Chapter Text
Kunikuzushi felt a little silly, brushing his hair before the mirror with more care than he had ever in his long existence. A stray strand of blue fell onto his cheek and the puppet swiped it backwards. It sprung back. With a huff, Kunikuzushi held it behind his ear with one hand, wiping off some red eyeliner that had smeared onto his lash line with the other.
The small pot of paint, decorated with falling maple leaves of rouge and amber, sat beside him on the desk.
“Does that mean somethin’ to you?” Sethos had asked once, lazing on the puppet’s bed as he watched him methodically dip a brush into the red soaked dye, “Or is it just for makin’ ya more pretty?”
Kunikuzushi rolled his eyes.
“It’s to ward off nosy little boys.”
He moved onto the other side, a smile creeping at his lips.
Sethos rolled over on the duvet, looking at his companion through the mirror.
“Looks like it’s not workin’ very well then,” he drawled.
The brush dipped to its side, little hairs sharpening into a carefully angled point. It tickled the delicate material of the puppet’s waterline.
He scoffed, “Evidently so.”
Warm, tanned arms snaked around his shoulders, and he leaned his head in the crook of an elbow to steady himself. Honey surrounded his senses, enveloping them whole.
Kunikuzushi lifted the brush from the edge of his lashes.
Finished.
Sethos made a point of looking at him with squinted eyes, examining him in an exaggerated manner.
“Well, ya definitely have eyes,” he said seriously.
Kunikuzushi couldn’t hold back a small laugh.
The rest of the morning was spent painting red around his companion’s own eyes, holding the fidgeting man still against the chair which proved to be very difficult when Sethos seemed to burst into laughter every second or so.
Green eyes stared at him, blinking softly.
Warm breaths ghosted his lips.
He glanced at the little clock perched on his desk and the blue aranara smiled dumbly at him, ticking away.
It’d been a few days since he’d seen Sethos; exams had been hellish as of late, and even for him, the endless pages to fill in that silent hall were not a task that could be completed mindlessly. Kunikuzushi pushed down the giddy feeling in his chest - he was most certainly not excited. No, no. In fact, he was very much not looking forward to their scheduled lunch meeting. Yes. And the puppet had never told a lie in his life and was a very honest person.
Slipping on his sandals, he pulled up his socks a little, adjusting them until they sat right on his legs and leaned into the vanity. Kunikuzushi looked over his appearance one last time before heading out of the Sanctuary.
It was a cold day, one of those on which that you thought might snow, if the clouds had the right motivation, yet they sat white and ungiving in the sky without fake or fall.
The streets were abuzz with shoppers, couples skipping through the markets with disgustingly lovey-dovey looks as they walked, arms hooked together through the icy paths. Swooping above the streetlamps, fabrics of all colours decorated the road, lit with little candles inciting an air of festivity among the city.
The puppet scowled instinctively.
He put his head down and walked a little harder and faster down the street, shoes slapping against stone.
In the crowd he could make out a voice, lilting and smooth.
“-Oh! He’s there - Haitham, would you wait just one, urgh!”
Kunikuzushi swerved around, suddenly not in the mood to talk to any strangers.
“Hat Guy!” The tall man called chipperly.
He held his tongue, recognising him as one of Sethos’s friends. It was the architect fellow -the one that was always hanging out with the Scribe.
Kaveh weaved between the shoppers and tried to get closer to him, half looking over his shoulder, no doubt looking for that ‘Haitham.’
“What is it?” The puppet said bluntly, not wanting to stay in the crowd any longer than necessary.
Kaveh smiled apologetically, “Sorry to bother you, but are you on your way to see Sethos by any chance?”
Kunikuzushi nodded slowly, “Yeah. And?”
“Well,” the architect seemed to stumble for words for a moment, “We brought him to his room above the café this morning, he seemed to be quite unwell last night and he fell dead asleep hitting the pillow! Uh, anyway, I was planning on checking on him tomorrow but I just got a bit worried and started having second thoughts so - “
“Listen, can you just get to the point?” The puppet cut in, concern edging at his mind.
Unwell? Well, Sethos had been a little off lately, but he was human after all. The simple changing of the seasons or a stray cough from a stranger on the street seemed to leave them confined to a bed.
Kaveh waved his arms around frantically, clearly embarrassed, “Yes! Of course, well, he’s probably still sleeping now, it’s only been about half an hour or so, so would you mind just making sure he’s alright and dropping by our house later? Or-or even just leave a note really. I would go myself but I’ve lost my- “he craned his head above the crowd then shook his head with a sigh.
Kunikuzushi tried to shake the awful feeling from his head, it was probably nothing serious.
“Sure. Yeah, whatever.”
Kaveh gave him a quick thank you before disappearing back into the crowd.
The walk to the room felt longer than usual and with each step where he noticed his pace slow, he subconsciously walked a little faster. At the door to the café, the puppet had to jump to the side as a small group of students burst out, chatting loudly with one another. The last held the door open, and he muttered a low word of thanks, pulling himself inside.
It was relatively busy that day. Puspa Café was a popular establishment, but the winter invited more guests that it repelled, it seemed, and the cozy glow of the yellow and green lights cast a homely light upon the inside walls and seats like a sitting room would. Most of the tables were occupied, a few having pulled extra chairs from others that he guessed had been empty at the time but were filled in the lunch rush, leaving some perched on the edges of the table’s corners or stood nursing a warm drink.
Kunikuzushi stalked up to the counter, weaving past a few customers and standing in line to the queue, tapping his feet impatiently. One by one, they ordered drink and cake and drink and then a different drink and the puppet inched forwards to where Enteka stood behind the bar, a little annoyed at the need to wait despite not wanting to buy anything.
When at last he reached the front, he gave the woman as nice of a smile as his irritated mood would allow.
“Ah, Hat Guy,” Enteka said warmly, already reaching behind her, “You need the key?”
He nodded firmly and waited as she shuffled around in a drawer, muttering to herself a little, then brightening with an ‘aha,’ turning back to the puppet.
She dropped it in his open palm and smiled, “There you go – just remember to drop it off with me later, kay?”
He climbed the stairs to the second floor of the café, wood creaking with every step as he fiddled with the rounded key, rubbing his fingers over its smoothened edges. After squeezing past another group of loud students he unlocked the door to the attic and slipped inside.
The second set of stairs stared at him, dark. Behind the thick wood, the muffled clinks and chatter of the cafe became duller and dimmer as he climbed, they fizzled out into silence and the only sound he heard became his sandals upon wood. Against the unpolished surface, they scraped loudly, splintering its skin.
Clack, clack, clack, clack.
On the upper level it was unlit and cold and the grey-ish hue of the cloud-covered sun shone through a small circular window, allowing only enough light to be able to read the numbers on the doors. Like in most of the city’s buildings, the attic was compact and its roof curved in diagonally, leaving space for only five rooms of decent size to be rented out.
It was quiet.
Perhaps Sethos was the only tenant for the time being – most holidayers having taken to the warmer areas of the forest or the edges of the desert instead.
He counted down the doors to the tiny space he’d come to know like his own, two, three, four -
Kunikuzushi stopped before it, straightening his sleeves a little and raised his hand.
He knocked twice.
“It’s me.”
Silence.
The puppet frowned - Sethos must be sleeping still, like the architect said.
He reached under the welcome mat before the door and fished out the key taped to its underside.
The door clicked open. He closed it behind him.
It was quiet.
He looked at the bed squished in the corner of the room and relief flooded his body, suddenly feeling a bit silly for worrying. Sethos was tucked into the sheets, curls sticking out from the top in that endearingly messy way that he’d grown familiar with. On the floor, a satchel was laid carelessly, strap strewn over wood and Kunikuzushi shook his head, folding it neatly, placing it upon the desk.
The puppet sat at the side of the bed, it dipped under his weight. He placed a hand on the duvet.
“Hey, it’s me,” he said quietly, rubbing over a covered shoulder.
Sethos didn’t seem to hear him – he must have been sicker than Kunikuzushi thought.
Perhaps he should have picked up some herbal tea from Buer before leaving the Sanctuary.
He pulled the sheets down to uncover the man’s head and brushed away the stray hairs that had fallen to obscure it.
Sethos’s eyes were shut, he lay curled into himself like a child with a peaceful expression on his face. Against the curve of his cheek, thick, dark lashes brushed sun-kissed cheeks.
He was so beautifully human.
Fondness warmed the puppet’s chest, and he leaned in closer.
“Sethos,” Kunikuzushi called again, whispering this time, “Wake up.”
But there was no movement. Not even a twitch.
Silence.
It was then in that awful moment that the puppet realised it was completely silent. He whipped his gaze to Sethos’s mouth, then ripped the duvet down to expose his chest, pressing an ear to it.
Nothing.
He jammed two fingers to the man’s neck.
Ice drenched his every sense. Nausea climbed in his throat.
Sethos wasn’t breathing.
He rolled the man over onto his back frantically.
“Sethos?” He said, voice high and shrill.
The puppet slapped at his face; it was barely lukewarm.
“Oh gods,” Kunikuzushi felt his chest begin to heave, “Oh gods please, no.”
He scrambled through solutions in his mind at lightning speed, pulling them both onto the floor in a tangled mess of bedding. The duvet caught on their legs and Sethos’s head banged on the wood with a sickening thump, it rolled to the side, his eyes jolting open for a split second – lifeless and grey.
A cry burst from the puppet's throat.
This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening - it was just a bad dream, just a nightmare.
His arm brushed the man’s limp hand - it was ice cold.
Kunikuzushi laced his fingers together with gasping breaths - furiously searching his mind for the right piece of medical advice that he might have picked up over his 500 years of existence. As a soldier, he stayed as far away from the human body as he could but in that moment he’d never felt more thankful for Buer enrolling him into the Akademiya.
“One, two, three, four,” he panted to himself, pushing his weight into his hands, “One, two - “
Kunikuzushi pumped in short rhythmic motions, he couldn’t breathe. He wouldn’t blink.
Sethos was deathly pale. He looked cold - didn’t he always look cold nowadays?
He stopped pumping after a short while and knelt beside the young man’s head, heaving sobs ripping through the silence of the room. He tilted the head back with trembling hands, pinched the nose tightly, inhaling as deeply as he could manage and pressed their lips together.
He breathed.
And then he breathed again.
Sethos lay motionless.
The puppet’s whole body shook violently - he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and forced his arms to continue pumping at the man’s chest.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
“Buer!” Kunikuzushi cried, agony tearing at his chest.
Bone cracked under his palms with an awful snapping sound and he flinched back. It wasn’t working – it wasn’t working – why wasn’t it helping? A sob burst from his lips, wet and gasping.
“Help - help him! Buer, please!”
At his knees Sethos slumped, lifeless, body jolting morbidly with every press to his chest.
His lips were blue.
A spark of dendro pierced the puppet’s head and he gasped.
“Buer – h-he’s not – he’s – “
Kunikuzushi’s word jammed in his throat, trembling from head to toe helplessly.
“What’s wrong?” the god said quickly, “Is it Sethos, Wanderer?”
He nodded frantically, then realised she couldn’t see that, and spluttered out a ‘yes.’ Immediately, the link sharpened into something clearer, sharper than before and Buer’s next words came through louder and firmer.
“Get him to the Sanctuary – quickly!”
In fumbling haste, Kunikuzushi jammed his hands under the human’s knees and back, an ignored blanket caught somewhere in his hold. Sethos’s head fell backwards, slack and boneless, neck bared to the skies and he caught it in the crook of his elbow as they burst through the door, scrambling down the darkness of the staircase in quick, stumbling steps. With every jolt of movement, soft brown curls brushed against the puppet’s chin, soaking with tears to blackness.
Kunikuzushi ripped through the crowds of the café, gasps and cries of annoyance went unheard as he knocked past shoulder and arm absent of care, tucking Sethos’s head into his chest with gasping breaths. Tearing open the main doors, wind spiralled at his back like a hurricane, wild and unfettered which whipped at the bushes, leaves flying about in a great burst of green as he rose, soaring through the coldness of the air up above the streets. From the corners of his eyes, saltless tears flew, discarded in little droplets and against the battling wind, the surface of their corneas was dry and brittle.
He jammed open the Sanctuary’s doors with his shoulder and Buer rushed forward at the sight of him, eyes ablaze with green.
The little god moved with a flurry of precision and speed, levitating Sethos from the puppet’s hold using stitching slides of dendro and placing him upon a bed that had appeared out of nowhere.
She stood on a little stool of the same power, and began pumping at the man’s chest just as he had but at the tips of her little fingers dendro pulsed with every beating motion. Buer looked to the Kunikuzushi sharply.
“I need you to breathe for him.” She said, and the puppet leapt to place his mouth on Sethos’s once more.
He breathed with all he had, taking in air for a short moment, then pushing it into the other’s lungs with trembling hands cupping the man’s face.
He tasted his own tears as they dripped onto those cold, cold lips.
“Wake up,” he whispered hoarsely between breaths, “Wake up! Please. Please, just — open your eyes. Breathe, c’mon you stupid human.”
Besides him Buer stopped pumping for a second – a second too long and Kunikuzushi frowned, gaze flying to her figure. Her face was drawn tightly, wound like a coil of springs and etched with conflict. Before the puppet could ask what was wrong, a strange scent began to fill the air. It was dense and stung like the overwhelming stench of pollen and with it came a wave of energy that pulsed fiercely, bright as a blazing flame. Kunikuzushi swore; he knew that power.
It was the power of an archon.
The puppet cried out, reaching to the god, “Buer - No! No, don’t- “
It exploded.
In an eruption of green, he was blown back into the wall, feet skidding on the polished floor as his back slammed into a marble, head recoiling off its hard surface. A ringing came to his ears – sharp and high and the Sanctuary spun, tilting left then right as he stumbled. Kunikuzushi blinked slowly, shaking away the pain and grabbing the wall to steady himself. After a moment or two, his vision cleared.
Besides the bed, Buer stood still.
The archon had stopped pumping.
Sethos’s body was motionless.
The green embers from Buer’s hands evaporated into cinders, floating in the air and dusting the floor in dead energy and Kunikuzushi could only stare.
Everything had happened so fast – it was a blur of panic and chaos, shouts and cries, but then, the world became so horribly, horribly still.
He felt nothing. He felt everything.
…Was that it, then?
Was that how this ended?
No.
The stone in Kunikuzushi’s stomach dropped.
He’d spoken to him only a few days ago – they’d walked the gardens of Pardis Dhyai.
He was breathing, moving - alive.
That bright smile haunted his mind. Their hands entangled as they lay on the roof of the Akademiya, curling fingers in each other's hair. Sethos pressed his nose shyly into his elbow, grinning bashfully with a bright blush painted across his cheeks.
Dark curls tumbled down over the sides of the bed, limp.
A corpse.
Why?
Kunikuzushi’s knees began to tremble.
Again, and again this – this.
Why did it haunt him in every life, in every name. Was he a curse? An omen of death?
Perhaps the past him might have deserved it but he’d grown from that, hadn’t he? He was trying to - he was doing well - learning and feeling and seeing the world with the gaze of a human, instead of a god.
He was better and yet -
“Do you swear it?”
“I swear on my life.”
Mouth agape in a silent scream, the puppet sobbed into his hand, collapsing onto the floor. Wetness poured into his palm, cold and relentless.
Buer had her head down. She said nothing.
Her little fists trembled at her sides.
Silence echoed in the Sanctuary, mockingly.
Kunikuzushi shook from head to toe.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tears dripping onto marble.
Then.
A gasp.
Kunikuzushi froze.
He didn’t dare look up.
A long second passed before he did.
The god’s eyes were wide, pale green surveying the scene in front of her with an indescribable gaze.
There was a horrible moment where nothing happened, then -
Sethos breathed, an awful rattling sound and the puppet scrambled to his feet, stumbling as he flew across the floor to his side, hands hovering over pale skin, afraid to touch it. The airy scratching sound stopped.
With wild eyes, Kunikuzushi clutched at the man’s clothes, pulling his body towards him.
“Please.”
Sethos didn’t reply.
He pressed their foreheads together, praying to any and all higher powers – to Buer, to Celestia, to Mother.
‘I beg – I’m begging you. Don’t let him go – don’t do this.’
Kunikuzushi summoned every essence of will in his body – he gripped Sethos’s scarf tightly, lips trembling with fear.
‘I’ll be good,’ he plead, ‘I promise I’ll keep him safe – I just need him alive. I need it; I can’t do this again - I can’t.’
“Please.”
He waited.
And waited.
The Sanctuary was silent.
Air brushed against his lips.
Those haunting eyes opened ever so slightly.
A thousand emotions flooded the puppet and he sobbed. Kunikuzushi surged forward into the man’s neck, clinging to his clothes with fisted hands.
He cupped those pale, pale cheeks and kissed him just for a fleeting second, leaving plenty of room for the man to breathe.
Sethos’s chest rose with little quaking movements.
He looked up with glassy eyes.
Kunikuzushi made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“Idiot,” he whispered, sniffling, “Stupid human.”
Buer looked upon the scene with disbelief – then, hurried off for a short moment, returning with some kind of machine on wheels in tow; it stood perhaps a foot taller than her head. She rolled it beside the bed, feet pattering on the floor in quick steps.
With noticeable caution, she reached over the bed on her tippy toes and gently strapped a mask over Sethos’s face. Kunikuzushi moved the man’s hair out of the way of the strap and the human’s eyes fluttered open and closed, silent.
A beep.
Then, behind the mask he breathed, stuttering and wheezy; it fogged up the inside of the clear material, condensing into little droplets.
Buer eyed Sethos carefully.
“The residue will fade,” she said quietly, “It will do no more harm, I am sure of that now.”
The puppet frowned, shaking his head.
“What do you mean? H-he's human, Buer - it’s poison.”
She seemed to hesitate, then, wordlessly motioned for him to remove the man’s clothing. They carefully pulled the fabric from him, met with only the resistance of limps limbs - the only clue that Sethos was alive was the shallow dip and rise of his chest and hoarse breaths.
Kunikuzushi felt sick.
The clothes in his hands dropped to the floor.
He hadn’t even noticed how thin Sethos had become over the months. On the bed, his ribs jutted out grotesquely, and the collarbone was a necklace of white straight across from shoulder to shoulder. His arms, taught with lean muscle before were frail and gaunt – the kind of shape that would be unnoticeable under thick layers of winter clothes and shawls. The puppet traced the sharp curve of the human’s jawline; the skin beneath it sank into his neck, hollow.
Buer rested a hand on Sethos’s chest and traced her finger over it, eyes closed. After a moment, she drew it away with a deep frown, then began to stick little pads with wires attached to several places over the man’s body, rubbing each carefully to make sure it was firmly stuck to the skin, and covering him carefully with a robe of sorts that might be easily removed. A blanket was laid over his body, then another on top of that, tucked under his armpits.
“This is just to monitor his heart – it’s beating now, but it’s unsteady. He’s just suffered a cardiac arrest so he’ll need to be observed carefully.”
The little god turned to the puppet.
“Wanderer, I have good reason to suspect that the fragment is the cause of this. Have you noticed any strange behaviour in Sethos since you’ve met? Perhaps a change to his breathing, any aches or pains?” Buer looked sombre,” In his case, the effects upon his body might have been just about anything.”
Kunikuzushi looked to the limp body in dismay. He blinked, shaking his dizzy head. The floor beneath him seemed to tilt.
What?
“I-I don’t understand,” he said, “What’s wrong with him?”
He gestured to the bed with a trembling hand, breathless.
“His case? What – fragment, Buer? W-what do you mean - why is he- “
Kunikuzushi swallowed.
“Not - working?”
The little god gave him a confused look, following his finger. Then, a sickly pallor came over her face.
“Oh,” she said quietly, “You don’t know.”
“Know what?!” The puppet snapped.
Buer looked sad.
“I want you to listen very, very carefully to what I am about to tell you.”