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Part 1 of Knight and Mage AU
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2017-02-27
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2021-12-25
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Knight and Mage

Chapter 17: Part 2 - Chapter 5: Will to leave

Summary:

You couldn't even save Sorey, and you expect to save yourself

Notes:

Two updates??? In the same year???? IN LESS THAN A MONTH????

Even *I'm* surprised.

Hey guys!! I seriously want to thank all of you who commented on the last chapter. You don't know how ///happy/// all of your sweet and kind messages made me. If I've been motivated to continue writing, it was all thanks to you. Please know that I appreciate EVERY SINGLE ONE of the comments I get, that I keep them on my phone to reread them when I'm feeling down, and that I am very, very grateful for your support and love for Knight and Mage.

For this chapter, I want to remind everyone that this fic is tagged for explicit violence! If you've been alright up until this moment, this chapter shouldn't be any different, though. That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!!

Happy reading! <3

Alternative chapter title: Rock bottom.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

“Well,” Mikleo said softly, hiding his nerves in the ball of clean but used bandages that he was holding. “What are you waiting for?”

Mao looked at him with an expression that was too human to Mikleo’s liking. His talons, firmly nailed to the windowsill, seemed to be the only thing keeping Mao from flying off. His wings —both of them shining golden under the sun, both of them healed — fluttered in the breeze that made the trees surrounding the tower sway from side to side.

It was a peaceful view, Mikleo told himself. The green tips of the forest beyond, the blue of the sky, the gold of Mao’s feathers as he enjoyed the breeze for the first time in what seemed to be forever. And still, Mikleo could feel a tight knot forming at the base of his throat, turning every swallow and every intake of breath into something painful.

“I could push you, if you want,” Mikleo kept saying, trying to keep his tone mostly light. “If you’re too scared to do it.”

Mao, Mikleo would have sworn, rolled his eyes at him. His wings fluttered once more and his talons moved up and down the windowsill, soft clacking sounds echoing in the room as the nails hit the stone.

With the next gust of wind, Mao was off.

Mikleo gasped, letting go of the bandages as he ran to lean out the window, eyes never leaving Mao as he surged up, up, up. It was a beautiful sight; those strong wings carrying Mao so high up he disappeared against the light of the sun. Then he dived, an elated shrill coming from him as he dodged the treetops at the last second possible, and Mikleo’s fingers tightened on the windowsill.

Mao was a golden dot flashing through the scenery, almost too fast to keep track of him.

The knot in Mikleo’s throat tightened and his heart skipped a beat.

“Mao!” He shouted, leaning even further out the window as he scanned the forest before him. Cold air hit him against his cheeks, his ears full of the sound of the forest enjoying the wind. There was no sight of Mao anymore. “Come!”

Mao appeared in the next blink, circling back towards Mikleo’s window at a much slower pace. Mikleo let out a sigh of relief as he watched Mao glide through the air between the tower and the forest. Then he stopped, batting his wings only enough to keep himself suspended a few inches above Mikleo’s head, as if he was waiting for something. 

Mikleo blinked back at him. Why wasn’t Mao landing? He had moved back from the windowsill so Mao had enough room to land comfortably— maybe he just wanted to fly some more?

But then an image, a memory, jumped to the forefront of Mikleo’s mind: it was Sorey, hair and bright bandana fluttering in the wind as he reached up an arm for Mao to land on, the movement so smooth and seamless that it almost seemed like Sorey’s arm had always been the perfect perch for Mao’s big, heavy body.

Swallowing, Mikleo straightened his spine and held his arm out like he remembered Sorey doing countless of times, forearm perpendicular and away from his chest, straight and even before him. And Mao, without a second to waste, batted his wings in a backward flip that soon let him dive perfectly through Mikleo’s window, and onto his arm.

The talons dug deep into Mikleo’s forearm the moment Mao settled on it and he winced. It felt like his arm was being wrung out, so many pressure points screaming that Mikleo felt his arm go numb from elbow to wrist. But he held still, letting Mao flutter his wings once, twice, before shaking his body and tucking them in with what seemed to be a contented whistle.

“…Good job,” Mikleo whispered, voice strained and chest tight. “Here.”

He took Mao to the chair, angling his arm instinctively so Mao could easily jump from his arm to the back of it. Mao looked at him curiously but moved on to his new perch, feathers still ruffled by the wind. He seemed incredibly proud of himself, chest puffing out.

Mikleo would have wanted to smile, but he only managed another wince as he rubbed his forearm over the now tore shirt sleeve. Even though Mao was now inside the room, within arm’s reach, Mikleo’s heart didn’t seem to want to calm down or his lung to take in a full breath.

He wasn’t Mao’s master, nor he wanted to be it. That had been Sorey, with his proud smile every time Mao obeyed his requests and his treats for him always in the folds of his kamui. Sorey had raised Mao up, had thought him everything he could, had spoiled him so rotten he had developed a personality. Mikleo would never take that place. Mao was Sorey’s bird.

But that didn’t mean Mikleo wanted Mao to leave.

“I am going to check your wings,” Mikleo said, keeping his eyes cast down. “You didn’t seem to be in any sort of discomfort, but… I have to make sure.”

Mao, that had been preening his feathers with gusto until then, tensed when Mikleo leaned forward to prod at his wings, but let Mikleo do. He simply batted his wing when Mikleo turned it in the wrong direction, but otherwise Mao seemed to be perfect. Mikleo could still see bald patches of skin where scars were beginning to form, and some slightly burnt feathers here and there among the gold, silver and purple— but he was alright. Mao was healed.

Mikleo sighed, surprised at how it was possible to feel relief and dread at the same time.

“Well, it looks like you won’t have to eat more diced meat anymore,” Mikleo straightened his back, nodding to himself. “You can go hunt if you need to, but be sure to—“

Mao was out of the window and flying towards the forest before Mikleo could finish his sentence.

The dread won terrain over the relief, but Mikleo pretended not to feel it.

 


 

For some reason, Mikleo found that he preferred working at night.

Which made no sense, for one. The mages had finally relented on giving him a candle after much insisting, but that light wasn’t enough most of the time to work at ease. The shadows cast by the flickering light made Mikleo see indentations where there was nothing on the metal, and more often than not Mikleo ended up making such a mistake that he had to start anew. His shoulders sunk every time it happened, but Mao —who tended to perch himself on the back of Mikleo’s chair—was always ready to lift Mikleo’s spirits back up with a well-aimed peck at the shell of his ear. Mikleo was convinced there were better ways to do that, even for a falcon, but it wasn’t like he could debate it with Mao anyway.

So he worked at night mostly, uninterrupted from dinnertime to sunrise, and started to sleep in during the day.

His lock picking tool was finished three days after his first failed attempt. He needed two more attempts and more materials before he was satisfied with it. He had to use Lailah’s butterfly brooch for it, welding one of his metal wands to the butterfly so he could grab and twist it far easier. Now his tool resembled a very long key with a butterfly for its head, and it was chunkier than what Mikleo had hoped, but at least he had something. The bead with Lailah’s power, though, that Mikleo kept zealously on him. The blue bead, shaped like a tear and the size of the pad of Mikleo’s thumb, held inside a powerful wish by Lailah that Mikleo could do nothing with except be aware of its power. His magic might have been gone, but Mikleo’s experience wasn’t; he could still feel the thrum of magic on the back of his teeth; he just didn’t feel any connection with that magic anymore.

But still he held on to the bead, because it was Lailah’s—and because it was part of a past Mikleo was too scared to let go of completely.

While the welding on the butterfly key finished setting, Mikleo worked on other things. He didn’t have much to his name anymore, but he still had things he needed. If he was to escape that place, he needed to be prepared. So he used the candlelight to sew together a bag, using bits of still clean-sheets and the string of a pair of pants he had worn the week before but never returned.

A white puff of smoke made it out of his mouth and into the night. The room had always been cold, but now that Mao had started to fly out to hunt or stretch his wings, Mikleo was growing accustomed to leaving the window open for Mao to return whenever. Had it been summer, he would even have left the window open all day, but…

Mao came in in a flutter of wings, shaking his whole body the moment his talons gripped the windowsill. Even from the desk, Mikleo could see the frost clinging to the tips of his feathers, could see Mao irritably pecking at the spaces in between to get all the ice out. It made him sigh; if Mikleo wanted to leave the tower, he would need winter clothes, not the flimsy service shirt and pants. He eyed the blanket one of the mages had brought for him after a particularly cold day; it wouldn’t be enough, but at least it was something.

If he still had magic though, Mikleo thought to himself, looking down at his palm. If he still had magic he would make an amulet like the one he made for Sorey so long ago, one that would make him feel warm even in the coldest of places—

No; Mikleo shook his head vehemently, pushing the thought out of his head. Thinking about what-ifs wouldn’t keep him warm out there.

He would just have to make do with what he had.

A soft drumming sound, like skittish nails on wood, made Mikleo look up. Mao was waddling towards him, feathers still ruffled but wings close to his body. There was still some frost clinging to the feathers of his tail that Mikleo got rid of with a swipe of his fingers. Mao twitched at the touch, but let Mikleo do. Then Mao got curious, deciding the bag Mikleo was working on was most interesting, and decided to pull at the string with his beak.

Mikleo took it away from him with a click of his tongue.

“It’s hard enough to make a bag in candlelight without you poking holes in it,” Mikleo said accusingly, narrowing his eyes at Mao who ignored him. “How are you still hungry anyway, didn’t you just come back from hunting?”

Mao perked up at the word “hunting”, but soon seemed to realize Mikleo was just talking, not ordering. Besides, he had just fed. Mikleo wouldn’t be surprised if Mao decided to take a post on the back of his chair and fall asleep for a bit.

“Whatever. The butterfly seems finished now, so I’m going to try it out. Do not—“ he added when Mao inched closer to the bag. “—touch my bag, you feathered potato.”

Mao’s look was unimpressed— and Mikleo had to give him that one. Being bound to a single room for so long was starting to take its toll on Mikleo’s creativity for names.

So, without another word, Mikleo grabbed the butterfly along with the other metal wand and went to the door, trying to calm the sudden nerves that were making his hands shake. Because… this was it, really. If the butterfly key didn’t work, nothing else mattered. Not the bag, not the cold Mikleo would feel outside in his simple clothes.

If he couldn’t open the locked door before him, Mikleo would be over before he had even begun.

He knelt slowly before the door, not unlike how he had knelt in the Meadow so many times before. Hands tucked on his lap, back so straight it almost hurt, Mikleo fixed his gaze on the keyhole, so tiny and yet so important. The butterfly blinked with the light of the candlelight behind him, colored crystals giving the key a far more beautiful look than it really deserved. Without taking his eyes off it, Mikleo moved a hand up to try the doorknob just because, finding it locked every time he tried to twist it one way or another.

Swallowing thickly, Mikleo grabbed his creations and put them to work, sliding them slowly into the lock.

The trick was to push and twist at the same time. Mikleo’s previous attempts had been fruitless precisely because he couldn’t do such a thing with smaller metal wands; he could either push onto the locking mechanism or he had enough leverage to twist, but never both at once. The butterfly was supposed to help with the twisting, while the second metal wand was to push down the mechanism of the lock. Which was simple enough in theory.

And in reality, it seemed. Because barely a twist and some fiddling later, the door gave a satisfactory unlocking sound.

Mikleo’s heart skipped a beat. He almost convinced himself someone had unlocked the door from the other side, but his butterfly key was the only one snuggly fitted into the lock, and no other sound came from the wood in front of him. Rising to his feet on trembling knees, Mikleo’s hand shook as he got hold of the doorknob and then twisted it.

The door opened with a low creak, showing Mikleo the darkness of a coiling staircase beyond.

“…I did it,” he whispered as he was hit by a cold gust of wind, his voice echoing against the stone walls. There was a step right beyond the door, barely illuminated by Mikleo’s candle, then a long descent into darkness. Mikleo’s foot hovered over the step, hair fluttering in the wind that came from all the way down.

Mao came to rest on Mikleo’s shoulder, looking curiously at the darkness with him. Mikleo was so enraptured by the sight of freedom that he didn’t even feel the sudden weight or the sharp claws. He only knew he was free, free to walk down those steps and then outside, leaving the dusty room behind forever—

Steps, echoing through the walls as they made their way up. Mikleo’s heart dipped down into his stomach before he got himself to react, quickly stepping back to close the door quietly and lock it back in place. Mao fluttered away at the sudden movement to perch on his chair but, once again, Mikleo didn’t even notice; he was too busy hiding the butterfly key and his toolkit beneath his pillow, making sure nothing was visible before leaning his head on it, resting on his side and away from the door.

Who was it? Who could it be? Mikleo had timed everything, and dinner had been served hours ago by now. Who was in the tower then?

The footsteps grew louder and louder as they got closer to the door, and Mikleo’s heart pounded along with each sound. They were heavy steps, far heavier than those of a mage—and quicker, too. Not like they were in a rush, but more like… like they were used to climbing up stairs. Mikleo curled in on himself, fighting the urge to look over his shoulder at the closed door.

The tower was silent except for the footsteps at the other side of the door. Even Mao kept still, observing.

The footsteps reached the last step, and silence overtook the scene. Mikleo almost thought he had gone deaf, the booming sound of his own heart hammering against his ribs too loud to allow him to hear anything else. He chanced a look over his shoulder, head twisting slowly just in case—

The doorknob jiggled.

Mikleo’s heart jumped and collided against his ribs. His whole body froze in that twisted position, unable to react. On the chair, Mao puffed out his feathers and fixed his stare on the door, clearly tense but silent still.

The doorknob moved against the lock, once, twice. Then the silence came back, stretching for so long that Mikleo almost thought he had just imagined someone standing at the other side of the door.

A second later, the footsteps echoed once again through the stone, this time growing fainter and fainter as the person started their way back down.

Mikleo didn’t dare breathe. When he finally did, he found himself unable to take more than a couple of sharp intakes before the room swayed dangerously around him, making him grip at the edge of the mattress for support. His heart was still beating wildly, and Mikleo pressed his hand against his sternum if only to feel it hammer against his palm. If only to feel something beyond the fear that made his sweat cold and sticky over his skin and the shaking of his knees.

There had been someone on the other side; someone who did not have a key but was aware of Mikleo’s presence in the tower. Someone who had heard Mikleo opening the door, and had come upstairs to check.

Mikleo wasn’t alone in the tower.

He shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold. Mao, resting now on one of the bedposts, ruffled his feathers and cocked his head towards Mikleo. Mao was unnerved by the person that had been at the other side of the door, but Mikleo appreciated the fact that he had moved in closer. Maybe Mikleo was simply projecting, but thinking that the falcon might had been trying to protect him made his erratic heart calm down a little bit.

“…Looks like this will be harder than we thought,” Mikleo whispered so quietly that it would have gone unheard by any other human. Then a new thought struck Mikleo. “Mao…Do you think you’ll be able to tell me if that person is there?”

Mao simply opened his beak and closed it again silently, and Mikleo felt the need to hide his face in his palms. He was talking to a bird like he would a human. This wouldn’t work.

How did Sorey ask things from Mao? What had he even taught him? Mikleo knew Mao did things like scouting for enemies and acting as a messenger, and even attacked if necessary. But if Mikleo didn’t know how to ask him to do it, it was useless.

Alright, Mikleo thought to himself. Plan B.

He still had to escape the tower, one way or another.

 

 


 

 

Once the bag was done and full, and once he had pulled apart one of the legs from the chair to wrap it in cloth and use it as a torch later on, Mikleo was ready to escape his prison. It was just a matter of waiting until night time. It would be safer to navigate the outdoors under the sun, but leaving the tower would be more difficult in plain light. Besides…

Mikleo leaned out of his window into the cold winter air, towards the stars. It was a clear night, the sky illuminated in navy blue hues instead of pitch black. It was still too close to twilight for many stars to be out, but Mikleo could already start to point out some of the constellations he knew by heart, if not by name.

Sorey had been the one to teach him about them. Sometimes, when conversation was scarce at the rooftop but neither of them had energy enough to simply sit and ready a book, Sorey would guide both their gazes up towards the stars and he would start pointing at what seemed like random collections of dots. The knights didn’t need to know their names, only their forms and their usual place in the astral map above their heads, but Sorey had always been one to learn more, more, more. Same as Mikleo. If there was a name for a star Sorey didn’t know but Mikleo demanded to know, he would show up the next day to the rooftop with the name on his tongue and a winning smile. Mikleo would beat him to it if he didn’t have a full day of praying, of course, but still… Mikleo remembered those nights of stargazing fondly. And now, he was grateful for them.

Because now he could navigate himself out of this place.

Mikleo had decided to aim for Pendrago. It was far too close to the Academy to feel safe, but Mikleo gathered it would be easier for him to determine his next move in a big city. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone would recognize a mage in him; with his magic gone, the colors in his eyes were gone as well, leaving behind the violet that had been so rampant in his mother’s side of the family. His clothes were those of the service in the Academy, so he could maybe pretend he had just been fired from the castle. That way, if people made too many questions, he could shield himself behind shame to avoid replying. His washed-out hair would probably pull some looks his way, but Mikleo hoped it would be nothing serious.

The marks on his skin would be another thing. Mikleo had never seen marks like those, so black against his skin, so… endless. They curved over his skin without a noticeable beginning nor end, and though Mikleo was used to the sight go them already, he knew they would attract attention. 

He just hoped no one would know what they meant. The sin Mikleo had committed to acquire them.

So, today was the day —or the night, actually— that he would leave. He had everything ready: his toolkit and half of his dinner were safely in his new, handmade bag. His butterfly key waited at the desk for him to pick it up. The leg chair, he would ignite with his burner once he was a safe distance away from the tower. He had even cut a hole in the middle of his one blanket for his head to pass through, so he would wear it as some kind of tent around his body. It wasn’t perfect, but it kept him warm while leaving his arms free.

On the post on the bed, Mao looked at him urgently with eyes that reflected the starlight outside.

Mikleo’s heart skipped a beat.  

It was time.

Once he was wearing everything he owned, Mikleo stood before the locked door. The butterfly key worked as seamlessly as the first time: the door unlocked with a gentle twist of his wrist and the aid of the second wand, creaking as Mikleo pulled it open carefully. The darkness beyond was as thick as it had been that very first time too. The staircase was narrow, but one wrong step and Mikleo would tumble down Empyreans-knew-how-many flights of stairs; so he pressed his hand against the wall and breathed out, foot hovering once again over the first step.

Please, he prayed silently. Knowing, by the gaping hole in his chest, that it would go unheard. Please, help me through this.

His thin pumps did nothing to keep him away from the cold of the staircase, but at least the blanket kept the rest of his body somewhat warm. Mikleo turned to lock the door behind himself and, after that, the descent was slow; step after step, with his palm against the wall, Mikleo had to check and double check so as not to set his foot on the narrow side as he followed the spiral staircase down. Mao, too fast to fly alongside Mikleo’s slow pace, had perched himself on Mikleo’s shoulder. Mikleo could feel his tense body against the side of his head, but Mao’s weight was reassuring. So they made their way down, listening to any sound that didn’t come from them, careful of not making more noise than necessary.

They hadn’t made it down more than a handful of flights when a change in the wall Mikleo’s hand followed almost gave him a heart attack. He was touching cold stone and then suddenly there was nothing, just a gaping hole. Mikleo lost his footing on the next step and gasped, Mao flapping his wings quickly to keep himself on Mikleo’s shoulder. 

When Mikleo didn’t fall, they both stood still in the darkness expecting to hear something, anything, that indicated someone was going up the stairs.

Nothing happened. Mikleo allowed himself a silent moment of respite before turning to see what had made him stumble like that. And it was simply a door; open, so that was why Mikleo had been surprised to find nothing under his palm, but a door nonetheless. Beyond, a replica of Mikleo’s room was illuminated by moonlight, just this one didn’t have torn sheets, or a broken chair, or bloodstains still on the floor. Mikleo blinked at the sight of the empty room before continuing his way down, just as slowly as before.

Similar rooms appeared every now and then, all of them the same as Mikleo’s, all of them incredibly dusty. It was clear this tower had been long in disuse; did that mean the sole purpose of it now was to keep Mikleo inside? What for?

“What use do they have for me now…?” Mikleo said softly as he stopped in the middle of the stairs, looking into the nothingness. He was going down too slowly to be tired, but his surprise had made him freeze, just above another open room. On his shoulder, Mao made a low sound at the back of his throat and pecked at Mikleo’s ear gently, as if telling him to keep moving. 

Mikleo blinked and nodded to himself. There was no use dwelling on that now.

Much less when suddenly there was light coming from below, illuminating the stone in an eery orange tone.

Mikleo’s heart dropped. There were footsteps going up again, slow and even but growing louder with each second that passed. The light flickered as it shone on the walls and, for a moment, Mikleo could almost see the silhouette of a person—

Mao’s wing hit Mikleo on the side of his head as he took flight, gliding into the open room next to them. Mikleo didn’t waste time; his heart was galloping in his chest but instincts he didn’t even know he had were kicking in. Soon he was slowly closing the door to the room behind himself, keeping his body against the wood and his hand around the doorknob.

As the footsteps grew louder, Mikleo had to make an effort to remind himself he wasn’t back at the beginning, but halfway to freedom. The cold in the room helped keep his head clear somewhat, but the sweat coating his skin made gripping the doorknob a feat. Behind him, Mao looked on curiously, keeping silent.

They were so close; they had to make it.

They had to.

The footsteps echoed right at the other side, then continued their way upward. Mikleo didn’t dare move, not even when he couldn’t hear anything anymore. He was suddenly incredibly glad he had thought of locking the door of his room back up again; hopefully, the person keeping watch in the tower would see the door locked and think Mikleo was still inside.

Hopefully.

This door didn’t creak when Mikleo opened it. Mao fluttered his wings in warning, but Mikleo knew it was better to keep going than wait for the person to come back down. They would meet them downstairs anyway, if they waited. So, with a sharp movement of his head, Mikleo told Mao to get moving.

Surprisingly, Mao obeyed easily, coming to rest once more on Mikleo’s shoulder. As they continued their way down, Mikleo keeping an ear on what was going on at his back. He was too far down to hear whether the person had made it to his room, but at least he would hear their heavy footfalls if they started to get closer.

The tension Mikleo felt in his chest and muscles made the way down twice as long. He tried to move faster as he kept himself mostly silent, but he was starting to feel shortness in his breath as he reached yet another door to yet another empty room. The fall from his window had seemed endless but… it couldn’t actually be endless, could it?

Just as he thought that, Mikleo felt a gust of cold wind against his cheeks. Mao whistled softly and flew ahead, Mikleo quickly following behind. The staircase ended on a spacious landing, and right in front of it—

Grass. Tall grass illuminated by moonlight, open space that stretched towards the edge of a forest, the trees enormous now that he got to see them from the roots instead of all the way from the top. 

Mikleo had made it to the bottom.

A smile split Mikleo’s mouth, his heart beating wildly for an entirely different reason now. He couldn’t help but clutch the strap of his bag as he watched Mao fly past the open doors and glide over the grass, his golden plumage turning silver. Mikleo’s body trembled with excitement when Mao called to him from outside. He gave a step forward—

A flicker of light caught his attention from the side. Against the other wall, in a nook between the staircase and the exit, there was an open door to another room. There was no bed in it that Mikleo could see where he stood, but instead there were a couple of sturdy wardrobes, a burning fireplace, and what seemed to be the comfiest couch Mikleo had ever seen.

But something else grabbed Mikleo’s attention the moment he registered what he was seeing, so he leaned into the room, his tongue feeling like sandpaper. The wardrobes lining the wall were open, and with the light coming from the fireplace Mikleo could see apparel hanging from the hangers inside. Just, it wasn’t simple apparel. It was something Mikleo had seen thousands of times, something that called to Mikleo enough that he soon found himself standing in front of the open wardrobe, hand reaching forward but not daring to touch.

Because inside the wardrobe there were rows of kamui neatly organized.

Mikleo could smell more than see the dust on them, making something deep inside his nose itch. These kamui were old and long unused; there were even holes on the sleeves and shoulders from moth bites, letting Mikleo see the armor underneath the fabric. But they were still that familiar orange Mikleo had sought even when he didn’t know he was looking for it, and something heavy settled in his chest as he let his fingers run down one of the sleeves in a light caress.

It was impossible to stop the image of Sorey that came to mind, smiling brightly with his kamui tightly wrapped around him. It made him grab one and hold it before him, following the soft designs on the fabric with his eyes.

I’m doing it, Sorey, he thought to himself, feeling the back of his eyes burn. I promise, I’m getting out of here.

“What the—!?”

The sudden booming voice made Mikleo jump, his left hand clutching the kamui. In the doorway, a looming figure blocked the path towards the outside, shoulders so wide that Mikleo couldn’t even see the entrance of the tower anymore. 

It was a knight, his purple kamui blending seamlessly against the backdrop of the darkness outside.

A Royal Guard.

“How the hell did you get out of—“

Mikleo jumped aside from the Guard’s reaching hands, his hip colliding against the side of the nearest desk. Mikleo winced as pain shot down his leg and up his side — and that slight hesitation was everything the Guard needed to grab Mikleo by his forearm, thick fingers digging through Mikleo’s blanket and onto his skin.

Mikleo saw red. He was used to Mao’s talons putting pressure on his arm, but this was completely different. His whole body and mind rejected the touch with such fervor that Mikleo screamed, pulling at his arm back despite having nowhere else to go. The Guard, surprised by Mikleo fighting back, loosened his grip slightly. But his reflexes were fast and he was soon gripping Mikleo even tighter, one hand on his forearm while the other gripped the back of Mikleo’s neck, making him bow his head and his vision swim.

“Let go of me!” Mikleo shouted, trembling against the Guard’s grip. He couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t even put one foot in front of the other. He just wanted, needed to stop being touched, to put distance between this other body. He was supposed to touch no one, no one was supposed to touch him, he was a mage—

Mikleo heard the Guard scream before he heard the flutter of wings. Mao’s enraged caw drilled into Mikleo’s ears, making him cower away as Mao dug his talons into the Guard’s face. His wings were swatting the air widely, charred feathers falling to the ground as Mao came back for the Guard again and again.

Mikleo was frozen on the floor. His heart was beating so fast, his breathing was so ragged, his head was so foggy—

But the thing beneath his hand moved with Mikleo’s shaking, and from the corner of his eye Mikleo saw the bright color of the kamui he had grabbed before. It made his chest hollow up.

He couldn’t give up. Not now.

Running faster than ever before, Mikleo used the Guard’s distraction to push past him and out of the room. But he didn’t go for the outside; instead, Mikleo waited by the door and called to Mao, who answered immediately by flying over the Guard’s head and out of the room like a bullet. The Guard stumbled, but he wasn’t a knight for nothing; despite the blood running down his face, the Guard soon shook his head and turned towards the door, a murdering look making the look on his face even more grotesque.

Mikleo slammed the door of the room shut. He was still shaking, his arm tingling unpleasantly from the Guard’s fingers and his heart threatening to jump out of his chest, but he still managed to kneel by the door and put his butterfly key to use once more. It took a moment, but the lock on the door slid shut just before the Guard crashed against the wood, making it rattle against its hinges.

It held on, but Mikleo’s heart stuttered when he heard a telling creak.

“Let’s go,” Mikleo said as he got up on shaky knees, and Mao lifted up into the air once more, leading their way out of the tower. The grass was damp and cold under the thin material of Mikleo’s shoes, but Mikleo paid it no mind; he was too busy putting one foot in front of the other as he ran, eyes fixed on the silver dot that was Mao in front of him— and not in the sounds coming from behind.

He was out of breath by the time he crossed the first line of trees, but Mikleo kept running. The forest was alive with the sounds of the nocturnal animals that lived in it, but it seemed to quiet down as Mikleo’s feet drummed against the wet earth. The starlight above seemed to get dimmer and dimmer as well, until the darkness behind Mikleo’s lids turned out to be as dark as what he saw with his eyes open. Mikleo felt like his blood was boiling in his veins, heat crawling up his neck as he fought for a larger intake of breath. Around, he could almost feel hands reaching for him, pushing him back, slowing him down. And, behind him, the thundering footsteps getting louder, louder, louder—

The pain in his side would have made him stop if a hidden branch hadn’t sent him falling on his knees, the palms of his hands catching on the forest ground. But Mikleo didn’t feel the sting of broken skin; he only felt his heart hammering against his ribs, his chest burning from lack of oxygen.

Mages had never been made to run.

Mikleo could hear footsteps coming after him, he was sure of it. It was a steady drumming, right on his ears, but he couldn’t get up no matter how much he tried. His chest was so tight, and he could feel nausea rolling in his stomach, his heart and lungs not helping to the matter at all.

Mikleo’s vision swam…

But he kept breathing despite the pain, and his heart kept beating despite the strain, and when he started calming down and breathing easier, Mikleo realized there was no one coming after him, after all. The footsteps he had thought he heard were simply the beating of his own heart, made louder by his fear and anxiety.

He was alone in the darkness of the forest, but he was out of that dusty tower.

He was free.

Mikleo breathed in deeply once more, rubbing his chest against the burn as he finally sat back on his calves. He was kneeling in between trees, surrounded everywhere by foliage and soil. Mikleo looked back behind himself and saw the same he saw at the front, the same he saw at his right and at his left: dark green, and patches of darkness, and more green.

He wouldn’t be able to point out where he had come from, but that was okay. It meant the knight would probably not be able to follow him either.

Mikleo rubbed at his chest again and this time he winced; his tore skin had caught on the scratchy fabric of his shirt; Mikleo pulled his hand away to find his palm bloody and dirty with soil, stinging bad enough to make Mikleo want to shake it. He rose to his feet as he inspected his palm; it was difficult to tell the dirt apart from the blood in the darkness of the forest.

And it was dark. Mikleo’s eyes were getting used to the dark through the shot of adrenaline making his body shiver, but that didn’t exactly make things much better. He was able to discern the branches in front of him, but not much beyond. The trees around him were so tall that barely no moonlight nor starlight made it to him, and the humidity they gathered in their bark and leaves made the forest even colder than the clearing by the tower. White smoke made it out of Mikleo’s mouth, and he shivered.

Mikleo wasn’t sure where he had even lost his makeshift torch. He had been so sure when he had stepped out of his room with the broken chair leg in his hand, ready to use it once he was outside… but now darkness closed in on him, and Mikleo had nothing on him except—

Except for the kamui he was still holding in his unscathed hand; the thick fabric had protected his skin from the fall.

Another white puff left Mikleo as he pulled the kamui closer to his chest.; the sight of its muted colors helped calm his erratic heart and mind.

He didn’t have nothing, he realized. His bag was still snuggly pressed against his side, under the blanket that still kept some of the cold away. And in his bag was his toolkit, with all those tools that had helped him not only escape but survive, the butterfly key and the food he had saved from his last two meals and—

And the burner inside the toolkit, the one Mikleo had used to melt the metal of the butterfly.

Mikleo sniffed. Now that he wasn’t running anymore, he could feel piercing cold there where his skin was clammy with sweat. It made his teeth clack together as he shook the kamui by its lapels and pushed it over his shoulders, like a cape. It was heavier than he had realized; the pieces of armor under the fabric didn’t quite match his scrawny shoulders or his bony elbows, but the heaviness of the fabric was a barrier against the cold, and Mikleo sighed in relief as he pressed the lapels of the kamui closed. The edges of the garment reached his mid-thigh, brushing there where his knee poked through a hole in the fabric of his pants.

He allowed himself a second to enjoy the warmth. Then Mikleo reached inside the piles of fabric around him for his bag, letting his touch guide him to the burner. It felt cool against his scrapped hand, making it sting, but Mikleo was quick to pull it out and ignite it, numb fingers working the mechanism twice before a small flame decided to spark at the top.

At least there was no wind to blow the flame out.

A ring of soft orange light formed around him, illuminating what was within arm’s reach. Mikleo could see individual leaves now, branches that curled towards and away from him, their ends sharp like knives. He turned around on himself, looking for a path or some kind of indication of where he had come from, but there was nothing—

Except for the blink of a predator’s eye reflecting the light of his burner.

Mikleo’s heart skipped a beat and he jumped. The eye flickered, as if it had blinked, narrowing in on Mikleo before looking away. It was such an eerie sight, that floating eye in the middle of the darkness, that Mikleo’s breath cut short, his palms sweating so much that he almost dropped the burner to the ground.

But then he heard a familiar sound —a soft whistle, halfway to a caw— and Mikleo’s body sagged with relief before he had completely understood what he was seeing.

“You…scared me,” Mikleo was surprised to find his voice sounding like that, more a wheeze than words. Considering how his lungs were still struggling to expand, maybe it wasn’t that surprising In front of him, Mao cawed softly once again, keeping his eyes away from Mikleo and towards what was simply more forest green. “Come.”

Mikleo saw Mao clearly hesitate, eyes still fixed on that point only he could see, but he soon came to rest on Mikleo’s extended arm, right on the kamui’s sleeve. If it was familiar to Mao, he didn’t show it. He simply twisted his head so that point in the distance was still in his sight, otherwise ignoring Mikleo completely.

Mikleo tried to follow the falcon’s gaze, but there was only darkness beyond the ring of his burner.

“Pendrago,” Mikleo uttered; it felt wrong to speak any louder than that in the silence of the forest. “Do you know the way?”

Mao fidgeted —or whatever the equivalent in bird language was— but didn’t move from Mikleo’s arm. Above, when Mikleo tried to find the stars, he simply found more of what he saw around; he had no way of orienting himself, no way to distinguish north from south.

There was only one thing to do, really.

“Alright, Mao, lead the—“

Mao shot forward before Mikleo could even ask. Mikleo only got a glimpse of Mao’s body turning to avoid a tree before he was out of the ring of light and out of sight, disappearing with a rustle of feathers and leaves. It didn’t take long for Mikleo to follow after him, but still the falcon was too fast; Mikleo started running again, soon feeling sweat pool at the small of his back.

He wouldn’t hold on for long. He was still moving on adrenaline and the chill of the cold but it was different now. His heart wasn’t pumping for survival anymore, his legs didn’t ignore the burn of every one of his strides. 

Mikleo was too tired, and Mao was further and further away.

“Mao!” Mikleo shouted at the darkness; the flame of his burner had held on behind the hand Mikleo had protectively kept around it, but it was flickering wildly now, threatening to die out with Mikleo’s next ragged exhale. “Come!”

Mao didn’t come. If he strained, Mikleo could almost hear the flapping of Mao’s wings in the distance, but it could have been soft breeze through the leaves.

Mikleo let himself fall to his knees this time, slowly, fighting to keep his eyes from clouding over. His head felt heavy and his lungs burned; there was no way he could keep going on. The forest ground was so cool against the skin of his palms that Mikleo imagined himself leaning his cheek on the wet moss beneath his legs. The heavy fabrics over him felt more like a punishment than a blessing now; Mikleo had never felt so hot and sweaty in his life, and he hated it. But the cold of the forest bit at his cheeks; even desperate and with his mind running faster than his body ever could, Mikleo knew how much of a bad idea it would to abandon his layers now.

Weak, a voice that sounded exactly like his own said in his head. You are so weak, always have been. Weak, weak, not good enough to be a normal human, and not good enough as a mage either. Sinful, throwing away your blessings and years of your life for one failed attempt at being selfish.

You couldn’t even save Sorey, and you expect to save yourself.

The light of the burner gave out, Mikleo’s thumb sliding away from the button, and darkness fell on him like a shroud. What had compelled him to escape the tower, anyway? There was nothing for him out there, nowhere to return to. Sorey was gone, he had failed the Academy by losing his magic, and the King— the King had failed Mikleo the moment he had ignored his plea to save the knights, the moment he had raised his hand to strike. Mikleo had nowhere to go, not even backward; trying to find the path back to the tower would only end up in Mikleo being even more lost than he already was. Because he was lost; so, so lost that his heart took a dive into his stomach and then squeezed itself to death.

A branch snapped.

Mikleo looked up, his eyes searching in the darkness. Shadows seemed to move through the leaves, there and gone in the next blink, but Mikleo could hear nothing after that snap. It was almost as if the forest itself had frozen the moment Mikleo held his breath. Without taking his eyes from the darkness before him, Mikleo forced his fingers to move, pressing the button on the burner to spark a new flame.

A pair of eyes reflected the light, half-hidden in the foliage.

“…Mao,” Mikleo sighed, feeling his heart start beating once more after skipping one long beat. “Eumacia have mercy, I’m going to have chicken breasts for dinner if you keep…”

Mikleo’s voice died down as the eyes in front of him moved closer, the rest of the body coming swiftly right after. He should have known something was wrong just from the eyes alone. Falcon eyes weren’t that separated, as if leaving space between them for something else. The yellow of their irises wasn’t a byproduct of the flame, either; they were just the eery color of a wild animal, pupils dilating and contracting with what seemed to be the rhythm of Mikleo’s heart. They were the eyes of a predator, just like Mao’s, yes— but also nothing like his.

The wolf looked like Mikleo felt: its skin was taught over pointy bones, its fur lackluster and patchy even in the low light. It didn’t seem incredibly old, but the weakness in its movements made Mikleo think it was just starved; alone, separated from a bigger pack, this wolf was hunting for food not out of instinct, but of desperation.

“No,” Mikleo whispered, unable to raise his voice any louder. The wolf didn’t even blink; it simply observed Mikleo with those eyes, saliva dripping from its open mouth. “Stay away.”

The wolf pounced.

Mikleo put his arms up, burner falling to the ground and flame going out, but he managed to keep the wolf’s teeth away from his face. The bite tore through his right forearm though, digging in deep, and Mikleo screamed so loudly that his ears drummed. His first instinct was to trash against the wolf; he had never felt such physical pain before, the smell of his own blood alien and tangy in the air. 

Mikleo’s second instinct was to push his knees into his chest and kick.

If the wolf hadn’t been as weak and sick as it was, Mikleo would have died there. The animal’s teeth would have dug into skin and muscle and organs, tearing him apart, and that would have been it for him. But because the wolf was weak, ferocious on its hunger for blood but so very weak, Mikleo managed to kick it in the side and then the chest, making the wolf whine and let go, surprised by its prey fighting back.

Mikleo didn’t wait around for the wolf to recover. Blindly, bleeding a steady trail of warm blood, Mikleo started to run away as fast as he could, mind empty except for his need to survive. He almost didn’t feel the pain; it was a throb on his arm, scratches on his skin and bruises on his chest, yes— but there was only one thought in Mikleo, and that thought was live.

Live, live, live, live—

This time, when the wolf pounced, it got him on the leg. Mikleo went down with another scream as teeth dug down on his right calf, and if he thought his arm had hurt, this was nothing compared to it. It burned like hot iron melting his skin and Mikleo felt himself losing the battle against the wolf. But he still moved, still struggled, trying to crawl through the mud to put distance between himself and the wolf.

But then the wolf’s jaws clamped down and tugged, Mikleo’s leg twisted the other way—

The crack of the bone was loud, but not louder than Mikleo’s scream.

The wolf tugged on Mikleo’s leg, dragging him back what little distance Mikleo had managed to put between them. It sent a new wave of pain up Mikleo’s body, making him whimper, making him trash and turn, the only arm he could still move looking for something to hold on to. The wolf’s bite was steady now though, and the ground beneath himself was slippery with his own blood.

Mikleo had nowhere to go.

Live, a tiny voice kept saying at the back of his head. Live, live, live, live—

Mikleo’s fingers closed around something hard and cold and he seized it, heart hammering in his chest.

When the wolf moved up to end the fight, Mikleo jammed the object into the wolf’s neck.

Its howl pierced Mikleo’s eardrums. Its blood was sticky on his fingers, pouring out onto his skin with uneven bursts, but instead of pulling his hand away Mikleo pushed in further, until there was nowhere else for the long key to go. Above, the wolf shivered, its matted fur tickling there where Mikleo’s clothes had been torn. Then everything went still as the wolf fell, lifelessly, on top of Mikleo.

The butterfly key stuck out from the wolf’s neck, grotesque and beautiful at the same time.

Exhausted, Mikleo let his arm fall away as the wolf’s body pushed him more firmly against the floor. Its muzzle was snug against the column of Mikleo’s neck, and Mikleo was so disgusted by the feeling —warm moist but no breath— that he angled his head away, fighting to breathe past the weight on his chest.

“…Help,” Mikleo could do nothing but whisper; his injured arm was too stiff to push the wolf’s body away, and the pain on his leg was almost unbearable. Just the barest movement was enough to make him scream. “Help—“

But the only one who replied to his pleas was the forest, leaves swaying peacefully in a non-existent breeze, as if too used to such a scene to grant it any more of a reaction.

Mikleo closed his eyes.

“Don’t give up.”

A shiver ran down Mikleo’s body, barely upsetting the wolf over him. The animal was still warm, but the cold had nothing to do with Mikleo’s reaction.

Beneath him, the forest seemed to be drinking up on Mikleo’s blood, moss and grass damp with it.

“Please. Please don’t give up, Mikleo.”

There! I see it!”

Mikleo opened his eyes—or tried to, his eyelashes barely opening enough to let him see an approaching light somewhere in the distance, warm and amber like fire.

For a moment —for a long, heart-stopping moment— Mikleo thought that the light was too much like the one inside Sorey’s necklace.

Then his eyes slipped closed again and, despite what the voice begged him, Mikleo gave himself up to sleep.

 


 

The sun beat down on the Academy rooftop, warming up the stone until it was almost scalding, but Mikleo didn’t feel any pain. He was enjoying the sun, actually; head tilted to the sky, with his hair pushed back and his mask laying somewhere behind him, Mikleo basked on the warmth of the day like a cat as his feet dangled over the abyss past the balustrade, where he was sitting.

At his back, a different kind of warmth pressed close without ever touching, only letting itself be known enough to pull a smile to Mikleo’s lips.

“Don’t give up,” a voice rang behind him, and Mikleo didn’t have to turn around to know it was Sorey. He could almost feel the tickle of a feather against the back of his neck. “Please.”

“I’m just enjoying the sun,” a shrug made Mikleo lose a little bit of that gentle warmth. He opened his eyes to the blue, blue sky. There was no trace of sun in it, even if Mikleo could clearly feel its burn on his skin.

Sorey’s voice shook as he whispered: “I… I need you to keep fighting, Mikleo.”

Mikleo’s foot traced a circle in the air and his sandal came loose. It held onto his big toe for a second before tumbling down into the dark below. “Why?” Mikleo asked; his smile had disappeared. “What is there to fight for?”

Everything,” Sorey replied vehemently. Mikleo could picture the face he would be making: brows pulled low over big, bright eyes, his teeth grazing his bottom lip, his cheeks blushed with emotion. “Everything you haven’t seen yet, everything I…”

“…Everything you couldn’t show me?” Mikleo finished for him.

“…Yes.”

“What point is there if you can’t show it to me anymore?”

Overhead, the sky seemed to be darkening, the warmth not burning quite so much anymore. There was still no trace of the sun in that endless blue sky.

“…You don’t need me for that,” Sorey said lowly. Mikleo could almost feel the ghost of his breath against the shell of his ear. “You can see everything for yourself. You’re too smart to need a guide, anyway.”

“Mm. Maybe you’re right. I was always the smartest of the two.”

“Hey!” Sorey exclaimed, and a grin bloomed on Mikleo’s lips at the teasing. At the smile on Sorey’s voice. But then that smile slipped away as Sorey added: “I’ll let that slide just because you’re hurt.”

And Mikleo’s grin slid right away with it, with the last rays of the sun.

“I still need you, though,” Mikleo said softly, opening his heart for the world to see in a way he had never allowed himself to. There was no warmth against his skin anymore, only the winter chill. “So much.”

“…Me too,” Sorey whispered back, and Mikleo felt Sorey’s hair now tickle the back of his shoulder, the nape of his neck. “Always.”

The dream crumbled around them with that last word, and Mikleo woke up.

He did feel pain now. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was strange; like there was a wall of cotton between his bruises and his brain, Mikleo was aware of being in pain, but felt it as something distant and muffled. His arm beat in tandem with his heart, his ribs echoing the feel, but the worst of it was his right leg: Mikleo could feel the outline of the wolf’s bite, pulsing against a tightly-wrapped bandage.

The wolf. Mikleo’s heart skipped a beat as he settled more into his new awake state, realizing that the forest floor had been swapped with a firm mattress and white sheets, the wolf’s body nowhere in sight. After an instant of panic, Mikleo realized it wasn’t the forest but that it wasn’t the tower either. Not even the Academy. Mikleo was somewhere he didn’t recognize, and as he moved on the bed to get rid of the sluggishness in his head, the wall of cotton around him thinned out, bringing the pain suddenly to the forefront of his mind—

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” a soft voice cooed at his side; suddenly, there were hands on Mikleo’s shoulders, pushing him firmly back against the mattress.

“D-don’t touch me,” Mikleo’s mouth felt full of cotton too, his tongue parched and his voice croaky. The room spun with his movements, too fuzzy to make out any details.

The person by his side seemed to understand him just fine, though. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. You just need to relax, or the herbs won’t—“

“Don’t touch me,” Mikleo repeated, his voice firmer than before. So much so that the hands on him moved away instantly as if slapped, leaving behind Mikleo’s shirt stuck to his sweaty skin. Mikleo hadn’t even realized he was sweating so much, or that he was that hot. He felt scorching.

“I’m sorry,” the voice said again. Mikleo turned towards the sound of it, but the room was still spinning, and he only got a glimpse of sandy hair before he was forced to close his eyes against the pain. “I won’t touch you again but please. Save your energy. Let the herbs help you. You will feel better soon, I promise.”

“What herbs?” Mikleo asked. And then, far more important: “Where am I?”

Silindra. Carionome. Lutina. I would have used oriondre, but I was worried about you being allergic.”

“…Not allergic,” Mikleo said. It was easier to simply be if he listened to the voice and laid still, eyes closed. He could feel that cotton wall getting thicker and thicker, enveloping him like the comfiest cocoon. Definitely the lutina at work. “But please use volvine if you have it. It is gentler on the lungs.”

“Oh!” There seem to be a smile on the voice, a gentle brand of surprise. “You seem to know your herbs.”

Mikleo had never used herbs in his life, too dependent on his magic to ever need them, but the knowledge was there from all his reading. “Where am I?” He asked instead, turning his head to the side, towards the voice, but too tired to try and open his eyes again.

“…Lastonbell,” the voice replied, and Mikleo’s heart skipped another painful beat. “We found you in Volgran Forest after you were attacked by a wolf. We… we heard you screaming. From far away.”

Lastonbell. Surprise made Mikleo open his eyes, gaze fixed on the wood ceiling above. Mikleo remembered reading about the city of Lastonbell in many a history books, but what came to mind was Sorey talking animatedly about it, hands waving in the air to describe its architecture.

“It’s really something else, Mikleo! They call it the city of artisans… everywhere you look there are stalls, and lights, and everything is surrounded by castle walls due to its past as a fortress…! But oh, gods, the belfry! You know, they use the aqueduct underneath so the motors can start functioning, isn’t that smart? And then the bell itself… the sound it makes is so beautiful that Lastonbell even has a festival around it where people dance to the sound of the midnight bells…”

Mikleo’s throat closed off, but it had nothing to do with the herbs or the pain this time. “I…was trying to get to Pendrago.”

Mikleo didn’t need to see the person’s face to feel their pity. “I’m sorry. I… I’m not sure where you started, but Pendrago is a day-ride away from here. Is someone waiting for you there? Maybe we could have a letter sent their way, make sure they know you are safe…”

Dread filled Mikleo’s veins; he hadn’t even been escaping in the correct direction. Hadn’t he read the stars correctly? Had he gotten the location of his tower wrong as well?

“…No,” Mikleo admitted to the person’s earlier question. “No one is waiting for me.”

Mikleo only realized belatedly that he probably shouldn’t have said that. Telling a stranger no one was expecting him, or that no one knew where he was, wasn’t exactly the smartest idea. Anything could happen to him, and no one would know.

Then again, something had already happened to Mikleo. And this person had saved him, for better or for worse.

That didn’t mean Mikleo had to trust them completely, though.

Still, he finally turned his head to the side, fighting against the dizziness to focus his gaze on the person at his left. He had gotten a glimpse of sandy hair before, but he wasn’t quite prepared to the cascade of it over slender shoulders, framing a soft face of pale skin and big, gentle green eyes. The sight of them sent a shiver down Mikleo’s spine, the color in those eyes almost too similar to another pair of green eyes Mikleo knew. Beneath the long locks, a soft-looking blanket wrapped around what seemed to be a fairly thin pajama set, and still the person knelt by Mikleo’s side, arms crossed over their chest and away from Mikleo, as he had requested.

But what made Mikleo slightly relax was their smile: gentle, kind, and luminous enough to brighten up the whole room.

“…Who are you?” Mikleo asked.

“My name is Alisha,” the person replied. She was still smiling when she added. “Alisha Diphda. May I ask you for your name as well?”

The formality in her voice didn’t sound forced, or even mocking. Mikleo had had to go through his fair share of knights who liked to mock the mage’s way of speaking back in the Hospital, but this wasn’t it. Alisha spoke gently, aware of the brewing headache at the back of Mikleo’s brain, keeping her voice low.

With that, and the fact that Alisha seemed to be the one to have pulled him out of the forest, Mikleo couldn’t exactly deny her his name.

“You may… You can call me Mikleo.”

Alisha’s smile seemed to become even gentler if that was possible. “Alright, Mikleo. Just rest for a bit, and I’ll—“

“I have questions,” Mikleo admitted. “I am… not sure how I got here, exactly.”

“I can answer them,” Alisha replied with a nod. “But you should rest for now, that can— right, no touching, I’m sorry,” she added after trying to settle Mikleo down on the bed once more. “Either way, the herbs’ effects should be wearing down by now. I’ll prepare you more tea and some food. Just let me know if you need anything else.”

Mikleo didn’t want to know how he had drunk that tea considering he couldn’t remember anything before waking up, so instead he said: “I can help—“

“Nonsense! You have to still be dizzy from the tea, and your wounds and bruises are still there, despite the numbing. Besides, your leg…”

Mikleo winced; Alisha’s lips had been pursed into a straight line, white teeth making an appearance to bite on the corner of her mouth. “…Is it that bad?”

“…Broken,” Alisha admitted after a pause. “Beside the wolf’s bite. But don’t worry about that right now. Try to rest, alright Mikleo? I can’t promise you much, but I can promise you will be safe here.”

Mikleo nodded, but his heart was pounding inside his chest. The herbs helped with more than the pain; it made it difficult for him to grasp the severity of what he had gone through, the violence now painted over his body. He couldn’t even grasp the idea of being free. He was just navigating through things as they came, with a minty taste on his tongue and a numbness that scared him more than calmed him.

But Alisha’s smile seemed sincere. That was something Mikleo could hold on to, for a little while.

“Oh, before I forget,” Alisha suddenly said. She had gotten up onto her feet, showing that what Mikleo had thought to be soft pajamas was actually a white tracksuit under a layered skirt, big pockets making the fabrics seem heavier than they were. Alisha reached inside one of the pockets to pull out a familiar object: it was the butterfly key, metal shining colorful in the light of the room.

“I thought it could be important,” she said, handing it to Mikleo, careful to not make their fingers even brush. Mikleo was more grateful for that than all of her previous smiles. “It’s beautiful. Don’t worry though, I already cleaned it.”

She had. Despite what use Mikleo had given to the poor thing, the butterfly was now pristine and smooth, if albeit sporting new notches into the metal. Mikleo curled his fingers weakly around the butterfly and pressed it against his chest, closing his eyes as Alisha’s footsteps started to fade away into another room.

The numbness, the cotton wall between himself and the pain, grew stronger, and a voice at the back of his head begged: don’t give up.

The herbs left in Mikleo system only allowed him to reply mentally, but the sentiment was still there. It beat strong in his blood, against his bruises and his broken bones.

But, most importantly, it beat true.

I’ll try, Sorey.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Like I said, comments are VERY, VERY appreciated!! Thank you so much for reading<3<3<3