painfully than even the pulsing wound

I'm sorry, little brother. I'm so sorry.

His hand flew to his chest, fingernails digging into the skin. Trying to rip out that feeling he did not understand why did it hurt so much? Why did he suddenly feel so empty, as empty as that child in front of him, why

You are the same, the same, the same, can't you see it?

Why had he come here? It was for a reason, he was sure of it, his own reason, his own, surely, he just had to remember it, it was for the best, everything was for the best, it had to be, it had to -

There was the rustle of fabric behind him and he whirled around, the floodgates that had opened in his mind snapping shut.

Jote was staring at him. At the child in the bed. Her hand was shaking where it hovered over the hilt of her sword.

'I told you to stay behind', he growled, and she stumbled back as if he had pushed her. Her eyes flickered to the bed again, then came to rest on his face and he was not sure what she saw, but it made her drop her hand to her side. Her face no longer looked wary and cautious. She looked... sad.

Immeasurably sad.

'Come, Your Grace', she said with a strangled voice that still somehow sounded gentle. 'We need to get out of here.'

It was only when they had fled the ruin's shadow and the wind brushed across his face that he noticed the wetness on his cheeks.

********

'Why so scared, brother?', the puppet took another step towards Joshua, and this time his feet stayed frozen to the ground. 'You made me, after all.'

His body felt heavy, too heavy to move. Something commanded him to step forward even as his mind recoiled

I'm so sorry

and the crack in his mind split open a little wider.

'Come', the puppet commanded.

Joshua followed, numbly. He could barely feel his limbs as they moved, only the pulsing beneath his ribs. The squirming in his head.

On and on they went, through the faceless hallways.
The puppet halted in front of a door, its glowing blue eyes finding Joshua's.

'Bahamut is weak. He hesitates to make the necessary choices, holding on to his notions of honour and love. But choose he must. Make sure he chooses well.'

'Yes.'

His lips seemed to move on their own, the word dry and voiceless. The puppet turned around and walked away, leaving him in front of the door. With unsteady fingers Joshua straightened out his clothes, smoothed down his hair. Once he was convinced that he looked suitably put-together, he knocked on the door.

Dion opened after the first knock. He had rid himself of his armour, the first two clasps of his shirt undone and his hair in disarray as if he had run his fingers through the strands repeatedly.

'Phoenix?'

The word was tired, as were his eyes. His expression conflicted - he seemed not entirely sure whether he was happy about his visitor or not.

'May I come in?', Joshua asked.

Dion hesitated a moment, then he moved aside.

'Of course.'

Joshua inclined his head and stepped through the door, hands clasped behind his back. Dion's chambers were bare, impersonal, save a few books and parchments strew across the desk and his spear leaning against the wall close to the door, ready to be picked up at a moment's notice. A carafe of wine was placed on the small table next to two armchairs. Dion offered it with a half-hearted gesture. Joshua declined politely so Dion took up the goblet next to it instead and emptied it in one gulp. His movements seemed erratic, so different from his usual composure. Joshua wondered just how much of the carafe's contents still remained.

No matter. It would only serve to make his task easier.

'I admit I did not expect company tonight', Dion said.

He did not offer Joshua a seat, nor did he sit down himself; he kept standing in the middle of the room, the empty goblet in hand, unsteady gaze fixed on the far wall. The frayed threads of his mind coiling and writhing around him in agitated whispers, fragments of memories silence, insolent wretch - a whore who weighed her child's worth in gil - I have suffered worse.

'I meant to speak with you tomorrow, once we are both rested. But since you are here...'

Dion's voice faltered and fell silent. Joshua waited in case he might continue, but silence was the only thing filling the space between them.

The wound in his chest gave a pulse, angry and insistent, and it took all his strength to remain standing upright. He swallowed hard and forced himself to step closer to Dion, almost close enough to touch.

He looked smaller than he should. Pained. Lonely.

Weak. Vulnerable.

'It does not have to be so painful', Joshua whispered into the silence. Dion raised his head, the beginning of a frown on his face; but as soon as his eyes met Joshua's, he stopped. His muscles going slack as his gaze clouded.

The boy's eyes, wide and anguished, their spark dimming as the blue swallowed them whole.

Joshua pushed the memory down, down, deep into his stomach where it churned and roiled until it made him nauseous.

Focus.

Dion's mind was in uproar, frazzled and frayed, and it made it easy to grasp the loose threads. Joshua knew what he had to look for, who Dion would let in without question. Right there... affection, warm and longing, simmering right under the surface.

Childhood memories, cherished and tender. Desire, hidden and private, forbidden (why?). A faint thread of bitterness it can never be. And... unexpected but closely entangled with the rest... shame, the attempt to push it all down, it's not right. (Why was he ashamed?)

Joshua looked away before he could truly see, reached for those feelings blindly. For some reason it suddenly felt unbearable to look. To look at the dark haired dragoon through Dion's eyes, look at those

worthless human bonds, you don't need them, they would only bring you pain.

But then... why did the thought of them taste so bitter on his tongue. Why did it hurt to think of Dion's smile, so open and human, to think of Terence seeing it and knowing that it was his and his alone.

(Why was he ashamed?)

Dion was watching him with clouded eyes. Joshua raised a hand and cupped his face

Like he had done to the boy, the empty boy, I'm so sorry

'Dion.'

The sound of his name made Dion curl up as if he wanted to catch it and cradle it against his chest, something so precious and rare when it was spoken with love.

'I know it is hard', Joshua Terence whispered. 'But as long as they live, we will never know peace. We will never be free. Together.'

'I know.'

'They mocked you, they used you. But you need but do your duty one more time, and it will be over. It will all be over.'

Dion slumped forward, his forehead resting against Joshua's Terence's collarbone. The gesture so vulnerable, so different from the greedy fingers he usually felt grasping at him that Joshua felt a lump in his throat even as he struggled to understand why.

'I know.' Dion's voice was a puff of air against the bare skin of his throat.

And Joshua realized that he truly did. Dion knew. Dion had decided long before Joshua had knocked on his door. He had not needed any encouragement to walk this path of self-destruction, willing to sacrifice his own conscience in a heartbeat if it would save his people. He had merely been grappling with the consequences.

A fool. We underestimated him.

All this... it had been pointless.

Joshua felt a hysterical laugh burn at the back of his throat. And was it not laughable? The voice in the back of his mind, this all-encompassing and absolute presence - it had been wrong.

Dion's head was still resting against his shoulder. The touch hurt, as every touch hurt on his too-brittle skin, but if he ignored it... it was warm. Human.

Such a simple thing.

He should go. He had no use here anymore. There was no reason to linger.

He raised his arms, tentatively. They wrapped around Dion's waist as if they were meant to be there and the feeling of holding another person to his chest, another heartbeat in his hands, Dion's heartbeat

He had felt it before, under a canopy of trees, children's laughter and sunlight dancing on their skin in the most dazzling shapes

It stole his breath away.

He is a tool. He is nothing.

Dion was breathing and alive in his arms and Joshua could think of nothing else

Nothing nothing nothing nothing no-

He tightened his hold, Dion's weight against the wound on his chest almost unbearable, the agony fresh and sharp and meaningless.

The voice fell silent.

There was a hand running over his back, tracing his spine, the touch light and tender and intimate.

No, not his back.

Terence's.

It felt like the thought might shatter him. His fingers were trembling on the fabric of Dion's shirt, and when Dion pulled back, Joshua let him go.

Brown eyes warm, warm, not blue, not silver, not cold, not hurting regarded him calmly. A thumb traced Terence's his cheekbone, those warm eyes clouded and hazy, and then there were lips brushing against his.

He swallowed the sob rising in his chest, his hands clawing at Dion's back desperately. Dion's hands were on his skin, Dion's mouth on his, and it hurt; but everything always hurt, and this was the first welcome touch he had felt in years. He could not care whether it was meant for him or someone else, whether Dion gave it willingly or Joshua had pulled and unravelled his mind until he no longer had a will of his own. Somewhere deep within he knew that he should care, but it was impossible.

It felt good.

The kiss broke. Dion's face was mere inches from Joshua's, close enough for Joshua to taste his breath - it tasted like wine - yet far enough to look him in the eye.

Brown eyes that were slowly sharpening, a frown crinkling the skin in between.

'Why are you crying?'

Joshua froze.

Because Dion should not see those tears. Those tears were his, not Terence's.

Because Dion should be trapped in a dream, trapped and unaware, a tool for Joshua to use

He is a tool, nothing more.

Nothing.

He felt sick.

One stumbling step, then two, Dion raising a hand as if to stop him but he had already turned away.

'I'm sorry, I... I have to go.'

The words echoed in his head as the door fell closed behind him, as he bolted through the empty corridors illuminated by the madly dancing lights of the thunderstorm outside.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

********

He was not sure how he found his way back to the guest quarters. His heart was hammering in his chest as he burst through the doors and threw them shut behind him. The pain was wracking his body in nauseating waves, tearing into his lungs with dust-dry claws. He slumped against the door, forehead pressed against the cool wood as his spine bent under the force of the first cough. More followed, wet and rattling, warm blood dripping from his slack lips.

Foolish boy.

There was a sound behind him and the last brittle thread of control he held over his body snapped. He whirled around, his hand reaching for his dagger before he could think about it.

Jote's heartbeat was fast under his palm where his hand had slammed her against the wall, he could feel her pulse racing against the edge of the blade where he was pressing it against her throat.

Her eyes were wide. She stood frozen, like one would in face of a coerl ready to pounce, eyeing him like a dangerous animal she hoped not to aggravate lest it rip out her throat.

When had she started to look at him like that? Back on the hill on the road to Twinside, when she had seen her own death flash in his eyes? When she had seen him kill an innocent child and fill its skin with something dark, his face impassive as he watched? In Dhalmekia, when she had found him in the middle of a massacre, blood dripping from his hands? Or even before that?

His wild eyes were drawn to her throat, the blank steel of the dagger, the drop of blood welling up where it kissed her skin.

It grew, swelling to a trickle that painted a red streak down to her collarbone.

His fingers slackened around the hilt of the dagger. It hit the floor with a sharp clatter as he stumbled back.

'I'm sorry', he whispered.

He saw Jote's eyes widen.

'...Your Grace?'

Her voice was hesitant, brittle with something like... hope. But he had no time to think about it as the pain made him double over and heave and cough up more blood that ran through his fingers in crimson rivulets.

She does not matter. None of them matter.

You will obey.

The presence was crushing him, but he could feel it. Feel its shape in his head, now that it had grown strong enough to have a shape, and it was... wrong.

It was wrong.

It should not be there.

You will obey.

You are ours.

'No.'

His voice was barely more than a croak, barely loud enough for himself to hear it.

The agony that answered him sought to split his skull in two. It made him crumple to the floor, curling up tightly as his hands clawed at his head.

The ball of fire in his chest was roaring. He had almost forgotten it as the purple light had leaked outside, as he had welcomed it, letting it flow through his body. (He had thought he could control it, could lock it back up after, foolish foolish foolish) But now the fire roared and screamed and he grasped at it, fed it, until his vision blurred and his body went slack even as his mind was still caught in the raging maelstrom of cleansing flames and sickly, purple light.

 

He might have been trapped in his body like this for hours; he could not tell. But something - someone was shaking him, yelling in his ear, and it drew him back into reality. His body was a pulsing mass of agony, but he was able to open his eyes and look at the face hovering over him.

'Your Grace!'

Jote's eyes were rimmed red.

He cleared his throat and she gently helped him turn to the side far enough to spit out the blood that had started to congeal on his tongue.

'Jote', he croaked.

She drew in a shaky breath, her hands tightening on his shoulders.

'Your Grace', she whispered, quietly, as if she was scared someone - or something - might hear. 'It is you, is it not?'

Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

He did not understand the question. So instead of answering, he heaved himself up until he was sitting, clearing his throat of more blood in the process.

Jote blinked away the tears and steadied him.

'We have to leave', she said as soon as he had stopped swaying on the spot. 'The dragoons are attacking the city. There is fighting in the streets.'

Dion.

Joshua's heart seemed to stop. The presence in the back of his mind was squirming and seething, but the flames were holding it back just enough for him to think.

It was a trap.

He knew it with startling clarity - he had always known, but he had not cared, had not been able to care.

It was a trap for Dion, designed to drive him into a corner and make him break.

We never needed you to succeed. We only needed you to break.

No. Not again. Not him.

Please, not him.

With a grunt of exertion, Joshua got one foot under him, then the other. Jote supported him as he straightened up, staggering and trembling as his muscles fought to escape his control. As soon as he stood, he lightly pushed Jote away.

'Stand back', he croaked.

She obeyed numbly, far too busy staring at him with those wide, hopeful eyes to think about what he might do next.

He drew in a deep breath.

The purple darkness inside him was boiling, fighting his control. A storm flood, the dam holding it back eroding more and more with each breath he took. He needed the flames. The flames were holding the darkness at bay, and if he wanted to keep his mind long enough to act, he needed them to burn hot. Swallowing him, engulfing his being.

He was not sure the Phoenix would answer. Not sure he had not crippled the firebird by forcing him to maintain the prison in his chest and then softening the walls bit by bit, until the flames could no longer withstand the onslaught from within. Not sure he had not driven the Eikon away by walking this path.

But the Phoenix answered.

Fire surrounded him, cloaked him in strength. Burned under his skin, in his hair, flowed from his back as a plumage of crimson and gold, interwoven with flickering colours, brilliant and alive.

He felt... he felt his mind, clear and quiet and his own. He felt like himself.

It was overwhelming. He wanted to break down and curl up around that new, wonderful feeling, wanted to cry and scream but time was short, terribly short.

He did not have long.

The first trembling step he took felt like the first one of his life. Then he was running. Running to where somewhere in the palace, the faint flicker of Bahamut's presence was writhing with rage.

 

********

Joshua was darting through the hallways like a bolt of fire, only distantly aware of his body screaming under the strain of both his semi-prime and everything he had put it through these last five years. It was furthest from his mind when he flew past guards and servants alike, their shouts faintly ringing in his ears. None of them dared to try and stop him.
He rounded a corner, breath cutting into his lungs like shards of ice even though there were embers sparking from his lips. Somewhere in front of him Bahamut's growls were swelling to a howl.

He knew he was on the right path when the first man in cardinal robes almost ran into him, fleeing from something that lay ahead. He only noticed the blazing fire once it threatened to singe his skin, and with a cry he jumped aside, pressing his back to the wall as Joshua passed him. More followed; clerics, guards.

The portal of the throne room had only just come into view when Joshua felt Bahamut thrash in his bonds, screaming with Dion's voice as a shockwave erupted within the great hall and raced through the corridor. It threw him off balance, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on, the Phoenix' power steadying his steps.

The throne room was empty save for Dion's form standing in its middle, white streaks of power madly dancing around him like a whirlwind of light. Save for the lifeless body of the Emperor lying on the steps in front of him, Dion's spear piercing him clean through. And save for the empty puppet with its glowing blue eyes, watching Dion with a smile on its lips.

The eyes snapped around as Joshua burst into the room, narrowing dangerously. But Joshua had no time to spare it any thought. He crossed the room with but a few long strides until he stood in front of Dion. His hands found the trembling shoulders, held them fast.

'Dion!'

Bahamut howled. Dion's form convulsed and wings burst forth from his back, sending another shockwave through the room that splintered the furniture and cracked the glass of the windows. Horns pushed through the top of his skull, scales shimmering on his brow. The metal of his gloves morphed into claws, a tail whipping back and forth across the stone floor.

No. You will not have him.

Joshua surged forward, pulling Dion into his arms. His arms alone this time, and he hoped desperately that they would be enough.

Bahamut's wings thrashed, almost toppling them both. Claws shredded the fabric of Joshua's shirt and the skin beneath but he just tightened his hold.

'Please', he cried, raising his voice over the noise of the whirlwind of power swirling around them. 'You have to resist! Don't give him what he wants!'

Another beat of wings and blinding light erupted around them, the stone walls groaning under the onslaught. There was no telling how much of the throne room was still standing, how much of the palace itself, but Joshua could not stop to consider collateral damage as he threw up a wall of fire to dissipate the light. Distantly he wondered whether the puppet had been turned to dust under the Eikons' power, the puppet and its cruel, blue eyes.

Fragments of red and white were dancing around them, an impenetrable tempest with them at the centre.

Joshua's strength was fading. He felt the exhaustion of the semi-prime, felt the darkness hammering away at the walls he had put up to keep it at bay.

He would not make it.

It was all in vain.

He slumped forward, leaning his forehead against Dion's shoulder as Dion had done to him, mere hours ago. Even though Dion thrashed and writhed in his arms, his face contorted in anguish. He would not make it.

'It seems we were doomed from the start, you and me', Joshua whispered into the hollow of Dion's throat. 'To never have a choice, but always choose wrong.'

He laughed, until the sound was choked by the tears in his voice. Dion's eyes were glowing a sickly yellow. If he primed now, Joshua's body would not be able to withstand the explosion.

'Do you remember the garden?', Joshua whispered. 'There is a garden, far away from here. A garden hidden under a canopy of trees. The leaves turn the sunlight into the most dazzling shapes.

We were princes, Dominants, puppets from the moment we first drew breath. But we were laughing under the trees, and for one moment, we were so much more.

Then we grew up, and the shadows caught us and they ate us alive. Oh, we were but children. Did we not deserve so much better? Did we not deserve to live?'

Dion had grown slack in his arms, his wings sinking down until they almost touched the ground. He was leaning into Joshua, his tail curled around their feet. Both of them quiet and motionless, a haven of silence as the power of their Eikons was still raging around them. Joshua raised a hand to run it through pale blond hair, his fingers grazing the gnarled shape of one of the horns still towering over Dion's head. His voice was almost drowned out by the noise around them.

'You are right to grieve. You are right to rage. But please, resist this shadow. If you do... maybe there is hope for us both.'

Dion released a shuddering breath. With a last, wailing sound Bahamut curled up and let his wings fade into the empty air. On the next stroke of Joshua's hand, the horns had disappeared. The fingers grasping at his shirt were blunt and human. Dion swayed and Joshua did not have the strength to hold them both upright, and so they collapsed on the stone floor. The throne room lay in ash and ruins around them.

There was no more strength left, the Phoenix' form running through Joshua's fingers like sand. As soon as it had disappeared the pain came flooding back and he convulsed on the floor, retching up blood until his head swam and his senses faded.

Just before his mind was enveloped in darkness he believed to hear a dog bark in the distance and a familiar voice calling his name. Then that, too, faded and the last thing he knew was the presence in his head pushing back in, choking his thoughts until all that remained was a cold, cruel voice in the dark

You will regret this.

Chapter 5

Notes:

Sooo this has been a while. As it turns out, writing three stories at the same time doesn't really work for me. So now I'm doing them one by one (more or less), so updates should hopefully be a little more frequent now.

(Also I feel so bad every time it takes me more than two weeks to update a fic, so... maybe give me shout if you're still reading. I would appreciate it!)

CW: violent/intrusive thoughts, possession

 

Do you remember the garden?

Bright children's laughter, sunlight on the grass.

Will you show them to me when I come visit?

The sound of leaves rustling in the wind, no voices but their own disturbing the silence.

I promise I will.

No. That was not all. ...How did they get here?

I promise.

I promise...

Do you remember?

I am Dion of the House Lesage. It is an honour to meet you.

The garden.

Why had they gone there?

I promise.

...do you?

A hand in his, soft brown eyes glittering with determination.

I promise I will never...

Do you remember?

...never...

The garden.

Do you...

...remember?

********

The dream - the memory? - slipped away slowly. Dissipating like fog, leaving only the raw, pulsing pain underneath. His chest like an open wound, weeping darkness with every breath, every agonizing beat of his heart. His throat aching and tender, the taste of blood on his lips. His limbs leaden weights, too heavy to move.

He wished he could dream again.

He opened his eyes.

The room was made of raw wooden planks. A cold breeze wafted through the window-shaped hole in the wall, making him shiver even though he was swathed in a thick blanket. The scratchy wool irritating on his skin, an agony of its own as it grated against his body with even the smallest movement. He tried to push the feeling away, tried to remember why he was here - wherever here was.

He remembered... the puppet. The puppet with the blue eyes.

Dion's anguished eyes, his breath against Joshua's neck.

He remembered Bahamut's power thick in the air, intense enough to taste it on his tongue.

Dion thrashing and trembling in Joshua's arms as Bahamut howled with rage.

Everything had been right. Everything had developed the way it should.

Everything had been wrong, wrong, wrong

And then... what had happened?

There was movement in the room, in the dim twilight caught between the wooden walls like a cloud of smoke. His eyes snapped towards the figure; the figure of a girl, dressed in dirty white rags. Her dark eyes widened when she caught his gaze.

A thought flashed through his mind; it would be so easy to grab her by her thin neck and shake her until she told him what he wanted to know. His fingers twitched but his body was too weak to obey

Don't

He balled his hand into a fist instead, teeth grinding as he tried to get a hold of himself.

'Don't move!', the girl exclaimed and scurried away, out of sight.

He slumped back onto the thin, lumpy mattress he was lying on. His head was pulsing with pain; heat on his brow, nesting in the back of his mind.

The flames. The flames were important, they were... they...

They were weak; a thready pulse. Exhausted from... semi-priming, right. Why had he done that?

Dion. Dion Dion Dion Dion

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing down the thoughts that scrabbled at the inside of his skull. They were irritating, fraying his nerves like the woolen blanket on his skin, a constant itch.

Footsteps were approaching him at a frantic pace. His eyes flew open, body tensing, but the only thing he saw was Clive's figure hovering over him. The familiar sight was as aggravating as the unwelcome thoughts in his head. He had no patience for Clive's games right now, he needed to think. He closed his eyes and counted to ten before opening them again, but the figure by his bed was still there. A warm hand found his arm as Clive crouched down next to him. Joshua ached to lean into the touch, but he did not.

'I wondered when you would show up', he said impassively. His voice was little more than a croak, every word making the pain in his chest flare up wildly. It was wasted breath, he knew that. Knew the answer he would get; the mockery, thinly veiled with false compassion. He had listened to it for five years, knew all the tricks to twist his mind and make him complacent. Just like he knew that it would always, always work.

'What?', Clive asked stupidly. The hand on Joshua's arm tightened, painful on his tender skin. Clive's touch had never been painful before.

'Joshua?'

Confusion, hesitation in Clive's voice and Joshua stiffened on the bed willing his heart to stop stumbling with hope. There was never any hope. There was only what had to be done and what was standing in his way and the endless, all-consuming pain.

'Joshua, look at me. Please.'

He lifted his eyes, waiting to meet that cold, silver gaze, but...

They were blue.

Clive's eyes were cold glowing sick aether empty puppet blue blue blue - no. They were just blue. He knew that blue, knew that exact shade, would always recognize it.

'You're not real', he choked out. Waited for the answer, it had always been the same answer, every day every year every single -

'Of course I'm real.'

The blue eyes shimmered wetly in the dim light and then Clive was gathering him in his arms and he could only just swallow the scream in his throat as the movement threatened to tear his chest apart. But then he was surrounded by touch, by warmth, and all he could think was -

It's him. He is alright. He is here.

No. It was of no consequence. Because he felt that warm skin on his and he sensed the power thrumming beneath, vast and ancient and familiar.

He slowly raised his arms and wrapped them around Clive's body, tightening his hold as if he could crush that power into his own chest, into the cold, pulsing, hungry pain. Feed it, feed it until for once it would finally be satisfied.

Fingers were running through his hair, gentle and full of wonder.

'You're alive', Clive whispered close to his ear, voice choked by tears. 'I never dared to hope I would see this day.'

Joshua shuddered as that power caressed the presence within him

I'm sorry

The arms cradling him gently rocked him back and forth

I'm so sorry

His entire being was humming with satisfaction, with triumph, and all he could think was -

Finally.

Mythos.

 

'Can you walk?', Mythos asked after they had separated. The echo of his power was still thrumming in Joshua's bones, soothing the ache that was nesting there. His limbs were still sore, the shard in his chest and the stone surrounding it tearing at his flesh with every breath, but that was of little import. There were things to do. So he heaved himself up while Mythos offered a steadying hand.

Clive. His name is Clive.

He set one unsteady foot in front of the other and together, they made it out of the simple hut. It was surrounded by similar buildings; ramshackle constructions made from wood and cloth, huddled around a stream and connected by dirt paths. Everything was shrouded in the grey twilight just after sunset, when the day had fled but night had not yet taken hold. A few lanterns and fires were sprinkled across the humble settlement, their light glimming in the darkness like dying embers.

'We are just outside of Twinside', Mythos said as they rounded the corner of the hut. 'We wanted to leave the city as soon as possible, but you were in no condition to travel.'

The familiar spires rose into the sky beyond the simple huts, dwarfed by the towering form of the mothercrystal. Something about the gleaming mountain tugged at Joshua's mind - it was wrong, it should not be there, not anymore. A sick twist in his stomach your fault.

There was a small empty space right next to the hut, occupied by three people huddled around a fire. The girl, a giant of a man Joshua had never seen before, and Shiva's vessel. They all raised their heads at the approaching footsteps, their gazes settling on Joshua's skin uncomfortably.

'Joshua!'

Shiva jumped up from the stool she had been sitting on, a bright smile on her face. But before she could take a step towards them, the massive shape of a hound leapt out of the darkness behind her and came running to meet the new arrivals. Joshua stiffened when the animal approached him with a wagging tail, lips pulled into a toothy grin. It skidded to a halt right in front of him, eagerly sniffing his hands. He fought the urge to back away from the wet snout. The hound's presence was too... loud, too much, too uncontrollable. Too unlike a person; a person who could be bent and broken with a single thought if he so wished. An animal was different.

Difficult. A threat.

The wagging of the hound's tail slowed and stopped. It let out a confused whine.

'What is it, boy?', Mythos asked. 'It's alright. It's Joshua.'

The hound whimpered and took a hesitant step back, its golden eyes wide and concerned as they stared up at Joshua.

Something is wrong, wrong, wrong, don't you see it? Think!

Joshua squeezed his eyes shut, forcing down the unbidden thoughts. His heart was racing but he did not know why; only knew that feeling of wrongness squirming in his mind. A warm hand settled on his shoulder. Its weight made his bones creak but the familiar power soothed the pain as soon as it flared.

'Come, let's sit down.'

The hound scrambled away from them as soon as Joshua took a step forward. It withdrew to the very edge of the fire's glow where it curled up on the ground, eyes never leaving Joshua.

Mythos frowned at the hounds behaviour and directed Joshua to a narrow bench next to the fire. The warmth of the flames was welcome, helping his tight muscles relax. He stretched out his hands, warmed his stiff fingers in the golden glow

Flames! The flames are important, please, think! So close, so close...

As soon as he was seated, Shiva crossed the distance between them with a few quick steps and pulled him into a tight embrace. He tensed, his entire being recoiling at the offensive touch - her heart was beating close to his own, a noisy, fleshy clump so easily silenced; her neck right in front of his lips, he could tear out her throat with his teeth, he could raise a hand and twist and the touch would stop, her entire meaningless existence snuffed out -

The arms around him loosened their grip and she released him.

'I'm sorry, did I hurt you?'

Her voice was unsteady with tears, joy only barely giving way to concern. It was... repulsive. Too bright. Too inconsequential.

He gave her a charming smile. It came to his lips easily - he had practised it for years trying to put Jote at ease. Knew the exact tilt of his mouth, the soft crinkle around his eyes that would draw people in and soothe their minds.

'It's alright, I'm fine. And much better for seeing you again.'

She returned the smile with bright eyes and lightly squeezed his arm before reluctantly returning to her seat on the other side of the fire. The fleeting touch made his skin crawl.

Mythos gestured to the giant stranger who was cowering next to them, eyeing Joshua with nervous curiosity.

'This is Goetz. He came with us from the Hideaway. And this is Kihel.' The girl gave a shy smile. 'We were lucky enough to run into her when we fled from Twinside. It turns out she is incredibly talented with potions and poultices. I believe she made some foul smelling concoction especially for you.'

'I will finish it before you leave', the girl said eagerly. Her eyes were kind. Joshua dug his fingers into the wood of the bench to keep them from twitching. 'It should keep you on your feet while you travel.'

Mythos chuckled.

'Are you sure you don't want to come with us? Our resident physicker would be grateful for an apprentice of your talent, I'm sure.'

The girl shook her head, dark hair flying.

'I can help people here. But... maybe later? You could come visit in the meantime.'

A splinter dug into Joshua's palm, the wood groaning under his white-knuckled grip. He did not want to hear about the girl. He did not want to hear about any of them, unimportant as they were. Claiming Mythos' attention, pulling his heart this way and that with their fragile bonds. Joshua could taste them in the air, close enough to touch. To pluck at them, tear them apart, tear apart the web that held Mythos prisoner until no one else could claim him.

It was so very tempting.

But he needed their trust. He needed...

Them. They are important, all of them. Why? Whywhywhywhywhy

'What happened in Twinside?', he asked.

Mythos thankfully tore his attention away from the girl, face sobering.

'We came here to -' he shot the girl a quick look '- continue our mission. We were planning a distraction when the dragoons started attacking the city, so we took the opportunity. But before we could get there, half of the imperial palace exploded.'

He pointedly raised an eyebrow at Joshua, but Joshua was not looking at him. The words roused something in his head, a memory, something...

Dion thrashing in his arms, a heartbeat fluttering against his chest, too fast. Flames licking at his hair, at his skin, his mind feeling... Do you remember the garden? The garden. Do you... remember... do you?

The flames were burnt down to embers now, glimming somewhere in the back of his mind. Glimming in his chest, brittle threads of fire holding on to... something.

'The Phoenix fire was hard to miss, so we made our way there. Just in time - I saw you collapsing.'

Mythos was looking at Joshua expectantly, as if waiting for him to say something. Ask something. But the entire event seemed so terribly unimportant compared to Mythos' sheer presence at Joshua's side, the details of no interest.

'What then?', was all he could think to ask.

'Prince Dion was there with you', Mythos said slowly. Waiting for a reaction, but Joshua merely nodded, so he continued speaking. 'I meant to leave him there - the price on my head is high enough even without kidnapping the Crown Prince of Sanbreque. But...'

A sigh. Mythos stared into the flames, gloved hands fidgeting.

'I have this... ability. I can take the power of other Dominants, take away their Eikons. I can't seem to control it.'

He looked up, and Joshua could taste his guilt hanging in the air like fog when those blue eyes met his. Ridiculous. Why would he regret his power instead of revelling in it.

'It happened with Dion. And when it did, I caught a glimpse of... I'm not sure. His memories, I suppose. I saw you trying to stop him.'

Do you remember the garden?

Resist this shadow... Resist... If you do, maybe...
Maybe...

It should not have happened. Why had he done that?

Dion Dion Dion do you remember do you?

It did not matter. Because Mythos had consumed Bahamut, another splinter of power reunited with the whole, another step towards...

Towards...

What? Think.

No, it did not matter. It was a warm feeling in Joshua's chest; satisfaction, allowing him to breathe a little easier. The mothercrystal was still standing, but all would be righted in time. It was hard to think otherwise with Mythos so close to him, a rush to his head.

'I figured that you would want to make sure he is safe', Mythos said, and for a moment Joshua was not sure who he was talking about. But then Mythos pointed into the darkness, into the direction of the stream. Joshua could vaguely make out a figure standing by the edge of the water, white fabric a ghostly shimmer in the night.

'He is over there. He said he needed some time.'

'You should talk to him', Shiva said gently. 'He has been taking it hard, all that happened.'

Joshua gritted his teeth at the sound of her voice - how dare she interrupt. She was

Your sister

food for Mythos, nothing more. A vessel for divine power until the moment came for her to be devoured.

He smiled. It pulled at his face, his skin feeling tight and brittle, cracking. Something was simmering underneath.

'I will.'

He stood, ignoring Mythos' half-hearted protest. The wound in his chest pulsed, but the pain was dulled; lulled to sleep by Mythos' power and the quiet contentment humming in his mind. Everything was fine.

He carefully made his way down to the water, minding his step on the uneven path. The small stones breaking away under his boots announced his arrival, and the figure in white turned around.

The Prince looked drawn and tired, but unharmed. He had discarded his armour and chainmail; the shirt he wore underneath hardly seemed like an effective shield against the cold wind, but he did not seem to notice. And why would he? He was an empty vessel, his role in the grand scheme was over. He had no worth anymore.

That's not true.

The thought was insistent, like a fly buzzing in his ear. The Prince's eyes settled on him, like a warm blanket around his shoulders

Warm dragon's breath in his hair, the sway of a chocobo's back and the sound of laughter. The feeling of soft lips caressing his skin

and Joshua came to an abrupt halt when suddenly, he understood. Those thoughts plaguing him. They had started with Dion. The confusion, the doubts scratching at the inside of his skull like parasites - they were his fault.

There was a dagger at the Prince's belt. It would be so easy to pull it and cut that soft, trusting heart in two. Put an end to it once and for all.

No

But not yet. Not yet. Something told him that there was still use for him.

No. Not him.

'I'm glad to see you have recovered', the Prince said, a careful stiffness in his voice that could not hide the relief underneath. 'I was hoping to thank you in person.'

Joshua took two more steps and joined the Prince at the edge of the stream.

'There is nothing to thank me for.'

They were standing close, looking out at the water and the lights flickering in the darkness beyond. Close, but thankfully not touching. Joshua was not sure he could have resisted the dagger's allure if the Prince had touched him.

'I have to disagree.' A sad smile on the Prince's lips, full of bitterness and regret. 'I murdered my own father. If it had not been for you, the entire city would have shared his fate. So... I thank you. For the lives of my people.'

Worthless little ants.

'What will you do now?', Joshua asked.

'I will return to Twinside shortly. The city - and soon the whole of Sanbreque - will be in chaos. I will... offer what aid I can. Do penance for what I have done.'

'Do you think they will thank you?'

The Prince stiffened, and Joshua pressed on. Every word idly plucking at a thread of the consciousness in front of him, frayed strands of spider silk dancing in the air, untethered.

'You slew the Emperor. You lost Bahamut, and with it the only worth anyone ever saw in you. You are nothing but a traitor now. Your people won't want your help - they will want your head.'

The Prince shied away from Joshua's gaze, a soft, wounded noise in his throat.

'Then it is my head they shall have. I do not fear death - I will do what I must to repent.'

'But you fear failing your duty.' Joshua raised a hand and put it on the Prince's shoulder. His insides shuddered in revulsion but the tense line of the Prince's spine softened as he leaned into the touch.

'Your duty to protect your people. You can still fulfill it, if you come with us. Help us fight the power behind all this suffering. Make your death mean something.'

The Prince was silent for a long time, long enough for Joshua to wish he could scream to fill the void. Tighten his hold on the white-clad shoulder and push, until the Prince's skull shattered on the stone beneath their feet and his blood painted the golden hair a warm, vibrant red.

Not him. Please.

'Anabella is dead', the Prince said. Joshua did not answer - it seemed like an exceedingly trivial fact. 'Your brother told me that they came across her when they came to save you. They made it out when the chamber collapsed - she did not.' He sought Joshua's gaze, the brown eyes full of pain. 'She caused much suffering, but she was also your mother. Would you still ask me to be by your side, knowing that I killed your parent as well?'

'I would.'

The Prince lowered his head, considering the droplets of water shimmering on the rock beneath his boots. He heaved a sigh.

'Then I shall follow you. Onto whatever end fate will bestow upon me.'

Joshua smiled the smile that felt like a gaping, weeping wound splitting apart his face but he knew people would find comforting. He squeezed the Prince's shoulder - and tried not to think about the smooth, fragile neck just inches from his fingertips - before turning back towards the fire where Mythos was waiting for him. But the Prince hesitated in following him, his eyes flickering towards the spires of Twinside blocking out the emerging stars.

'Your attendant', he said. 'Will you try and find her before we leave?'

The mention of her made Joshua bristle.

'No', he said tightly. She would only get in the way. She knew too much. 'She will know where to wait for me if we get separated. She likely has left the city already.'

'I see.'

The Prince was still staring at the spires. Joshua could feel his consciousness, the threads reaching out into the distance. The quiet longing as he thought of the dark haired dragoon.

'There is nothing for you there', Joshua said. Plucking at the threads, making them recoil. 'None of them would understand.'

The Prince set his jaw and turned his back on the city.

'You are right', he said quietly. 'Let's go.'

And with that he left Joshua behind, marching towards the fire with stiff determination. Joshua moved to join him, but suddenly his step was halted. His body locking up painfully as another thought formed in his head, out of his control.

What are you doing?

He tried to brush it away; but his muscles seized, refusing to let him go.

What are you doing?

A feeling like tearing fabric in his head, a crack in his self - and from one moment to the next he seemed to look out of two pairs of eyes instead of one, even though they were seeing the same thing. Two sets of thoughts rattling around in his skull, their jagged edges catching on the folds of his mind.

(What are you doing?)

(Keep him close. Keep him hoping. And when we break him, break you shall too.)

(No. Not him. Please not him.)

(We warned you that you would regret your defiance, little Phoenix.)

The flames in his chest flickered and roared and died down to embers once more. Choked by the purple darness.

With a gasp, Joshua pulled himself back into the present. His heart was racing in his chest, fluttering like a bird trapped behind his ribs. He forced his eyes to focus on the light of the fire in front of him; on the dark silhouette of Mythos sitting next to it, waiting. Waiting for him.

Yes. All would be right. They were together. Nothing else mattered.

Everything was fine.

********

The journey to the Hideaway was long. Long days of travel, of mindless chatter and worried eyes and hands on his skin. The pain was dulled but never faded, and for once, Joshua was glad for it. It was a convenient explanation for why he was withdrawing from the others whenever he could not bear to smile and joke and pretend anymore. It gave him something to focus on beside the incessant need to silence all those pointless voices by slitting the throats belonging to them.

After too many excruciating days of this, they reached the shore of a lake deep in the deadlands, the still waters broken by a multitude of Fallen ruins.
So this was where they had been hiding all this time. Hiding in the heart of the blight, where he could not reach. But now... now he had a body that could withstand the black. Now he could walk among them.

Not you. It's not you.

He just wished the constant chattering in his head would stop. Just for a momen

A boat brought them to the broken hull of an airship in the middle of the lake. Crude wooden constructs filled the empty shell, the walkways and platforms crawling with humans like an anthill. As soon as they had set foot on the docks, Mythos whisked Joshua away to a room that smelled of herbs and the faint scent of blood. A woman greeted them; Mythos introduced her as Tarja, though the name slipped through the cracks of Joshua's mind as soon as he had heard it. He was tired, and this place made his skin crawl. The people, the noise. There was too little aether in the air, the absence making him feel lightheaded.

'Kihel said your chest should be looked at', Mythos said as he gently pushed Joshua farther into the room, towards the woman. 'Tarja is the best healer I know, you can trust her.'

'So what seems to be the issue?', the woman asked. She eyed Joshua critically, but he did not answer. He was too busy swallowing the disgust at the mere thought that this stranger should see the wound on his chest; much less touch it. The crystal embedded in his flesh was... it was important. It was a part of him.

It was wrong, sick, repulsive

'The curse', Mythos answered in his stead when the silence stretched on. 'He was in pain a lot while we travelled here. Sometimes he was coughing blood.'

He had tried to hide it, but Mythos was perceptive. Always worried, always watching.

'Then come, let me take a look at you.'

The woman waved him along, into a part of the room that was separated from the rest by a thin wooden wall. Mythos gave him an encouraging smile and Joshua had no choice but to follow her.

She directed him to sit on one of the beds lined up against the wall and take off his scarf. The cool air teased at the wound, making it ache; the hard, unresponsive stone surrounding it, the swollen flesh that stood out red and angry against the muted grey. The stone had spread after his semi-prime, the irregular pattern now stretching across his entire chest.

The woman narrowed her eyes at it, and he believed to feel her gaze like a knife prodding at his body, scraping against the sensitive skin. Digging and searching and...

'This wound', she said. 'I have never seen anything like it. How did this happen?'

She reached out a hand and carefully touched the raised welts where he had continued to scratch and pick at his skin. The faint pressure flashed through him like a lightning bolt intrusive, repulsive, how dare she how dare she and before he could even think about it he had snatched the knife from her belt and slammed her against the wall with murderous intent. The blade mere inches from her throat when a hand closed around his wrist and yanked him back.

He whipped around with a snarl on his lips - but it was Mythos, familiar and calming and untouchable, and Joshua grew slack in the iron grip. His fist opened to let the knife clatter to the floor.

'What happened?'

Mythos' frantic voice grated in Joshua's ears. He felt his legs tremble under him, ready to give out. The woman straightened up, smoothing out her clothes.
'It's fine', she said calmly. 'It can happen if a wound is very painful, or connected to bad memories. It's instinct.'

She gestured for Joshua to sit down again, though she kept a respectful distance.

'I apologize, I should have been more careful.'

He could barely hear her. His mind was buzzing; it felt like something was clawing its way out of his skull, the thoughts, the thoughts that were not his own

It's wrong, it's wrong, this isn't you, this is... you... murderer.

they were scratching and squirming and fighting their way out, onto his tongue

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong

'Something is... wrong.' His voice was not his voice (was it?) as it tumbled over his lips. 'Wrong... with me. Please...'

Mythos Clive Mythos put a hand on his arm, blue eyes worried but steady.

'It's alright, Joshua. You didn't mean to do it.'

'No, I...'

'I know you. You would never harm someone for trying to help you. It's alright.'

The thoughts in his mind faded and fell silent, spent.

'Can you tell me what happened to cause this wound?', the woman asked.

He felt... tired. Hollow. His mind sluggish as if he had been awake for too long.

'Ultima', he said. 'At Drake's Head, I sealed him inside of me.'

'I'm sorry!?'

Mythos' voice was too loud. He could not think, he...

'Clive. This is not helping.'

As much as he loathed her presence, he felt gratitude for the woman.

'But I -'

'...can talk about this later. He needs rest.'

With a deep frown on his brow, Mythos conceded.

'I can give you medicine to help with the pain and the coughing', the woman said to Joshua. 'As well as a salve that soothes the skin around the petrified areas. You should really stop scratching it.'

She turned away towards the part of the room that housed her workbench, dragging Mythos along.

'Rest', she instructed him. 'I'll see to it that you won't be disturbed.'

The last part was pointedly directed at Mythos, and something in Joshua weakly bristled at her exacting so much authority over someone who was so infinitely more valuable than she was. But he was too tired to think about it; his mind felt strained and raw and he sank down on the bed and closed his eyes.

Just for a moment.

Just a single moment of peace.

 

 

********

 

He slept for three days. When he woke he had strength enough to tell Mythos and Shiva what he knew about Ultima

Not all, it's not all. You know... you know...

before the physicker chased them out again. Then he slept another day, restless thoughts squirming in his skull and poisoning his dreams.

When he woke the second time he fled the infirmary before the wish to strip the physicker of her skin with her own scalpel could get too strong.

The rest of the Hideaway was no easier on his overtaxed mind as he wandered its halls; full of people, full of life, all those bonds and feelings and memories clogging the air and strangling him. Mythos' presence was weaved into the obnoxiously colourful tapestry like a thread of gold into a frayed rag, holding it all together. It was... beyond understanding. That he would choose to let so many people lay claim to him when he was born to be something so much greater, the only one that mattered at all in this wretched world. Humans, the worthless, the inconsequential, all flocking around him in the desperate hope to get even a glance of his glory, scrabbling for importance, for purpose.

Irritating little vermin. Maybe if he killed them all Mythos would be free of them, of those self-imposed chains he cherished so much. Maybe if he killed them all then the pain would stop the fucking pain in his head -

'Phoenix!'

He whipped around. The Prince was standing in front of him, the empty Prince with his warm, human eyes.
Yes. His eyes, remember those eyes. Maybe there is hope, maybe, maybe...

'Would you like to go somewhere more quiet?'

Joshua nodded. Yes. Quiet. He needed quiet.

The Prince waved him along as he navigated the wooden pathways, up the stairs until they stepped out onto a platform at the very top of the Hideaway's construction. The noise of the people below was muted here, carried away by the wind, and Joshua breathed a relieved sigh.

'We did not have a chance to talk properly since I...'

Joshua joined the Prince looking out over the water, just like they had done in the slums outside Twinside. A good arm's length of space between them, enough to somewhat calm the steadily seething rage in his chest. Not enough to calm the thoughts in his head

Remember remember remember

but he was used to smothering them by now.

'What did you want to talk about, Your Highness?'

The Prince shuffled his feet next to him, avoiding Joshua's eyes.

'I...' He sighed, shoulders slumping; and when his lips curled into a smile, it was both soft and very, very sad. 'I'm grateful that you came to me for help. As much as I wish that I could erase these last days, everything I have done... for your company, I am grateful. And I -'

Fingers, both slender and powerful, closed into fists at the Prince's side. Opened and closed, opened and closed. He pressed his lips into a thin line and sharply turned away.

'I apologize. Please, don't mind me.'

Joshua narrowed his eyes and reached out towards the Prince's mind, as easy as breathing. There it was, simmering right beneath the surface. Affection. A cherished childhood memory. A faint thread of bitterness. And... desire. Shame.

It felt... familiar. He had felt it before.

No. He had been confused. He had not been thinking straight. He...

Soft lips on his, arms around him, the touch, a real touch, real and welcome and human. A heart beating against his and his thoughts had been silent. Such a simple thing. Such bliss. Sweet, agonizing bliss.

For one moment, he had been real.

For one moment he had been...

...himself

He stumbled back, a keening sound in his throat as the pain in his chest flared wildly. He doubled over, hands flying to his chest and then he was retching blood, the taste of iron on his tongue, iron and bile.

He heard Dion's voice - Dion Dion Dion - call his name, hands pulling at his too-brittle body. He spat out the blood in his mouth and drew in a desperate breath, wheezing and bubbling in his lungs.

Please, he wanted to say. Please help me. I don't want to go back into the darkness, I didn't mean to please please please you have to help me I can't -

But his throat closed up and all he could utter was a choked whimper that the wind tore from his lips and carried out onto the lake.

Then the door slammed shut on him and he was back on the other side of the prison bars; brittle chains of Phoenix fire wrapping around him and keeping the darkness from swallowing what was left of him. A flickering spark in a sea of sickly swirling purple.

The voice droned in his soul, shaking it to its foundations until there was nothing left but nameless terror:

You are being troublesome, little Phoenix. We think it is time to break you.

Chapter 6

Notes:

One more chapter this year!
If you have gotten this far in the story I assume that you can handle heavy themes; I still want to put a warning here that this chapter is a rough one. Please read at your own discretion and take care of yourself!

CW: attempted suicide

' -ight? Phoenix!'

The voice was frantic, too close to his ears. Grating on his mind, a painful pulse in his skull. Joshua cleared his throat - it sounded wet and tasted like iron - and blinked his eyes open.

He was slumped against the railing of the platform they were standing on, the Prince hovering over him with wide eyes.

'Are you alright?'

Joshua took stock of himself - his body was aching as it always did, the pain in his chest and throat more pronounced. Breathing was difficult, a wet bubbling feeling in his lungs. But those sensations seemed strangely far away, muted. His mind was clear. Clearer than it had been in a long time, cold and focussed like the point of a dagger. Something was squirming and scratching far, far away at the back of his head, like a bird trying to flee its cage, but he shoved it aside.

'I'm fine', he said, the words harsh on his raw throat.
The Prince hesitated, then offered him a hand to help him up. Joshua took it. The touch was uncomfortable, but he did not mind. Not anymore.

He understood, now.

The Prince's purpose, his role in the grad scheme. Small, simple, beautiful.

'Should I accompany you to the infirmary?', the Prince asked, but Joshua shook his head.

'That won't be necessary.'

'Are you -'

'Please, Your Highness.' Joshua gave him a smile. It was distant, meanigless; it stirred nothing in his mind, not even reluctance, but he knew that from the outside it would look warm and gentle. 'I'm fine. Trust me.'

The Prince regarded him a while longer, doubt darkening his eyes, but then his shoulders slumped as the tension drained from his body.

'Alright. Would you at least allow me to escort you to your quarters, then? Lady Tarja advised you to rest.'

His quarters would be quiet, as much as that was possible with the amount of people living in the Hideaway, divided only by walls of brittle wooden planks. But it would be quiet.

Dion's room was right next to his.

Keep him close.

'Very well', Joshua said. 'But I insist that you rest as well. You look tired.' He allowed his gaze to soften, a subtle shift of muscles in his face, carefully calculated. 'I would rather not see you hurting.'

The Prince's eyes widened just a fraction, emotions flickering by like sparks in a gust of wind; there and gone again. His mind fluttering with something, a gentle vibration in the air for Joshua to pick up.

Keep him hoping.

'I do not find much rest since Twinside', the Prince said quietly. 'But if it will put your mind at ease, I will try.'

He offered his arm to steady Joshua's staggering steps as they walked towards the stairs together, and Joshua took it. His fingers dug into the warm flesh a little harder than was necessary, but the Prince did not seem to mind. Joshua could feel the pulse under his hand, the Prince's life in his grasp, so close, so close.

And when we break him...

He understood, now. The reason he had suffered the Prince's vexing presence all this time; so that he could break at just the right moment and set Joshua free. Free of those thoughts simmering beneath the surface of his mind, the unease squirming in his skull. That thing at the back of his head that thrashed and screamed and begged him to listen, to think, to...

(Not him, please, not him, why why why...)

(You could have saved him had it not been for your insolence.)

(No no nonono please)

(You brought this on you both, little Phoenix.)

'Phoenix?'

Joshua's eyes snapped open. He had not noticed that he had closed them, had not noticed the pained pinch of his face until now that it smoothed out again.

'I'm fine', he croaked.

Soon. It would be over soon.

The Prince's expression was unhappy but he helped Joshua straighten up again and led him the rest of the way to their quarters. After they had separated in front of the two ramshackle doors, Joshua slipped into his room on unsteady feet. He stumbled to the narrow bed and let himself sink down onto the mattress. His chest was pulsing, the pain muted by a quiet cold spreading through his core with every heartbeat. Cold, silent... peaceful.

Soon.

Now.

Make it end.

Yes. Just a little more, and he would have peace. Calm, blissful certainty, untainted by irritating human emotion. He just had to destroy the thing in his head, grind its will into dust until it fell apart in despair.

It would be easy.

He stretched out the fingers of his mind, through the thin barrier of wood separating him from the Prince. The tangles of the Prince's mind were seeping through the tiny gaps like oilslicks in water, iridescent wisps of thought. Churning and roiling like stormclouds and Joshua inhaled them, let them soak through his skin until the Prince's mind lay before him like a complicated puzzle - complicated and yet so very simple, one piece shifted and the whole of it would come tumbling down.

The times he had reached for it before had been different. He had been hesitant to look; looking had hurt, an ephemeral kind of hurt, impossible to grasp, illogical. But now his mind was sharp, and it was so very easy to slip past anything that might distract him, following the tangles, plucking the right strings.
He could not risk the Prince seeing through the illusion again, but he did not need to face him this time. Not when the wall was thin, thin enough for a voice to carry through the gaps.

A whisper - not his voice but that of another. He could imagine the Prince jolting at the sound of it, his fingers digging into the mattress of the bed he had curled up on.

'My Prince.'

Confusion, alarm... yearning.

'Dion.'

A shudder as the mind surrendered, sank deeper, got tangled in the spiderwebs of a dream that was none.
'Why did you leave me?'

Regret, bitter on the tongue. Resignation - it had been the right thing to do.

'Why did you leave me to die?'

The mind stumbled, stuttered; a cold dread freezing all thought in its deadly grasp.

'I saw your light. I thought you were in danger. But I was wrong.'

A heart fluttering somewhere in the dark, a weak, trembling thing. Pulsing in tune with a thought No no no no no...

The cold words cut through the desperate litany, shredding the heart. The soft, wounded heart.

'You were the danger. I breathed my last begging for your mercy, but it never came.'

A whisper, a damnation.

'I died screaming your name, but you did not listen.'

'No, that is not...'

The voice was weak. The poison words were louder, dripping into the Prince's veins. Plucking the strings.

'But you always knew, didn't you? You allowed a mere human into your heart, knowing full well how easily he could break. You dreamed of it every single time you watched your light consume your own men while they fought in your name. You knew that everyone who came close to you would perish, because all you know is how to destroy. You knew this would happen. But still you allowed it. Because you were selfish.'

A muffled sob bleeding through the wood.

'Forgive me...'

'There is no forgiveness, Dion. Not this time. Not for you.'

The tangles of the mind were curling around a spark; flickering, fading, dying. Hope. The pain and guilt were tearing into it with sharp claws, eating it alive.

'You are delaying the inevitable because you still think you could die with a clean conscience. But this is who you always were, is it not? Always so valiant. Always so selfrighteous. Always thinking you know right from wrong even when your Empire is rotting away beneath your feet and your own soul with it.'

A cruel chuckle.

'Do you really think the Phoenix wants you by his side? You are a tool for him, just like you were for your father. Every single wretched breath you took in your life has been in the service of another. And now you did the one thing that cannot be forgiven. You failed. Failed as a son, as a Dominant, as a leader. You even failed your rebellion. What do you think the Phoenix will do when you inevitably fail him as well? He will cast you aside, like your father did as soon as he got the precious noble-born son he always wanted.'

The mind shivered in the air just like the body did where it was curled up on the bed; curled up around the pain, the emptiness. Chinks in the armour deepening to cracks. Cracks deepening to chasms of despair.

'You failed me as well', Terence's voice whispered. 'But this one thing, you can set right. Your one chance to free yourself of the burden. There won't be another.'

'Please...'

A broken word. Weak, pleading.

'You know what to do', whispered the voice. It dug a little deeper, until Joshua's mind was awash with the Prince's, until he could almost feel those trembling hands as his own when they reached for the dagger

'It is so easy. One cut, and we can be joined once more.'

The Prince's mind hesitated, recoiled at the thought. One last, feeble resistance. Joshua brushed it away easily, choked the glimming spark until nothing was left.

He felt the hands move, the cool weight of the blade settling against soft skin, and then...

 

NO!

********

 

Twenty years earlier

'I am Dion of the House Lesage. It is an honour to meet you.'

Joshua awkwardly shuffled from one foot to the other, biting his lip. His father's warm hand on his shoulder gently pushed him forward.

'I am Joshua Rosfield. The honour is mine', he rattled off, proud that his tongue did not stumble even once.

The polite smile widened a little, making the brown eyes sparkle. Joshua could feel the power hum under the other boy's skin, similar to his own but different. Brighter, cool instead of warm. But it seemed to echo the Phoenix' call inside his own chest, the two aether signatures in the air mingling until his body was buzzing with it. He had never felt anything like it before but it felt... familiar. Comfortable and thrilling at once. Joshua barely knew what to do with so much sensation, so he bounced on the balls of his feet until his father's hand on his shoulder tightened slightly to remind him of his manners.

A man with a stern face appeared behind Dion and pulled him away. Joshua followed him with his eyes, craning his neck to catch another glimpse of that pale golden hair and those sparkling brown eyes before they were swallowed by the crowd.

As the festivities went on, Joshua found himself seeking out those eyes whenever he could. Hidden glances as they stood stiffly in a silent row of people, feet aching and shoulders cramping. Steps drifting towards each other as the adults mingled, shy smiles exchanged when no one paid them any mind. They did not get to speak again for hours, but it was the most comfortable formal celebration Joshua had ever attended. And the most exciting one.

 

He sat curled up on a cold stone bench. Before him stretched a lake, lanterns drifting on the water. The midday sun swallowed most of their light, but their paper bodies almost covered the surface of the lake in its entirety.

He had slipped away after they had been lit and everyone had started to chat and socialize under the pavillions at the edge of the gardens, seemingly forgetting all about the tiny flickering flames out on the water.

Footsteps approached him. First he thought they were Clive's - his brother always had a way of finding him when he was hiding. But the steps were too light, and then Joshua felt the tingle of aether on his skin, strange and familiar at the same time.

'Are you crying?', Dion asked in a quiet voice.

Joshua pulled up his shoulders to hide his face. He was not crying - not quite. But his eyes were wet and his nose was stuffy and now he also felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

But Dion did not sound mocking. He sounded curious. A little concerned. Joshua heard the rustle of clothes when the other boy sat down next to him.

'Father said that they lit the lanterns for the people who died in the fighting', Joshua mumbled.

Dion was quiet - of course, he already knew. It made Joshua feel stupid. But... Dion was a Dominant, like him. He had never talked to another Dominant before; usually he talked to Clive about things like this, but Clive didn't always understand. Not really.
Maybe... maybe Dion would understand.

'He said that we have to make sure it never happens again. That's why we are here. And... that as the Phoenix, it's my duty too. To make sure there won't be a war. But...'

He felt his eyes brimming with fresh tears. His lip wobbled.

'What if I can't do it? And then people die again and...' He hiccuped as he fought down the sob in his throat, the pale light of the lanterns blurry through the sheen of tears. 'There are so many.'

'It'll be alright.'

Joshua's watery eyes flickered down to the hand that had closed around his, then up to Dion's face.
From anyone else, the words would have sounded patronizing. Meaningless. But Dion knew. Joshua could see it in the solemn expression in his eyes. From him, the words were kind.

Dion hastily drew back his hand. There was an awkward moment of silence between them while Joshua wished for the touch back but was not sure how to ask for it. Should he even ask for it? But then Dion caught his gaze again, and he looked like he was thinking about something very hard.

'Have you seen the gardens yet?', he asked hesitantly.

Joshua shook his head.

'Do you want to take a look?'

Yes. Yes, he would like that very much.

 

They snuck away from the festivities without anyone noticing. Soon the sound of voices had faded behind them, and they were surrounded only by the melodic calls of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind. The memory of lanterns drifting on a lake seemed very far away as Dion offered his hand and Joshua took it, and then they were running through the underbrush with a breathless giggle in their throats.

It was not a forest, not quite, but the trees stood close to each other and hid them under their branches and the grass beneath their feet was soft and fragrant and it was close enough. Joshua could not remember the last time he had been in a forest. Much less one he was allowed to touch and explore and breathe in and -

They stopped under a tree that was so big its branches seemed to touch the sky. A canopy of green, golden beams of sunlight dancing on the lush grass below. Joshua let go of Dion's hand to twirl around with his head thrown back, laughing as the leaves above his head whirled around until they turned into smears of green against the blue sky.
He stumbled, lost his balance and fell into the grass, gasping for breath and it had been a long time since he had last felt so free. He stretched out his arms and legs as wide as they would go, carding his fingers through the blades of grass.

Dion was watching him curiously; when Joshua waved at him with a big grin, he joined him on the ground. He sat down carefully at first, but then he laid back as well and the tentative smile on his face widened to match Joshua's.

They lay there for a while, breathing in the aroma of the air. But the next time Joshua glanced over at Dion, the other boy's grin had disappeared and he looked lost in thought again.

'What is it?', Joshua asked.

Dion bit his lip, his fingers restlessly tearing apart blades of grass.

'I just thought... they could not do it without us.'

Joshua cocked his head in question.

'A war', Dion said. 'Rosaria and Sanbreque - they could not go to war without our Eikons.'

'But they do have our Eikons', Joshua said. 'And if there is a war... we would have to fight each other.'

The thought sat like a lump in his throat, a thought too big and terrible to understand. It was almost enough to make the tears rise again, but Dion still looked more thoughtful than sad.

'What if we... don't?', he said quietly.

Joshua stared at him with wide eyes and suddenly Dion lifted his head from where it had been resting on the ground to look around nervously - as if he expected someone to hide in the shrubbery, listening to them. He lowered his voice a bit more, so much that Joshua had to shuffle closer to understand.

'What if we don't fight each other? What if we promise never to hurt each other?'

Joshua felt his heart beat faster in his chest

'Can we... do that?'

Dion stared at him, his eyes just as wide as Joshua's and sparkling with determination, and maybe also something like excitement. The aether mingling in the air seemed to vibrate with possibilities. Dion reached out to grab Joshua's hand again, and Joshua thought that he could not remember ever holding a hand the same size as his own before.

'I promise', Dion said. 'I promise I will never fight you, or hurt you.'

Joshua's fingers tightened around Dion's.

'I promise, too', he said with all the gravity he could muster. 'I will never hurt you. Ever.'

Then his face split into a huge smile as giddiness rose in his chest.

'That means we're friends! I never had a friend before!' He hesitated. 'I mean, except for Clive and Jill and... but, you know.'

Dion's eyes widened. He swallowed hard as he stared at Joshua, and Joshua felt his excitement fade as he realized that Dion had never agreed to this much.

'You don't have to be my friend, if you don't want to', he said quietly, trying to hide the disappointment that suddenly sat in his heart like a cold, hard lump.

He was about to pull back his hand but Dion grasped it tighter and held it there. His brown eyes seemed very bright and his lip was trembling a little.

'I never had a friend, either', he whispered.

The disappointment faded, and Joshua felt something warm instead, warm like the Phoenix but it came from him.

They curled up around the spot where their hands were linked in the grass, curled up until their foreheads were almost touching. It felt warm.

'Do you think they will let us visit?', Joshua asked.

'We can pretend that they will', Dion said. 'For now.'

That seemed like a good idea. Joshua did not want to be sad because they would both have to go back home eventually. For now... for now they were here, and the garden was big and wild and quiet. For now, this moment was forever.

They rolled on their backs eventually, their hands still holding on to each other, staring up at the glimmering shapes of the sunlight sneaking past the rustling branches. Joshua started to point out shapes in the dark shadows of the leaves, and soon it became a game.

'A shoe!'

'A bird!'

'A carrot!'

'Ew.'

'A dragon!'

It did look like a dragon. Joshua turned his head to look at Dion, eyes bright with curiosity.

'Is it true that they get as big as houses?', he asked, awe in his voice. Dion grinned proudly.

'Not quite as big. But once I pet one with teeth as long as my arm!'

Joshua's eyes grew huge.

'You can pet them? Will they not bite you?'

'Not me. They know that I am a dragon as well, I think.'

Joshua squeezed Dion's hand in his.

'Will you show them to me? When I come visit?'

Dion's smile was bright. Bright like the aether of his Eikon lazily drifting in the air, tangling with that of the Phoenix.

Just for now.

'I...

 

 

   D o   y o u ... ?

                            ...promise...

             p r o m i s e

   I...

                                 ...I will never...

  D o ...              y o u ...

        I will never hurt you.

I promise.

D o   y o u ...

 

 

                      ... r    e    m    e    m    b    e    r   ?

********

Blood.

The smell of it thick in the air, choking. He was coughing. Agony in his chest, in his head, splitting, burning, tearing him apart.

Trembling hands, covered in warm, sticky red. For a moment he was not sure who they belonged to, who...

They were his.

He was no longer in his room. He only vaguely remembered bursting through the door, into Dion's... Dion's...

Dion.

His hands tried to hold back the red, but it was seeping through his fingers, soaking his clothes, dripping to the floor. The skin beneath it was slippery, his grip sliding off without purchase.

Dion's eyes were clouded.

He coughed, wheezed, gagged on the smell of metal, his lungs stuttering and seizing in his chest but he could not let go. He could not, he had to had to had to...

Heal.

Yes. The flames. Where were the flames where were they, they...

Flickered to life under his fingers and pain pain pain in his chest flashing through his skull help me...

Guttering, dying, the golden glow fading and leaving only red, red, no no no no...

Someone was screaming.

Dion's lips were pale, twitching in an attempt to form words but he could not hear, the screaming was too loud and he was dying, surely he was dying with that pain piercing his chest, so sharp and cold that he was sure were he to look down he would see blood soiled steel sticking out of his ribcage.

There were voices, footsteps, hands on his shoulders, pulling, pulling him away, away from...

'NO!'

The word was a roar, grinding in his throat but the hands were relentless. More voices, that of a woman rising above the others, brash and commanding.

'Get him out of here!'

He was being dragged away and suddenly the rage flashed in his mind, how dare they, miserable little creatures, he should kill them, kill them all, die, die, die, dying, Dion was dying and he... he...

There were arms wrapped around him, despite the blood soaking his clothes, staining his skin. A hand rubbing between his shoulderblades, smoothing down his hair. The person was rocking them gently back and forth, Joshua's head cradled against their shoulder.

Silver hair, cool skin.

Shiva Jill.

'It's alright', she mumbled into his ear. 'He will be alright. Tarja is looking after him. He will be fine.'

For a moment his eyes fluttered shut, a shaky breath escaping his lungs. Maybe it was a sob. Maybe there were tears running down his face, hot tears soaking the fabric of her blouse.

For a moment, he wanted to stay there and listen to her voice telling him that everything would be fine.

But the pain of her touch soon became unbearable, the pressure of her body against his chest a searing agony that made him want to crawl out of his skin. Her hands on him aggravating, intrusive as they moved about, touching him from all sides, trapping him, he had to get away, had to... wring her neck that will teach her to leave him the fuck alone he just needed to be alone please leave me alone please please please just go please don't make me kill you -

He tore himself out of her grasp and stumbled away, his entire body shaking like a leaf - leaves in the wind, a canopy of green above his head, I promise I promise I...

He doubled over and threw up on the wooden planks, hands scrabbling at his chest and smearing blood all over his shirt.

Dion's blood, Dion's blood on his hands I promise I promise...

'Joshua?'

Jill was taking a hesitant step in his direction, always so kind, always so caring - a fool like all the rest, inconsequential, stupid fucking ant just ready to be crushed.

The pain was unbearable and Joshua dug his fingers into his scalp and screamed, his voice raw and breaking as he choked on the blood flooding his mouth, blood and bile on his tongue and I dare you to come here you little pest, come here and claim your prize!

'Joshua!'

His chest was heaving with too-deep breaths, his skull splitting in two. His head snapped up as he heard Jill hurry towards him. He saw her eyes widen and for a moment he could see himself reflected in those grey irises; bloodshot eyes - not his eyes, they were supposed to be blue, not silver, why weren't they blue, were they? Were they? - dark veins creeping up from his chest over his throat, his jaw, the spidery lines disappearing under the blood that was smeared across his chin.

Just the fraction of a second and then he lunged, the hate burning in his chest, the despair just make it stop please just make it stop run run run you have to run please don't make me do this -

The pain exploded in his head as he felt like his very self was being torn in two. He stumbled, folding over with a bloodcurling scream and then a fist collided with his temple and finally, finally he passed out.

********

Sensation came back in small bursts of brightness stabbing through the velvety dark; a throb of pain in his chest when he was moved, his bony shoulders and hips grinding against something hard as he was laid down. Cold. The sharp rattle of metal in his ears. Someone touching his hands, a soft cloth rasping over the skin like sandpaper.

Then the darkness receded, abandoned him to the light and the pain. His limbs were like lead and there was a weight on his chest that reached past his ribs with sharp claws every time he took a breath.

He blinked open his crusted eyelids, just a sliver. The light was dim, but it was enough to make his eyes water.

There was someone crouched next to him - ah, he was on the floor, on a thin lumpy mattress. The person was touching his hands. No... cleaning them with a damp cloth, cleaning off the

b l o o d

His breath quickened, his heart beating painfully fast in his chest. Shredding itself on the sharp edges of the crystal shard lodged in his breastbone.

'Jill...' A warning, an unfamiliar voice coming from somewhere farther away. 'I think he's waking up.'

The touch on his hands faltered. He needed... he needed it back gone more no no no more please... his breath stumbled and then he was coughing, pain ripping through his body as it convulsed on the floor, blood in his mouth, blood blood blood there was so much blood, so much...

He drew in a wheezing breath and forced his eyes to focus on the person next to him. She was hovering over him, uncertainty twisting her face. Hands still reaching out, so close to his. His fingers twitched. He wanted to grasp her hand like a lifeline, please tell me again, tell me that everything will be fine. He wanted to claw at her arm and pull her down so he could tear into her throat with his teeth. He wanted... he...

He wanted for it to stop.

He lifted his hand a painful inch from the floor, grazing her fingers and she pulled back, hastily stepping away. His hand dropped back down and it felt as if it shattered on the ground, the brittle bones cracking and splintering. His eyes followed her as she slowly retrated.

'I'm sorry', she whispered. He thought that once, he would have been able to read the tone of her voice. Now it was just vibrations in the air, buzzing around his head like flies. He had found beauty in words, once, had he not? He could barely remember. 'We will find a way to help you. I promise.'

Help. He would have laughed had the mere attempt not hurt so much. He was well beyond any help.

She slipped through a door made of iron bars and only then his mind could finally make sense of his surroundings. A cell.

Of course.

The lids of his eyes were heavy, threatening to slip shut again. His vision was blurring, the two people on the other side of the bars nothing more than dark shadows against a darker background. He could hear them talk quietly, their voices garbled to his tired mind.

'He looks bad', Shiva said quietly to the man next to her. 'Maybe we should -'

She was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, a frantic staccato. A blur of movement that Joshua's eyes were unable to follow so he let them fall shut, welcoming the soothing darkness. He shivered weakly from the cold creeping through the stone floor.

'What is the meaning of this!?'

The voice was angry, the volume of it hurting his head. But it was familiar. Maybe it was even real - he could not tell. Maybe it did not matter. Maybe it had never mattered.

'Clive...'

'Gav, what's going on here?'

'We had to put him in there. He attacked Jill.'

'He just found his friend in a puddle of blood, he was upset!'

'He looked ready to tear her apart with his bare hands if I hadn't knocked him out. He's dangerous.'

'He's ill!'

'Clive.' Jill's quiet voice cut off the heated exchange before either of the men could start shouting. 'You did not see him. That was... that was not him. There is something really wrong with him.'

Silence, a heavy cloud churning right under the ceiling, pressing down on them.

'Keys', Clive said in a tight voice.

'Maybe just -'

'Give me the damn keys, Gav!'

The rattle of something metal. The click of a lock. Footsteps approaching him. Joshua fought to open his eyes again, just a little. Just enough to see Clive's shadow crouching down next to him like Shiva had before. No... Jill. Her name was Jill. Was it? He was not sure. It was hard to see the colour of Clive's eyes in this light, and he was not sure.

'Joshua?'

A hand settled on his shoulder, the touch light, warm. He leaned into it as much as he could, soaking in the feeling. His lips twitched a few times without being able to form words, but finally he managed to force his broken voice past the pain in his throat.

'You're not real.'

The hand on his shoulder tightened until he expected his body to shatter like glass under the force.

'Of course I'm real', Clive said hoarsely. No, not Clive, then. Mythos.

Was it? He was not sure, not sure.

He was not sure he could trust his own mind anymore.

'Can you tell me what happened?', Mythos asked gently.

What happened? Look at me. Everything happened. I am no longer the brother you remember. I am not sure what I am.

A chuckle escaped his sore throat.

'Joshua?'

'You couldn't tell', Joshua croaked. Another chuckle drove tears into his eyes as it rattled his aching bones. 'I was screaming for your help this whole time, and you couldn't tell.'

He drew in a wheezing breath; he thought that he could feel the blood bubbling in his chest cavity, rising in his throat. He coughed, spat it on the ground where it soiled Mythos' boots. The hand on his shoulder was trembling slightly but it still pulled him into a position that allowed him to breathe a little easier. Joshua barked a laugh and bared his teeth in a blood-stained smile.

'You put so much pride in these bonds of yours and still... you couldn't tell. And now he has a body that can withstand the black, and you invited him right in. We both did.'

He laughed. It almost drove him mad with pain but he could not stop it.

'We are both fools, brother', he gasped. 'And now everyone will die, die, they should all die, they will... they...'

The laughter swallowed his voice or maybe it was a howl of pain. He only just saw the horrified expression in that familiar face above him and a flash of blue before his eyes rolled back in his skull and he succumbed to the darkness again.

Notes:

The childhood scene was a random headcanon I thought of when we were discussing the Remembrance ceremony on the Phoenixflare discord server. Thank you @ouchness for pointing out that it would fit well into the story (it really does)!

Chapter 7

Notes:

I apologize for the slow updates, but I am utterly incapable of finishing one WIP before starting the next one... Still, this story is very slowly coming to an end. Two more chapters to go after this one! (If I can stick to the chapter count for once lol)

No new CW this time, just the usual pain

The drip of water.

Muffled footsteps in the distance.

The groan of wood.

The rattle of metal.

The grating sound of a tray being placed on the stone floor.

A voice; tired, pleading. You have to eat something.

Nausea rising in his throat.

The shuffle of weak limbs sluggishly pushing the tray away.

Wheezing breaths.

Pain pulsing in his chest, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.

Fingernails raking across his skin.

Sleep, fitful and fleeting, his thoughts startling him awake as soon as he had finally found oblivion. He was so tired.

The drip of water.

Muffled footsteps in the distance.

The groan of wood.

The rattle of metal...

********

 

'I don't know what you want me to say.'

A quiet voice, somewhere on the other side of the bars.

'Just... tell me anything. Tell me how to help him.'

Mythos. Clive. Mythos. Blue and silver and blue and not real not real not... was he? He did not remember.

A sigh.

'You know that it's not that easy. He needs proper rest, in a bed. Food. Fresh air. He needs to be out of that cell. And most of all he needs that thing out of his chest, but we both know that none of those are likely to happen any time soon.'

'I'm trying to figure something out. I will. But I need him to stay alive until I do.' The voice cracked. 'Please tell me how to at least keep him alive.'

There was a long pause, another sigh.

'Fine, give me a little time. I can prepare something that will help with the pain. Something to give him a proper night's sleep. Something to increase his appetite. But you will have to figure out how to give it to him without causing him even more distress.'

'Thank you.'

'And I hope I don't need to tell you that this is a temporary solution at best. Pumping him full of medicine can only keep him going for so long.'

'... I know.'

The voice... the woman's voice. His thoughts were sluggish, moving like glaciers in his head. But he recognized it. She had been there when... when he...

When Dion...

Dion...

So much blood.

His lips twitched as he tried to produce a sound - a question - a plea; dry skin splitting apart at the slightest strain, blood welling up and trickling down his chin.

The woman was leaving. Too late.

His eyes fluttered shut. There was the sound of footsteps, and once he had found the strength to open his eyes again he saw Mythos crouched in front of him. His eyes were dark in the twilight of the cell, a faint glint in the shadows that were shrouding the familiar face.

'What am I going to do with you?', Mythos mumbled. He cast a look towards the untouched tray of food in the corner. 'You need to eat. If you don't eat, you will die.'

Yes. He knew that. But his stomach roiled violently every time he so much as thought about eating. His throat closed up every time he tried to drink from the cup of water on the tray. His mind screamed him awake every time he tried to sleep. He wanted to sleep.

'Do you want to die?'

Did he? He was not sure. Maybe... maybe if he died, he would finally be able to sleep.

Mythos sat down heavily on the floor. His eyes were still in shadow and Joshua wished for enough strength to crane his neck, just far enough to guess their colour. He licked his bloodied lips, the taste of iron a bright burst in his mouth, the hint of liquid welcome in his dry throat. It was enough to try and speak, as much as his sore lungs protested; but only a hiss of breath escaped him. He tried again, until finally he was able to utter a word.

'Dion?'

It was little more than a hoarse whisper, brittle and cracking. But the word felt like a tether. As if he might be able to be real again if only he could grasp what it meant. A thought, fleeting like gossamer wisps in his head. A face, yes. A touch. He remembered, he remembered.

Mythos looked at him with his shadowed eyes.

'He is dead', he said. 'You know that. You were there.'

He will be alright.

Shiva had said so, over and over again as she had held his trembling form. Blood dripping from his hands, warm blood, so much, so much... He will be fine.

Liar.

He wanted to hate her for it. He wanted the searing hate, the disgust, he wanted it back. Anything. Anything but that pit opening up in his stomach, a lump in his throat, threatening to strangle him. Anything but the hot pressure of tears at the back of his eyes.

The fragile tether splintering and breaking, leaving him adrift with a wounded noise stuck in his chest.

'Maybe it is better this way', Mythos said quietly. 'At least he is free of all this.'

He reached out, gentle fingers brushing sweaty strands of hair from Joshua's forehead. 'You will be free as well, I promise. One way or the other. I will kill you myself before I let him have you.'

That was... wrong. Was it? It made sense. Maybe it was kind, even. But Clive - Clive, Clive, his brother Clive, yes, that was his name - would never say this. Would he? Would he? Maybe, maybe, he could not tell. Not anymore. But something about these words sickened him to the core, more even than the thought of food.

'You're not real', he croaked.

'Does it matter?'

Ah. It was the apparition then, come once more to torture him. As if he needed any more pain to break. He was long past that point. In that, Clive was right - it did not matter. The end result was always the same.

'What do you want from me?', he whispered.

Clive leaned his head to the side, a faint smile playing on his lips. Cold and cruel, the mask of compassion falling away.

'You are of no use to us anymore. And those bonds of yours have proven to be very troublesome things - it would be unwise to let you keep them.'

He should understand what that meant. He should be frightened. But he was so very tired.

He closed his eyes.

Sleep, fitful and fleeting.

The drip of water.

Muffled footsteps in the distance.

The groan of wood.

The rattle of metal.

********

Someone opened the door to his cell. The footsteps closed in, then stopped. Someone crouched down in front of him.

Clive.

Clive was also sitting behind him, running soothing fingers through his hair. It was nice. It was warm.

'Joshua?'

Joshua cracked open his eyes a sliver. Clive was a dark silhouette against the twilight of the cell, cloaked in shadow. He also was a silent presence at Joshua's back, his fingers steady in his hair.

'You're not real', he mumbled.

'Of course I'm real', the Clive in front of him said. His voice sounded brittle.

The words meant something. They meant... they meant that it was Mythos, right, Mythos crouched in front of him. Clive. The real Clive, his touch solid and painful against Joshua's oversensitive skin. Grounding. Real.

'Does it matter who is real and who is not?', the apparition whispered in his ear. 'The pain is real. Are you not tired of it?'

He was tired, yes. Tired and hollow and raw like an exposed nerve. There were hands on his body, grasping, pulling. He fought them weakly, but could not shake them off.

'I'm sorry', Mythos said. 'I'll be quick, I promise.'

He was tired of the pain. But the hands were relentless as they picked him up from the cold stone floor and propped him against the wall. His head lolled to the side, too heavy to hold it up. Sitting made his vision swim.

A warm hand cupped his face and he could not tell who it belonged to. Smooth wood pressed against his lips, the edge of a cup. He more felt than saw the liquid sloshing around in it, and the mere thought of swallowing made sticky saliva pool in his mouth.

'Just a sip, please.' Mythos' voice was pleading. 'It will make you feel better.'

'He is lying', the same voice whispered somewhere close. 'They all lie. There is nothing that can help you now.'

He will be fine.

Dion was dead.

The liquid smelt of herbs, heavy and medicinal. The eyes staring at him were desperate. Familiar. A flash of blue in the dark. Blue, blue, blue.

He opened his mouth.

The taste was bitter, pungent on his tongue. Overwhelming after so many hours - days? - of tasting nothing but musty air and his own blood on his lips. Swallowing was exhausting. He still forced down one sip, then two - then his throat closed up and his lungs seized and the mixture was burning in his windpipe, choking him. He thrashed weakly in Clive's grasp and then he could do nothing but cough and retch until the taste of the herbs was washed away by the metallic tang of blood. His body screamed in pain as the crystal's jagged edges in his chest sawed away at his flesh, deeper, deeper.

'I told you he was lying', Clive's voice whispered in his ear.

Joshua curled up in an aching heap on the floor, his back pressed against the wall. A futile attempt to hide, to escape. He faintly heard frantic words and then someone touched his arm and he saw a flash of blue eyes and he scrambled away, no more, please, no more. His limbs did not even carry him far enough to get out of arm's reach, but the hand withdrew. The voice was equal parts soothing and pleading but they were lies, lies, lies -

'He told you. After everything you did, everything you have suffered, all for his sake - he told you he would kill you.'

No, that was not... that had been... had he? His panicked eyes found Clive's - blue, they were blue, that meant something, did it not? Did it? - and Clive shrank away, raising his hands in an appeasing gesture. The cup was lying on the floor, its contents spilled.

'I'm sorry', Clive said. 'I did not mean to hurt you.'

Liar liar liar liar

Was he?

The air was rattling in Joshua's lungs and he coughed weakly. Blood dribbled out of his mouth and onto the dusty stone floor. Clive let his hands sink down very slowly, then carefully shuffled closer; one step, then another. Joshua pressed himself firmer against the wall, heart beating painfully fast. No more, please...

'Please. I'm just trying to help.'

One step. Another. Another...

Liar.

Joshua lunged at him with a hoarse scream, teeth bared in a bloody snarl. His fingernails raked across Clive's cheek as he flailed, sending both of them crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Joshua's vision was blurred, shadows dancing madly in front of his eyes, but he felt Clive's warmth retreat, out of reach.

One part of him - the desperate, hurt, frightened part - was glad.

The other part felt as if he had just lost something infinitely precious.

If only he could remember what it was.

 

********

Clive carefully picked Joshua up from the floor and laid him down on the mattress in the corner before he left. Joshua barely acknowledged it beyond recoiling from the touch as much as he could, to no avail. The outburst had robbed him of what little strength had remained, leaving him drifting in a state between sleep and waking. Or a waking nightmare perhaps, dancing shadows and muffled sounds and his own thoughts swirling and swirling in his head, restless, trapped.

Liars. They all lie. He wants to kill you. After everything you have suffered, for him. They don't trust you. You can't trust them. They all lie.

It had been so much easier when he had hated them. The fear was a whole new torture, making him weak instead of strong. So weak, so small that it felt as if he might disappear in the formless grey of the cell.

He was not sure how much time passed, but sometimes his eyes would focus and he would see Clive sitting there - sometimes close, sometimes on the other side of the bars. 'You're not real', he would whisper, even though his voice barely carried far enough for the words to leave his lips. He no longer listened for an answer. It did not matter, not when his heart would clench in fear either way.

Then, after hours or maybe weeks or maybe lifetimes, there was the sound of boots on the stone floor, closing in. Too slow, too measured to belong to Clive. Joshua willed his eyes to focus on the direction they were coming from. He was sitting with his back leaned against the wall, curled up tightly until the sharp bones of his limbs dug into his torn chest like the crystal shard. It had been a slow, painful process to heave himself up from the mattress, but he felt safer like this. More in control.

A laughable effort, really.

The footsteps grew louder, and then Joshua saw the grey twilight part to give way to white.

Dion was a ghostly figure, standing out against the bleak walls of wood and stone with his bright clothes and bright hair. And how fitting that he would appear to Joshua as such - a ghost, a spectre come to haunt him with the memory of what he had done. A persistent one, unwilling to disappear even after Joshua had forced his tired eyes to blink rapidly in an attempt to dispel the vision.

Dion hesitated when he approached the bars and his gaze fell on the cell's inhabitant. The wrinkled clothes, stained with dust and specks of dried blood. Sunken eyes in a sunken face, dull slivers of blue behind a shaggy fringe of unkempt hair. The malicious glint of crystal, surrounded by red marks where restless fingernails had split the skin. Dion took it all in silently, his mouth tightening at the corners.

Disgusted, disappointed, satisfied at seeing you where you belong.

The words felt wrong, but Joshua still curled up a little tighter when Dion sat down on the blank foor on the other side of the bars.

'I apologize for not coming to see you sooner.'

Dion's soft voice was a jarring contrast to the stone and metal surrounding them, to the poisonous words whispered in the dark. It made Joshua's heart ache.

'Lady Tarja believed it might not be... conductive to my state of mind. I suppose I should be thankful for her worry, but still. I wished to speak with you myself. It is the least I owe you.'

Dion looked tired. Surprising, for a ghost. His forearms were bandaged, both of them. He was running his fingers over the left one absentmindedly and Joshua's eyes were drawn in by the movement.

Blood, so much blood, skin split apart by the sharp edge of a dagger, his hands holding it together as red rivulets poured to the ground from between his fingers, the light dying in amber eyes...

'You're dead', he croaked.

Dion looked up in surprise, his right hand hastily pulling away from his arm and balling into a fist as if he had only now realized what he was doing.

'Yes, I thought so as well. For a moment, at least. But as you can see, I am very much alive - for good or ill.'

'I was there when you died.'

Dion's eyes flickered to the side, shying away from Joshua's gaze. His hand skittered back to his arm again, fingers picking at the bandages restlessly.

'I am sorry you had to find me like this. When I woke up... I barely remember what I... why I would...' The fingers dug into the bandages, too deeply to not aggravate whatever wound lay beneath. Dion shook his head. 'It matters not. You saved my life, and I am grateful.'

Liar.

The word echoed in Joshua's head. He had not saved Dion's life, he had taken it. He remembered, he remembered. How could he ever forget how easy it had been.

Liar.

He wanted to hate. Hate was easy. But the hate had disappeared and left him alone, lost. Alone with the fear, the pain. He pressed his eyes shut, shutting out the vision, shutting out the memories it conjured. He did not want to see it.

'You are dead', he mumbled. He felt his fingernails rake across his chest, catching on crystal and stone and digging into raw skin until it grew slippery with fresh blood. The pain was grounding. 'You're not real.'

For a moment there was silence, and he allowed himself to hope that the apparition had fled. But then Dion's voice spoke up again, and it was rough with an emotion Joshua could not name.

'I'm sorry. You came to me for help but still I never realized how much pain you were in. I am so sorry.'

Help? He had not come for help. Had he? He had come to use, to manipulate, to destroy. To do what needed to be done, but none of them would understand.

He would kill you if he knew.

Was this... right?

'How can I convince you?' Dion's expression was solemn, but determined. 'Tell me what to do to convince you that I am alive.'

Joshua let his head sink back against the wall. His eyes slid away from Dion's form, even though it pained him to let it go. The walls of the cell were so dark, so very cold without Dion's light.

'What is the point?', he whispered.

Dion did not answer, and Joshua closed his eyes and waited for the sound of footsteps fading into the distance. Waited for the presence on the other side of the bars to disappear and take the memories with them, the warmth, that feeling of... something, something more, something just out of reach.

'Do you remember the garden?'

The words were quiet, but they made Joshua's body flinch as if struck by a physical blow. Dion's voice was soft and merciless, each word digging itself deeper into Joshua's heart.

'There is a garden, far away from here. A garden hidden under a canopy of trees. The leaves form the sunlight into the most dazzling shapes.'

A keening sound pushed its way past Joshua's lips. He rocked in place as the memories flooded his mind - the scent of grass, the feeling of a small hand in his, the taste of a promise on his tongue. Dragon's breath on his face, laughter and the sway of a chocobo's back. The caress of soft lips and Dion's trembling form in his arms as the power of their Eikons raged around them. And Dion's voice, his voice, not a memory but real, real, real. He looked up and found brown eyes holding him captive, so warm and gentle that it ached.

'You were right', Dion said. 'Those children - they deserved so much better. You deserve better. So please, I beg of you: Won't you believe that there is hope for you? Just for a moment?'

Hope. Was that what it was? That thing that lay just out of reach, so dim that he could barely see it and so bright that it hurt to look at it. Like the sun breaking through the crowns of trees so tall they seemed to touch the sky. Like a smile, a smile so warm and innocent, so happy. He wanted... He wanted.

He wanted to see it again, just once.

He reached for it, that thing he could feel just beyond the confines of his mind. It was warm when he grasped at it, then hot, then searing him from the inside out, flames, flames eating him alive.

Flames.

Phoenix fire.

He gasped as his mind seemed to unfold and he could feel it - the burning threads holding his being together, the last fragments of it that remained in the roiling sea of sickly purple. He could feel it - the wrongness, the alien presence lodged in his skull just like the crystal shard was lodged in his chest, forever bound.

His hands flew to his head, fingers clawing at his scalp.

'I... I can't...' His frantic eyes sought Dion's; warm pools of amber, warm like the Phoenix's flames, yes. 'I can't get him out', he whispered. 'I can't... I locked him inside and now I can't get him out, I... I'm...'

Scared.

Dion's hands had closed around the bars in a white-knuckled grip. The unforgiving metal kept him from rushing to Joshua's side, as much as his muscles strained against it. It was better that way, better because Joshua did not know how long he would be able to hold back the flood. It was better, even though he wanted Dion to touch him, to hold him, to prove to him that they were both real; he wanted it so much that it hurt.

'You don't have to do this alone', Dion said. His voice was soothing, even tense as it was. 'I am here to help you. We all are. So - please, let us help you.'

Help. Yes. He needed help. He needed... he needed to concentrate.

'Tabor.' The word left his lips in a rush of air - quickly, he had to say it quickly. 'She is... in Tabor.'

Dion's eyes widened, his grip on the metal bars loosening as he let go of a deep breath. His face lighting up with tentative relief. With hope.

'Thank you.'

Joshua slumped back against the wall, tension draining from his body. His head was pounding. Soon, the darkness would come flooding back; he sensed it lurking in the corners of his mind, ready to pounce. But he had been able to fight against it, just for a moment. Had been able to slip words past the monster that held his mind in its claws. He understood now, yes. The madness was not his, and if it wasn't, that meant he could fight it. Maybe it would be enough.

Dion was a white shape amidst the twilight of the cell, warm and bright. Joshua kept his eyes fixed on it even as his vision blurred and his mind started to cloud, to slip, to crumble. A faint thread to hold on to, so thin that maybe the monster would not notice once it was in control again. Maybe.

Maybe there was hope after all.

 

********

The next time a meal was delivered to the cell, it was Dion who carried the tray. There were two bowls of food on it and two cups of water, and Dion picked up one of each before sliding the rest through the gaps between the bars. He sat down in the same spot as before and started to eat while Joshua eyed him warily, tray untouched.

'It's not so different from the rations we had at the front', Dion mused between bites. 'Though these here have more flavour. Spices were not a priority when supplying an army.'

The levity in his voice was confusing, clashing with the turmoil inside Joshua's head. He squinted at the bowl of stew on the tray. There were surprisingly few vegetables drifting around in it, and it did smell of the spices favoured by the people of the Velcroy, the ones that would burn pleasantly on the tongue. His empty stomach gave a demanding growl, but before he could reach out the taste of bitter herbs flooded his tongue and clogged his throat. Clive's face hovering above him as he was choking, struggling, they all lie.

No, there was something... something he had to remember.

Dion used his spoon to gesture at the bowl.

'We once received a shipment of Dhalmekian pepper - you would have thought the men had been invited to the Royal palace for the solstice feast with how excited they were for dinner. Until one of the dragonets got loose and was only caught after she had already broken into our food stores and emptied every single sack of pepper. Apparently they like spice.'

Will you show them to me when I come visit?

Warm dragon's breath ruffling his hair.

Do you remember?

A thread. Yes. He remembered.

Dion chuckled quietly to himself.

'There was less excitement about wrangling a fire breathing dragonet with hiccups in the middle of a war camp. We lost quite a few tents - I have never seen dragon fire burn so hot. Terence -'

Dion cut himself off abruptly. The silence stretched on as he stared at the bowl in his hands as if he could suddenly no longer remember why it was there, his lips pressed into a thin line. His hand crept towards the bandages on his left arm, fingers digging into the white fabric. He blinked rapidly and shook his head as if to rid himself of his thoughts.

'Forgive me', he said hoarsely.

The purple was hissing and churning in the back of his mind, but Joshua remembered how to drive it back, even just for a moment. A moment long enough to feel guilt, sharp and jagged like a rusty knife. The memory of Dion's mind trembling and cracking in his grasp, muffled sobs behind a thin wooden wall.

You did this to him.

He was not sure whether the voice belonged to him or the monster.

'I'm sorry', he whispered.

'Don't be.'

Dion drew in a shaky breath and when he looked up again, his face was smooth and relaxed once more. His eyes fell on the tray at Joshua's feet.

'Will you try to eat something?'

Joshua swallowed thickly. The purple was boiling in rage but for now he could hold it at bay. For now, it did not command his body.

He hesitantly picked up the spoon. He took a bite, he chewed, he swallowed. His stomach was aching after being empty for so long and for a moment he felt fear, cold and irrational

They all lie, there will only be more pain

but Dion's face was calm and his eyes were warm and once Joshua had choked down a second bite the ache slowly subsided. He ate half of the stew before his control slipped; before his throat seized and the bowl clattered to the floor. Before he curled up in the corner again, hands pressed over his ears in a futile attempt to keep out the cruel voice flooding his mind.

He did not see Dion leave. He only later saw the empty spot on the floor and felt a deep, aching pit in his chest where the light should be.

He pressed his forehead to the cold stone of the wall as the fear washed over him, his new companion. But for once, it was not pain he feared - it was the possibility that Dion might not return.

 

 

********

Dion returned. Again and again. Sometimes with food and sometimes without. He told Joshua about the dragons, about the gardens in Oriflamme he used to play in as a child, about their shared memories from when they had first met, so very long ago.

Sometimes he grew quiet in the middle of a tale, eyes lost somewhere far away while his fingers picked at his bandages. But he always shook himself and carried on as if nothing had happened. He would talk and talk. Sometimes Joshua could clear his mind for long enough to answer, or to choke down a few bites of food, a few sips of water.

He sat by the metal bars more often than not now, close enough for Dion to take his bony hand and interlace their fingers. The touch was grounding. A faint echo of a hug, a kiss, just enough to remind Joshua why he was enduring. And Dion never once blamed him when suddenly Joshua's hand would turn into a desperate claw, chipped fingernails digging into Dion's skin with the ferocity of a cornered beast. Not even when that same hand would shoot out between the bars to try and wrap around his throat and left red scratches on his skin in the process, deep enough to draw blood. Dion would simply catch his wrists and hold them, his fingers gentle shackles, until Joshua went slack in his grip.

Once, Jill came with him. She looked at Joshua with bright eyes and a smile both tender and pained, and her face made memories of blood and rage and despair rush back with such force that Joshua curled up in the corner of his cell, rocking in place with a keening noise in his throat until she quietly disappeared again. It took Dion hours to convince Joshua once more that he was flesh and blood instead of the ghost of a dead man come to haunt him; the memories fallen apart into jumbled pieces in Joshua's mind, refusing to make sense until Dion helped him to painstakingly put them back together again.

Once, he brought Joshua the crude wooden figurine of a dragon.

'I'm afraid I cannot stay with you as much as I would like, not unless I want to draw the ire of my physicker', he said. There was a bashful little smile tugging at his lips when he handed over the trinket. 'But if you like, this might keep you company. Maybe it can help you remember.'

It was far from expertly carved, but Joshua believed to feel the memory of life beneath the wooden scales, believed to feel the same awe he had felt in the presence of the great beast Dion had introduced to him a lifetime ago. He cradled the small shape in his hands, holding on to the feeling for as long as he could even after Dion had left.

The next time he succeeded in fighting back the darkness and the fear, the small wooden body was broken and splintered in his grasp. He curled around it and wailed until Dion came running through the door with panic in his eyes.

Dion brought him a new figurine, but Joshua refused to touch it. Dion carefully placed it on the floor on his side of the bars instead, out of reach but close enough to see even in the twilight of the cell. It was not as good as touching it, but it was something. A small piece of Dion, a reminder, for when the hours stretched on and on. When they threatened to take away the broken pieces of Joshua's mind he worked so hard to stitch back together with his brittle burning thread of Phoenix fire.

One day, there was a new sound bleeding through the door that separated the cells from the rest of the Hideaway. Raised voices - agitated, arguing. The words were barely understandable through the wood of the door, but the anger that suffused them made Joshua shrink back into the corner, heart beating wildly in his chest.

They have come to kill you.

Had they?

One of the voices - a calmer one - belonged to Dion. It was good that Dion was there. This had become easier to remember.

Another voice belonged to Clive. That was bad. Was it? He was not sure.

A third voice belonged to a woman. Her voice, that voice...

'If you value you life you will let me see him!'

An angry hiss, so unlike the way she had spoken to him all those times, all those...

Tell me you had no other choice.

It is you, is it not?

Do you truly believe what you are doing is right?

I will not abandon you.

So many memories, the sound of the voice making them all rear their heads at once. He had been different then, different... more himself than he was now, or was it the other way around?

She will hate you for leaving her behind.

Would she?

She will see what you have become, and she will put you down like a sick dog.

No, that was...

Remember.

Footsteps approaching his cell. He tensed, but the figure that appeared on the other side of the bars was Dion. Calm, familiar as he sat down in his usual spot, right next to the little dragon figurine. The dragon, right. He had to remember. Remember that... he could fight it. Fight what?

Dion quietly took in his hunched form, his wide eyes. He frowned.

'Did you hear that? I apologize, I did not mean to upset you.'

Joshua bit his lip as he tried to concentrate, tried to understand.

'Is she real?', he croaked. He needed to know, needed to make sure. If she was real... what was she doing here? She had not been here before - had she?

Dion cast a quick look over his shoulder, but the room was empty except for the two of them.

'Yes, she is', he said. 'She did not take kindly to me asking her to stay away for the time being. Unless of course you wish to see her - I did not mean to presume...' Dion trailed of. Amber eyes carefully studied Joshua's expression. 'Do you wish to see her?'

He could fight it, because the madness was not his. Because there was something in his head, whispering lies. He remembered. And Jote... Jote had known it, had watched him fall into the darkness. What must she think of him?

Why didn't she do anything?

No, that was wrong. The blame was on him, on him, on him and she knew it

She knows it, she blames you, only you.

He did not know what those amber eyes saw in his face, but Dion gave him a quiet nod.

'Alright. It's alright, you don't need to see her.'

There were more voices behind the door, quieter now. Nothing more than a distant murmur, but the agitation still bled through the wood of the door.

'What is going on?', Joshua whispered.

'I can't tell you, I'm sorry.' Dion lips twisted into an unhappy line. 'We... don't know how much influence Ultima has on you, so we can't risk him overhearing what we are discussing. I hope you understand.'

He does not trust you.

'We are working on a solution, and we hope that Lady Jote will be able to assist us.'

They cannot help you. What do you think they will do once they realize?

'Joshua.'

Joshua's eyes snapped up. Dion had a hand wrapped around one of the metal bars, a poor replacement for Joshua's hand that was out of reach.

'This is not forever', Dion said. There was so much conviction in his voice that Joshua wanted nothing more than to believe him.

It is not forever.

Maybe there is hope.

Maybe.

Maybe had to be enough.

 

********

'This is a stupid plan.'

The unfamiliar voice jolted Joshua out of a fit of restless slumber. It was right on the other side of the door, and it was angry.

'It is all we have', Clive answered.

'What if it kills you? Or even worse?'

'It won't.'

'Well then what if it kills him? Tell him, Jill!'

There was silence.

'Do you have a better idea?', Clive growled. 'Do you have a single better idea how to save my brother?'

The other voice did not answer.

The door opened, and Joshua caught a glance of several people gathered on the other side. Clive's blue eyes were staring at him, before Dion stepped through the door and blocked his gaze. The door fell shut.

Dion seemed more tense than usual, and it made Joshua's heart beat painfully fast. He sought the familiar comfort of the wooden dragon that was looking at him from behind the bars with its blind gaze; it was better than to look at Dion's tight expression and wonder what it might mean.

His eyes snapped up only when he heard the rattle of keys turning in the lock.

Dion stepped into the cell. He had never done that before. Joshua could see now that he was carrying a wooden cup, careful to not spill its contents. He closed the door of the cell behind him and crouched down a few steps away from Joshua, raising his empty hand in a calming gesture.

'May I come closer?'

Joshua's eyes flitted towards the figurine. Dion... Dion could be trusted. Could he not? Yes. He remembered. He nodded hesitantly.

Dion's warmth was welcome, even more so without any metal separating them. He kneeled next to Joshua and took his hand, interlacing their fingers as he had done so many times before. He held out the cup.

It smelled like herbs. Not the same as the cup Clive had given him, though the memory still formed a lump in Joshua's throat. He warily sniffed the concoction and the scent sparked vague recognition. A sleeping draught. A strong one.

Just a few drops too much and you will never wake again.

The thought made his stomach drop. His eyes flickered up to Dion's face, seeking an explanation. Surely there was an explanation, Dion wouldn't...

Are you sure?

'We have a theory', Dion said. 'But we can't have Ultima interfere. If you sleep, he will sleep as well. Or so we hope.' He offered the cup again, though there was something unnervingly reluctant about his movements. 'Please. Drink it.'

Joshua stared at the muddy liquid in the cup. There was cold sweat gathering in his palms, his fingers trembling as the voice in his head rose to a screech

They all lie they all lie they all lie

'Joshua, look at me.'

Brown eyes, so warm and human.

'I promised, remember? I promised I would never hurt you.'

A garden. Quiet and hidden and theirs. A hand in his, small fingers then, calloused ones now. The same promise. The same, forever the same.

Joshua took the cup and emptied it in one gulp.

Notes:

A huge thank you to anyone who is still reading! I know this fic is not everyone's cup of tea - which is fine, I still greatly enjoy writing it - but it makes me appreciate everyone who is reading and interacting with the story even more. Thank you for sticking around through pain and delayed chapters alike :D

Chapter 8

Notes:

Oooh we're getting close to the end! After this I think it will be one longer chapter or maybe two to wrap it up.

CW: self harm

He was floating.

Consciousness bleeding back into his head, muffled, muted, mangled flashes of light as his eyes fluttered open.

A rattling, grinding sound in his ears.

Vibrations, his body being shaken, limbs knocking against wood.

A pale sky drifting past, dark branches, grey stone. When was the last time he had seen the sky?

Silver clouds, blue sky. 

Blue. Silver. Blue. Did that mean something?

Fingers twitching at his side, skin too tight over aching bones. His breath hurt in his throat.

'Wait.'

The voice came from somewhere close, a distorted sound scratching in his ears. The rattling stopped, and so did the sky above him.

A cart?

Brown eyes, soft, warm. He wanted to drown in them. Maybe he would stop breathing then. Breathing hurt.

A hand cradled his head and lifted it up, stiff muscles straining. Bitter herbs on his lips, on his tongue, sliding down his throat.

The sky blurred and darkened above him, the eyes disappearing. He did not notice when the cart started moving again.

He was floating.

 

 

********

 

 

'...op...'

'...here?...'

'...ing up...'

'...nother dose…’

‘...too weak...'

'...hurry.'

Silence, blessed, numb, calm.

A hand, cool on his feverish skin. His lids were too heavy to open, to see the sky. He wanted… he wanted to see the sky.

Was it blue?

'...be fine... promise.'

The voice. There was something about the voice, something… something that made his stomach clench in fear or maybe longing, a memory so far away, no… many memories, memories upon memories, squirming, warping, rattling around in his head.

Blue. Silver. Blue. 

Brown was safe. But the voice was blue, and blue was so hard to tell from silver when the light was dim, dimming, darkening, fading… he wanted to see the sky.

Fingers tightened around his arm, and…

Pain pain searing hot breaking ribs shattering tearing splitting splintering in his head skull cracking blood in his lungs, in his mouth, choking, no air no air no air he was... he was...

Screaming thrashing clawing at his skin, fingers pushing inside, inside, reaching into his heart and pulling

No!

A screech in his head, limbs flailing make it stop

No no stop them STOP THEM

Please please please I don't want to die I don't I want please I want to -

Tearing tearing tearing purple tendrils being pulled out of his flesh like the claws of a parasite, like poison ivy from a tree, leaving behind gaping nothingness that filled with red, with pain, with...

Flames.

Flames fading dimming dying

The Phoenix screamed in his head

Dying

Dying...

He sank into darkness.

 

 

********

 

 

Soft. Calm. Quiet.

Why was it so quiet?

Everything muted, like a thick blanket pulled over his head. The air brushing over his skin used to be grating, sharp, irritating. Now he barely noticed it. Voices used to cut through his head like a knife but now they were nothing but a distant murmur.

His own heartbeat no longer thundered in his chest, every single thrum no longer cracking through his body with sharp pain. Even his thoughts were muffled, quiet, distant. His head felt so empty.

So peaceful.

It was hard to stay awake when everything was so quiet. So soft. Sensations nothing more than hushed whispers in his mind, lulling him back to sleep.

And so he slept.

 

 

********

 

 

Warm light seeping through his closed eyelids. A golden glow echoing in the blessed silence of his mind, rousing him from sleep.

He was lying on something soft. It felt… wrong. It felt as if his body was barely there, a spectre he was not sure was truly his. As if there was no real distinction between him and the softness surrounding him, the air he did not feel on his skin, the distant sounds far, far beyond his hearing.

Something was missing. Something was... wrong.

He was... comfortable. He could not remember the last time he had felt this way, barely even remembered the name of the sensation. The blanket was soft against his skin and his body was a pleasant weight on the mattress, and it was comfortable in a way that threatened to overwhelm him.

Gone.

The pain was gone.

A memory, the ghost of a memory even, of aching flesh and creaking bones and jagged shards of crystal slicing into his heart.  

He could breathe.

He drew in the air, as much air as his body would fit, gulping it down greedily until his thoughts were swimming in his head. He had to breathe, for as long as he could, because it would not last. It never lasted, it never did, the pain would be back any moment and this time it would destroy him. How could it not if he was feeling so light, so empty where before he had been full to bursting. Too loud, too much, too…

It would not last.

He breathed and breathed until his heartbeat slowed, until his breaths became deep and calm instead of desperate.

The pain did not return.

He fought the hope blooming in his heart, smothered it, but it grew stronger with every moment that passed. As time trickled past, the hope turned to bone deep relief. 

The breaths turned into sobs.

He fell asleep again.

 

 

********

 

 

Eyes fluttering open. Dim light, shadows swirling in the dark corners of his vision. Wood. Dust dancing in a faint beam of sunlight. 

He turned his head, the sound of rustling fabric. A pillow. A bed. Soft.

Quiet.

There was a table next to the bed. On it sat the small wooden figurine of a dragon. The sun was warming clumsily carved scales, shadows and light playing on the rough wood and making it come to life.

Remember.

There was something… something he had to remember.

His limbs felt heavy, his muscles trembling as he lifted his arm from where it was resting on the bed. He held his breath, waiting for the pain to lance through his chest. But instead of the familiar agony he heard the sharp rattle of metal chains, his attempt to reach out towards the figurine cut short by something hard and cold digging into his bony wrist. A cuff, the chain that was attached to it connecting him to the sturdy frame of the bed.

The rattle of metal. The drip of water. The groan of wood.

The cell, cold and dark and damp, iron bars between him and the eyes, the warm eyes, safe. Safe, because he was inside, could not reach, could not harm. Why was he here?

His breath quickened as he stared at the flecks of rust staining the metal, the worn chain. It seemed flimsy, brittle, not safe not safe what if, what if… A simmering dread under his skin, because his body felt wrong, smooth and whole and wrong, wrong, wrong. It felt so very far away without the pain to remind him of its existence, too far to have a solid grasp on it and… the fear, the desperate rage, fingers twisted into claws as he lunged, his limbs beyond his control, a helpless observer as he threw himself against the metal bars with murderous intent. Not again, not again. How could he control his body if he could not feel it?

His mind was so very quiet.

He pulled at the chain until the metal edges of the cuff were digging into his skin, a dull pain. The familiarity of it was grounding. Real. So he did it again, metal knocking against bones, again. Again - 

Fingers closed around his arm, gentle but firm. He could not tell whether Dion had appeared at his side in that moment or whether he had been there all along - but there he was, white against the dim light of the room, eyes warm as he looked down at Joshua with a worried frown on his face.

‘It’s alright’, he said as he took Joshua’s hand in both of his - they were warm against clammy skin, warm and familiar. It felt so good, so good that Joshua had to swallow a whimper rising in his throat. ‘It’s alright. You’re safe.’

He gently maneuvered Joshua’s arm to lie on the mattress again, though he did not let go of his hand once it did. It felt so good.

‘I am sorry about the chains. I will take them off, but first I need to know how you are feeling. We just have to make sure.’

It was hard to listen to the words and grasp their meaning when Dion’s hands felt so good on Joshua’s skin. Their touch did not hurt, merely a warm pressure that made him feel just as grounded in his body as the pain did, but so, so much better. He felt the pulse that thrummed under Dion’s skin, calm and steady, and he waited for the thoughts to twist in his head. Waited for the urge to claw through that skin, open those veins and let the blood seep into the ground. Waited for the fear, the feeling of being trapped by those gentle hands, the desperate madness.

Soon, soon, surely…

‘Joshua?’

He tore his eyes away from their linked hands. Dion was looking at him with concern, fingers squeezing Joshua’s and the feeling was too much, too much and not enough. 

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I…’ He had to clear his throat to get rid of the lump that threatened to strangle him, and he couldn’t remember the last time doing so hadn’t tasted like iron. It didn’t now - not like iron and not like bile, and he didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. ‘I don’t know.’

One of Dion’s hands drew away and he almost wailed at the loss of contact. But then a warm palm settled against his cheek, thumb gently wiping away the moisture there. He hadn’t even noticed the tears before.

‘It’s alright’, Dion repeated softly. ‘I’ve got you. Everything will be alright.’

Joshua’s eyes wandered to the little dragon figurine. Dion… Dion was to be trusted. Yes, he remembered.

‘It’s so quiet’, he whispered.

Dion frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The voice. I can’t hear it. It’s…’ His eyes widened, his fingers digging into the back of Dion’s hand. ‘Is this real?’

How could it be real if everything felt muted, if there was no pain and his mind was empty and Dion’s presence sparked no fear in his heart beyond the faintest memory of how it used to do. How could it be real and not yet another illusion meant to break him. And it would break him were it to be ripped away from him now, please don’t take it away he would not survive it.

‘Yes, it’s real.’ Dion squeezed his hand, his voice firm. ‘I promise it’s real.’

I promise. Yes, Dion had promised. He had promised that he wouldn’t hurt Joshua. And being lied to by Dion would hurt, it would hurt so much, and so… and so he was telling the truth.

It’s real.

Relief flooded Joshua’s veins, making him boneless. His eyes fluttered shut as tense muscles uncoiled. It’s real.

‘Joshua?’

Reluctantly, he forced his eyes to open again.

‘I need you to concentrate, just for a moment.’ Dion’s face was solemn, a careful reluctance in his eyes. ‘Do you sense him at all?’, he asked. ‘Ultima?’

Ultima.

The silvery light of the mothercrystal, cold shards reflecting the warm glow of Phoenix fire. Dead eyes, unblinking, staring right into his very soul. The spell at the tips of his fingers, more powerful than anything he had ever cast. For a moment he felt as if he was holding the fate of the world in his hands, the lifeforce of a god, trapped like a fly in a spider’s web. The feeling of being in control, of being the one to shield, to protect, for once. Then pain, unimaginable pain that threatened to rend his being in two, the darkness eating away at his flesh like poison, carving out a place for itself. Sinking into his bones, into his soul, tainting and twisting until there was nothing left but pain and madness.

You will know what it is to burn.

Joshua surged up in bed, barely noticing the chains yanking at his wrists and cutting into his skin.

Haunted, driven by something he could not name, prowling the land in the name of a new master he did not even know he was serving. A puppet, invisible strings tearing at his flesh with every step he took and stealing away a little more of his mind.

Breath too fast, he scrabbled for the wound on his chest but the chains would not let him, the truth hidden by the dark fabric of his shirt, out of reach. He had to know.

Blood on his hands, searing hate, the disgust as he walked among the blind as if he were not one of them, and was he? Was he? Was he still human if in his chest his heart was bleeding purple darkness, the rot that poisoned the world just as surely as the Blight did? If he could not feel compassion or connection, all sense of it turned to nothing but seething contempt?

Dion was talking to him, but he could barely hear. A rushing in his ears as he fought against the hands that held him down.

Blood in the desert sand. A boy, a boy lying in bed, eyes glowing aether blue - the defiled corpse of a child. A dagger against the blank skin of Jote’s throat, a single drop of red. Dion’s voice behind a wooden wall, muffled sobs as his heart broke in Joshua’s hands. Dion’s blood staining his hands, so much, so much blood…

He stared at his hands, chipped fingernails digging into Dion’s arms, hard enough to leave red marks. Almost touching the scar, raised flesh barely healed, a pink line running from the inside of Dion’s wrist all the way to the crook of his elbow. 

Joshua ripped back his hands and scrambled backwards on the bed, as far as the chains would allow him. 

‘No’, he whispered. ‘No, no, why did you let me out?’ Dion opened his mouth to say something but Joshua merely raised his voice ‘I can’t be here, you need to put me back, you need to… I don’t want to hurt you, please, don’t let me hurt - what are you doing?’

With a click and a rattle, the cuff on his right hand fell away. The skin beneath was red and chafed, but he did not feel it. Not when Dion’s hand was holding his, far too gently for all the blood that stained it.

‘I need you to look. Please.’

Dion placed both their hands on Joshua’s chest, right over his hammering heart, his frantic breath. He held them there until Joshua hesitantly extracted himself from his grasp to tear open the laces of his shirt. His fingers brushed against stone, the hard patches familiar by now. And…

He stared down at his chest, the shape of the crystal prison clearly visible in the paths it had carved into lithified flesh. But the diamond shape over his breastbone, the tendrils snaking away from it - they were filled with skin, smooth and pink and new, no trace of the ominous purple glow remaining. He touched it tentatively and flinched back when he felt nothing but the contact of his trembling fingers.

‘How…’

His mind was so very quiet.

He pressed his eyes shut and searched for the presence, the alien presence, roiling darkness trapped within. But he found only emptiness, the echo of his own thoughts. No voice whispering poisoned words, no cold pain pulsing and eating away at his being. No…

…flames.

No.

No no no no…

His eyes flew open, panicked gaze seeking Dion’s face, seeking answers.

‘Where is the Phoenix?’, he whispered.

He needed him, he needed him, the flames were the only thing keeping him safe, keeping him sane, the only thing that could fight the darkness. But his mind was quiet, quiet and empty. Ashes long grown cold, his last wall of defense. No matter how much he reached and called and dug his fingers deeper into his skin to find the warmth, find the strength that was supposed to keep him safe, keep him from crumbling and disappearing until nothing was left, nothing nothing nothing -

‘Joshua.’

The name bled through the maelstrom of desperate thoughts swirling in his head. A voice, familiar. Dion’s hands were on his shoulders, a grounding weight, and slowly his breathing calmed just enough for him to listen.

‘Nothing will happen to you. It’s alright. You’re safe.'

Safe. You’re safe. Was he? 

Dion… Dion was telling the truth. So he had to be. How could he be? 

‘But you are not’, he croaked. As long as he was close, with no bars between them, Dion was not safe. Had he not seen how fast Joshua could slip, how he could turn into nothing but a murderous beast in the blink of an eye, even with the flames keeping the madness at bay? How could he be so close, so trusting, after what he had seen?

You didn’t even notice. You didn’t know. Didn’t think. How can he trust you?

Was the thought even his own? How could he know?

‘I am safe. You won’t hurt me.’

Dion sounded so very sure of it. So sure that Joshua had no choice but to believe him, because if he did not believe Dion, what would he have left?

He allowed his muscles to relax, just a little, and Dion smiled.

‘I think Clive could explain it better than I. Would you be alright speaking with him?’

Clive.

Blue. Silver. Blue.

A wraith, an illusion wearing his brother’s skin, cruelty seeping through the cracks like black ink. A warm touch, a cold smile. He drank it in like a man dying of thirst, every touch, every word.

And below that, far, far below… 

The memory of blue eyes sparkling high above, arms so much longer, so much stronger than his wrapping around him, keeping him safe. Gentle hands turning the pages of a book, ruffling his hair, drying his tears.

Longing. Fear. And… guilt.

How had he not seen the difference?

No… he had seen it. He had simply not cared, had not been able to care, the cruel words and ghostly touch all he’d had as his body was crumbling around him and his mind with it.

Would he be able to tell the difference now?

He swallowed thickly. The smile, more familiar than anything in the world. Eyes the same colour as his own, always drawn to him. The touch, warm, safe, loved. He wanted it so much.

‘Will you stay?’

He hated how small his voice was, but he needed Dion to stay. Because he could not trust himself to tell the difference, but he could trust Dion.

‘Of course.’

Joshua drew in a deep breath and nodded. ‘I’ll be alright.’

Would he be?

It didn't matter. He had to be. He had to know.

The solemn lines of Dion’s face softened and he leaned forward to grab the second cuff still fastened around Joshua’s wrist. Joshua snatched back his arm before he could make contact.

‘No’, he croaked. ‘Leave it.’

Dion hesitated, but he slowly drew back his hand.

‘Alright’, he said reluctantly. ‘Just for now.’

Just for now.

Joshua closed his eyes. Just for now. Just long enough to learn what was happening, to learn what he had to do to keep everyone safe from the monster slumbering under his skin. He just had to keep it together for a little longer.

Just for now.

 

 

********

 

 

Dion had called over the healer, Tarja - slamming her against the wall, the pain of the wound roaring in his chest, the knife cold in his hand - after he had tried to leave the side of the bed and Joshua’s fingers had dug so hard into his hand that the marks were still visible minutes later. Looking at them made Joshua sick with guilt, but at least the touch was still there. The warm, gentle touch that did not hurt, did not twist his thoughts into ugly things clawing at the inside of his head. 

Tarja had traded quiet words with Dion and then she had disappeared.

Dion was talking; a calm voice recounting stories of people Joshua did not know. Maybe they were the people that lived at the Hideaway. It didn't matter - it only mattered that the voice soothed his swirling thoughts for the moment, and Joshua could close his eyes and concentrate on the feeling of Dion’s hands cradling his. He felt more solid now, more present, the jumbled fragments of his mind slowly knitting themselves back together.

With the understanding came the horror. 

Memories upon memories, each one more haunting than the last. 

Five years.

Dion squeezed his hand, voice soothing, and only then Joshua realized he was shaking. He swallowed hard, stomach twisting into knots.

Five years.

So much blood.

He only just had enough presence of mind to lean away from Dion before he started to heave, his stomach emptying its meagre contents on the floor next to the bed. Once he had finished he slumped back on the mattress, cold sweat on his neck and in his trembling palms. It seemed that Tarja had returned at some point, because she wordlessly started cleaning up the mess while Dion carefully wiped Joshua’s mouth with a damp cloth. 

Pathetic.

Dion brushed sweaty strands of hair out of Joshua’s face and Joshua closed his eyes, willing himself not to lean into the touch, no matter how welcome it was. No matter how much everything in him ached to do so, for how could he accept their kindness after all he had done?

Five years.

His stomach had barely settled down when the quiet air of the infirmary was disturbed by the sound of a door opening. There were footsteps, and suddenly Clive was standing there. Behind Dion, appeared out of the twilight that hung in the corners of the room.

His eyes were in shadow.

He stood there, frozen, and Joshua did not dare move a muscle. His gaze was fixed on Clive’s face, body tense as a bowstring while his thoughts rose to a scream in his head that this was not real, not real, he is not real, he will hurt he will mock he will bring back the pain, take your mind and make you forget again.

Dion cast a glance over his shoulder, following Joshua’s wide-eyed stare.

He won’t see anything because nothing is there because it’s not real, not real, not real…

Dion gave a small nod in greeting and turned back to the bed. His thumb rubbed small soothing circles on the back of Joshua’s hand, smoothed over tense fingers.

‘It’s alright’, Dion mumbled. ‘He is real.’

Clive stepped closer, hesitantly; close enough for the sunlight to hit his eyes and they were wide and blue and shining wetly. 

Blue eyes looking down on him, so full of love, the one safe place he could always return to, blue blue blue like the sky, like eternity. Like home.

Joshua feebly raised a hand as if he could feel Clive’s warmth all the way across the room, could grasp it before it fled again. The small gesture was enough to tear Clive out of his numb daze and he crossed the space between them with two, three long strides, barreling straight into his brother. His arms wrapped around bony shoulders and Joshua tensed, waiting for the pain, the revulsion. When it did not come, he slowly raised his hands and returned the embrace, fingers digging into Clive’s back as he buried his face against his chest. The sobs rose in his throat without him being able to swallow them back down, helpless tremors shaking his body.

‘I’m sorry’, he whispered. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

Clive shushed him; calloused fingers carding through Joshua’s hair and cradling his head, stubble brushing over his skin as lips were pressed to his temple. So different from the boy Joshua remembered, and so very familiar.

Clive drew back far too soon, the loss of his touch making Joshua ache for more. At least his hands remained, a weight on Joshua’s arm and then a light pressure on his wrist as Clive traced the metal cuff with a frown.

‘Why is he still wearing that?’, he asked Dion. ‘Tarja said he seemed fine.’

‘Leave it’, Joshua rasped before Clive could even think to open the lock. Clive looked unhappy with the request, but he drew back his hand to settle it on Joshua’s forearm again. 

‘Fine.’

There were tear tracks drying on his cheeks, Joshua realized. He felt them on his own face as well, his eyes still burning. He lifted his free hand to wipe the dampness from his skin.

‘Clive.’

Something about the name felt strange on his tongue, as if he had not used it in too long. Maybe he had. Or maybe he still expected a different name to come to mind, the one Ultima had planted into his head. The thought made him shudder.

‘What happened?’, he asked. The question felt woefully inadequate, but by the way Clive’s shoulders straightened Joshua knew that his brother was all too aware of its magnitude.

‘We had to find a way to separate Ultima from you’, Clive said. ‘And with your attendant’s help, we came up with a theory.’

But instead of explaining, he considered Joshua with a thoughtful frown.

‘How much do you remember of… everything?’ He sounded like he did not really wish to know the answer.

Joshua swallowed and avoided his gaze. His eyes fell on Dion who was still sitting next to the bed, a silent presence. So calm and supportive. The scar on his arm stood out angrily against pale skin.

‘Too much’, Joshua whispered. ‘I was… present. For all of it.’ Or most of it. But saying that would be too easy. It would give Clive the opportunity to absolve him of whatever he had done, and knowing his brother, Joshua was sure that Clive would hold onto that excuse as fast as he could.

Clive pressed his lips into a pained line, a muscle on his jaw twitching. He nodded.

‘Then you remember me telling you that I have the ability to take other Dominant’s Eikons.’

‘I do.’ Joshua's hands tightened into fists. ‘The Phoenix is gone.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He was not - Joshua could see it in his face. Whatever Clive was feeling, it was complicated; too many emotions layered on top of each other to read them properly. Too difficult to distinguish after five years in which Joshua had not relied on something as crude as facial expressions to glean another person's thoughts. But still - regret was not what Clive was feeling.

‘I would not have done it if there had been another way', Clive said. 'But Jote told me that you had imprisoned Ultima with the power of the Phoenix, and that this was what was binding him to you. Therefore, so our theory, it would only be possible to separate you if a considerable portion of the Phoenix’s power were removed from the equation.’

Joshua stared at him, mouth agape. He was not sure what he had expected, but...

‘You -’ He shook his head, no words coming to mind. Clive’s tone had been so nonchalant, as if they were not speaking about tampering with one of the most powerful and intricate spells ever cast. The mere thought of him reaching into the finely crafted weave of magic and pulling it apart with raw strength, hoping that the right parts would unravel - it was utterly insane. Just imagining it filled Joshua with overwhelming dread.

‘That was your plan? To break Ultima’s cage and… see what happens?’

‘We were reasonably sure that if I pulled out the Phoenix, he would come with.’

‘Reasonably sure?’, Joshua echoed. He felt his heartbeat pick up in his chest - his whole, healed chest - as the pure stupidity of Clive’s plan unfolded before him. ‘You were reasonably sure that Ultima and the Phoenix were so entangled that one could not be removed without the other, and you… you consumed the Phoenix? How could you know that Ultima would not gladly use this opportunity to take your body?’ 

Suddenly, he felt nauseous. Clive’s hand on his arm, gentle now but how fast could it twist and turn into a shackle? Clive’s eyes blue like the deep sea, but would anyone notice if they flashed silver, just for a moment?

‘How can you know that he didn’t?’, he whispered.

Clive squeezed his arm in reassurance, as if Joshua were a scared child, as if he did not know painfully well what he was talking about.

‘I did not go in blind’, Clive said. ‘I was ready to fight him off if it came to that, I was aware of the risk.’

‘And you think I was not?’

Joshua’s voice was too loud in his ears, his fingers digging into the sheets too hard. He wondered if this was it, if this was what he had been dreading all this time. If he was losing control again. But he could not stop himself, because he was trembling and his heart was thundering behind his ribs and the thought of Clive suffering what he had suffered, of him making the same arrogant miscalculation he had, even after seeing the consequences with his own eyes… he wanted to wring his neck for being so damn stupid, he - no, no, no, what was he thinking, he couldn't... he couldn't stop himself.

‘You think I was not perfectly aware of the possibility? That I was not on my guard when I sealed a fucking god in my heart? I knew every possible risk and it counted for nothing.’ He was panting and the words did not stop, just kept tumbling out of his mouth along with his anger. He pulled at the chain on his wrist, felt the resistance, the reassuring pain. He pulled again, harder.

‘There is nothing you can do because he will burrow into your mind and twist your thoughts until you don’t even doubt yourself anymore, until you can’t fight him anymore because you won’t know he’s there. And he will fester and hollow you out from the inside and eat and eat away at your mind and you will pray that you can keep him satisfied because no matter how much it hurts you know it can always be so much worse -’

His voice was muffled when Clive pulled him against his chest. The fabric grew damp where it touched Joshua’s cheek and he pressed his face into it, his breath hitching. Strong arms tightened around him.

‘I’m sorry’, Clive whispered into his ear. ‘You did enough. You fought him with everything you had, I know you did. I never meant to imply otherwise.’

Joshua pressed his eyes shut, trying to bite back the keening noise that rose in his throat; bleeding past his lips before it was soaked up by Clive’s warmth, his steady heartbeat. His hand cradled the back of Joshua’s head and Joshua slumped against him, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed sobs. 

They sat quietly for a long time; until Joshua’s breathing had evened out, until the grief and fear and anger that were all tangled up in his chest had turned into exhaustion. Clive’s fingers carded through his hair gently, soothing. Somewhere close, Dion sat in silence, a steady presence.

‘I talked about it with Jote for a long time’, Clive eventually said. ‘About the risks. She said that according to everything she knew about Ultima, the fact that he didn’t take my body already suggested that he couldn’t - or wouldn’t - do it at this time. We made as sure as we could that this wouldn’t go wrong.’

Joshua released a deep breath, his forehead still leaned against Clive’s chest.

‘Alright.’

‘We also considered the possibility that he might be a danger once released from his cage, even without a body. But there was something you said before - you said now he has a body that can withstand the black. And it turns out you were right. He cannot exist in the Blight without a body to shield him. His presence just… dissipated, or maybe fled to a different place. Wherever he is, he is not here anymore. We are safe for now.’

Joshua lifted his head, narrowing his puffy eyes.

‘I was literally possessed when I told you that’, he croaked. ‘You shouldn’t have believed anything I said.’

‘I think you fought him harder than you give yourself credit for.’ Clive gave him a smile, soft and familiar and so thoroughly undeserved. ‘You told us where to find Jote. You gave us the hint about the Blight. You saved yourself.’

Joshua raised a hand to touch the web of stone and freshly healed, unblemished skin on his chest. No matter what Clive said, it would forever be proof that he had failed. He had been supposed to save Clive, to save the world, and he had failed. His fingers tightened, digging into his skin.

‘Does it still hurt?’, Clive asked. ‘I used the Phoenix to heal you as soon as I could, and we took you right to the edge of the deadlands so we could have more healing magic at hand quickly if we needed it. Still, for a moment, it was…’ Clive swallowed hard and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. Tarja said the wound seems fine, but I’m sure she could take another look if it still bothers you.’

There had been pain, pain filling his entire being, tearing him apart. The feeling of red-hot blood gushing from his chest. Joshua shuddered at the vague memory.

‘No, it’s fine’, he said. ‘It doesn’t hurt anymore.’

The absence was still disturbing. To be able to breathe without the feeling of being stabbed with rusted daggers upon every rise of his chest. To be able to be touched without feeling pain, without his skin crawling until he ached to strip it from his flesh. It felt too good to be true.

It felt like he would wake up any moment, wake up to the cold darkness of the cell, to the fear and the agony and the dark thoughts as his only company. 

But right now... it didn't hurt.

He let his eyes slip past Clive, to Dion sitting silently next to the bed. To the small wooden dragon on the bedside table, keeping watch. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Clive’s touch on his skin, and simply… breathed.

 

 

********

 

 

The infirmary was quiet at night. Joshua lay curled up on the bed, blanket drawn all the way to his chin as he stared into the darkness. They had not addressed the question whether he would return to the room that had been assigned to him… before. There were a lot of things they had not addressed. Clive had insisted that they had time, and Joshua had not had the strength to argue with him. His body was better than it had been in years, but his mind felt raw and spent. A complicated tangle of emotions that he had not been able to sift through yet, the way his thoughts meandered in his head still strangely unpredictable without the voice to guide them.

His hands - unbound despite all his protests - found the stone-specked skin of his chest again. The sensitive flesh where the crystal used to be, soft and smooth to the touch.

It was not fair.

Five years of his life, wiped out in an instant. Should he not suffer for what he had done? And yet his heart was beating easily behind his ribs, his lungs drew breath without blood bubbling in the hollow of his chest, his limbs moved without even a trace of the cold ache that had soaked his very bones for so long. Running like a well-oiled machine, quietly and completely out of his control.

It was not fair. 

He dug his nails into that soft skin, and the sting was familiar. Real. 

Behind him in the dark, he could hear Dion’s slow breaths. Joshua’s voice had been so disgustingly small when he had asked him to stay, but Dion hadn’t even batted an eye. It made sense, to keep someone close. It felt safe. And Joshua had thought that maybe Dion's presence would make things better, that maybe it would make the darkness and the quiet weigh less heavily on his mind. That he would be less afraid of losing himself somewhere between dream and waking, less afraid of waking up in that cold cell again, his mind not his own. But now the soft sounds from the other bed were a torture in itself - too far away to feel Dion’s warmth, too far to touch. And now that he knew the bliss of that touch when it was not tainted by pain, that simple human touch he had been missing for far longer than those five years… 

Five years.

It was not fair.

His fingers dug deeper, nails raking over his skin and leaving angry marks, invisible in the darkness. He bit his lip to stifle the sound that tried to flee his chest, a sob, a wail, a scream. He had been given a gift. He had been saved. So how could he still want more?

How could he feel so lost, desperate for something familiar, something simple and clean and clear like a knife slicing through skin, even if he remembered so very well how much it hurt?

It was not fair.

There was warmth seeping through his fingers where they were scratching at his chest, sticky warmth that brought a sharper kind of pain, and it made him breathe a little easier. Hitching breaths, laboured, too loud in his ears. 

He just wanted to stop thinking for a moment, just a moment, wanted to stop feeling. He wanted…

‘Joshua?’

The voice was quiet, rough from sleep. Joshua froze.

‘Are you alright?’

He pressed his lips into a thin line, jaw clenched as he forced down a whimper. 

You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve his concern.

But he wanted… Founder, he wanted it so much.

It was not fair.

‘Joshua?’

The voice was closer now. Joshua hadn’t even noticed Dion getting up. But now he heard his footsteps as they rounded his bed and then a lamp was lit, the golden flame shielded by Dion’s hand so it would not blind them. The soft light fell on Joshua’s tear streaked face, on the blood staining his hand and the raw skin of his chest. 

Dion wordlessly put the lamp down on the bedside table, right next to the small wooden dragon. Joshua’s eyes found its crudely carved face, the blind eyes. He reached out towards it, the tips of his fingers brushing against the rough wood and leaving small streaks of red.

Before he could even feel horror, Dion caught his hand and gently wiped away the blood with a soft cloth. Then he cleaned the wooden dragon with the same care before placing it in Joshua’s hand. The weight was reassuring. The ridges and bumps in the wood something to focus on while Dion wet the cloth in the water bowl and dabbed at Joshua’s chest until the fresh wounds were clean. As soon as he was done, he offered Joshua a hand.

‘Come. I want to show you something.’

Joshua let himself be pulled to his feet, Dion’s warm fingers in one and the wooden dragon in the other hand as they padded through the sleeping Hideaway on bare feet. Through empty halls and down spiraling stairs until they stood between flower beds and apple trees and lush ivy flowing from the wooden walls around them like tapestries. The moon was shining high, high above, its pale light lining every leaf and petal with silver. The air tasted like fragrant earth and the sweet scent of flowers.

‘It’s a far cry from the gardens at the Remembrance Ceremony’, Dion said softly, as if he was trying not to wake the plants slumbering in the moonlight. ‘But I wager it is the greenest place in the deadlands.’

Numbly, Joshua walked past the lovingly arranged flower beds. His feet carried him straight to the tallest apple tree, and he slumped to the ground as soon as he had reached it. The shallow wounds on his chest pulled at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of rich soil under his hands. The moon was shining through the leaves of the tree's crown, painting ever changing shapes of molten silver on the ground, the wooden planks, on Joshua’s hands. On Dion’s face when he joined him, sitting on the damp earth without a thought towards his pristine white clothes. He did not protest when Joshua leaned against him and rested his head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around Joshua’s body as if it had always belonged there, and Joshua closed his eyes, breath evening out.

There was the whisper of lips brushing his temple and he stiffened; but the touch withdrew hastily and he heard Dion draw in a shaky breath.

‘Forgive me. I’m…’

Dion fell silent. And for a moment Joshua wished the lips back. For a moment he wished he could reach out and touch Dion's mind, could understand his thoughts, as he had before. A greedy, selfish thought. He was blind now, and it was better this way.

He thought of blood on his hands and amber eyes dimming as life faded away. 

Dion’s arm tightened around him.

‘Rest’, he said, and Joshua could not find a hint of blame or bitterness in his voice. Only a quiet sadness. ‘I will be here.’

The wooden dragon was a reassuring weight in his hand. The leaves of the apple trees were rustling in the wind and the gurgling of the water pump was a distant murmur in the background, just like the steady beating of Dion’s heart. Joshua curled up against his chest, and he allowed his mind to empty. 

This once, sleep came easy.

 

Chapter 9

Notes:

To absolutely nobody's surprise, this is not in fact the last chapter. It got pretty long so I decided to break it into two parts, make it a nice even 10 chapters total. Good news is that this means I already started writing the last chapter, so it hopefully won't take another two months to finish.

CW: suicidal thoughts, self harm

‘Joshua?’

Joshua opened his eyes. He had not noticed he had closed them, but it was hard to keep track of his body when it felt so very far away. It was easy to let his mind drift, his quiet mind; so easy to pretend he did not exist at all.

‘Joshua? Please open the door?’

The room was dim; grey twilight. It barely seemed to exist either, a bubble of nothingness if not for the sharp, ugly memories stabbing through the fragile barrier of calm. Memories of words whispered in the dark, of quiet sobs and the smell of blood. He had not wanted to return to the room that had been his before… before. But it had been the only place that was familiar in the Hideaway, though the knowledge that the familiarity was not entirely his own sickened him to the core.

There was a quiet sigh on the other side of the door. He hoped that Jill had taken the hint and would leave him alone. It hurt to disappoint her. But putting her in danger was unthinkable, and so the door stayed shut.

He clenched his fists until his fingers ached. If they ached he knew that they were real, that they were obeying his will. It was good.

The feeling of his knuckles colliding with bone still echoed under his skin. The sickening sound of a head crashing against wood was ringing in his ears.

‘Joshua? You don’t have to let me in. But could you at least talk to me?’

He rocked in place where he sat curled up on the bed. It was so tempting. Her company could be an anchor, could soothe the fear of losing himself in the grey twilight of the room. She could save him, at least for a moment. But who was he to put her in harm’s way just so he could have a moment of relief?

Selfish. You don’t deserve this.

‘Leave’, he rasped. His voice sounded as if he had not spoken in days. Had it been so long already? No… a few hours, one day at most. ‘Please.’

There was a pause, then a faint clatter.

‘I brought you some food. I’ll leave it by the door, so please eat something. Just a little.’ She hesitated. ‘We want to help you’, she added softly. ‘No one here is blaming you.’

You should, he wanted to say. But he stayed silent, and eventually there were footsteps retreating down the corridor. His hand found the blood flecked skin of his chest, nails wearing down the scabs until the pain was fresh and sharp, real. Pulsing in tune with his heart that was beating beneath, strong and even and wrong, wrong, wrong. How could his body be whole if he felt so twisted and wretched inside. Shattered into pieces, no thread of Phoenix fire to put him back together. No voice in the dark to tell him what to do, who to be.

He dug his nails in deeper and breathed a sigh of relief as pain flooded his mind, taking the thoughts with it.

 

********

 

‘Joshua?’

He bolted upright on the bed, heart hammering away in his raw chest. The way the fresh wounds pulled at his skin felt familiar, comforting. But the voice, the voice…

‘Please let me in.’

No, no, he could not let Dion in. Not him. 

He had been there before, on the other side of the door; several times since Joshua had fled here. Those times, Joshua had pressed his hands over his ears until the corridor had fallen silent again. He wanted to do the same now, wanted to hide, he wanted… he should. But he also wanted to hear Dion’s voice.

‘I’m sorry’, Dion said. His words were muffled by the wood of the door and Joshua wanted to know what they would sound like without that barrier between them. This… this felt far too much like before, like…

whispered words like poison drip drip dripping the blood dripping to the floor slipping through his fingers so much so much so much…

‘I’m sorry’, Dion said again. ‘But if you don’t let me in, I fear either your brother or Lady Jote will break down the door. Probably both. They worry for you.’ Silence; three, four, five heartbeats. ‘I worry for you.’

It was not fair.

Joshua squeezed his eyes shut, pushing back the heat rising somewhere behind them. Reluctantly, he let his hand drop away from his chest and used it to push himself up from the bed, fingers leaving red smears on the sheets.

The door creaked as he opened it, and then there was Dion; a figure in white, blinding against the twilight of the room. His face lay in shadow, but Joshua could still see his eyes - warm brown eyes that flickered up and down Joshua’s form, the crease of Dion’s brow betraying worry and sorrow but no blame, no blame at all, never any blame.

It was not fair.

‘May I come in?’, Dion asked gently.

Joshua stepped back - stumbled back, because his legs suddenly felt weak and clumsy, his hands trembling at his sides. His breath was hitching painfully behind his ribs.

Dion bent down to pick up the tray of food Jill had left by the door and carried it inside, setting it down on the worn wood of the bedside table. He was also carrying a small clay jar and a cloth; Joshua only noticed them when Dion straightened up again. He did not resist when Dion carefully cleaned his hand and then his chest with the damp cloth. Not when he scooped salve out of the jar to dab it on throbbing wounds. He stood still save for the tremble in his hands, feeling wretched and naked under Dion’s knowing gaze. 

He wanted to cry when Dion finally withdrew his hands. Wanted to beg for that gentle touch to return, just a little more, just once, just forever.

It was not fair.

You don’t deserve this.

Dion turned around to put down the salve and wipe his hands on the cloth, and as he did, the sparse light fell on his face. On the bruise under one of his eyes, the chafed skin of his temple. Joshua curled his fingers into a fist but the feeling was still there under his skin, the feeling of his knuckles connecting with a cheekbone. The dull sound of a head crashing against the rough bark of the apple tree. Without thinking he tried to chase it away, replace it with gentle flames dancing in his palm, flames that would soothe and heal and erase the ugly marks. But the Phoenix was gone, his mind cold and empty. There was nothing he could do to make it right.

‘I’m sorry’, he whispered.

For a moment Dion seemed confused. Then his eyes cleared and he sighed.

‘It was no fault of yours. You had a nightmare. You were scared.’

Joshua did not remember a nightmare. He remembered falling asleep in Dion’s arms. Remembered the bliss of it, the feeling of peace, finally. And then… then all he remembered was waking up with his pulse racing in his veins, the image of the cell burned into the back of his mind. All he remembered were arms holding him holding him down trapped wrong, touch means pain means rage means terror means a mind not your own not your own not your own. He remembered the feeling, and the sound, and Dion’s face when he had dazedly raised a hand to his temple. Joshua had not waited to see if his fingers would come away red; he had run. Fled to the room he hated, the only place he knew to go.

‘Joshua.’ Dion’s hands gently grasped his shoulders. The touch was warm and he wanted to lean into it, to savour it for as long as he was allowed.

Selfish. You don’t deserve this.

‘It was not your fault.’

‘Stop.’

Joshua noticed his fingernails digging into the meat of his palms. He wanted to claw at the skin of his chest, the smooth skin that should not be there. But he tightened his fists instead, keeping them stiffly at his side. Dion was watching him.

‘It was not your fault.’

Suddenly he was angry. Biting anger like acid in his throat, an itch in his veins that made it impossible to stand still. And so he shook off Dion’s hands and stumbled backwards, turning around sharply before starting to pace the length of the room, back and forth. Back and forth. Trapped.

‘Joshua.’

‘Stop it.’

Dion flinched back at the growl in his voice. But Joshua just kept pacing, hands raking through his hair and pulling at the strands until it hurt.

‘I let him in. I sealed him away, I surrendered my mind to him because it was easier. I was there, I was watching, for five years. Don’t you dare tell me that it’s not my fault!’

‘It is not.’

‘It was my decision!’ Joshua whirled around to face Dion, voice rising until it rang in his ears, making his head ache. ‘Don’t you understand? If nothing was my fault then that means there was nothing left of me. It means I died in Oriflamme and Ultima was puppeting my corpse ever since. It means I had no control over anything and I…’

He drew in a shaking breath, hands still tangled in his hair. He swayed on his feet until he had to sink down on the bed, fingers tightening, pulling, the pain coming and going with each of his breaths. Because his body was doing what he told it to do, because he was in control. Because he was real. Real and alive and himself, wasn’t he? His decisions. His fault. If that was taken from him, what would be left?

Warm hands wrapped around his and carefully untangled them from his hair. Dion was crouched in front of him, watching him with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry’, he said, fingers still linked with Joshua’s as he guided them to rest on the rumpled sheets. ‘I did not mean to cause you pain. And I think… I think I understand.’ Those beautiful brown eyes seemed suddenly very far away, focussed on a point beyond Joshua, beyond this room or even the Hideaway. ‘Twinside… I lost control and people were hurt. I killed them. And I know it could never compare, but… I think I understand.’

He looked up, gaze sharpening.

‘But even if it was your decision, even if you made mistakes, even if you acted on Ultima’s behalf, but of your own volition - you were just trying to survive, were you not? He would have taken even more from you had you resisted. Whatever you did, it was to protect yourself.’

‘You don’t know what I did’, Joshua said hoarsely.

‘No. But I don’t think it would matter.’

Joshua laughed. An ugly, hollow laugh that tasted stale and bitter on his tongue.

‘Are you sure?’

His hand shot out, locking around Dion’s wrist like a vice. His grip would leave bruises, and the thought was horribly satisfying when he forced Dion to turn his arm into the light. Maybe one more bruise on his conscience would finally be enough to prove how broken he was.

The light fell on the fresh scar, parting Dion’s forearm from wrist to elbow as if it had been broken and put together again. How very fitting. Joshua traced the scar with his thumb, watching Dion shy away from his gaze.

‘How did this happen?’

Dion’s expression tightened. ‘You know how’, he said quietly.

‘I do, but do you? Why did you do it?’

Dion opened his mouth, closed it. Frowned. When he did not answer, Joshua tightened his grip. He wanted there to be bruises. He wanted it to hurt, wanted Dion to recoil, to spit in his face and leave. He would do so eventually, when his faith in Joshua inevitably crumbled away. Better now, on his own terms. He wanted it to hurt.

‘You heard your lover’s voice’, Joshua said coldly. ‘He told you to join him in death. Am I right?’

Dion stared at him. ‘How do you know that?’, he asked numbly.

‘Ultima is a being of the mind, and he can twist that of others to perceive whatever he wants. A loved one’s face, their voice. As it turns out, containing just a fragment of him is enough to make use of that power. I suppose it was convenient for him, since it meant I was able to achieve whatever he required of me.’ Joshua held Dion’s confused gaze, refusing to let any emotion show on his face. He had no right to, not when it was his fault, his fault, his fault. ‘That time, he required your death.’

Dion had grown pale, his hand slack in Joshua’s merciless grasp. It was a sickening feeling of power, vicious and intoxicating. For a moment it felt good, so good to be the one in control, the one to cause the hurt, because that was who he was, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? The Phoenix was gone, he was a healer no longer. All he had left was what Ultima had taught him, and he had taught him well.

Dion’s eyes flickered to the scar as if seeing it for the first time, and for a moment he looked… lost. Small. So fragile in Joshua’s hands, his bruising, blood stained hands.

He ripped them away, bile rising in his throat. But he did not apologize, did not dare to. Who was he to apologize? Who was he to ask for forgiveness, unforgivable as he was?

Dion rubbed an unsteady hand over his lips, the skin of his wrist still reddened from Joshua’s fingers. He closed his eyes, face lined with pain.

‘Of course’, he said quietly. ‘Another way I have fallen prey to Ultima’s machinations. I should have known.’

‘My machinations’, Joshua said. Bitter words in his mouth. Triumph, because it was proof of the rot inside his heart. He felt sick. ‘He might have ordered the outcome, but the words were mine. It has always been me.’

‘It’s not -’ Dion bit off the sentence, frowning. Turning over a thought in his head. ‘This was not the first time, was it?’, he asked slowly.

‘No, it was not.’

Dion nodded to himself. ‘The evening we arrived at Twinside. You came to my chambers.’ He looked up to Joshua, eyes narrowed as if he might find something hidden in his features, some deeper truth. ‘I thought it a dream. It is… difficult to remember, but…’

‘You were wavering. Ultima needed you to start the coup, and so he sent me to make sure of it.’

‘I was not sure who… it was like your faces blurred together in my memory whenever I tried to recall it.’ Dion spoke slowly, as if he were still trapped in the illusion while his mind tried to untangle the web Joshua had spun around him that night. ‘Then… was it you who kissed me? Or was this an illusion as well?’

Joshua stiffened. Something was itching under his skin, bitterness and guilt and… longing. Dangerous feelings. Slipping from his grasp, threatening to shatter his control.

‘Don’t flatter yourself’, he said, biting off the words like poisoned bread and spitting them at Dion’s feet. ‘You were certainly not the first.’

Dion recoiled, and for a moment Joshua thought that he might finally break; that he would leave, leave him behind, alone, leave him to the darkness and not come back. It would be better that way.

Dion stayed.

‘Did he often make you… seduce people to get what he wanted?’

No. No, this was wrong. There was a quiet anger in Dion’s words, and… compassion. It was all wrong, because what Joshua had done was despicable, worth only to be sneered at and condemned.

‘Do you want to know what really happened?’, Joshua asked. His voice was too loud, bordering on hysterical. ‘He did not make me do anything. We kissed because I wanted to. I reached into your mind and twisted your thoughts to make you do what I desired. I knew it was not of your own free will. I knew that you could not resist if you wanted to. I knew, and I did not care.’

There was silence as Dion stared at him, a gaze like fingers burning on his skin. Intrusive. He wished it would reach just a little deeper and burn him to ash entirely.

‘This is not you’, Dion said.

‘You don’t know who I am!’ Joshua felt the anger flare, the helpless anger. Slipping, his control was slipping and his chest had stopped throbbing, the blood cooled on his skin. No pain to distract him from the maelstrom inside. ‘All you know is a puppet, an imitation, a man that no longer exists. You don’t know me.’

‘Joshua.’ Dion reached out and suddenly Joshua was trapped, trapped by the faintest touch to his shoulder, warm and freezing him in place. He had nowhere to run.

‘Why did you cry?’

He stiffened under Dion’s touch. Dion’s voice ringing in his ears, clear and cutting and more painful than a voice this gentle should ever be.

‘Back then, in Twinside. We kissed, and you cried.’

No, it was wrong, wrong, it was his fault, his -

‘I know that you are the one who saved my life. Ultima commanded my death, but you saved me from him. You saved me in Twinside as well. I might have succumbed to his manipulations after nothing more than a few whispers, but you carried him with you for five years and still fought him. I know that you are the one who after everything he has suffered still had enough of his heart left to shed tears. To care. That is you.’

A hand cupped his face. Warm, warm. A touch that held his broken pieces together instead of shattering them, welcome instead of revulsive, blissful instead of hurting. His breath hitched, trembled in his lungs. Or maybe it was his body that was trembling.

‘You are a good person’, Dion said. ‘And you won’t convince me otherwise. I won’t let you turn me into the instrument of your self-destruction.’

It was not fair.

How could he do anything but lean into that touch and let his anger melt away. There was hurt beneath, a pain so much deeper and more terrifying than that of torn flesh. But Dion put his arms around him when Joshua slumped against his chest, and the white fabric of his shirt swallowed the quiet wails that bled from Joshua’s lips. A pathetic, animalistic sound entirely out of his control, but he let it happen.

‘It was my fault’, Joshua whispered once his voice was obeying him once more. 

‘It was not.’

‘No, I… he wanted to kill you. He would have left you alone if not for me. Because I defied him.’

Dion hummed quietly. 

‘Why me?’, he asked.

‘Because… you gave me something he could not touch.’

‘Then I’m glad.’

When Joshua pulled back to give him a doubtful look, Dion smiled. A faint smile, sadness echoing underneath.

‘If I was able to help you fight him, then I am glad.’

Joshua pressed his lips into a thin line. It was a dangerous thing to accept. It meant giving up control over his heart once more, it meant accepting the possibility of being hurt, of being the one to hurt without meaning to. Dangerous. But Dion’s touch was warm and Joshua craved it so much, that feeling of being human. Of being himself, whoever that may be.

‘What now?’, he whispered.

‘Now you should eat something’, Dion said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘I will tell your brother and your attendant that they need not worry, and that you will speak with them when you are ready. Is that alright?’

Joshua looked at the tray of food on the bedside table. A bowl of soup that had long grown cold, a piece of bread. He was not hungry, his stomach still in uneasy knots. But it was a simple enough task for now, something to occupy his mind with so he would not have to think about the worried eyes that would await him after. He felt too brittle, too unsteady on his own feet to assuage their fears, but he would have to. He had caused them enough pain for a lifetime already.

‘Alright’, he said.

 

********

 

They had gone to Dion’s new quarters, a room as small and cramped as the old one, but out of sight of the place where he had almost bled out on the floor. Joshua had breathed a sigh of relief once they had entered a different corridor, the horrible memories vanishing around a corner. He had sat down at Dion’s tiny table and eaten, and Dion had reluctantly left him alone to prevent Clive from tearing down the Hideaway any time soon. Joshua had eaten and forbidden himself from thinking all too hard about how empty the room felt without Dion, and how cold and alien his own mind felt where it sat in his skull, a beast ready to pounce and devour itself in despair.

He had only just choked down the last piece of bread when there was a knock on the door. He froze, body stiffening. Waiting for Dion to enter, for surely it had to be Dion, announcing himself out of politeness. Was it? It had to be - he could not deal with anyone else, not now.

Another knock.

He should just send them away. No one would be able to fault him for it. Not when the exhaustion sat in his bones and his mind felt as raw as an exposed nerve.

Selfish. You walked out of that room. You don't get to hide now.

Slowly, Joshua rose to his feet. He swallowed the fear rising in his throat, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. Reminding himself that they were obeying his will.

You had a nightmare. You were scared. But now you are awake. It’ll be fine.

The door swung open hesitantly, revealing Jote standing on the other side.

‘Your Grace!’

It was hard to determine the tone of her voice when there was a rushing in his ears, a sense of vertigo as memories flooded his mind. She looked just the same as before, just the same as she had when he had left her behind in Twinside, rushing to Dion’s aid. Just the same as on the hill in the Dominion countryside, when she had barely escaped death by his hand. Just the same as in a tent at the Rosarian border, just the same as in a dusty street in Dhalmekia, cobblestones painted red. 

‘I apologize for disturbing you, but I heard you had left your room and I… I had to see you for myself.’

Just the same as in Oriflamme, when he had ordered her to stay while he followed his brother into the bowels of Drake’s Head. When had he last thought of that time? Back when he had still been himself, untainted by Ultima’s darkness?

I am certain the spell will work, he had told her. There is no need to worry. I shall be back soon.

Fool.

She might have said something, but he did not hear as he stared at her face, trying to understand how she could still be here, how she could still be the same after everything that had happened. After everything he had done.

He should send her away. He was slipping, slipping, and she could not be here when he fell. He should send her away.

‘I’m sorry’, he whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

She made a sound; a choked sound, like a sob that was swallowed down too quickly to take shape.

‘I knew you would come back to us, Your Grace.’

Her voice was shaking. This was not like before - she always sounded calm, quiet, soft despite the deadliness of her blade. It was jarring to hear her waver; and yet it was good, good to know she was not merely a spectre from the past.

‘I am sorry.’ He swallowed thickly, hands twitching at his side. Longing to dig into flesh, to make the outside fit the inside, pain all the way through. To make the world right again. But this was about her, about her, who had stayed by his side through five years of torture. Who would have had any right to cut his throat in his sleep a hundred times over for what he had done to her, but had refused to do so. Who looked at him now with so much relief it made him nauseous. Nauseous and… 

‘I… thank you.’ The words felt so hollow in his mouth, so horribly inadequate. ‘I know I have no right to say this, not after what you have suffered because of me. But still… thank you. Without you, I…’

He fell silent. For how could he possibly end that sentence? Without her, what would he be? A murderer, a mindless puppet to Ultima, a raving madman? He already was all these things. There was nothing to be grateful for, only more suffering on his conscience. But still… he was grateful. 

‘I did but my duty.’

He almost smiled. Sad, bitter, but most of all fond.

‘Jote. You have never done but your duty. Not once in all these years since we first met.’

Yes. A murderer, a puppet, a madman - he might be all these things. But without her, he would have been something much worse. Without her, he would have been alone.

Selfish, selfish thoughts.

Her eyes were shining. A soft brown, darker than Dion’s, but even more familiar. They blinked the moisture away and suddenly there were arms around him, the warmth of her body against his chest. His first instinct was to flinch back, flinch away from the pain that was to come, brace for the urge to grab her by the neck and squeeze, to… The urge never came. He waited for it, frozen in her embrace. But there was only warmth, the soft pressure of her hands on his back, her trembling breath on his skin.

‘You are back’, she whispered. ‘Thank you. Thank you for coming back to me.’

He was five years younger, lying in bed in Martha’s Rest while Ultima chiselled away at his mind with every agonizing breath, watching Jote turn around and leave him behind.

Why now?

Now, when everything has already gone so very wrong?

If she had held him like this back then, maybe… maybe. 

It was not fair.

No.

It had never been fair. He had never stood a chance at all, had he not? One mistake, and he had been doomed. There was nothing she could have done to change that.

The thought was a pit in his stomach, sudden and gaping.

He had never stood a chance at all.

She released him and stepped back far too soon, head bowed and hands clasped behind her back. The sudden loss of contact was jarring, the cold air rushing in and chafing against the scratches on his chest where the laces of his shirt were undone.

‘Forgive me, Your Grace. I overstepped.’

‘No, I… there is nothing to forgive.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I apologize, but… would you give me some time alone? I will come speak to you soon, I promise.’

‘Of course, Your Grace.’

She stepped outside quietly, leaving him both relieved and bereft. But he could not have her here, not when he was slipping, cracking, fraying at the seams. Waiting for something to give. She could not be there when it did, because he did not know what would happen.

He had never stood a chance at all.

It was not fair.

The thoughts circled in his head as he sunk down on the bed and buried his face in his hands. He sat and he breathed and he thought, thought, thought again and again, waiting for the thoughts to grow claws and tear into his mind and eat him alive. The waiting was the worst of it - always waiting that he would slip. That the voice returned; the rage, the pain.

He curled up on the sheets and he waited.

 

********

 

Eventually, there was another knock and the door opened, slowly, to reveal Dion slipping back into the room. It couldn’t have been long, but Joshua felt as stiff and numb as if he had been sitting for hours. But his hands were occupied and that was good, worn leather creaking when he flexed his fingers, metal cool on his skin.

‘I apologize’, Dion said as he closed the door behind him. ‘I… got sidetracked.’

There was something wrong with his face when he said it - it looked too tired, his eyes too absent. Wrong. But the expression was gone as soon as he turned around. Turned around and froze.

‘Are you alright?’, he asked carefully.

Joshua nodded even though he was not sure it was the right answer. He was better than he had been, before. He was worse. He was nothing, the memory of a person floating in twilight. A battleground that lay empty and broken now that the warriors had left.

He had never stood a chance at all.

He flexed his fingers until he heard the groan of leather, a tapping against his wrist. Tap tap tap. Something real, something to focus on.

‘Jote was here’, he said.

Tap tap tap.

Dion sat down on the stool by the table, facing him. There was a cautious glint in his eyes.

‘What did she say?’

‘She… was happy to see me.’

Tap tap tap.

‘Joshua.’ Dion’s voice was tense. ‘Please give me the dagger?’

Joshua’s eyes drifted down to his hands. His fingers were tightly clenched around the leather wrapped grip of the dagger, the tip tapping against the inside of his wrist. Tap tap tap. The sharp blade just shy of cutting skin. Reassuring. 

Dion held out his hand. ‘Please.’

The dagger had been hidden under Dion’s pillow. One slip of the hand and Joshua had found it, smooth and cool and heavy in his grasp. It was good. It gave him the knowledge that he would not be helpless again if Ultima tried to take his mind a second time. The certainty of a quick way out - one small movement, a bit of pressure and he would never have to be afraid again.

It could be so easy.

Tap tap tap.

The dagger was vaguely familiar. Of Sanbrequois make, bare of any embellishments but elegant and sharp and deadly. Yes… he had seen it before. Lying in a pool of blood, the blade reflecting the red as it spread and spread. 

His breath quickened and suddenly the dagger felt as if it might burn his hands, the gleaming steel too cold against his skin, drinking up all the warmth, the life, the blood blood blood.

Gentle hands plucked the blade from his grip and put it aside, a vicious glint in the corner of Joshua’s eye.

‘It’s alright’, Dion said quietly. ‘It’s alright. It has been a long day.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’

Dion straightened up and grabbed the dagger, shoving it inside the worn pack in the corner that held whatever belongings he had borrowed since arriving at the Hideaway. Out of sight. 

‘It’s late’, he said. ‘If you wish, you can stay here tonight.’

Joshua looked up and noticed with surprise that the light sneaking in through the cracks in the wooden walls had indeed grown dim, barely more than a faint shimmer of grey. There was a plea in Dion’s eyes and Joshua’s gaze flickered towards the pack that sat innocently in the corner. He nodded.

Dion hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other. 

‘Do you… want me to sleep on the floor?’

Any other time, it would have been a proposition. But Joshua only thought of the feeling of falling asleep in Dion’s arms under the branches of an apple tree, that rare feeling of peace as the simple touch had chased away the thoughts in his head. 

He thought of the sound of a head crashing against wood. 

‘It’s alright’, Dion said. Reading Joshua’s silence so effortlessly as if he too possessed the power over minds. But he used it to soothe, to care, not to dominate or destroy. Doing what Joshua should have done - the Phoenix, the healer. Not anymore.

‘I was too careless before’, Dion said. ‘I will not startle you again. It will be alright.’

He pulled something out of his pocket - the wooden dragon he had given to Joshua back in the cell, its roughly carved face a familiar sight that Joshua had clung to for so many desperate hours. Dion set it down on the bedside table, close enough to be the first thing to greet them in the morning.

‘You left it in the garden - I figured you might want it back.’

The longing won out in the end, overpowering the fear. Joshua pulled off his boots and scooted to the side on the bed, making room for Dion’s bulkier form. When he stretched out on thethin mattress, Dion’s warmth came to rest against his back. Dion’s fingers interlaced with his, gently pulling his hands away from his chest. The touch was almost too much; agonizing in its own way, his skin soaking it in until he felt warm all the way through. Until he felt… calm. 

They curled up together, facing the wooden dragon that was watching over them from its perch. The room fell silent once they had settled, only the sound of their breath disturbing the dark.

‘Joshua?’ Dion’s voice was a whisper of air against Joshua’s neck.

‘Yes?’

‘Promise me that you will stay.’

It would have been easy to think that he was speaking of the bed. But the pack sat in the corner, almost hidden in shadow, its deadly contents a thought at the edge of Joshua’s mind. Tempting. Terrifying. He had never stood a chance at all, but it did not have to stay that way. He could be safe. Dion, Clive, everyone at the Hideaway - they could be safe from him.

It could be so easy. But…

Why had Dion kept the dagger?

Dion’s arms tightened around him and Joshua tore his eyes away from the shadows, forcing them to focus on the wooden dragon instead. 

‘I promise’, he said.

 

Chapter 10

Notes:

I think I have never agonized over a final chapter as much as this one. There were so many complicated feelings to articulate, and after many tries I hope that I got it right.

CW: discussion of suicidal ideation

Dion was playing with the dagger. He had already been sitting at the table and turning it over in his hands when Joshua had awoken - silently, eyes blinking open as his body had been locked in place by the remnants of a nightmare. A voice whispering incomprehensible words in the dark, the face of a boy with eyes of burning blue. Blood dripping from his hands. The hate tearing at his chest, burning under his fingernails. It had taken him a few minutes of staring at the wooden dragon on the bedside table to remember that that hate was not his own. To remember where he was, who he was. Dion had not noticed, sunken in thought.

The dagger turned over and over in his hands, switched directions, blade flashing as it reflected the morning light. Dion’s eyes were far away as his hands spun the weapon faster and faster, until it threatened to nick his skin. In the pale light, his face looked drawn and tired.

Why did he keep the dagger?

Joshua sat up in bed, the sheets rustling and alerting Dion to his presence. The dagger vanished from view, along with the tired lines around Dion’s eyes. He gave Joshua a smile that seemed to transform his face, from the worn shell it had been before into the familiar warm expression. It lit up the room and sought to dispel the last traces of the nightmare that clung to Joshua’s mind like spiderwebs, and it felt wrong.

Why did he keep the dagger? 

‘Good morning’, Dion said.

Joshua watched him with a crease on his brow, but Dion’s smile did not waver even for a moment.

‘How about breakfast?’, he asked cheerfully. ‘After that, I could show you around the Hideaway if you like.’

Joshua nodded. He did not know what else to do - there was no direction, no urge burning in his mind that drove him this way or that, and so he got dressed wordlessly and followed Dion out of the room, into the bustle of the Hideaway.

It felt surreal. The exhaustion of the day before was too present and at the same time too far away, a shadow that had settled in his bones and weighed down his steps without ever growing strong enough to be tangible. Just that sense of wrongness that ate away at him in some hidden corner of his self. Echoing in the hollow where something should be - had been, before - but he could not remember what it was. He looked around at wooden platforms and stairs and Fallen arches and people - people upon people, the sight familiar and jarring enough to make him stumble. He waited for it to become overwhelming, revulsive, waited for his mind to turn into a feral screaming thing until he no longer had control over his hands, his body. But the people, the life, the everyday bustle, it was just… there. Existing. Such a strange thing.

‘You are quiet’, Dion said as they crossed the first of the platforms, his voice low enough that no bystander would be able to overhear.

‘It’s just…’ Joshua glanced at the people milling about all around them. Their gazes prickled on his skin. ‘He always made them seem like a different species.’ Small. Irritating. Unimportant.

‘It must be strange.’

Joshua nodded. He wondered what he would have thought of the Hideaway before - long before, when he had still been himself. Who had that person been? Would he have been excited, intrigued? Maybe.

He wondered if he missed it.

They went to see Clive first. The morning sun made his blue eyes sparkle when they found Joshua’s face, but still Joshua only allowed himself to relax after Dion had given him a reassuring smile. It’s real. Then Clive hugged him and it was good. Jill did the same and for a moment he thought he smelled blood and heard the echo of his own screams ringing in his ears but her touch was good, too.

They went to have breakfast together in one of the communal spaces of the Hideaway. Joshua walked slowly, behind Clive. It was unnerving to have him linger at his back, where Joshua could not see his eyes. Every time he lost his brother from sight even for a moment, a part of him expected to see a flash of cold silver the next time their gazes met. Not real. At least Dion was there - as long as Dion could keep an eye on Clive, it would be fine.

It would be fine.

The people that passed them followed them with curious gazes. Joshua wondered how much they knew. Did they know that he had brought a living splinter of the god that sought to destroy them all into the very midst of their sanctuary? Did they know that he had tried to kill, right here in their home where they had so graciously sheltered him? No… they looked at him too openly, too curiously. Maybe even with pity. He wondered what Clive had told them about his time in the cell. What excuses his brother had made for him. He wondered if it would feel less wrong if those eyes watching him were full of hate.

To no great surprise to Joshua, Jote entered the ale hall mere minutes after they had settled at one of the tables, a shadow watching them from a polite distance. Of course she would keep an eye on him. But he could not bear her silent gaze on the back of his neck, and so he waved her over and gestured for her to join them. She did so reluctantly, but soon Jill had her engaged in quiet conversation and they were all digging into their food and the awkwardness of it melted away. It was quiet and mundane, and so strange that Joshua had to swallow a hysterical laugh while he sat and let the voices of the others wash over him. So very strange. That they could all sit like this as if everything was normal, as if he had not been the knife Ultima had held to their throats until mere days ago. As if he was to be trusted, as if he was one of them.

Maybe he was.

He blinked away the tears in his eyes and balled his hands into fists to keep them from scratching at his skin. The pain would have been grounding, but… no. They could not see.

Clive tried to engage him in conversation a few times, but after he received only short answers he let him be. Let him breathe and listen and marvel at the fact that he was here, and they were here, and things were peaceful for just this one moment when he had thought he would never know peace again. So very strange.

He waited for the moment to break, but it did not. It just… was.

Eventually the conversation around him died down and he looked up to see expectant faces staring back at him. The plates on the table were empty, all except his own. He pushed it away.

‘I’m sorry’, he said. ‘What were you saying?’

Clive frowned, but the expression flickered across his face almost too quickly to see before it was replaced by a smile. ‘I asked if you had plans for the day’, he repeated.

Joshua’s eyes jumped to Dion, but he only received an encouraging little smile. Your choice. A daunting thought when he barely knew what to do with the mere fact of his existence, so empty and without meaning now that he was… free? Was that the word?

He did not feel free. He felt lost.

He cleared his throat. ‘No. No, I do not.’

‘Then allow me to show you around. There is a place I know you’ll love.’

The notion was alien but Clive’s smile was warm and almost giddy and so Joshua did his best to return it.

‘Call me intrigued.’

 

********

 

Joshua closed the book with a sigh. The shelves were quiet except for the rustle of pages coming from Harpocrates’ desk and the muffled sound of voices on the other side of the door. Clive had left with Jill in tow, asking Joshua to enjoy himself and to stop by Clive's room if there was anything he needed. Jote had disappeared quietly but reluctantly, knowing him well enough to sense that her presence was not welcome at the moment. It was strange how well she could read him even though she had spent the last five years in the company of an impostor. What did that say about Joshua himself?

Dion had refused to even set foot into the shelves, excusing himself at the door.

‘Don’t worry’, Clive had said. ‘It seems he has history with our loresman. I don’t know what happened between the two, but Dion avoids him whenever he can.’

And now Joshua was alone, with just the books and Harpocrates’ silent presence for company. He carefully put the book he had skimmed back in its place and let his eyes roam over the dusty shelves.

This room… it would have excited him, before. He would have loved it. And the scent of leather and parchment and ink was still comforting, the whisper of pages an echo of a kinder past. Promising knowledge and wonder and oblivion for just an hour or two, blissful oblivion.

When was the last time he had touched a book for mere enjoyment? With a calm mind and steady fingers, no feverish urge raging under his skin that drove his eyes to fly over the pages in a desperate stumble. He could not remember. Now, the tomes surrounding him were nothing but a painful reminder of what he had lost.

What had been taken from him.

Years of his life. A whole world that he had loved before, but was now tainted by the memories of hate and disgust. Ultima’s curse. Lodged in his mind just as the curse that ate away at his flesh was lodged in his body. Such a spiteful, lonely creature.

He had never stood a chance at all.

The books taunted him, whispering of his failure.

His suffering.

It was not fair.

He dragged a hand over his face as if he could wipe away the thoughts. He had spent hours among the books already, searching for that spark that had used to come so easily to him. But his mind kept returning to the same things, picking at the same barely healed wounds, over and over. Enough. 

He turned towards the door, giving the old scholar at his desk a nod and a forced smile before slipping out of the room.

He asked a woman he did not know the name of if she had seen Dion, and she shook her head but pointed him towards the upper platform at the very top of the Hideaway.

‘He often sits there, brooding.’

It made Joshua’s insides churn uncomfortably. They had stood on that platform together, before… blood blood blood on the floor

He thanked the woman and headed up the stairs. The platform was disturbingly familiar - a nice place, with the horizon so far away and the breeze playing in his hair. Despite the breathtaking view and the mild weather it was deserted, safe for a lonely figure in white. Dion was sitting on the floor near the railing, gazing out at the quiet waters of Bennumere. His face was blank as his eyes stared into the distance, captivated by whatever ghosts he saw passing by on the horizon. In his hands, the blade of the dagger caught the light in sharp flashes as it turned over and over.

Joshua stepped closer, the sense of disquiet growing in his stomach. 

‘Dion?’

Dion flinched and the dagger disappeared before he had even turned his head. By the time he had, there was a smile on his lips.

‘Ah, I see you did part with the books eventually. Though I hope it was not on my account.’

Joshua sat down next to him, legs crossed and shoulders hunched. Curled up as if warding against a cold wind even though the weather was perfectly nice. Dion was close enough to feel his warmth, and Joshua ached to reach out and lace their fingers together like they had done back in the cell, when Dion’s hand had been his only anchor in a storm of despair. Or back in bed just the day before when Dion had held him as if he had been afraid Joshua might slip from his grasp as soon as he let go. It had felt so good, to be held like something precious; to pretend for a moment that he was worth something.

‘...Are you alright?’, he asked.

Dion raised his eyebrows at him in surprise.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Dion.’ Joshua swallowed thickly. ‘I know you have done more for me than I could ever repay, but if I might ask for another kindness… You were the only thing I could trust when I couldn’t even trust my own mind. I’m still not sure that I can. So please… don’t lie to me?’

A silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken words. Only the faint lapping of the waves disturbed it, and the sounds of the Hideaway at their backs. Dion’s hands tightened around the empty air and Joshua wondered if he wished for the dagger back. If he found the same comfort in it that Joshua had, not so long ago.

‘I apologize’. Dion’s voice was rough. He was hiding his face, his tired face, but Joshua could see how his shoulders slumped and bowed under an invisible burden that had been carried for too long already. It was painful to see, and it was a relief - because Joshua knew how much heavier such a burden grew if it was hidden. He had learned young.

‘Please. Talk to me.’

Dion shook his head. ‘It’s… I’m alright. The demons that plague me are mine to deal with, not yours.’

‘Why did you keep the dagger?’

The question was out before Joshua could swallow it back down, hanging in the air like an accusation. Tearing cruelly at wounds that were quietly festering, opening them anew. Dion stiffened.

‘I…’

For a moment Joshua thought he would not answer. But then white-clad shoulders straightened, eyes closing in surrender.

‘As a reminder. Because while Ultima sought to be cruel, he was also right.’ Dion opened his eyes and took Joshua’s hand, looking at him imploringly. ‘Please know that I do not blame you for any of it. Even if it was you that chose the words - and I am not convinced that you did - you merely spoke out loud what I already knew in my heart. The truth I ignored for far too long. About Sanbreque. About myself. About… about Terence.’

He drew in a shuddering breath and pulled back his hand, a sudden cold on Joshua’s skin where his warmth had been. 

‘I just… ‘ He stared into the distance, jaw working. ‘Ultima lied, did he not? About Terence dying at Twinside.’

His face was carefully blank but there was something vulnerable in his voice, something hopeful. Joshua felt it as a sting in his chest - the gnawing guilt and a bitterness he tried to push back down as soon as it reared its ugly head.

Selfish.

‘He did. I cannot promise you that Terence is alive, but neither can I promise that he is dead. And neither could Ultima. He lied, Dion.’

A breath fled Dion’s lungs with a hiss, a sigh of relief.

'Thank you’, he said hoarsely. A sentiment too deep, too raw, and suddenly Joshua wished they had spoken about this much sooner. Wished he had freed Dion from that terrible doubt that he had not even realized was there - had he not wanted to see it? Had he wanted to ignore it, to revel in the illusion that Dion was his and only his just for a while longer? And what a sweet illusion it had been. Too good to be true, just like every other illusion that had eaten away at his mind all these long years. He had grown far too accustomed to them.

Dion turned to stare at the horizon once more, as if he was not entirely sure it was still there. As if he was not sure the world was still the same, grappling with the revelation that should not have been one. Suddenly he barked a laugh, short and sharp. It sounded freeing, a release of tension that had built and built over far too long.

It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

The thought sat in Joshua’s head and he carefully pushed it down again before it could spread to his hand and compel it to reach out. 

Selfish.

‘Will you go and find him?’, he asked instead even though the thought filled him with cold dread. He needed Dion. Without him he would be adrift in this new strange reality where nothing felt right or familiar, lost in the life he should have lived but no longer remembered how to navigate. But what did Dion owe him? What right did Joshua have to claim him, after everything he had done?

Dion sobered up and took a deep breath. ‘I cannot.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Ultima was still right in what he said to taunt me. I always knew that there was danger in allowing Terence into my heart, and this fight is more dangerous than any other. I’d rather know him out there and safe than by my side.’

It pained him, Joshua could see it in his eyes. And he could feel it, swelling in his own chest until it threatened to steal his breath: a pain of his own, very different from the simple bright sting of flesh he had come to crave. A feeling of loss as he saw the love in Dion’s eyes, warm and tender and not for him. And fear; the fear of being alone and abandoned and lost, lost in the dark. Rising, rising until it threatened to drown him. Out of control.

He was so afraid.

His fingers skittered to his chest, nails digging through fabric and skin and muscle until they reached the pressure building in his lungs, the ache in his heart. It was too much, he did not know what to do with it. There was no escape from it.

It had been so much easier to hate. This… he did not want this. It would kill him, it would eat him alive like the darkness, it would consume him and…

Dion was not looking at him. He was staring at the horizon, face haggard and tired. But it seemed almost peaceful, a bone deep resignation.

Dion’s bright laughter when he had shown him the dragon, mighty and gentle and wild. A hand as small as his own pulling him away from a lake choked by lanterns and leading him to a sanctuary of their own. Arms holding him under the branches of an apple tree.

He did not deserve this. Not him.

The thought tasted like sadness. Then it tasted like anger. Anger was simple. It was familiar. He let himself fall into it, let it fill his veins. It was a relief.

It was not fair.

A thought, brilliant and bright, simple. How dare he.

He knew what to do with anger.

He had not noticed how long the silence had stretched; not until he shot up from where he sat, so quick and sudden that it made Dion flinch.

‘Joshua? Where are you going?’

‘I need to speak to Clive.’

Dion called his name once more but Joshua had already stormed off, weaving through the crowd of the Hideaway’s residents without even noticing their curious gazes. Somewhere behind him, Dion was following. He only caught up when Joshua was already pushing open the door to Clive’s room without bothering to knock. He marched inside with a confused Dion in tow, startling Clive who had been hunched over his map and the wooden markers scattered across it.

‘Joshua?’, he asked in alarm. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘I will help.’

Clive blinked, taken aback. ‘I appreciate the offer, but above all you should rest. Tarja -’

‘I will take him down.’ His voice was a tight growl, the anger burning in his throat. How dare he. It had been a foregone conclusion that he would join Clive’s cause ever since he had woken up with his mind his own once more. But saying it out loud felt good; it felt like a purpose. A path laid out for him, such a simple pat. He would correct his mistake or he would die trying. Ultima would regret the day he had chosen to lay his hands on those Joshua held dear. 

How dare he.

The thought was comforting, the anger, even more so than the cold edge of the dagger on his skin.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Dion’s concerned frown. But it did not matter, it could not matter, not if he did not want to lose his mind - all that mattered was that the one who had caused so much grief was wiped from the face of this world. 

Clive straightened up with that look on his face, the same look he would give Joshua almost twenty years ago when his little brother had insisted that he wasn’t too sick to play outside.

‘Joshua’, he said gently. ‘I understand, but -’

‘No, you don’t.’ Joshua pressed his lips into a thin line and stepped closer to the table, staring Clive down across the map. ‘You need me.’ I need this.

‘And I would love nothing more than to have you by my side, but -’

‘What is your next move?’ Joshua’s eyes flew across the map, the carefully placed markers. He picked up the one looming over Twinside, representing the mothercrystal. ‘Going back to the Dominion to take down Drake’s Tail? That is what you are planning, is it not?’

‘...Yes.’

‘No.’

Clive raised an eyebrow. ‘No?’, he echoed.

‘That is what he wants you to do. And if he wants it, you mustn’t give it to him.’ Joshua placed the marker back down on the map with a resounding thud. ‘You need me.’

With a frown, Clive considered Joshua, then the map. ‘Do you know why?’, he asked.

‘It’s not like he sat me down over a cup of tea to discuss his plans’, Joshua snapped. ‘But he needs the mothercrystals destroyed. Leave them alone. You can deal with them once we have taken down Ultima himself.’

Clive crossed his arms in front of his chest and considered Joshua carefully. His eyes flickered to the side and met with Dion’s - Joshua was not sure what passed between them, but finally Clive sighed and rubbed a hand over his face in a tired motion.

‘Fine. Tell me what you know, then we can devise a new strategy together. Founder knows we will need a good one. But -’ he added before Joshua could open his mouth, ‘- only after you have rested a few more days. To keep Tarja from killing us both, if nothing else.’

Joshua ground his teeth but Clive’s expression was pleading, and he was not able to deny him. A few more days. He could do that. Just a few more days.

‘Fine’, he conceded. After a moment of consideration, he added: ‘Thank you.’

Clive reached across the table to bump his fist against Joshua’s chest. Very gently. It stung only a little on the healing scratches that were hidden under his shirt, but Joshua did not mind. The touch felt real. He had a purpose now.

‘If this is what you need’, Clive said softly, ‘then we will make it happen.’

Joshua slowly let the air escape from his lungs as his shoulders lost their tension. He pointedly ignored Dion’s presence behind him, the messy tangle of feelings squirming somewhere in the back of his mind. It did not matter. His path was clear before him and it held no place for doubts or or longing. It was a relief, to know it no longer mattered. An escape - no. It was what needed to be done. That was all there was to it.

Dion’s eyes bored into the back of his head.

‘Now out with you’, Clive said. ‘Go read some more, or enjoy the gardens. Hell, ask Obulus for a boat ride around the lake if you want to. Just… rest. Alright?’

‘Of course’, Joshua said with a faint smile that felt tight on his lips. Then he turned to leave, pretending not to notice Dion trailing behind him. 

 

********

 

Dion caught him by the arm as soon as the door to Clive’s room had fallen shut behind them.

‘Can we talk?’, he asked, and did not wait for Joshua’s answer before pulling him out onto a deserted balcony high above the waves of Bennumere. There he turned around and crossed his arms in front of his chest, regarding Joshua’s face with a deep frown.

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘I am free, am I not?’, Joshua growled. ‘My life is mine to command. Is it not so?’

Dion lowered his head and Joshua clenched his teeth, swallowing down the irritation. Not again. He would not make Dion the target of his frustrations again. The instrument of his self-destruction. He deserved better.

‘I merely want to make sure that you are doing this for the right reasons’, Dion said quietly.

‘Ultima needs to be defeated. What wrong reason could there be?’

‘I think…’ Brown eyes were looking at him, gentle but so piercing they seemed to strip the flesh from his bones. ‘I think you mean not to return.’

Joshua opened his mouth, unsure what to reply, but Dion only smiled a sad smile.

‘I know that look. I have seen it in the mirror many times since Twinside.’ He turned to look out over the lake, just as he had done when Joshua had found him earlier. ‘It feels so freeing. To only worry about that one goal and no longer have to grapple with the doubts and the guilt. It feels just.’

It was just. Joshua had caused so much grief, to everyone including Dion. Because he had been too arrogant, or too weak. Because he had never stood a chance, but now he had a chance to make it right.

Now he had a chance to escape it all. The pain, the fear, the guilt. The tenderness when he looked at Dion, a longing for something that could never be. He could not bear it any longer.

How was Dion doing it?

‘What made you change your mind?’, he asked softly.

Dion chuckled without mirth. ‘I did not. I merely found something more important that rendered my plans moot.’ He still did not look at Joshua, instead watching the rolling waves as if they were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. ‘You were down there in that cell, and I could help you. You were wasting away, and I could help you. And so I realized that… your death would be a much greater tragedy than my survival.’

The cell. Gnawing hunger and the last of his body’s strength ebbing away. Dark visions and a figure in white emerging from the shadows. His one guiding light.

‘Selfish, is it not? To put my desire of seeing you live above my duty.’ Dion’s hands tightened where they were grasping his own arms. Twitching as they longed to hold the dagger instead, such a simple reminder that their lives were not inescapable. A reminder that they could never escape, not until they had finished that one, final task. A task of their own choosing. ‘I… almost despaired over it. Ultima was right - I am self-righteous, always thinking I can tell right from wrong even though every evidence points to the opposite. So how can I pledge my life to any other cause than atonement? How can I trust myself that it is the right decision?’

‘Dion…’

‘But then I saw you with your brother, right now. Doing the same as I should do, and I found I could not bear it. Because I want to see you live. I want to see you happy, one day, and free from this burden. And so I cannot give my life to any other cause until I have seen it through.’

An impossible thing to wish for. Joshua took a step back, shaking his head.

‘Please’, Dion said, a quiet plea. For what, he did not seem sure himself.

He reached out a hand, warm palm settling against Joshua’s cheek. He closed the distance between them, so close, so close, until Joshua could feel his breath on his skin. Dion’s lips just one small movement away, enticing. His kiss had saved Joshua before. 

Joshua took Dion’s wrist, intent on pulling the hand away from his cheek. But he could not bring himself to do it, and so they stood, fingers almost entwined. Almost.

‘Please don’t do this’, Joshua whispered. Was this not what he had wanted to run away from? The complicated emotions, the pain of knowing he could never have or deserve any of it. He just wanted it to end. ‘Don’t sacrifice your integrity, not for me.’

Dion lowered his eyes, but he did not let go.

‘Even if you did not have a lover out there, waiting for you…’ Joshua swallowed down the bitterness in his throat. ‘I… cannot. Not now. I don’t even know who I am. I have not been myself in five years, so how could I trust my own heart?’

‘I would wait for you.’ Dion’s thumb stroked over his cheekbone, a tiny movement but it sent a warm shiver down Joshua’s spine. ‘Won’t you resolve to live, so we can find out together?’

‘And what then? What if we both survive the fight, and the danger has passed. Would you forget about Terence for the possibility that I will one day be whole enough to love you without doubt?’

‘We would figure it out.' Dion hesitates, words lodged behind his teeth. He drew them out and they went reluctantly, shying away from the light. 'To be honest, I… don’t know who I am, either. My father, my old life, they… they are gone. I will carry that guilt for the rest of my life. And I don’t know who I will be once all this is over, but... maybe it is not so bad a prospect. To learn.’

Dion leaned forward until their foreheads touched. Joshua could not help but melt into it, the feeling of Dion’s hand on his cheek, of Dion’s voice washing over him and painting a brighter future for them both.

‘And what a world it would be’, Dion murmured, ‘where my gravest concern is my own foolish heart. I suppose that is the danger of having selfish dreams - they are all too alluring. But I found that I want to see that world. One day.’

There was wetness sliding down Joshua’s cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a shaking breath.

‘How do you do it?’, he whispered hoarsely. ‘How do you not let it consume you? It is too much, I can’t…’

Dion shushed him gently, fingers wiping away the tears on Joshua’s face.

‘I don’t know’, he said. ‘It did consume me. But I dared to hope for a future for you, and now I cannot let go of it. If you told me that you do not need me to live a full and happy life, I would gladly resign myself to death. But if you do need me, I will have to find different ways to make amends.’ He hesitated. Their eyes were closed, both of them floating in darkness where nothing was real but the touch of their skin. Dion carefully placed the next words into the void between them. ‘Do you… need me?’

‘You were the only thing I could believe in. You still are. I…’ Joshua felt his breath hitch, felt the cold fear in his heart, his fingers tightening around Dion’s wrist until he was sure it had to hurt. ‘Please.’ A voiceless plea. ‘Please don’t leave me.’

‘I won’t.’ Dion’s hand pulled away and it felt like a betrayal, but only as long as it took for strong arms to wrap around Joshua’s body. He was pulled against Dion’s chest, his face hiding in the crook of his neck. Fingers carded through his hair, gently. ‘I will be by your side when we fight Ultima. And I will be there after, in whatever way you need it. Will you allow yourself to believe in that future, just for a moment?’

A complicated future. Full of guilt and nightmares and memories. Full of heartache. We will figure it out. Would they? Could he bear all this for nothing but uncertainty in return?

Could he bear to never know what could have been?

‘We might still die in the fight’, he said. ‘And none of this would matter.’

‘We might.’

Joshua swallowed thickly. 'What would you do’, he said slowly, carefully tasting the possibility, ‘if we defeated him and lived? What would be the first thing you do?’

Dion hummed in thought. ‘I… don’t know. I have never been one to get overly drunk. But maybe I should try.’

‘I would like to see that.’ Joshua felt a smirk pull at his lips as he said it, and he realized that yes, he would indeed like to see that. To see Dion free of the burdens that plagued him, just for one evening. Maybe hear him sing. The thought caused his smile to deepen.

Was it worth the struggle of surviving? The pain? Maybe.

He wanted to know. And he had never been able to let something go if he wanted to know. Had he? Before? He thought so.

For one moment, he allowed himself to think so.

 

********

 

Joshua was turning the pages of his book. The sun was warming his fingers as they brushed over the dry paper, his eyes following the dark traces of ink as they trailed off into the white void, into a world of grand tales and fearless heroes and monsters that were sure to perish at the end of the day. The stories were familiar - he had read them together with Clive, huddled together in bed in Rosalith castle. He remembered. The wonder, the enchantment. 

He loved stories. He remembered.

Behind him, he heard the crunch of boots on sand and the rustle of fabric, the sharp sound of a blade cutting through the air as Dion went through his forms. The training arena was quiet, the day slowly coming to an end as the sun drifted towards the horizon. Peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Joshua blinked and noticed that his fingers had snuck past the laces of his shirt, nails idly picking at the bandages on his chest. The skin beneath was whole, but Dion had insisted on finding a way to ensure that it remained so. The bandages were irritating, but trying to hide the bloody scratches from Dion’s watchful eyes when they curled up together in bed was even more so.

Joshua pulled back his hand and picked up the wooden dragon instead that was sitting on the planks next to him. It kept his fingers busy, tracing carved scales and scraping over crooked horns, little sharp pricks that were not enough to pierce skin. Grounding.

There were more footsteps behind him and Joshua looked up from his book to see Clive with a group of cursebreakers walking past the training arena. Dion had just finished one of his forms and planted his spear on the ground while he reached for his waterskin. Joshua’s eyes were drawn to the faint sheen of sweat on his neck and collarbones.

‘It’s late’, Gav called over to Dion. ‘Come, have a drink with us, Your Highness.’

Dion chuckled and shook his head. Clive broke away from the group and approached him.

‘I’d be happy for you to join us.’

Joshua smiled quietly to himself. Dion still mostly watched life at the Hideaway from a comfortable distance, just like Joshua himself. But it felt good to see him become a part of it more and more. Since their talk a few days ago, he seemed more receptive to it as well. That is the danger of having selfish dreams - they are all too alluring.

It was good.

Dion shook his head again and picked up his spear. ‘I appreciate the offer, but I am saving it for a special occasion.’

His eyes flickered over to Joshua. Clive followed his gaze, only now noticing his brother tucked away next to the arena, sitting on a crate with his book in one hand and the wooden dragon in the other. For a moment Joshua tensed as Clive’s eyes met his, holding his breath until the sun made them flash brilliant blue. Then he grinned broadly.

‘He promised he would get drunk and perform Dion the Bold for us once we have defeated Ultima.’

Dion coughed. ‘I never agreed to that.’

‘Standing on the tables of the ale hall’, Joshua added mercilessly.

Clive laughed while Dion went back to his forms, shaking his head. Joshua followed his brother with his eyes, careful not to leave him from sight as he rounded the arena and chose a crate of his own to sit on.

‘You seem happier’, Clive said. Joshua hummed.

‘Sometimes. It… can still be difficul.'

‘When you came to me, a few days ago - you looked like a man who had nothing left to live for. So… I’m glad.’

‘I remind myself every morning that there is still something I want to see.’ Joshua closed his book and let his eyes drift towards Dion, a flurry of white and silver dancing through the air, graceful and deadly. ‘I want to see a world without Ultima. I have lived in his shadow ever since Phoenix Gate, even if I did not know it at the time. And I want to know what it is like to be free of him. To live life on my own terms, as you say. To make my own decisions.’

Clive followed his gaze, looking between Joshua and Dion, brow furrowed. Then it smoothed out and his lips stretched into a knowing smile. ‘Is he one of those decisions?’

‘I… don’t know. I will have to find out.’

‘Do you want him to be?’

‘It’s more complicated than that.’

Clive raised an eyebrow and Joshua sighed. ‘Yes’, he admitted. ‘I want him to be.’

He chewed on his lip, fingers tightening around the small wooden dragon until the tiny horns bit into his palm. ‘It is selfish, is it not? There is so much to do in this world, so many people to help. So much to fix. To make right. Founder knows, I have no shortage of things to make right. So… is it selfish that this is the reason I want to see a future for myself?’

He wanted to know what could be. Even if it meant to put aside his guilt, his sins, just long enough to survive.

‘Joshua.’ Clive’s voice was pained. He grabbed Joshua’s shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eyes. Blue eyes, familiar and… safe. ‘You sacrificed more in this fight than anyone else. If this makes you selfish, then you are allowed to be selfish.’

Joshua avoided his gaze and Clive’s hold tightened. 

‘You are allowed to live.’

Joshua squeezed his eyes shut. His pulse quickened as soon as he could no longer see Clive’s face, but he forced himself to keep them shut. Ten heartbeats. A part of him expected to see silver once he opened them again - to see the cruel sneer, hear that cold voice telling him that he had nothing, that emotions would only destroy him, weaken him. That all this was not for him - foolish, insignificant.

Clive’s eyes were blue. Unwavering.

You are allowed to live.

A world where he would be free of Ultima. Where he would be free to live, to love, however messy it might be. What a world that would be.

‘Thank you’, he said in a strangled voice.

Clive nodded, then glanced over to where Dion was approaching them. He clapped Joshua on the shoulder and stood, following the cursebreakers to the lift. Dion smoothly took his place by Joshua’s side.

‘Are you alright?’, he asked.

Joshua took a deep breath. His mind was too loud and too quiet at the same time, his chest empty and bursting. He did not know who he was, or what new horrors awaited him in the future. He was afraid. He had learned what it was to burn, and the scars would not heal for a long, long time to come.

‘I might be’, he said. ‘One day.’

Dion took his hand. They were close, so many unspoken words filling the air between them. So many possibilities. But those were for later. As long as there was a later, they could go on.

Dion raised Joshua’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. A gesture that could mean many things, and maybe one day they would have the chance to find a meaning of their own.

One day.

‘I’ll be here’, Dion said. ‘Until then.’

Until then.

And what a world that would be. The best world they could wish for.

 

Notes:

Thank you so much to everyone who stuck around to see this fic through to the end. It might not be a clean end, but it was what felt most natural for me. The amount of angst the boys will have to endure on their journey to come is now up to you!