Chapter Text
It’s always fucking wizards.
Okay, that’s a bit unfair. Sometimes it’s monster waves, plagues, or attempted regicide, but it’s been magic wielders of some kind or another often enough for a pattern to form. Also, a wizard is currently attempting to mana-blast Javier into smithereens, so Lloyd’s not feeling particularly charitable right now.
The wizard—Lloyd thinks he yelled his name before attacking them, but he was kind of distracted by being attacked so forgive him for not being the most attentive—is failing at his goal of turning Lloyd’s knight into fleshy goo splatter or whatever he’s trying to do, Javier easily dodging and blocking the glowing blasts of magic.
Honestly, if it was just the wizard, this fight would probably already be over, but of course the asshole had to summon dozens of monstrous grunts. Lloyd’s been carving his way through them, leaving only ten or so left before Javier finally gets close enough to land a clean hit on the mage, who lets out an agonized shriek. Once their felled opponent crumples to the floor, his summoned monsters dissolve away, and Lloyd joins Javier at the now motionless body of the wizard.
The fight’s over, but Lloyd’s sympathetic nervous system is slow to relax (given his current lifestyle consists of semi-regular fights for his life, you’d think it would have gotten the memo by now, but no, his punk-ass amygdala keeps acting like he can’t handle a little life or death situation, which, thanks for believing in him, not) and his heart keeps beating too quick in his chest.
“Well,” Lloyd says, rolling his neck from side to side (is it necessary? No. Does it make him look cool and unbothered? Debatable), “did you have fun on your playdate?”
“We were ambushed on an isolated mountain cave by a dark wizard,” Javier intones, wiping his sword clean. “Is that how you usually have fun, Master Lloyd?”
The tightness in Lloyd’s throat eases. Somehow, needling Javier is always the fastest way to calm down. He also just does it because it’s fun to see how long it takes to get those pretty-boy protagonist eyes to twitch in irritation, but hey. What is Lloyd Frontera good at if not squeezing as many benefits from being annoying as possible?
He’s about to point out that fighting dark wizards in caves is basically a casual Friday for them, when something—a breath, maybe, some minute motion he unconsciously picks up on—registers, and his eyes snap to the not-quite-as-dead-as-previously-thought mage’s body. There’s only the slightest bit of heightened adrenaline left in his system, and later he’ll be thankful for it (maybe his amygdala is looking out for him), because when the dying wizard croaks “I will unmake you” and raises a faltering hand, Lloyd is pushing Javier away from the blast before the sword master can even react.
That does put Lloyd directly in the path of the spell, though. Oops.
(In the millisecond before he’s hit, when he can see the nearing light of the malefic magic and Javier’s eyes widening in horror, he’s stupidly glad. At least Javier is safe and will hopefully avenge him if this mana blast really does reduce him to bloody ooze.
Lloyd’s also afraid, in an abstract, disconnected sense, because yikes, this is going to hurt.)
There’s no pain, which is so surprising Lloyd stumbles and almost eats it on the cave floor (he’s going to blame it on the spell. He deserves that much for his attempted heroic sacrifice). Before he even fully recovers, Javier has plunged his sword deep into the wizard’s heart, who is now definitely, 100% dead, if he hadn’t been the moment he finished casting that…curse? Most dying curses are meant to torturously rip apart the caster’s enemy, Lloyd is pretty sure, and he feels fairly intact right now, albeit changed in some way. Like he took a shower after a long day of construction work and emerged lighter, no longer weighed down by dust and dirt. Maybe they can just chalk this up as a fluke and continue their journey?
Yeah, he didn’t think so either. “Ugh, why is being conscientious so inconvenient—” Lloyd is midway through his complaint when Javier spins around, his face spinning from fear, to relief, to shock and several other emotions Lloyd can’t decipher but would happily spend several (hours, days, weeks) trying to unlock.
“Master Lloyd?” Javier questions, wariness evident in his rigid stance.
“Yes? I’m—well, I feel fine, but we’re probably gonna have to find some other mage to confirm, dammit, I wanted to be back at the estate before the end of the month, make sure none of the ondols need any repairs—”
“Master Lloyd,” Javier says again, interrupting him (okay, rude), but this time he’s more certain in his words, “you need to check this.” Exiting the cave’s mouth, he returns with a small hand mirror (does he just keep that on him to look at himself whenever he feels like it? Lloyd would probably do the same if he had Javier’s face, not that that’s going to stop him from teasing Javier mercilessly for it) and hands it over to Lloyd.
His straight brown hair is gone, replaced with the shaggy black haircut he did himself with craft scissors. His face is dull and slightly haggard, lips chapped and bitten, a habit he’d broken after Marbella kept scolding him. His eyes, round and hazel, are the same, but now huge dark circles hang under them, as if he’s spent the last 48 hours awake. Lloyd Frontera stares into the mirror, and Kim Suho stares back.
“Fucking wizards.”