Tags: M/M, Guide/Original Character, Character Study, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Obsession, Possesiveness, Mutual Pining, Blood, Death, Angst, Horror
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chapter 3: when is a monster not a monster? oh, when you love it
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Halfway to heat stroke from smelting ingots all morning, he nearly drops his hammer when he catches someone walking towards the gate of the village.
It's a woman, dark skinned with red hair. She's tall, dressed in a green tank top and leather pants. Swishing behind her anxiously is a voluminous white tipped fox tail. Peeking out from the top of her hair is a pair of furred ears. Setting down everything, he starts heading over to the gate. He isn't the only one that's noticed her. As he slips past his and Kieran's home, he sees the door to their place slant eerily open; the hinges refusing to creak as Kieran idles in the doorway. Between a blink and next, their bow is in hand and an arrow has been fletched. The tip of the arrow aligns with the woman's face.
Startled, the woman ducks until her face isn't visible and by the sounds of it is now making a full on run through the grass. Before Kieran can go looking for her, he slips in front of their path.
"Zachariah." His name spills like boiling tar from their lips. He swallows hard and tries to ignore the sudden and very potent feeling of something terrible in the air. It is uncannily like the dire few seconds before death rears its ugly head and it makes his gut curl with heat as much as it makes him break out into a sweat.
There's something off about Kieran's eyes. The gray of their irises are mottled with specks of red and the white's are nearly bloodshot.
"I know," He says quickly, offering a queasy smile. "I do. It's dangerous, but..."
"But you want to talk with her." Kieran finishes for him with a deep breath before crossing their arms and moving their attention elsewhere. "I thought you might."
"I'm predictable." He shrugs with a sheepish grin.
"No," Kieran hums. "I just know you." And with another sigh, Kieran turns on heel, looking ready to head back into their home. "She killed you." They remind him seriously. "Tore you apart and left you in a heap of broken bones and clipped wings. Your face-"
"I know." He interjects, breathing heavily as a sort of pressure settles over his chest and shoulders. "And I'm sorry, but Kieran- I need to do this."
He hopes the pleading look he's giving them is enough.
Even from peeking over one shoulder, Kieran's face heralds a significant amount of bone deep frustration.
"Please." He tries again, smiling.
Just once, Kieran's eye flickers away from his before returning. He thinks they might have looked behind him past the gate to see if they could spot red hair.
"For you, the world." Kieran turns their face away to say. It sounds as sincere as it does exhausted. "Be careful." And with that he watches them retreat- not back inside their home, but over to the water pump and the garden. Now preoccupied with a task, it seem like Kieran's moved on, but he knows that them choosing to remain outside has nothing to do with the plants.
His eyes waver on their figure for a singular moment before he heads out the gate and out of the village. The woman's nowhere to be seen but that's from his view on the ground. Slipping into a run, he pushes off the ground and flies. Red is very, very easy to spot in the forest even with the canopy hiding most things. The second he spots the color he descends into the forest feet first, his arms looped over each other as if he was being buried, and the slimmer he makes his form the faster he'll hit back on ground and avoid most of his bare arms being cut up by trees.
Aside from a nasty cut on his left bicep, he thinks he's landed just fine. It's not very loud when a bird sets into flight, but it is when he does. When he's got his armor on and is descending, he's been told it sounds like a heavy gale banging against a window. Unsurprisingly, the woman is alerted immediately that he's followed her.
Standing just a few trees away, the woman stares at him with her tail between her legs and her ears flat against her head.
"I just want to talk." He says with both hands palm forward and his wings tucked neatly behind him so he looks less intimidating. "That's what you came back here to do, right?"
"...Yeah." She confesses. Her eyes, which had been red in her other form are now a warm brown. Instead of looking at him, she looks down at the grass. "But I probably shouldn't have come- that was stupid of me."
"I find that stupid things tend to work more often than not." And it's very cautiously that he takes a few steps forward so it feels more like he's talking to her instead of being like she's just conveniently stopping by while he was rambling in the middle of the forest. "You wanted to talk- it's easier to do that when we aren't killing each other."
She crosses her arms but it looks more like she's hugging herself.
"The other night- I didn't mean for any of that to happen." She starts and her voice is raspy in a way that makes him wonder if it's from all the howling in her other form or if she naturally sounds like that. Behind her full lips are the peek of fangs. "I feel terrible. I haven't been able to sleep. Every time I do I think about how I hurt you and what would have happened if you hadn't stopped me."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I'm cursed." She says. "Awhile ago I got bit by a fox. A weird one. Ever since, when the full moon rises I lose myself completely and turn into that thing. I'm not in control of myself but I can see everything happening. I'm not a person anymore; just someone being taken for a ride by animalistic urges."
Her clawed hand raises to cup over her mouth as her shoulders start trembling.
"I didn't come here for sympathy. I just wanted to apologize and promise that I'll try my best not to ever come near this area. I'm," The woman takes a shaky breath. "-I'm glad you were able to kill me before I got to anyone else."
It's heart wrenching to see someone cry; even more to see them try not to.
He doesn't even really think about it when he nears her, takes her hand and leads her over to a sunny patch of grass to sit next to him. The sun feels amazing as always as it seeps into his skin, his hair and his wings. The fine chestnut fur all over the woman shines bright red in the sun.
She hasn't looked at him since sitting down, but she does when he asks:
"What's your name?"
"...Nasrin." She tells him. He makes quick work of giving his own name. "I should go. I just came to say sorry."
"I could visit you." He offers.
"I live far from here. Near the mountains. Besides, I don't think your friend likes me very much. I don't blame him."
He won't speak for how Kieran feels so he continues on. "You said it's only the full moon that activates the curse?" She nods. "Then it should be fine visiting you before and after that night."
She wrinkles her nose. "You don't have to. Just because I'm cursed doesn't mean you have to go out of your way for me."
"I'll visit." He insists.
Nasrin gives him a look. "You're a stubborn guy. You'd visit even if I told you not to. At least this way I'll be expecting it."
--
Later that same day, unsure if Kieran was in the mood to have him over or not, but still deciding to walk over to their home, he idles in front of the door, not at all used to having to knock. By the time he's set foot in front of the door, usually it's already cracking open, if not already opened welcomingly.
He knocks twice.
Exactly two seconds later Kieran opens the door and the smell of lemon and rosemary wafts from inside their home and out the door and makes his stomach gurgle at a startling volume. Kieran, hand still on the doorknob, gives him a knowing smile.
"Hungry?" They ask.
"Always."
He follows after Kieran inside, kicking the door closed behind him and notices that the table, as always, is set for two. A bottle of wine is brought to the table along with two cups before Kieran brings the skillet from the fire and sets it down in the middle of the table on a thick mitten. Settled in the skillet is a heap of roasted chicken thighs, potatoes and asparagus.
The two of them eat in what he's not sure or not is companionable silence.
After finishing dinner the two of them sit on the floor with their backs against Kieran's bed as they start another round of wine.
"The woman, Nasrin," He starts, more eager to talk about earlier now that he's had a few sips of wine. "-she said she was sorry. That was she was-"
"Cursed." Kieran provides. Beside him, just like in the day of when the two of them lived in the shack, he seems to see more of Kieran in the corner of his vision than he does head on. Without closing their eyes or tearing their eyes away from the specific spot in the wall they've been eyeing the past ten minutes, he watches Kieran take a sip, something entirely off about them.
"How did you know?" He asks.
"I'm very familiar with curses." Kieran says with what sounds like ruefulness.
"Is there anyway to break one?"
Kieran turns eerily slow towards him. There's a resigned, almost miserable look on their face. "I'm afraid not."
He nods, disappointed and expects nothing else, so it's with pleasant surprise that he hears Kieran begin to speak again.
"In Nasrin's case, there are ways to make the curse easier to live with. A specific potion taken before the full moon can help staunch the bloodlust and allow her to be in more control. She'll still turn and will still need to be mindful of her urges, but it's something. If...you asked me, I'd brew it for her. And," Kieran pauses. "-if you're going to ask her to live here, like I have the sneaking suspicion that you will when you visit her, I'll continue making these potions."
He blinks. "But you hate her."
A conflicted look spoils Kieran's features. "I don't."
He doesn't press further.
--
And as always, Kieran is right. After finding where Nasrin lived, (a previously abandoned home just within a cave in the snowy mountains), he makes a point to stop by whenever he's near and although it pains him to wait, it isn't until the fifth time he's welcomed into her strikingly lonely home that he spits out the offer:
"Come live with us." He blurts, immediately feeling relief at the words finally taking up space somewhere else besides his skull. Below him, seated on the grass and shaded by the canopy of the tree he's lounging across a branch, Nasrin startles and looks up at him. The squirrels that had been feeding out of her hand flinch but quickly return to eating the nuts out of her open palm.
She gives him a look.
"You know I can't. The next time the full moon comes it'll be the same as last time."
"It won't be." He returns easily enough and plucks a few leaves so he can drop them just over her head and hope they land on her ears. "My friend, Kieran, said he would brew you a potion that would help with your transformations."
The leaves don't land on her ears, but they do float by close enough that Nasrin's ears flicker.
"This wouldn't happen to be the same friend who had an arrow pointed between my eyes, would it?" She asks.
"It is."
Nasrin inhales sharply through her nose. "You asked him to, didn't you? He didn't offer to do that on his own."
He sits up on the branch and the movement scares the squirrels off for good this time. Seeing as how he doesn't have to tip toe anymore, he kicks out his legs and glides down next to where she's sitting below the tree.
"I didn't." He says firmly. "I didn't even know there was a potion to help you- how would I know to ask him to make it? He could have kept that information to himself, but instead he told me."
"Why?" Nasrin asks, curling a bit in on herself. She lowers her face before turning to look at where the peak of the mountain shifts in and out of the moving canopy. "He hates me." And when he bumps his shoulders against her to rebuke that statement, she huffs. "It's fine. I don't blame him. I don't blame any of them. Even if this potion worked and I decided to live there...I'd still be alone. Having everyone walk around on eggshells while they wait for me to lose composure is worse than isolating myself."
"I'm sure once they got to know you..." He starts but Nasrin doesn't let him get very far.
"That's the thing, Zach, they don't want to get to know me! And the part that hurts is that I can't fault them!" She shouts and her voice does this terrible crack before tears brim in her eyes. As quick as anything, Nasrin stands to her feet and puts a few feet of distance from where he remains seated on the grass.
"I'm sorry." He says and nothing else.
Nasrin makes no point of taking a seat next to him again or even turning to look at him, so after several minutes of tense silence, he stands to his feet and offers a quiet farewell and spreads his wings out.
"Wait." Nasrin says. "I-I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have yelled."
He lowers his wings and turns around. Offers a smile. "It's okay. Do you want me to stay?"
Nasrin's tail twitches behind her. He tries not to stare at it.
"Did you want to?" She asks tentatively.
"Of course."
The two of them decide to continue wandering the boreal forest of Nasrin's home and while it's fallen quiet again, it isn't tense.
"...Could I have time to think about it?" Nasrin stops walking to ask him out of the blue. Pausing for a moment, he blinks, thinking, before nodding eagerly.
"Of course. Take all the time you need."
--
The next full moon comes and goes.
It's in the middle of the afternoon as he's slipping out his home with his flail in hand but with no armor. He's not off exploring today, no, today he'll be sending the spiked end of his flail through the training dummy he's made behind his house. Or he would be, if he didn't catch a pair of red, furred ears over the wall of the fence. Grinning, he sets his flail down on a stump and runs over to the wall, speed boosted by a quick flap of his wings. He practically heaves himself over the wall to look at her.
"You came!" He grins, noisy, and Nasrin tries to peek behind him, suddenly looking anxious. Her nose twitches quickly, clearly picking up on a scent. "What's wrong?"
"Someone's coming from right behind you. I should go to the gate, right? It looks like we're being sneaky." Nasrin tells him quickly before walking off.
He hops on top of the wall, the sun warmed cobblestone pleasant on his bare feet, and begins to walk along it after Nasrin. As she pointed out, he hears footsteps in the grass a moment later.
"Loafing around, are we?" Will asks with a scoff from below. Turning towards them, he offers a cheeky grin before bending in half and putting all his weight onto his palms. Walking on his hands had been extremely difficult before his bones had lost density but now he can easily keep balance as he walks on his hands down the wall.
"You could say that. Maybe I'm leading you to something interesting." He offers. Even from upside down it's hard to not notice just how unimpressed Will is with his antics.
"And this is the fastest way to show me whatever it is you're planning?"
"No, but it's the most fun." And with some flair, he pushes off his palms and manages to get himself standing again on top of the wall, which he hops off of to walk beside Will. "There's someone waiting for me at the gate."
"What? Who?" Will asks, nose wrinkled.
"If I tell you, will you promise me you'll be understanding?"
Will completely stops walking to give him a flat look. "Absolutely not. Tell me anyways."
It's probably better if he just explains things now before the boy sees Nasrin, but as he's about to do that, the gate slips open and he sees Nasrin hesitantly enter. It's not even a second after she's stepped foot in the village that Will's eyes pull away from his and go straight over to where she's standing. Recognition hits them like lightning and Will, young boy that they are, makes a sort of offended shriek that only someone his age can do. It makes him wince, but not as much as the way Will whips towards him with a finger first raised at Nasrin and then at his own face.
"While I never thought you were the smartest bloke, I never thought you'd try to prove you were the dumbest." Will tears into him, and really he should have expected this, but once again in his own excitement he forgot to think things out all the way. Still, if this is the worst of Will's offense, things are looking better off than he thought.
He's used to Will fussing at him and calling him names, but where Nasrin stands at the gate, frozen, he sees her ears have flattened against her head from all the noise of his beratement.
"How in the bloody hell did you come up with the idea to befriend her of all people?" Will asks.
"Very easily." He returns breezily. "This actually isn't her first time visiting- she came here a few weeks ago and apologized for what happened. She didn't come here the other night to attack us on purpose. She's cursed; when the full moon rises she turns into that monster we all saw. She can't think clearly and becomes aggressive, but it only happens during a full moon."
"Cursed? That is worse!" Will shouts at him. Their face, ears and neck are flushed red and the hand not currently pointing at him is balled into a fist and shaking near their side. "You want someone who isn't in control of themselves to live here?"
He runs a hand through his hair, shaking the curls out of his face. "Will, listen to me-"
"No! I don't trust her."
All of Will's shouting is attracting attention and the few people hanging outside are starting to become interested and he can see the exact moment one of them makes eye contact with Nasrin as they approach because her tail lowers between her legs and she flinches as if about to turn around and leave. Ideally, he had wanted Nasrin to be introduced to everyone slowly, preferably even one by one but now it's turning into a spectacle.
"I should leave." He hears Nasrin say, although she's not at all saying it to him, her face still forward and eyeing Maggie and Khalid who are approaching the gate.
"Yeah, you should!" Will turns around to tell her.
"Will." He says firmly, quickly moving to stand beside Nasrin. It makes his heart land in his gut to see how on edge she is.
"Zach, who is this?" Maggie chimes in once she's near enough to get a good look at Nasrin. It's asked calmly, but he knows by the look in her eye that she already knows the answer and just wants him to explain himself.
"This is Nasrin. A friend," He straightens up to say and explains the situation fully. Unfortunately, even after he explains, no one seems warmed up to the idea of Nasrin staying here. In fact, things have quickly devolved into more squabbling.
He lets Maggie and Will explain to him just how stupid this idea really is, taking the remarks on the chin and only peeking at Khalid for a semblance of help twice. Both times, he's given a nonchalant shrug.
He wouldn't want to be wrapped up in this either.
To shield her away from all the accusing words and eyes, he spreads his right wing, the majority of which successfully keeps Nasrin from view. It comes as a massive relief when a sudden quiet falls over everyone as the sense of unease rolls through flesh and bone. Like a spell, everyone in front of him tenses and becomes nervous as Kieran quietly slips out of their home and walks over to where everyone is huddled.
At the sight of Kieran, he relaxes.
Without any prompting, Kieran speaks, standing perfectly still with their arms crossed and their back perfectly straight.
"The next full moon is in half a month. I've brewed a potion that will help with her transformations. Should everything go well, she will have enough mental clarity to remain herself throughout the night, but will still need to be away from others. Consider this a test."
Despite the natural intimidation Kieran wields or maybe just stubborn enough to fight through it, Will chimes in.
"You're okay with letting him get torn apart again if things go poorly?" Will asks.
The sunny afternoon feels a lot colder.
"I'm confident in his abilities and my own. The potion will work." Kieran explains evenly.
He dips his face down at the ground, utterly relieved that he doesn't have to convince them all on his own.
"...I guess we'll just have to wait and see how things go." Maggie remarks with a lot more patience than she had offered him minutes ago.
Beside her, fidgeting, Khalid hums and nods.
Done with the conversation or better yet, standing so close to Kieran, Maggie offers a curt nod before walking back towards her home with Khalid trailing behind her.
Will says nothing when they walk away from his side and he tries to not let it hurt him too badly.
With just the three of them left by the gate, he lowers his wings down at last and offers Kieran a grateful smile before turning towards Nasrin.
"That wasn't too bad, was it?"
--
Nasrin keeps to herself.
Or tries to, but he bothers her often enough he doesn't think she has enough time to be too lonely. When he isn't talking her ear off or helping her adjust to her new home, he's caught her wandering the forest. Sometimes he's even found her napping in the grass; a few animals nestled closely.
Just as Nasrin had predicted, while she's being accepted she's only at most being tolerated by the others, whom he had naively predicted would be as open to her as he had been. They haven't been the one visiting her all these weeks and getting to know her, he reminds himself. Will is unsurprisingly still pissed off at him and no matter how many times he offers to take them fishing or something equally as fun, they refuse to talk to him. It makes him feel terrible so he drags his feet over to Kieran's and drinks more wine than he should.
"Will hasn't talked to me in three days." He sulks, face buried in his crossed arms as he hunches in his seat at Kieran's kitchen table. Across from him, thumbing through a book, he hears Kieran hum.
"He might not for another few days."
He groans.
Underneath the table, Kieran's leg nudges into his. "As much as he belittles you, it's obvious he's very attached to you."
"Yeah?" He peeks his face out of his arms to look at them.
"Khalid offered to go fishing with them the other day and Will wrinkled their nose in disgust and told them that he only goes fishing with you."
"That's so sweet!" He gushes before settling his face back into his arms. He does it with more force than necessary because he bangs his forehead against the table. Very quietly, he hears Kieran laughing.
Gentle and slow, a hand slips into his hair.
"It is." Kieran agrees with him. Their long fingers tangle into his thick, curly red hair. "You have a way of making even the most unfriendly people come to adore you."
Does that include you, he wants to ask, but after so many drinks and now Kieran playing with his hair, he finds that he falls asleep startlingly easy.
Morning comes as it always does and its a ray of sunlight landing over his eyelids and making his head uncomfortably hot that wakes him up. Flickering his eyes awake, he groans. It's not the table he's sleeping at, he realizes fairly quickly. Waking up in Kieran's bed isn't ever a surprise, but he's used to waking up next to them- not on top of them. Pushing himself up, he lifts off Kieran who's laying on their back with their pillow folded in half and cushioning their neck and shoulders as they read a book. In the early light of the morning Kieran's eyes look unreasonably smoldering as they bore into his.
"Morning." Kieran tells him, voice calm and quiet as always but there's a subtle strain; a tautness of thread.
He mumbles the same sentiment while scooting off them. Back on his own side of the bed, more importantly the bed itself, he does his usual big stretch and raises his arms over his head and extends his wings. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep, deep breath.
Relaxing again, he rests on his folded knees on the bed and catches the curtails of Kieran's eyes dragging across the peek of the red happy trail his stretching had exposed. The next time he blinks, their attention is back on the book, which he notices has been moved closer to their face. So close, that he can only see the top half of their face.
"Didn't mean to crawl on top of you." He manages to say at last.
He's a busy body by nature and the weather outside looks great but he wants nothing more than to just continue sharing space with Kieran so he settles to lay back down. Stills, when Kieran's arm stretches out invitingly. They aren't looking at him, still reading, and he watches their eyes flicker over the words for a handful of seconds before gladly accepting the offer and slipping back under the sheet and settling beside them. Glad though he might be, he can't fully relax.
This is Kieran being kind. This is them being friendly. They know he sleeps better like this, with them, and seeing as how he had drank himself stupid last night and had a pounding headache, it's all the more reason for them to take pity on him.
Kieran slips their arm across his back, mindful of his folded wings, and the second their hand lays on his skin, he fully relaxes against them. Emboldened, he scoots higher up so he can tuck his face into the curve of their neck. Behind his ribs, his heart beats hard and fast.
He can feel the content hum Kieran lets out.
Very quietly and very soothingly, Kieran starts to read aloud from their book.
The second time he wakes up that day, late into the afternoon, Kieran is gone. Glancing at the hook near the door, he notices that their quiver and bow is gone. Hunting, he realizes, yawning and sliding off the bed. He slips his boots on, steals a few sips of water, and then heads out of Kieran's place.
Figuring it was worth another shot, he makes a beeline to Will's home. When he's saddled up at the bottom of the tree he finds that the rope ladder has been pulled up so that no one can disturb the boy. He shakes his head, smiling a little, before flapping his wings and landing on their porch.
He knocks. "Will?"
"Go away." Is the immediate response. At least there was a response this time.
"I'd really like it if we talked." He sighs and leans against the handrail, one arm draped over the other as he looks across the village.
"What's there to discuss? You've already made it clear that what I think doesn't matter."
He frowns. "Of course I care what you think, but I still stand by my decision. Try to see it from my point of view."
"Try to see it from mine!" Will huffs and the conversation subsequently dies.
He chews his bottom lip, staring off at the fountain. Maybe he should just wait until Will comes to him on their own, but it's already been three days of this and frankly, he misses them.
The sound of their deadbolt unlatching catches his attention and he straightens and turns to face the door, already grinning. The door cracks open and Will peeks their head out. Upon seeing his grin, the boy rolls their eyes and scoffs before opening the door all the way and moving aside to let him in.
He offers a thanks and pats their shoulder, his hand of course being pushed away a nanosecond later. The familiar clutter of metal buckets, fishing rods, tackle boxes and dozens of jars of trinkets and lights hanging from the ceiling greets him as usual. Some of the shells he'd gifted them a while ago have been turned into a wind chime that's still yet to be hung up. He wonders if it's because Will is too short and had been waiting for his help. Will practically pushes him until he takes a seat at their table. Despite their anger with him, he's happy to see Will still bothers with grabbing him a cup of water. The small bowl of dried anchovies and peanuts is a welcome bonus. The two of them snack in silence, seated beside each other and staring out the circular window on the east wall of their tree house. From the window, blue sky as far as one can see.
"I'm sorry you had to see me like that." He says after licking the salt off his bottom lip.
Will pushes the bowl of snacks closer to him, done eating, and rests their face against their folded arms.
"Kieran blocked your face so I wouldn't see, but I still saw what was left of your wings. There was blood and feathers everywhere." Will says.
"Probably looked like a pillow fight gone wrong."
"Not funny." And Will turns away from the window just to give him an unimpressed look.
He shrugs, sheepish. "It's a little funny."
"...I don't trust her." Comes after a tick of silence.
"That's okay. I didn't expect you to immediately." He replies. He mirrors Will's position and unfurls his wings and settles the left over their back. "You don't have to hang out or talk with her. I just want you and the others to be polite and give her a chance. Can you do that for me?"
"...Fine."
And easy as that, he finds Will's forgiven him. The next day, the two of them are back to being friends. He takes Will to the beach and the two of them fish for hours, drinking from coconuts and throwing seaweed at each other. Later in the day, he flies back with Will in tow, the boy always pointedly quiet with fascination as they're carried in the wind, and the two of them take up residence under one of the apple trees on the outskirts of the village. He rests on his front in the grass and basks in the sun. Warmth spreads and settles against his back and wings. He's starting to doze, just a little, when footsteps in the grass sound off nearby.
Before he can sit up, Will is on their feet.
"...Hi." He recognizes the voice as Nasrin's. "Is he sleeping?"
"I'm awake." He says, sitting up. Will is standing between the three of them, arms crossed and undoubtedly frowning. It's endearing as much as it's funny; Will barely reaches up to his stomach and Nasrin, who was a good half a foot taller than him, absolutely towered over the boy.
"Did you need something or did you want to hang out?" He asks.
Nasrin's eyes flicker over to Will before settling back on him. "I wanted to hang out but you're already with someone. We can talk later." She moves to turn away but stops when Will huffs with audible annoyance.
"You're already here." Will tells her. "Might as well pull up a patch of grass."
Behind her, Nasrin's tail flickers with interest. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she waits a full moment before actively walking over and taking a seat on the grass just to the left of him. It isn't until Will's taken a seat that Nasrin speaks again, her voice quiet and terribly sincere.
"Thank you." She tells Will, who's mouth hangs open for a second, eyes a little bright at the sentiment, before as usual the vulnerability is masked away with a veil of irritation. He doesn't let them hide away, so overwhelmingly pleased with the boy that he slings an arm around their shoulders and pulls them into a hug.
It gets him an earful, but it's so worth it to see Nasrin finally looking happy again.
--
Failure is something he's extremely intimate with. He can parse out the bitter taste of it like the dredges of tea at the bottom of a cup. Failure is the first thing he feels when he's woken back up in his own bed a day later after his most recent death. Sitting up, he grits his teeth and stares at the filthy flail that's still gripped in his right hand.
He throws it as the other side of the cabin where it hits the wall with a crack, a layer of wood splintering off and going everywhere. He tears off his ruined armor, his clothes and then tears into his bed, removing the sheets and blankets as if they were rigged to explode at any second.
He's used to failure, he reminds himself, has died countless times now and will inevitably die countless more times, but what he isn't used to is the constant mockery as he makes each new attempt.
"There are easier ways to die." The old, silver-haired man had told him when he had reached the steps of the eerie dungeon west of the clearing. That had been on his third attempt and the man's red eyes had been no less piercing.
It had been shocking to see that old man morph into a gargantuan, lightning quick amalgamation of bones the first time, but now? It just makes him feel worse. The transformation, from what he can tell, isn't kind. It happens impossibly fast, within the blink of an eye, but he can always hear the cut off wail of a man in pain echoing the signature roar and clash of when the monstrosity arises.
He shakes his head, irritated, and goes to his bathroom and fills the tub with steaming hot water before tossing himself in. He stews for a while, replaying the failed attempts over and over. He doesn't gain any insight- he just gets more upset. Dunking his face and holding it while he yells and yells until he needs to come back up for air helps. Marginally.
After, he spends the entire morning melting down his old armor. The silver would be repurposed into throwing knives. The problem with making himself a new set of armor is that now that he has hollow bones, he's traded off the majority of metals he can smelt into something of use. Things like lead, while protective, weighed too much for him to fly properly.
The silver had been cutting it close too, but really, he can't go around adventuring in something as flimsy as chainmail or gold. Or wood. While not much lighter, he has a whole pile of tungsten ore to work with and from the ingots he's made before, it had seemed much sturdier than silver. It was worth a shot to try and make something out of it.
He's got the helmet done around midday and get's too hot to bother with anything more so he sets the project aside and heads back inside to throw a new shirt on. Grabs his flail too, because ever since getting his wings he hasn't made another trip back to explore the floating islands. Now is as good as any time to fix that.
He's a strong enough flier now that he doesn't need the help of a run or a breeze to get him into the air, so after stepping out of his home he simply flaps his wings a few times and sets into flight. The wind in his hair and under his wings calms him. For a while, he flies aimlessly; low enough that the harpies don't target him but high enough he can see the tops of trees and the wandering slimes on the ground look more like colorful specks. It's a little risky to be exploring with no armor at all, but other than harpies he really has nothing else to worry about in the sky.
He spots what he thinks might be the same floating island he'd explored previously until he gets closer and sees that the house is larger than the one he'd visited.
He glides down and sets foot on the clouds just near the lake beside the house. Wonders what kind of fish are lurking in the depths and if Will knows anything about them. Saving the curiosity for later, he heads towards the house. It's relatively the same in design as the first one he'd visited but its clear that a warrior had lived here.
There are rusting blades and shields displayed on wooden mantles. A straw and linen mannequin sits in the corner of the house, bereft of any armor. Sat near the collapsing bed are two chests, which he goes for first. He finds a couple of more books for Kieran, expired potions and a bag of herbs that were surely just as out of date.
In the second chest, he finds nothing more than some old clothes. He takes those too because they're roughly his size and with all the fighting he gets into he goes through clothes at a startling rate.
He's not really sure what compels him to check, but he crouches on all fours and peeks under the decrepit bed. Spots something long and wrapped in age old linen. With some stretching he pulls it closer and when he unwraps the linen his eyes light up.
Hidden in the cloth is a radiantly pink sword made out of a material he's unfamiliar with. On the hilt, perfectly in the middle, is a star, bright yellow and gleaming. When he wields the sword and takes a practice slash he feels a sort of hum in the air but ultimately nothing happens.
No matter. With a grin, he runs outside and looks for the nearest harpy to test out the new weapon.
--
The sun has practically set by the time he reaches the village. From his spot in the sky he can see a few people hanging out near the fountain or just outside of their respective houses. Just to the left of their front door, leaning against the wood with their arms crossed and eyes to the sky is Kieran, as always waiting for him.
He can't help but show off a little, seeing as how they're watching him. With a flap of his wings he does a few loops in the air before gliding down. Slowing down, he lands a few feet away from them. The wind left in his wings jostles their brown hair.
"Welcome back." Kieran says warmly. Their eyes crease in the corners as they smile, first looking at his face, his hair, before landing on the sheathed sword in his hand. "Find something of interest?"
"I did." He grins and runs a hand through his hair. "Are you busy? I wanted you to be the first person to see it."
"Oh?"
He nods.
Kieran straightens up. "Lead the way."
He curls his hand around one of their wrists and guides them through the gate and into the darkened forest. Night was soon to come but he's far past from being intimidated by the undead. He's killed at least a thousand; could kjill them with nothing more than his gauntlet covered fists.
He's still careful. The last thing he wants to happen is for Kieran to be snuck up on and injured so he keeps a sharp eye out and keeps them close. Kieran themselves don't look at all nervous about being in the forest at night. They look just as at ease here as they do in their own home. A hopeful part of him would like to think it's because they know they can count on him.
He finds a wayward slime on its way to wherever it is slimes disappear to when the sun hides away and unsheathes his sword. The pink of it's blade twinkles even in the scarcest of light. With one swipe, he cleaves the slime in half. There's a half second where nothing happens but no later than that does a high pitched whir, like a firework being set off, rips through the air.
A star, yellow and glowing with magic falls from the night sky and impacts in the grass exactly where the already slain slime had been. The remnants of the slime bursts into a puddle and he flinches as some of the gunk gets on his face and maybe even into his hair. Laughing, he turns around and finds Kieran is laughing too, he just hadn't been able to hear it over his own far more loud laughter.
It's so rare that they laugh and it's never more than the quiet one they're offering now. It enraptures him the way their eyes close and crease with mirth, the way their face dips down and hair falls over their eyes. He walks over to them without really thinking about it, the sword lowered to the ground as he settles his free hand on the crook of Kieran's arm.
Kieran opens their eyes and stares down at him. They don't say a word and neither does he. Maybe one of them should because he's close, close enough he could hug them like he always does, but that's the last thing on his mind at the moment. His eyes keep tracing the soft curve of their pale lips. Instinctively, he licks his own.
Kieran watches the movement but only for a moment before their eyes dart to the space just behind him to the left. Hackles rising, he raises his sword and swings behind him. A zombie wearing a wedding dress and veil comes apart in two neat halves in the middle. The groom next to it has its head struck by a falling star and its skull bursts as if a cannon had gone through it. He spreads out his wings to shield Kieran from any of the mess.
"We should head back." He says while looking around for anymore monsters. Now that the spell has been broken, he's flushed with sweat and bouncing with nerves at the realization at what he had almost did.
--
Every time that he's walked up the steps of the cobblestone structure in the desert, the flame of the torches wavering in the night air he's seen the old man, the dungeon's supposed guardian, standing just near the entrance. Always back turned to him; their torn, once nearly regal clothing and silver hair rustling in the wind. When his foot lands on the final step towards the dungeon, it's then as always that the old man turns a few degrees to regard him. At first those red eyes had been curious. Maybe even hopeful. After each consecutive failure, the old man's eyes grow despondent. It's the look in their eyes that makes him drag himself back here to try over and over. He's familiar with that resigned, world-weary look. He's seen it on Nasrin and very, very rarely, Kieran.
There's a connection he's missing he's sure.
"Come to meet your end once more?" Is the question the old man asks him when the two of them stand on the same level ground, a hundred feet apart.
He stretches out his wings. Unsheathes Starfury, as one of the books he'd brought for Kieran had dubbed the sword. After days of getting familiar with it, the hilt of the sword feels like the hand of a friend.
"Maybe." He offers, resting the blade on one pauldron.
"You don't sound confident. Why even go through with this?"
"...You're cursed, aren't you?"
The old man whips around to fully look at him, their red eyes sharp with insult. "What would you know of curses, boy?" Is spat with such venom that he feels it like a physical blow. It leaves him reeling for a breath or two before he next speaks.
"There's a woman like you where I live," He tells them and when the words process the anger on the man's face falters. "It's not the same exact circumstances, but she's cursed just the same."
When the old man dips their face down, eyes to the ancient cobblestone, he can see that their silver hair is thick and shiny, despite their age. Their skin, while wrinkled, held a pointed tautness to it. This stranger, whoever they were, had to be no less than seventy, yet had such a vitality to them.
Is the curse, whatever it might entail, be the reason for their strength? Or is it like he hopes; that the old man carries the same grace and vigor at this age because they have spent a lifetime fighting and perfecting their craft.
When the old man lifts their face to look at him again, their eyes are sharp.
"Did you fall to her as well?"
It's a jab, he knows, but instead of taking offense he lets himself grin just a bit.
"I did. We killed each other the first time we met. Now I invite her over for tea." He offers with teeth.
The raucous laughter that erupts from the old man is unexpected, but highly welcome once he calms from the initial startle. It's the kind of laugh that isn't at all dignified or polite, not at all like how the old man dresses or talks. It's infectious.
"...Is she happy despite the blood on her hands?" The man asks after a tick of silence when their laughter has died off.
"Ask her yourself." He says challengingly and widens his stance.