#so him realizing that his entire life has been with and For sorey and now that he has this destiny & they stand on diverging paths | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miragetemple · 6 years ago

Text

:ToZ/ToB: Memories Like a Mountain

Title: Memories Like a Mountain Rating: G Character/Pairing: Edna, Eizen, some OCs, Eizen & Edna Spoilers: Spoilers for both games, though mainly Zestiria. Words: 7,711 Summary: “Earth malakhim,” Eizen had once said, “have memories as strong as mountains. Where the winds of time chip away at and rob humans and malakhim alike of their memories, we’re blessed with the ability to remember everything. No matter how much time has passed.”

AN: This is the full, uncut version of the fic I wrote for @zinestiria many months ago! I’ve been dying to share it, and now I finally can~!

The main inspiration for this fic really was comparing how it felt for me to “lose” my brother after he left home for college. I imagine Edna probably felt the same, so I wanted to explore it and try to convey those feelings. It also helps that Eizen’s a total chatterbox about Edna in Berseria. Most of the major memories here were taken straight from ones he either recounted or hinted to have happened. I placed them as chronologically as I could figure them from his vague indications. Some aren’t completely accurate to what Eizen says happened, but....such is the price of writing on a time limit with minimal planning lol.

Please enjoy! Thank you to everyone in the zine who helped me cut down to what it needed to be for the zine version and thank you to my friends who beta’d the full version in preparation for today. Thank you also to @mez-zo for creating beautiful page border art to go with the fic in the zine.

AO3 | FFN | Here...

“Earth malakhim,” Eizen had once said, “have memories as strong as mountains. Where the winds of time chip away at and rob humans and malakhim alike of their memories, we’re blessed with the ability to remember everything. No matter how much time has passed.”

Blessed. Is that what it could really be called? True, the fact she could remember so much did come in handy. Like putting Meebo in his place, piquing Sorey’s interest, or filling in the gaps of Lailah’s own memory. She wouldn’t call those blessings, though. If anything, they were perks. A big difference. Outside of those perks, her memories only served as painful reminders of things she used to have—things she’ll never have again. What purpose did that serve except to capitalize on her loneliness?

Her limited understanding of the humans Eizen loved so much told her that most human memories start when they’re about four years old. For her, though, her memories start from the moment she opened her eyes after materializing from the earthpulse. Seraphim—or malakhim as they’d called themselves back then—aren’t normally born as babies, but she was a rare case—or so she’d been told. She hadn’t been a baby baby like Meebo had been, but she was small enough and close enough in age that she might as well have been one. She didn’t cry like a human baby, nor did she move much from where she formed, but her presence had been felt in the small seraphim village nearby. For a little while her vision had just been full of the blue sky above her, but then it was obscured by a face—Eizen’s face.

They blinked at each other, mutually curious about the unfamiliar sight. When he picked her up to look at her more closely, his hands had been bare and she can still remember the warmth that radiated from his palms. She’d felt the connection being drawn between them from the moment their eyes had met. As she reached out her stubby hand to childishly grab at his dumb nose the connection grew stronger and then it solidified. This smiling idiot was her brother, and though she was still new to the world at the time the realization of that bond made one thing clear to her: she wasn’t alone.

Many seraphim began learning to refine their artes very early on in life. For Edna, she started using artes subconsciously at an earlier age than most seraphim and it was only when a rock almost fell on her that Eizen began to properly teach her. Well, as best as he could, given their different fighting styles. She was a smart girl, though, so even with Eizen’s bumbling teaching methods she grasped how to control them quickly enough.

From there, it was just a matter of refinement. That happened over the course of several years, on and off. A new arte here, a different technique there, and though it was pointless to consider, she couldn’t help but compare herself to him in terms of their ability. He’d lived longer than her, so of course he knew more artes than her and could perform more powerful feats with his than she could. That didn’t stop her from trying to emulate him anyway, and every time the miscalculation of power came back to bite her. One time when trying to mimic one of the ice spells she saw him use, the arte came out too big and the backlash caused frostbite over both of her hands and forearms. Eizen’s mother hen tendencies got worse after that. Despite the lectures she’d get, his worried admonishment always came with the added assurance, “You’re fine as you are, don’t push or overwork yourself like that.”

Her first experience with a thunderstorm was a particularly strong memory. It was a warm Summer day in their tiny mountain village. At first there was just a light drizzle and Edna—age 7—stood under the awning of the simple house they lived in, watching the rain fall while staying dry. She hated the sensation of getting wet, but the sound of rain was nice. Calming. At least it was until the rain began to fall harder, chasing any remaining seraphim—except the weirdo water types—under shelter. As soon as she’d adjusted to the changed rhythm of the rain a bright flash of light and a loud BOOM that shook the ground beneath her feet had her shrieking and running into the house. Eizen, who’d been reading a book, barely had time to react before Edna crawled into his lap and clung tightly to him, hiding her face in his shoulder.

“Edna, what’s—” Eizen started, but was cut off when another clap of thunder resounded from outside.

It wasn’t as earth shaking as the first, but still powerful and loud and Edna’s shoulders tensed with the hitch of her breath.

“Ah,” he’d said, shifting only to mark his place and put the book down so he could gently pat Edna’s back in comfort, “we don’t normally get thunderstorms up at this altitude. This is the first one we’ve had in a while.”

“It’s loud,” she said, muffled slightly by his shoulder, “I don’t like it. Make it—eek!” Another thunderclap and she began to tremble, “Make it stop!”

Eizen chuckled before wrapping both arms around her, placing his other hand on the back of her head and petting her hair.

“That’s unfortunately not in my power to do, but it’ll go away on its own in a few minutes.”

Nonsense, she thought. Eizen was dumb, but he was bigger than her and stronger too.

“Yes you can, just punch it like you do everything else!”

Eizen laughed again, this time louder.

“I can’t punch the rain, Edna.”

“Not the rain, dumbo, the loud boomy thing!”

“The thunder,” he corrected her, “is just the sound of competing currents of electricity in the air. It can’t hurt you. Listen, the storm’s already passing.”

She did and he was right. The rain had gone back to its gentle drizzle and the latest clap of thunder was faint compared to the previous ones. This realization made her relax and lean back, though the ‘I told you so’ look on Eizen’s face made her harrumph and puff her cheeks out in annoyance.

“Whatever. You could’ve taken it.”

She left him with that as she ran to her room, Eizen’s boisterous laugh behind her.

Part of her had always known, somewhere in the back of her mind, that something was wrong with Eizen. A faint darkness always surrounded him, but he didn’t seem to mind it so neither did she. True, it did seem at the time like she got hurt or sick more often whenever Eizen was around, but those were nothing. Minor, annoying inconveniences if anything. Eizen, at the time, had also been making more and more trips down the mountain to the nearest human village. To get supplies, or so he’d always tell her. Every time he returned, the cloud was a little more visible.

Convinced the humans must be doing something to him, she tried to get him to stop going.

“Eizen, you should stop visiting those humans,” she’d said one evening.

She didn’t consider herself particularly close to any of the other seraphim in the village at the time. She didn’t need to be in order to find things out about the world she lived in. She’d overheard murmurs that most seraphim by then had adopted vagabond lifestyles—that seraphic villages like theirs were pretty much a relic of a dead era long before she was born. But the most important thing she’d overheard was whispers of judgement directed at Eizen, because while most of them did live in house-like structures Eizen was the only seraph in the village to fully adopt living like a human, even the unnecessary parts like eating. It worried her, for various reasons.

“Hm? Why?” He’d asked, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

She’d clicked her tongue. She knew this topic wouldn’t be easy, but Eizen’s stubbornness was another beast entirely.

“People are talking.”

“So?”

“They’re saying mean things about you!”

“And?”

“So you should stop hanging around earth-dwellers so much.”

“No.”

“Eizen!”

“What?!”

She narrowed her eyes into a glare, intending to be intimidating, but the effect wasn’t as potent as she wanted it to be. But she tried. Eizen was unaffected and just kept his arms crossed.

“Don’t you care about what the others think and say?” She finally asked after a few moments of a glaring contest between them.

“Not particularly. Never have. Do you?”

She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again without a word, frowning instead. Idly, her fingers clenched around the handle of her closed umbrella—a gift Eizen had brought from the village a few weeks ago—and twisted it where it lay against her shoulder. Thinking on his question, there wasn’t really any reason for her to care what other seraphim thought, was there? It irritated her, sure, but it wasn’t the real issue. The real issue, she realized, was humans. Humans with their poisonous clouds of darkness, latching carelessly to Eizen and infecting him, draining him slowly of his essence. The closer they got to him, the more distant he felt to her. She didn’t understand it. The umbrella’s weight on her shoulder grounded her where she was. It really was a nice umbrella…

“No,” she finally answered, then changed the topic slightly, “but I want to meet these humans.”

It took some convincing and a lot of arguing, but finally Eizen caved and the next morning they both walked down the mountain towards the human village. On the way Eizen began to ramble about the history of the village. Edna feigned disinterest but didn’t actively try and stop him. The village, it turned out, was a proper, bustling town in the foothills of their mountain, though when Eizen had been younger—before she was born—the town had been a small hamlet coinciding with their own seraphic village. Many people at the time had lost their resonance, but there remained a few who could at least see Eizen when he visited, though the numbers steadily became smaller as time went on. Edna wondered why, then, Eizen bothered coming so much if most people couldn’t see him.

It turned out that, of the few people who could see him, this included a family of merchants who ran the town’s tavern. When she and Eizen entered there were only a few patrons in the main sitting area who wasted no time in complaining about the magically opening door. They barked their complaints then returned quietly to their drinks and their own conversations. The barkeeper, though, had the light of recognition in his eyes as he looked up and saw them before subtly motioning them over to a secluded part of the tavern where talking to oneself didn’t seem suspicious at all. He, Edna learned, was the great-great-something grandson of the human Eizen first met and resonance ran strong in their bloodline. He greeted her with a smile, but all she did was nod in acknowledgement. Then he and Eizen talked and clapped each other on the shoulder before Eizen ordered drinks for them both—beer for himself and hot chocolate for her. She watched these happenings unfold with only a little boredom, clutching her umbrella tightly against her shoulder. So far her impression of humanity was that they were loud and rude. Nothing about them seemed interesting enough to take her brother away.

When the barkeeper returned with their drinks he also set a small plate down in front of Edna. She stared at the flaky, vaguely heart shaped pastry in confusion before directing the look at him instead. It was something called a palmier, apparently. At Eizen’s encouragement she took a tiny bite out of it, expecting it to taste terrible. Instead, the sweetest taste she’d ever tasted flooded her mouth and before she could stop herself, the pastry was gone. Okay, so maybe humans could do some things alright.

After that, whenever Eizen went down to the village he’d always bring back a small box of palmiers for her. She didn’t know why, but something about them was just…calming. They made a decent comfort food. Maybe humans had artes they used to make their sweets addictive. She didn’t know and frankly she didn’t care. They helped calm her nerves and that’s all that mattered. Eventually Eizen had gotten them so much that the barkeeper gave him the recipe.

Seraphim don’t have birthdays, but Eizen had made their birthdays traditions in their household—yet another human trait he’d adopted over the years. Hers was coming up soon, so one evening he shooed her out of the house with the errand of collecting firewood for them. She protested, because why do they need firewood when there are fire seraphim nearby, but she gave in and wandered around the outskirts of the village. When she returned hours later with a small bundle of twigs and sticks in her arms the smell of palmiers hit her as she approached, her pace picking up a little. Eizen, predictably, was in the kitchen and told her to put the wood she’d gathered in the fire under their oven. She did, but the moment the wood touched the small flame it grew in size with a roar and surged outward from the opening. It happened faster than she could react and the next thing she knew the side of most of her right leg had a nasty burn along it. Her screams had Eizen by her side in seconds, mother hen mode in full force. Despite her protests he took time to treat the burn. Consequently, the palmiers he’d been making for her came out more like charcoal than the proper pastry she knew. It was upsetting, but more upsetting was the pained expression on Eizen’s face as he helped her to bed, the burnt treats forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Eizen,” she’d said, “it’s fine. I’m fine. I still want to eat them.”

But her assurance and insistence were only met with Eizen’s frown deepening, a shake of his head and a pat to the top of her own before he left to clean up. Her leg hurt, but watching his back as he left the room made her heart hurt even more, seized with an anxiousness that she couldn’t yet understand.

A few days after that incident, Eizen declared that from that day onward it would be safer for Edna to do the cooking for them. She didn’t understand the logic there, considering she was the one who got burnt, so wouldn’t it make more sense to keep her away from fires? But Eizen had made a decision and, like a mountain in a hurricane, he refused to yield, so Edna agreed to it. Despite the bad burn, fire didn’t bother her and if it made Eizen feel more at ease then she figured it was fine.

Despite the switch they’d made, Edna wasn’t any less prone to injury. Several times she’d stub her toe or fall. It wasn’t anything serious—not like the burn she received before—but ever since then Eizen had seemed to worry more and fret over even the tiniest injury, so she began to try and hide any new injuries from him. She didn’t want him to worry. When he worried, he would go to the village. And when he did that the cloud at his back only grew darker and bigger.

It didn’t really seem like that big of a deal until a Fall day when she was 8. She was outside, stoking the beginnings of a fire in their make-shift pit; because after the burn incident Eizen figured it’d be safer for her to work with an open fire instead of their oven. Dinner was going to be whatever Eizen and Joel—another seraph from their village—brought back from hunting in the nearby woods.

Things were going well, until the sky opened abruptly with rain, dousing her fire and ruining the wood she’d spent all morning gathering. It was unfortunate, but just as she’d turned to run for cover a painful stabbing sensation filled her chest and made breathing feel as if her lungs were full of rocks. A domain had appeared. A powerful, malevolent domain. The other seraphim that were out of their homes were similarly frozen in place, fear on their faces as this kind of domain meant only one thing.

Weakly, she turned her head in the direction of the woods, the trees appearing darker through the purple haze of the domain. It…It wasn’t possible, was it? He couldn’t have…

“Ei—”

But just as she began to speak a large shadow crashed through the trees and flew with impressive speed straight for her. She had no time to react, barely any time to scream, and the next thing she knew she was high in the air, trapped in the talons of a dragon.

The beast let out an angry roar as it flew higher above the clouds. For a moment she was afraid it was going to drop her from this height, but as it reached its apex it dove straight back to the ground, the dive punctuated by a shrill scream from her. Like when it left the woods it raced down the mountainside on the wind, heading straight for and into the human town. The next moments were fuzzy, the constant jerking around by the dragon causing her to go in and out of consciousness. She remembered screaming. From her and the multitude of humans being attacked by it. She remembered fire and blood, death and destruction.

Eizen, stop! She’d thought at one point, fearfully convinced of who this dragon was.

When she regained consciousness again the wind was once more in her hair as the dragon flew back up the mountain. Behind them, from what she could see, was nothing but smoke and ruined buildings.

He’d…He’d destroyed the town he loved…killed the humans he loved…and now he was going to kill their fellow seraphim too… No. No no no no no NO!

“EIZEN!!!”

But before the dragon could make it to their village something stopped it with powerful force and it shrieked in pain, loosening its grip on her. She pinched her eyes shut with a squeal, bracing for impact that never came, partly because someone caught her before she hit the ground and partly because she fainted again after barely registering that fact.

When her eyes opened once more it was to the sight of the dragon dissolving into light. Standing over it, with his back to her, was Eizen. As he turned to walk over to where she was resting against a rock her eyes sweltered with heat before overflowing with equally hot tears. From fear or relief, she didn’t know.

Eizen knelt to her eye level when he was close enough, his smile strained as he reached out to pet her head and brush a tear away with his thumb.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he’d said.

Such reassurance should’ve relieved her, but it only served to make her cry more.

“Eizen,” she’d managed to say through her tears, weakly reaching out to clasp his sleeves tightly in her small fists, making sure he was real. “Eizen. Eizen.”

She had no idea what she was trying to say. All she could think to say right now was his name, whenever the flow of her tears allowed her to speak. Eizen hadn’t been the dragon. He wasn’t a dragon. He hadn’t become a dragon. He was here, he was still here. The fabric of his jacket was rough against her fingers. He was real. This was real.

Whatever she’d been trying to say, Eizen understood. Carefully, he scooped her up again into his arms and she wasted no time in burying her face against his shoulder, muffling the rest of her crying there as she clung to him. By the time they reached their village, her tears had mostly all been cried out. Now she was just tired. And sore. Ugh.

Rather than head straight for their house, though, Eizen paused as they crossed the threshold into the village.

“Eizen,” said someone with a deep voice, “who was that?”

She lifted her head from where it was perched to look over her shoulder. Almost all of the seraphim in the village were gathered in the center, most of them looking apprehensively at Eizen. The one who’d spoken was the elder, who stood in front of the rest. Though he was the oldest in the village, he didn’t actually look all that old. But his face was hardened with a stern expression that made Edna anxious.

“Joel,” Eizen answered simply.

Joel. The seraph who went hunting with Eizen. She hadn't known him that well, but she knew he strongly disapproved of Eizen's interest and exposure to humanity.

“We were hunting together when he started up an argument with me. I tried to defuse it, but he just got angrier. Then he turned into that,” Eizen continued.

“I see,” said the elder, his arms crossed and eyes closed, “This has been on our minds for some time now, but, with recent events being what they are…we think it’s best that you leave. The sooner the better.”

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the assembled crowd of seraphim. She’d feared this outcome, but hadn’t expected it to happen like this or this quickly. Though this was shocking to her, she strangely felt numb to it. Perhaps due to the overwhelming emotions from earlier.

Eizen scoffed, “What, am I dangerous now? I neutralized the dragon for you.”

“Be that as it may, it’s become clear now that your very presence puts all of us in danger,” the elder’s gaze shifted to her and she reflexively clung tighter to Eizen, “Especially to the little one. I think it’s best that she stays with us, but you need to—”

“NO!” The cry left her lips before she could think to stop it, her arms around Eizen’s neck in a vice grip as she furiously shook her head against his shoulder. The gentle pressure of Eizen’s hand on the back of her head made her stop flailing, but the thought of separation had her crying into his jacket once more.

“She refuses,” Eizen said.

She heard the elder sigh deeply through his nose and imagined he still had his arms crossed and eyes closed.

“Very well,” he said, “It appears you’ve already poisoned her anyway.”

The crowd dispersed after that, a few whispering to each other as they went to their own houses. They were expected to leave by morning. Although there hadn’t been more than light structural damage in their village, the human town wasn’t as fortunate. It was completely destroyed and not a single human survived. Consequently, the area had been soaked in malevolence. It didn’t pose them any immediate threat, but there was a worry that given time it would eventually drift upwards into the village. Many of the seraphim expressed apprehension at that, some murmuring suggestions that they just abandon the place, adopt vagabond lifestyles like the rest of the world’s seraphim had already done.

She didn’t care about that now, though. She was being kicked out of the only home she’d ever known, and it was likely that in a few years it wouldn’t be there anymore anyway. But that was fine, she told herself. She’d only really been connected to the village because Eizen was there anyway. So, as long as she was where Eizen was, she’d never really be homeless. Eizen was her home. As she lay on her bed after packing up what meager possessions she could think to take with her she turned her gaze to the window. The rain that had started from the dragon’s appearance was no longer falling, but the sky remained dark with clouds.

When they left the next morning, no one saw them off. She didn’t know how long they wandered for, only that it had been many days and nights of walking or getting carried when she was too tired to walk anymore. Finally, they stopped as they approached the peak of another mountain. There was no one around—human or seraphim—and the air was clean. Eizen deemed the place good enough to settle. It wasn’t a bad place, she thought.

Since there wasn’t any seraphic village here nor were any of the human villages in reasonable walking distance, there wasn’t much of a point in building a house here too. They didn’t need to either, since there was a small enclosure of rock carved into the mountain that would give them suitable shelter. Even so, it wasn’t as comfortable as the bed she’d always had. She didn’t complain, though. She wouldn’t! Past comforts meant nothing anymore. All that mattered was that she still had Eizen and now…now there was no way anything else bad could happen. Nothing else could push him away. No humans would take him from her now.

Or so she’d believed until one day, after they’d been settled into their new home for a while, Eizen made a sudden announcement.

“Edna, I’ve decided to go on a journey.”

It was late and they were eating dinner—a light vegetable soup. The sudden declaration made her pause in her eating, though she resumed shortly after the initial shock had passed.

“Okay, when are we leaving?” Because of course he’d take her with him, right? A glance up to his face revealed a frown and his eyes hidden behind his stupid hair. …Right? “Eizen?”

“I meant alone, Edna. You’ll be staying here.”

Her bowl clattered to the ground as she jumped to her feet, soup forgotten.

“No I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. I have to go alone.”

“No you don’t! I can go with you!”

“It’s too dangerous! You’ll be safer here.”

“Is this because of what they said before? I thought you didn’t care about that!”

“I don’t, but they were right. I’ve let this curse hurt you for too long already.”

“You’re not the one hurting me! Take me with you, I can help!”

“No, I’ve made up my mind.”

“But—”

“Edna! You’re staying and that’s final!”

She ground her teeth and clenched her hands into fists as she glared at him. This didn’t make sense! Where had she gone wrong?! Why wasn’t he letting her go with him?! He’d set his own bowl aside when he started talking, so now his arms were crossed over his chest and his mouth was drawn in a frown. His typical stance that told her no further arguing would make him budge. She felt tears forming at the corner of her eyes, but before they could fall she turned quickly on her heel and ran outside, further up the mountain. He didn’t chase after her.

Later when she returned to their makeshift home, Eizen was already asleep and the mess she’d made earlier had been cleaned up. She stayed where she was at the entrance for a moment before grabbing her small cot and dragging it over to be next to Eizen’s, flopping down on it so her back was pressed to his. A simple comfort to tell her he was still there. Seraphim didn’t need to sleep anyway. She fully intended to stay awake until Eizen got up. If he was so intent on leaving her, then she just wouldn’t let him! Or so she stubbornly thought, not realizing when her eyes grew heavy and she fell asleep anyway.

In the morning, the first thing she noticed was the lack of warmth at her back. The realization had her sitting up quickly, heart seized in panic as she frantically looked around. He was gone. Did he really just leave without so much as a word to her? Was she too harsh last night? These panicked thoughts raced through her mind as she got up to investigate, but just as she was about to move Eizen appeared at the entrance. He had a dead bird in hand. Adrenaline left her in a relieved sigh as she slumped back down onto her cot.

As she made breakfast for them he told her that he wasn’t going to leave immediately, but it would be within the next day or two. He wouldn’t be gone forever, only until he found a cure for his curse. And most importantly, he’d keep in touch through letters. That was all fine, she supposed, but she still felt bitter that he was leaving her and not even giving her the option of going with him.

For the rest of the day she secluded herself on top of their rocky home, scribbling away with paper and pen she’d borrowed from their belongings. When she finally came back down the sun was low in the sky and Eizen was reading one of his books by firelight. Without any preamble she marched over and held what she’d spent all day working on in front of his face. A small self-portrait of her that barely took up a corner of the page.

“So you won’t forget what I look like,” she’d said.

Eizen blinked curiously at the paper before setting his book down and taking it in hand instead. He smiled at the childish scribble, a genuinely happy and amused smile that Edna hadn’t seen him do in a while. Then he took one of the pieces of paper and pens and scribbled for a few moments before presenting her with an equally bad self-portrait of himself.

“Seems only fair you have one too,” he’d said, “but they’ll get ruined if they stay exposed like this.”

Then something seemed to dawn on him and he got up to rummage through one of their packs. She watched him curiously and when he finally found what he was looking for he came back to her side. In his hands were two lockets—one on a long chain and the other on a short band of ribbon.

“If we do it like this,” he explained while gently tearing around the edges of both of their drawings, making them small enough that they could fit inside the lockets, “then we’ll always be close to each other, no matter how far away I am.”

In the long chained locket, he put her self-portrait then put it around his neck. He did the same with his in the smaller locket and then reached out to put it around her neck. She brought her hand up to gently touch the smooth stone of the locket and the simple action had tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Eizen’s hand was heavy on top of her head as he ruffled her hair gently.

“Don’t cry, Edna. I told you this morning, didn’t I? I won’t be gone forever. I’ll be back, I promise.”

They went to bed after that. When she next woke up, the cot beside her was cold and a note had been placed under her arm. It had instructions for how to send a letter, an apology, and a repeat of the promise spoken last night. Edna read it, crumpled it up and tossed it aside, then rolled over onto Eizen’s abandoned cot and went back to sleep.

Seraphim, as should be expected, don’t have a writing system. Most didn’t write at all or even know how to write using the human’s script. It changed so much, most of them never bothered with it. However, years before they were kicked out of the village, Eizen had thought it a good idea to teach her how to write. She never used it or had a need to back then, but he made her practice anyway. Now, in hindsight, perhaps his plan to leave her had been in the works longer than she’d suspected.

It was only a few moon cycles after Eizen left that she received a letter—her first letter. At first she didn’t know what to do about it, until the Turtlez who delivered it suggested writing a reply before wandering off to give her time to write one. But that was the problem. All Eizen’s letter consisted of was an apology for abruptly leaving, some descriptions of what he’d seen so far, and a few crude drawings. She simultaneously had a lot she could say—that she wanted to say—and not much to say at all.

By the time evening had fallen and the Turtlez had come back to check on her, she’d filled at least 5 sheets of crumpled up paper with crossed out starts and sentences. This was annoying, she decided. Why did she need to only keep in touch with him this way? There wouldn’t be a need for any of this if he’d just taken her with him to begin with! Stupid curse! Stupid Eizen!!

In the end, there was only one thing she could think to say in response to his apology—to his letter in general. She wrote it quickly, folded and sealed it the way his instructions had said, and sent it off with the Turtlez. In the middle of the paper, in handwriting that was out of practice and childishly big, there was only a single sentence:

I don’t care if it’s dangerous, I want to be with you!

- Hephsin Yulind

Despite various attempts she made in her letters since then, Eizen didn’t come home and always replied with more apologies and promises that he’d be back. Eventually, she gave up trying to persuade him. For a while after their first letter exchange she’d write short letters in response, but lately she had stopped writing them. It just became too bothersome. After all, unlike wherever Eizen was now, nothing changed about her life on the mountain. She maintained a sleep schedule out of habit, practiced her artes at the summit, sometimes ate, and sometimes read. Day in, day out. Nothing special to report usually. Besides, even with her lack of response Eizen continued to send letters and gifts.

It was because of one of those letters that she was sitting on a rock at the top of the path that led down the mountain. Her umbrella was open and resting on her shoulder as she twirled it subconsciously, her eyes scanning the path below. The letter she had gotten a few days before was Eizen telling her that he was coming home. For how long wasn’t said. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but hope that it was forever.

She had been 10 years old when Eizen left. Though she had tried at first, she quickly lost track of how long it had been. At least 200 years, she thought. There was a point where she had noticed herself visibly aging and panicked a little about it. So she stopped aging quite as noticeably. It wouldn’t be good if she looked nothing like what Eizen remembered when he came home, she reasoned. If it at least looked like no time had passed at all, then…then maybe they could pretend that no time had actually passed. It may’ve been wishful thinking, but wish for it she did.

She was brought out of her thoughts when she noticed movement at the bottom of the path. Her eyes widened as she jumped up from her perch, the familiar bright yellow of Eizen’s hair unmistakable against the dull brown of the mountain path. The umbrella was no longer spinning, but the handle was clenched tightly in her hands as she watched him slowly come into focus.

When he was close enough that she could see his face more clearly he smiled and waved and suddenly the weight of 200 years of loneliness crashed down upon her heart.

“Eizen!” She called, her voice cracking as tears formed in her eyes.

200 years was a long time, she decided. 200 years too many. And now, finally, it was over. Finally, they could be a family again. Finally, time could move on as it was meant to. Even the dark cloud—which had only grown bigger and darker since he left—wasn’t going to take this away from her.

She closed her umbrella before taking an unthinking step forward, intending to run the rest of the way down to meet him since he was being a slowpoke. That had been the intent, but…

As soon as she took more than two steps forward an inhuman screech resounded above her. Looking up revealed a hoard of six Garuda hellions descending right for her. She hadn’t been prepared, so instead of using an arte to fend them off she helplessly waved her umbrella around at them; trying to knock them away and step away from them. It seemed to work a little, however she hadn’t been watching where her feet were going and didn’t hear Eizen’s warning until it was too late. Her foot met open air instead of solid ground. She screeched as her body became weightless, falling over the open side of the cliff. It didn’t last long though, as she immediately heard the sound of an arte going off, the Garuda hellion’s painful death cries and Eizen’s arms catching her out of mid-air and returning to the top of the path.

Her eyes had pinched shut when she began falling, but now they opened. She smiled, but when she found Eizen’s face it immediately fell. Eizen was frowning, his teeth gritted and eyes hidden by his bangs. It reminded her of how he looked when he’d saved her from the dragon all those years ago, and before that when she was bedridden with a burn. This realization took any relief she had been feeling and replaced it with newfound fear. He wasn’t—

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here. I thought it would work this time, but…”

He was.

She tried to get his attention, pull him from those annoying thoughts he was muttering under his breath. That train of thought he was on only led to one destination and she wouldn’t let it get there. She’d waited long enough already! But despite her attempts, even when she desperately reached out to grab at his coat sleeves, he continued to mutter about failed methods and danger.

“Eizen!”

But even calling his name and reassuring him she was okay wasn’t getting through. It was just a small hellion attack! It was purely coincidental! So what if before that moment there had never been any hellions this high up on the mountain?! It didn’t mean anything; it definitely didn’t mean that he needed to leave again!

Yet he set her down anyway with another apology before he turned to walk back down the path.

“Wait!” She cried, reaching out to grab the back of his coat, missing by mere centimeters. He paused anyway, so she didn’t waste the opportunity, “Don’t go! You only just got here! At least stay one night?”

It was the desperate pleas of a lonely little girl, and though Eizen had looked like he was considering it he still shook his head.

“It’s too dangerous still. I need to try something else,” he said before looking over his shoulder at her. He was smiling in a way that was supposed to be comforting, but she knew better than that, “I’ll be back, I promise.”

And for the second time in her life, she could only watch helplessly as he walked with his back to her, growing smaller and smaller the further he became. If she reached out, she could grab him, but her hand would only find empty air.

Her legs shook before she collapsed to her knees, her vision swimming with built up tears. Eizen wasn’t in sight anymore, so she dropped her hands to the ground, clenching her fists and disturbing the soil as she did.

Why? Why why why why why WHY?! He’d been so close to being home! If those stupid Garuda… If she had just…

A drop of water on the ground between her hands that wasn’t rain. It felt hard to breathe, like a hand had plunged into her chest and was now squeezing around her heart. Her eyes were burning, more droplets joining the first, and all she could think to do now was scream. A sharp, mournful scream. He still didn’t come back.

She received another letter soon after that. Another useless apology, another meaningless promise. Unlike before, she didn’t answer the first letter. Or the second, or the third, or the fortieth. Gifts came every few letters, some interesting, some weird. Though she accepted them and created a small pile of them, she saw them for what they were—an extension of his apologies that would accompany them. When the letter confirming what she suspected deep down came to her, she finally replied. She supposed she’d have to since Eizen no longer intended to come home again.

The letters and gifts continued for many centuries. Eizen didn’t apologize as much as he did before, and when reading his letters, he sounded happy to her. The realization was bittersweet—that her brother was happier among humans than he’d ever been around her, though she supposed it had always been the case. She just hadn’t wanted to see it.

Since Eizen no longer planned to come home, she supposed she wasn’t really bound to the mountain anymore like she had been, yet she stayed anyway. No matter how boring it was, it felt like she needed to be there.

As time went on, she noticed, Eizen’s letters became less lengthy, and then less frequent—a development that began to concern her when she received a single glove as a gift from one letter, then his boots several letters later. He’d explained that he bought a new pair, so he felt like she should have his old ones instead. A simple, logical explanation that she would’ve bought…if he hadn’t sounded like he was planning on dying.

The last letter she received was delivered to her on a summer day. It didn’t have a gift, but it was an activity report. Something or someone was bothering Maotelus’ domain, he’d said in the letter. So he was going to investigate and take care of the problem. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, a typical Eizen letter at that point. Except for the way it ended:

Remember that it’s harmful to hold on to the past. Let it go and keep facing forward. Always keep in mind that you steer your own ship.

- Uzfmiwuw Uexuv

It was philosophical nonsense that Eizen often wrote about in his letters. He’d never said them to her like that, though. Reading the words, a pit of anxiety formed in her stomach and remained there into the next day. Something was wrong, and she feared she knew what.

She was forcefully awoken several nights later by the weight of a domain, the likes of which she hadn’t felt in 1,000 years. It was suffocating, each painful breath she tried to take making her choke on the malevolent air. A brief flash of memory to the purple haze of a forest and she was on her feet quickly to look for the domain’s source. The malevolence here was thicker and more oppressive than the domain she remembered. What that meant, she didn’t know.

Stumbling outside, she was greeted by the sight of a familiar black shape against the purple hued sky, the sound of its roar—its scream—making her fall to her knees as she helplessly watched it fly around the peak. All of a sudden, she was 8 years old again, kidnapped by a dragon that had spontaneously transformed. The dragon back then hadn’t been Eizen, but this one…

“Eizen…” She said, her voice small and strained with tears that were beginning to fall down her cheeks.

Eizen finally came home, but he wasn’t Eizen anymore.

And so, what was the point of this trip down memory lane? Being able to remember so much in such detail was probably useful for some, she supposed, but it was utterly useless to her. She envied Lailah for being older than her and only barely remembering her own earliest memories, Zaveid for being third oldest and also only remembering bits and pieces, and Meebo who was too much of a baby to even have many memories to count yet.

These three seraphim, and even the humans she’d begrudgingly agreed to travel with, were far more blessed than she was. Blessed with the ability to forget. She wished she could forget, even a little bit.

“It’s harmful to hold on to the past,” had been Eizen’s last written words to her.

“You may not have journeyed together, but with this you can share the memories,” Rose had said as they all looked upon Eizen’s grave.

Such contradicting sentiments. Memories weren’t blessings to be passed around like stories at a campfire. Memories, especially for earth seraphim like her, were a curse. She was cursed with the weight of her whole lifetime of memories, and many more to come in the future. She always would be. Much like Eizen had been cursed from birth, perhaps this too was her own kind of curse. A curse she didn’t start feeling until he came home as a dragon—and again as she helped to bring 200 years of his suffering to an end.

Mountains are strong. They endure no matter what disasters are thrown at them. If the oceans rise, they become islands. If the earth shakes, they grow taller. If the wind erodes them, they only grow rounder. If a fire wipes away all life on its surface, the mountain beneath stands strong in the end. Eizen’s love of humanity and the journey he went on had given him many mountains of memories. If she continued her own journeys and made more memories, would she suffer the same fate as Eizen?

She supposed only time could tell.

#Tales of Zestiria #Tales of Berseria #Eizen #Edna #zine fic

19 notes · View notes

leyacer · 7 years ago

Photo

I finally finished sketching some of the others in this AU! I originaly planned to just draw the other half of the party, but I added Symonne because I wanted to draw her.

Just like last time, ideas and stuff under the cut!

Sorey, Mikleo, Lailah and Edna

General story stuff:

When it wasn’t known yet that Sorey was the Avatar, the few Air Nomads that had survived the genocide were hunted by the Fire Nation, just in case the Avatar had somehow survived as well. Thus, the Air Nomads went into hiding, barely even bending anymore just in case there were spies or bounty hunters.

Team recruitment order:

Start: Sorey + Mikleo

After leaving the North Pole, before the desert: +Edna +Dezel

After Serpent’s Pass: +Alisha

After the drill: +Rose

After the coup of Ba Sing Se: -Alisha

Before trek to the Fire Nation: +Zaveid +Lailah (in that order)

Day of Black Sun: -Dezel +/-Alisha

Alisha

A non-bender skilled at fighting with spears, she joined the military as soon as she became old enough to, and quickly gained a lot of respect amongst her comrades for her talent with the spear and her firm but kind heart.

Eventually, she gets sent to Ba Sing Se to help with the shortage of manpower. On the way there, she meets Sorey and his friends.

They part ways again after making their way to Ba Sing Se (and stopping the Fire Nation from conquering the city with a new drill), because they both have different things they need to do.

After some time working in the city, Alisha hears rumors about the mysterious Dai Li. Their public face seemed honorable enough, but the fearful way people talked about them made Alisha doubt them nonetheless.

She starts an investigation in her spare time, and while investigating a certain lead, she runs into Sorey, Rose, Mikleo and Edna, who were also, in their own way, after the Dai Li.

They team up once again, discovering the source of the rumors and exposing the Dai Li for what they are to the Earth King after a battle with the leader of the secret service, Lunarre.

When Sorey and the others are about to split up for their own reasons, Alisha stays in Ba Sing Se, not only as a guard, but also to make sure the Dai Li case is wrapped up properly.

It isn’t, and she gets captured at the start of the coup, and doesn’t escape until Ba Sing Se has already fallen.

She doesn’t meet Sorey and the others again until the invasion on the Day of Black Sun.

Despite being 100% fine with being a non-bender herself, as she is very proud of and confident in her fighting skills, she still gets easily amazed by others bending.

After Alisha found out Sorey was the Avatar, Edna almost tricked her into paying to see Sorey bend multiple elements at once (they hadn’t been in battle together before this).

“What, we could use the money!”

Rose

She lived most of her life in a village near the western coast of the Earth Kingdom, but when that got destroyed by the Fire Nation army, she and other villagers decided to flee to Ba Sing Se.

This is four years before the main story takes place.

Although the villagers felt fine living there protected by enormous walls, Rose couldn’t stand the atmosphere and general culture and left the city after a year.

She still visits the villagers every now and then when she’s in the city again.

To make a living, she took up a job smuggling people who somehow couldn’t get inside the city the normal way.

At first she only acted as an escort from the havens to the city, but in time that escort job went beyond the walls.

She got caught the first time she smuggled people in, but, after escaping, she found better ways to do her job and didn’t get caught again.

To defend herself after fleeing her hometown and be better at her job, she took up fighting with twin daggers.

When she meets Alisha, who’d been learning to fight with a spear her entire life, she gets insecure about her own fighting abilities, as she’s only been fighting with daggers for a short time when compared to Alisha.

This comes up after some time, and after some talking, Rose starts training even harder.

She meets Sorey, Mikleo and Edna near the end of the Serpent’s Pass, and offers to help them get inside the city.

They refuse and Rose leaves to find some other clients.

On their way to the city, they encounter Rose again, with clients.

Despite their head start, Rose had caught up to them due to her knowledge of the area.

They travel the rest of the distance to the city together, splitting up again at the entrance.

Rose barely got her clients inside the city when she noticed the giant drill nearing the walls and the tiny figures of the team in the distance.

After getting paid, she rushes over, learning through Edna that Sorey and Alisha had gone in by themselves to sabotage the drill.

She wanted to help them, but didn’t want to risk getting caught, so she went around the drill first to find some way of weakening it from the outside.

She finds Mikleo at the back, who apparently had just escaped from Fire Nation soldiers via Slurry Express. Before they can think of what to do now, though,woman who’d been chasing Mikleo earlier (Eleanor (yes she’s in this too and caught in basically the same dilemma but with the war and the Fire Nation army instead of the Abbey)). They get into a battle, Rose proving to be extremely vital in defeating her.

After the battle is over, Rose discovers Sorey’s identity, and decides to go with him, because she’s not going to leave him and his friends alone in Ba Sing Se.

Even after Ba Sing Se has fallen, she keeps going with them.

“It’s clear by now that you can’t survive without me, so just get used to it.”

Dezel

One of the very few Air Nomads who survived the genocide.

He lived at the Eastern Air Temple, and was there when it was attacked by the Fire Nation.

He managed to escape, but during that, he was blinded by a firebender.

He did somehow defeat the firebender before he was killed, but did get heavily wounded.

He escaped by flying bison.

He and the animal took care of each other for a while, but the bison was a sickly one and eventually died during winter.

After some time, Dezel found a way to use his air bending to still ‘see’. He’d gotten used to being blind by then, but this new way of using his bending still made his life easier.

Because Air Nomads were being hunted before Sorey was discovered, Dezel started using throwing knives instead, using his airbending to make sure they don’t miss (as far as that’s possible without it getting noticed).

He still feels angry and bitter towards the Fire Nation for murdering his people and destroying his culture, and over the years he starts desiring revenge.

When he comes across Sorey, he nearly begs him to do that for him (without revealing that he’s an airbender), as the Avatar should be able to.

When Sorey declines, Dezel tries to force him, getting into a fight with Sorey that ultimately reveals his true abilities.

Rose, who’s with the team at that point, realizes that Dezel could be a teacher for Sorey, if they pursuade him properly. She offers a compromise: Dezel teaches Sorey airbending, Sorey will defeat the Fire Nation, not by killing them, but he will defeat them and help the surviving Air Nomads in any way he can.

They agree before Sorey can jump in and protest. From there on, Dezel travels with Team Avatar.

Most airbenders get their tattoos when they've mastered airbending. Dezel was about to get his when the genocide started

Dezel can be a harsh teacher, but over time, he grows to really care about everyone in the group.

He enjoys talking about what the Air Nomads were like, but even more so about winged lemurs, sky bisons, etc.

Mikleo and Sorey both enjoy listening to him, although Mikleo sometimes seems to get nervous at the thought of flying on giant bisons.

During the Day of Black Sun, when everyone discovered the Fire Nation knew about their plans for an invasion and Symonne ambushed the ones who tried to infiltrate the shelter, he stays behind to allow the others to escape.

No one knew what happened to him after that until Sorey defeated Heldalf. It turned out Dezel had been defeated by Symonne and imprisoned as a war criminal for the rest of the war.

Zaveid

Another airbender who survived the genocide.

Unlike Dezel, he already has his tattoos.

He hides these after taking refuge in the Earth Kingdom.

He was headed from the Eastern Air Temple to the Western Air Temple, but when he arrived, all he saw were burnt corpses and scorched, abandoned buildings.

He traveled to the other Air Temples, but he just kept seeing the same things over and over.

On his way to and fro, he picked up rumors about what happened to the Air Nomads, but didn’t want to believe them until he’d seen it with his own eyes.

After that, he didn’t know what to do. He roamed the Earth Kingdom for a while, coming to hide his identity, as airbenders were still being hunted by Fire Nation spies and bounty hunters.

Eventually, he met a young woman he settled down with, but she was killed during a Fire Nation attack two years later.

He resumed roaming the lands after a few months, years later encountering Sorey and co.

Dezel is already in the team by that point, and both of them are amazed at meeting a fellow airbender.

After Zaveid joined the team, they exchange some fighting techniques every now and then. (Sorey joins in a few times)

Despite having a similar experience, Zaveid isn’t as bitter and angry towards the Fire Nation as Dezel is. He’s mostly sad from the loss of so many people he loved, but hides it more and more over the course of the years. He somewhat gets over it in the end.

Symonne

Azula

An exceptionally skilled firebender, she worked her way up to becoming Heldalf's right hand man.

She was born an orphan, and when she discovered her talent for firebending, she joined the military.

She didn't know what to do with her life, as she didn't have any close friends or family, and the only things she had going for her were her firebending and cunning. Joining the military gave her the purpose she otherwise wouldn't have had.

She disguised herself, so people wouldn't ask questions about the little girl walking around in uniform.

She managed to trick people for a long time, but when she was invited to the royal palace along with the other generals, her identity was at last revealed.

The generals wanted to expel her from the military and punish her, but Heldalf saw potential in the little girl who'd somehow managed to become a general in his army, and appointed her to his advisor and right-hand man.

When Heldalf leaves to burn down the Earth Kingdom, he doesn't let Symonne come with him, and instead makes her into the new Fire Lord.

Symonne can't handle this. In the military she'd had her purpose, and it hadn't changed when she became Heldalf's advisor: she could still fight for her country and superiors. Something she won't be able to do as Fire Lord.

Losing the one thing she dedicated her life to breaks her, and allows Mikleo and Zaveid to take her down in the end.

Whenever Symonne sets out on some sort of expedition, she takes Eleanor with her. Their relationship is shaky at best, and mostly based on a common goal rather than some sort of trust. They work together very well in battle, but not much else is going on besides that.

#tales of zestiria #tales of zestiria the x #alisha diphda #rose (toz)#dezel #dezel (toz)#zaveid (toz)#zaveid #symonne #symonne (toz)#Avatar The Last Airbender #atla #atla au #hey #I didn't have to draw Air Nomad Zaveid and Dezel in the end!#I'm a genius #lol #leya arts

9 notes · View notes

neodiji · 7 years ago

Text

Cloaked -- Double Superhero AU

So. You know that prompt list from 4 months ago? I’m finally getting to that.

This one’s for @soymilkheaven who requested “prompt meme: 10, Sorey/Mikleo! Your choice on who gets to play hero! It could even be both of them! =D”

Prompt 10: Wait, my hero’s secret identity is… you? To be honest, I’d always kind of hoped…

-+-

Sorey’s heart is pounding and even if it doesn’t break through his chest, his life is over. Hellions are pouring in through the doors and windows, through cracks in the wall, through the mouse hole by the stairs, through the air ducts, taking advantage of any possible opening to engulf his home in pure malevolence. They’re not the problem.

It’s Mikleo.

Mikleo is standing at Sorey’s side, staring at the surprise invasion with a look of shock, worry, and determination.

Sorey wishes he could explain. His secret’s up. The hellions are here for him. Poor Mikleo is just in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is all Sorey’s fault—

Then Mikleo rocks on his feet, glances guiltily at Sorey, and murmurs, “I’m sorry.” Before Sorey can ask why, Mikleo stretches upwards and—grabs a staff out of thin air? But there’s no time to dwell on that because Mikleo is shouting—“The power of water! Come play with me!”—and now magic is flowing down the staff into Mikleo, and suddenly Mikleo has morphed into a floating blue ball of light. A second later, the blue ball bursts into dazzling sparkles that reassemble themselves into the costumed hero known simply as Lord Seraph.

Sorey forgets how to breathe. If he hadn’t seen the entire transformation from start to finish, he wouldn’t believe this was his best friend. Mikleo doesn’t even look that different from Lord Seraph, but it’s the way he carries himself. Stronger, more confident. The magic hiding his true essence helps him seem different, too.

“Two for the price of one!” cackles Heldalf, appearing in the main doorway. “I’m here for you, Grand Shepherd.”

Mikleo—that is, Lord Shepherd—falters slightly in casting artes, looking over his shoulder at Sorey with a puzzled expression. “Wait,” he mutters, barely audible over the hellion’s cries. “My hero’s secret identity is…you?”

Sorey sighs and smiles, pulling out his Shepherd’s Glove in answer. Tugging it on, he holds a fist to his heart, closes his eyes, and whispers, “Lion’s Howl! My everything!” He feels the energy wash over him, filling him with strength and magically changing his clothes into ones of legend that would augment his powers. As a hero in his own right.

Stepping into his identity of Grand Seraph, Sorey rushes to Lord Seraph’s—that is, Mikleo’s—aid. They’ve done this dance so often, even the night’s surprises can’t interfere with their effective techniques.

“It’s time! The storm is coming! Using all my strength, I shall smite evil! Divine Wrath!”

“Your fate has been set! Rime Slaughter!”

Out of nowhere, Heldalf calls his hellions back and promises to return. After all, he knows where the Grand Shepherd lives. Sorey knows what he’s up to. Being constantly on-guard, even in his own home, Sorey will eventually tire and present vulnerability. Tonight is just a warning of the worse attack yet to come.

Heldalf has the upper hand, and he has flaunted it.

Shoulders slumping, Sorey releases his transformation. His Shepherd’s cloak fades away to be replaced by his school uniform, but his wrecked living room stands as testament to the battle. But there’s a more important consequence. Wincing, he looks at Mikleo—now equally civilian—and braces himself for anger and accusations.

Instead, Mikleo surges forward and kisses him.

Shocked, Sorey doesn’t comprehend what’s happening for the first several seconds. By the time he realizes that his nightmare has morphed into a dream come true, Mikleo is already pulling away sporting the cutest blush.

“To be honest,” Mikleo confesses, lightly tracing the crest on Sorey’s Shepherd’s Glove, “I’d always kind of hoped…”

“Me too!” Sorey blurts, cupping Mikleo’s cheek. “I’ve been going insane, being in love with my best friend but still feeling this pull to Lord Seraph.” Mikleo’s violet eyes shine brighter in response, and not even the destruction surrounding them could detract from his beauty. Sorey will gladly surrender to Heldalf if he can only have this one night with Mikleo, now that his worst dilemma has turned into the best possible solution.

Mikleo smirks and tilts his head in invitation, and Sorey is not so much a hero in that moment but a weak man in love.

He gives in to temptation, leaning down and savoring this chance. He lets go of all his worries—trying to protect Mikleo from the stress and danger of his life as the Grand Seraph, flirting with Lord Seraph during battle and then feeling guilty about Mikleo, wondering whether his feelings for Mikleo or Lord Seraph were more pure, fighting all kinds of conflicting desires—and sucks out all of Mikleo’s fears in return as surely as he insistently sucks on Mikleo’s tongue.

To think, all this time, Mikleo has been struggling with the same concerns and feelings. No wonder Mikleo was always so understanding when Sorey suddenly needed to rush off, and no wonder he dashed away so often himself on urgent business that “just came up!”

Sorey can feel Mikleo coming up and poking at his thigh, and now he knows they share the same business. Heldalf could appear any moment, but he isn’t there now and that is all Sorey needs. He reaches down, strokes a moan out of Mikleo, and vows to make tonight count.

There is no problem when Mikleo agrees.

And the night they share is more magical than either hero’s superpower.

#SorMik #Sorey x Mikleo #Tales of Zestiria #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Mine #Prompt Response #Modern Double Superhero AU #Soymilkheaven #Request #Cheese and fluff #I also realize I didn't go into detail for the good parts #But you know #Cloaked #Because their identities WERE cloaked from each other + Sorey's Shepherd cloak #Okay I'll stop

36 notes · View notes

somefinelipstickonthatpig · 7 years ago

Text

My Shadow is My Shepherd

He had been invited to attend the Pearloats Harvest in the capital city of the kingdom of Rolance. Prince Mikleo just didn't expect to also be the target of an attempted assassination that very same night.

Luckily for him, his knight guard is pretty good with a sword.

Sormik Week 2017 - Day 4: Pendrago, Loss/Protection

Read on AO3

The capital city of the theocratic kingdom of Rolance is unlike anything Mikleo or Sorey has ever known. For one, the fact that the kingdom is ruled by its church rather than any formal monarchy—the ruling family, Mikleo has been informed before his visit, are largely figureheads—is new and unfamiliar. The second are the glaring reds and silvers that are everywhere; Rolance’s colors and regalia hang from the tallest buildings and wrap every guard.

Mikleo supposes he shouldn’t consider that entirely different from his own smaller kingdom of Elysia, where their cool shades of teal and white don every soldier and palace upholstery, too. But to see it everywhere he turns—even on the marketplace stalls during this lively festival week—is disorienting.

Or maybe it’s just the lack of grass within Pendrago itself that Mikleo is noticing. Too much red and steel; not enough green.

(For some reason, Mikleo’s always finding himself thinking the world could use more green.)

The third difference is that the primary language of Rolance is so harsh and pitched as opposed to the curl and sigh of Elysia’s.

As a marriageable prince often invited to be present for a foreign kingdom’s (and, by extension, suitor’s) holidays, Mikleo had been well-advised to verse himself as much as possible in the languages of their surrounding kingdoms. Rolancian itself, he remembers, had been difficult to learn, but not impossible. He made it a goal to refresh himself with some basic phrases and vocabulary before he came.

He had roped his ever-faithful knight, Sorey, into his reviewing sessions as well, but Sorey had an uncanny awful luck with trying to learn any language that wasn’t the Ancient Tongue or Elysian.

“Just let me do the talking then, Sorey,” Mikleo had flatly said, unimpressed that the only two Rolancian words his knight had managed to successfully learn were ‘dog’ and ‘knight’—and that was just because they sounded so similar and one was the title of his own post, which he had thought was mighty important to know.

But now they were here, in the middle of Pendrago, celebrating the annual Pearloats Harvest in a kingdom a whole country away from home and everything they’ve ever known, and Mikleo is boggled as to what, exactly, he is expected to do here.

“Just have fun, I think?” Sorey offers, looking around at all of the booths. He grins and taps Mikleo’s arm. He points to a stall a few paces down. “Hey! Look! That one’s got kabobs.”

A small smile works its way onto the fair prince’s face. He shakes his head. “I should have known you were thinking about food.”

“Aren’t you?” Sorey asks, and he sniffs as he looks around, eyes alight. “Man, it all looks so good! Can I at least get one of those giant corn on the cobs?”

“Cob or kabob?”

“Both?”

Mikleo rolls his eyes and walks by a fruit cart, shaking his head politely at the man who asked if he was interested in an orange or two. “Aren’t you supposed to be on duty right now?”

“Yeah, and I am! I’m keeping my eyes out!” Sorey enthuses and all of a sudden, he stops with an over-wide gasp. He throws an arm out in front of Mikleo so sharply that for a moment, Mikleo is worried there is a real attempt on his life this very second. Then Sorey says, “Mikleo, stop everything. They have mabo curry buns,” and he wonders why he was so afraid.

Mikleo sighs. “Do you want a—“

“—Yes.”

‘Keeping his eyes out,’ indeed, but for all the wrong things, it seems.

“By the seraphim, you’re such a child,” Mikleo mumbles under his breath. He turns away so Sorey doesn’t see the small and fond smile that slips onto his face. He walks towards the mabo curry bun stall. “Well, c’mon, then.”

Sorey gives a cheer that attracts stares from some of the other festival-goers and scurries after the prince.

A few moments later, mabo curry buns in hand, the pair make their way around to some of the other stalls to see and view the harvest that the people of Rolance are so proud to display. They spend a warm afternoon among strangers, enjoying the conversations they strike up and the stories they hear—as well as the gasps of surprise that crosses the people’s faces when they realize they are speaking to a foreign prince.

The day is spent well in the end, Mikleo thinks. It’s a huge success.

Which is why when he retires for the evening, the attempt on his life is so sudden.

Mikleo thinks he’s supposed to be sleeping when it happens. That’s how it’s usually planned out, at least, right? A victim that doesn’t fight back is far easier to subdue; no one will hear an assassination if the target can’t scream. And yet, when he’s lying in that bed, in a room specially loaned to him by the High Church of Pendrago itself for his visit, Mikleo finds he can’t sleep at all.

It’s probably the mabo curry buns, he thinks. All that sugar is keeping him up. He knew he shouldn’t have let Sorey talk him into buying something so sweet; he should have gone with the corn on the cob. Something far healthier with less regret.

Then he sees a glint of silver in the darkness and at first, he thinks it’s a strange light caught on the mirror.

It takes Mikleo a minute more to realize the mirror on the bureau of his borrowed room is on the opposite wall, not on the wall he is currently facing.

He sits up.

A figure clad entirely in deep, deep brown with a silver mask stands at the foot of his bed. His hands are at his sides. Two beady brown eyes stare back at the prince, unblinking, from two thin slits.

Mikleo has barely a moment to gasp before the stranger jumps.

An arrow is what saves him; it buys him a second more to get his brain in gear and shove himself out of harm’s away. It comes at his attacker from the side, shoving itself deep into the stranger’s right shoulder. There’s a burst of red, and Mikleo thinks that some might have gotten blood on him as well as he scrambles from his bed and stands.

The assassin cries out—guttural—male.

Sorey has never been a good archer, but Mikleo finds himself grateful for this rare moment where his aim has struck true.

His knight enters the room from the side balcony, his post while he had been standing guard. There is no joy on his face as he approaches the assassin, no warmth in his green gaze. The light and excitement from the marketplace earlier the same day has left him and in this moment, unguarded, with his prince threatened—he seems like a completely different person.

Sorey drops his bow to the carpet. He barely gets his hand upon his sword when the assassin breaks the arrow in his shoulder and tosses the stem aside.

This time, when he comes for Mikleo, Sorey is prepared.

The assassin has a dagger in his hand, lifted high. Sorey takes a step and raises his own sword to deflect it. A sharp ching sounds in the air. The assassin staggers under the strength of Sorey’s parry but stays on his feet. He shifts his weight and comes at Sorey from the opposite direction and side, back hunched, knife swinging out in a wide arc towards his chest.

Sorey retreats a step. He knocks the knife up and away with his sword. The assassin rocks back. For a moment, the man is defenseless. For a moment, Sorey can end this fight quickly.

So he does.

Deftly, Sorey spins his red blade around in his hand, and shoves the hilt into the assassin’s stomach. The stranger gasps and gags, bending to one knee. Sorey knocks the side of the assassin’s head hard with the hilt of his sword again. The masked intruder crumbles to the floor.

Mikleo manages somehow to find his voice by the time Sorey has the stranger pinned, arms pulled behind him, knee pressed to the small of the attacker’s back. He takes a step forward and thinks maybe he can feel his fingers again. Maybe. Finally. He flexes his hands. “Who are you?”

The assassin doesn’t answer. He just breathes—shaky, pained.

Mikleo wonders if he should be as pleased with that as he is. In the moment, his Rolancian comes easy, threaded with still-simmering adrenaline. “Answer the question, and we will consider not killing you. Who are you?”

At that, the assassin chuckles. It’s a quiet, husky sound. “You wouldn’t kill me.”

Sorey’s grip on his arm—the one the arrow had pierced—tightens. The guard’s breath hitches.

Mikleo wonders if Sorey really understood what the attacker said. His eyes flitter back and forth once. “What makes you so sure?” he asks lowly.

“Your reputation precedes you, Prince Mikleo.” The assassin’s voice speaks like an echo; he has heard these words somewhere else before, first. “The fair jewel of Elysia, with countenance cool and sure as water. You’ve never once called for the death of another, though you have a great power at your shadow.”

Once again, Mikleo’s eyes dart to Sorey. They linger. He turns to the assassin again. “Who has told you this? Are they the ones who sent you here?”

Sorey watches the man under him; it occurs to him that the tension that’s suddenly lined his shoulders must something significant. “Whatever you asked, I think he’s having second thoughts,” he says to the prince.

“So you do have an employer,” Mikleo murmurs.

The assassin stills—sharply—and the corner of Mikleo’s mouth slides up, triumphant.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Not only that, but you have an employer who has equipped you with too few details about your target and now, has left you to die.” Huh. “…then you must never have been sent to really kill me. You were just a test, a forerunner. A sacrifice to see just how tough the task would be.”

“No.” The word is hissed. Anger laced behind it. “I am the first and the last. I would never take on a target unless I felt I knew them completely.”

“Clearly that’s not true,” Mikleo answers and he takes a step closer. He squats down to the fallen assassin. “And clearly, your employer doesn’t think the same, either.” He pauses, watching the stranger struggle against Sorey’s hold. “What will happen to you, I wonder, when you return to your employer, having failed?”

The assassin does not say a word.

Mikleo waits.

When it is clear the man refuses to say anything at all, he leans forward. He lowers his voice. His violet eyes, tinged deep blue in the moonlight, speak of a brewing storm. “Well then. Listen closely to what I say, because I won’t say it again. Tell your employer, should give you the chance, that I am protected. Tell them—“ –and for some strange reason, this, above all else, Mikleo wants this would-be assassin to remember— “—tell them my shadow is my Shepherd and with him, I will not go down easy.”

The assassin makes a quiet sound of disgust. “So you’re challenging him.”

“Maybe,” Mikleo watches the masked man a moment more. He lets his own answer hang in the air between them. His eyes drift up to Sorey’s green, keenly observing without fully understanding their conversation. “But something tells me even if he knows, then trying to kill me won’t be any easier of a task. So let him come.”

Something in Mikleo’s face must confess his solid confidence in Sorey, for a moment later, watching, the knight starts to smile back. And that—even in a foreign land, even speaking a foreign language, even almost killed by a foreign assassin—that look is what feels most familiar to Mikleo, and makes him feel invincible.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and the world, for one moment, is surrounded in green and life. “Why not? Let them come.”

#sormik week 2017 #sormik #zestiria #sorey #mikleo #fanfic #mod krissey writes a thing #uGHHGHGHGHG I HATE THIS #it's more prince mikleo and knight sorey au #but alksldfklsdkf #i can't explain how unsatisfied i am with this but i couldnt rly take my time with it #because i spent all day cleaning and travelling #like literally driving and flying #and now it's 3 int he morning and i'm ust #done #letting it go #going to bed #gnight #i'll do a better one for tomorrow i promise thx

34 notes · View notes

dustingrayves · 8 years ago

Text

fin du monde dans nos paumes

Pairing: Sormik Rating: T WC: 2181 Category: hurt/comfort; fluff TWs: mild body horror (sprouting wings) AU: tainted AU Notes: i love ignoring any mechanics anyway i just wanted some h/c so here take it i love tainted au

ao3 mirror

The realization doesn't come slowly, or even over time. There are no warning bells, nor any flags. It just hits him, harder than any strike of a Hellion ever could.

Sorey's look, genuinely scared, aimed at him is stronger than any of them combined.

Mikleo opens his mouth, any words dying on his tongue as it gets dry all of a sudden. Sorey just stands there, looking at him in more of a concerned way, but Mikleo isn't sure that's any better. He tries talking once again, but his throat is tight and doesn't cooperate.

So instead, he just shakes his head and returns the gaze with his own drawn brows, hoping the 'I'm so sorry,' is at least visible in his eyes. Then he twists on his heel and rushes out, his soles squeaking on the floor as he does so.

He thinks he can hear Sorey calling from behind him, but he doesn't want to go back. His gut is twisted in tight knots and it feels like he could puke any moment.

That look...

Never in his life did Mikleo think a look like that could be aimed at him. Full of fear, of scorn, of disappointment.

He bites down at his lip to fight the tears that start to gather at his lashes. His steps are harder, louder than usual, and his spine aches with the developing bones.

It wasn't that much, he justifies. And really, it wasn't. Was he just that weak? Could he really not withstand more malevolence than that?

All he'd wanted was to help Sorey, to lessen the burden he had to carry. Taking malevolence onto himself hadn't been hard, nor had it been burdensome on his body. At first.

And then it spread in him, like a pond infected with waste. He could do nothing but hide the way his teeth sharpened, his meticulously cared-for nails grew into claws, the protrusions on his back, wings just waiting to tear through the skin and stretch their span to the skies.

But Sorey noticed, of course he noticed, he always notices everything. Mikleo hadn't been ready (he isn't sure he ever would've been). And he definitely hadn't been ready for Sorey to be scared.

It makes sense, though, doesn't it?

All the dragons they'd seen and heard of were mindless beasts only yearning for destruction and chaos. Would he end up like that as well? No wonder Sorey had been scared.

Something spikes painfully in his chest and he doesn't double over out of his sheer desperation to get away. His fingers are curled tight around the width of his staff, knuckles beyond whitened. He leaves the inn behind, running out of the city as fast as his trembling legs are able to take him. There are ruins close by, where he can take refuge, hide out until everyone forgets about him. Or maybe he could go to Edna's brother. Surely he wouldn't attack Mikleo anymore, since he is... one of them now.

It's a weird feeling.

And only now does Mikleo really notice that he's left alone. Not a single Hellion pays him any heed, even as he walks right past one, so close he could reach out and touch it.

Moss muffles his footsteps as he descends down stairs into the ruins, passing fallen debris overrun by plants. The underground is slightly musty, and yet he has no problems breathing the air, no matter how stale the smell gets.

Mikleo follows the winding corridors, legs working on autopilot as they carry him as far as possible.

There is a fountain of sorts sitting in the middle of the grand hall, half broken and covered in vines and moss. A small trickle of water pours out from the chipped mouth of a beast statue, providing soothing background noise.

That's where Mikleo decides to stay, curled up by the cold stone of the fountain, with the occasional droplets of water hitting his face when a draft comes through.

The malevolence is thick, so putrid it weights on his chest like a boot, making it difficult to breathe, much less concentrate.

Is this what Mikleo had had to deal with? This suffocating feeling, holding down his body and twisting his gut in knots surely not physically possible.

With a sinking in his heart, Sorey descends down into the ruins, following the unmistakable tug of malevolence, itching to grab his sword, call on Lailah and purify it. But Lailah isn't here, and this isn't a thing to purify.

His hand runs over the cracked walls, eyes gazing down into the dimness of the corridors. Under any other circumstances, he would probably be fawning over the ruins' age or architecture, but now, he couldn't muster any interest in the stones.

The never ending twists and turns lead him further and further into the heart of the ruins, until he hits what seems to be the actual heart of it.

The sound of water echoes between the dome-shaped walls, and there's a figure laying on the ground, curled up and appearing much smaller than it should.

"Mikleo!" Sorey exclaims, on his knees next to the boy in a heartbeat and tentatively reaching out to touch his shoulder. The malevolence is so thick he can almost see it in the ruins' stale air.

Mikleo stirs, twisting his head to look at him with eyes that seem entirely unlike him; hollow and slitted. They take too long to focus on him, and when they finally do, Mikleo takes a sharp, hissing breath and jumps away as if Sorey's touch scalded him.

"What're you doing here?" he asks, gripping his staff. Sorey hadn't even noticed the weapon, a testament to how tightly Mikleo had been curled up around it. "Are you here to purify me?"

Sorey shakes his head, but Mikleo keeps going.

"Or maybe taunt me? Have you come to tell me how disappointed you are since you didn't got to last time? Because if so, I don't feel bad about it in the slightest! I had to-"

"Stop it!" Sorey exclaims, his voice strained. The sheer volume of his voice seems to stare Mikleo into submission. His whole body is shaking, much like Mikleo's; there's a knot lodged in his chest, and it doesn't have anything to do with the malevolence. Though it had thickened even further, swirling around them lazily like fresh pudding.

Mikleo looks at him with a frown, eyes betraying how much it hurt to even say that aloud. To see him with his staff held tight, body scrunched in preparation to jump away or strike back, is the last straw for Sorey.

"Mikleo!" he says, steeling his voice. To think Mikleo had been suffering so much all because of him... "I didn't come here to do any of that!"

Mikleo adverts his eyes, staring intently at the crack running down the wall. "Then you should go," he says.

The shepherd's jaw hurts from how hard he clenches his teeth. "No, Mikleo. I'm not going to abandon you, why do you keep saying that?"

"Because I've been tainted. It's your job."

"Mikleo..." Sorey steps forward, avoiding the staff coming at him from the right as if it didn't exist. His arms encircle the seraph and the wooden weapon ends up smushed between them.

Mikleo freezes up, going even stiffer, if that's even possible. His attempts at pushing Sorey away are half-hearted at best, trembling hands unable to make use of their real strength.

"Mikleo, you're... still you, no matter what happens. We've always been together," Sorey whispers into his ear, belatedly noticing how it seems to be pointed now. It's almost cute as it twitches when his breath hits it. "You always do things for me, always, always think of me first. It gets you hurt and I can't bear to see you like this alone."

For all the talk of dragon strength, Mikleo's legs can't even hold him up anymore. The staff falls to the floor with a dull ‘thud’, and Mikleo would've followed it if not for Sorey's arms holding him upright. Still, the brunet must notice how lax he goes, because he slowly lowers them to the ground, heedless of the rocks digging into his knees through his pants.

"Mikleo, a world without you isn't one worth living in, even if it was the purest one. Please, please let me stay with you. Please let me do this for you. Please."

Mikleo isn't the only shaking one by the end of that speech, Sorey's fingers digging into the fabric of Mikleo's capes to hide how badly they're trembling. Mikleo returns the embrace, slowly winding his arms around Sorey's wider chest, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He hadn't even realized he'd started crying, but there are tears rolling down his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of Sorey's shepherd cloak.

"The world will end without you," he mutters, chest heavy with guilt.

"Let it," is Sorey's ready answer. He tightens his hold further. "I'd even help it if you wanted me to."

Mikleo sniffles. "You mean that? You? What about your dream?"

"There is no my dream. There has never been," Sorey coos, running his hand through Mikleo's hair. His fingertips run over a protrusion and he glances over to see tiny horns beginning to peek through Mikleo's snowy hair. They're the same shade of blue as the tips of it, what a coincidence. "There's only our dream. What would you like it to be?"

The question and its wording actually makes Mikleo pause and think about it. Sorey, unlike himself, waits patiently while Mikleo mulls it over.

"Us," he breathes finally, "I want to be at your side as always."

Sorey drops his hand to cup Mikleo's cheek, thumbing away the teary lines there and aiming the head up so Mikleo looks at him.

"See?" he smiles, his eyes crinkling st the corners, "Our dream has always been the same."

Mikleo sobs, the emotional turmoil plaguing his insides exchanged with the purest ache of love. He clings to Sorey until he's sure he's making it hard for him to breathe, but Sorey doesn't complain.

There, with only the sounds of drizzling water and Sorey's soft cooing, Mikleo cries out, letting out all his pain and sadness. The fabric of his tunic tears and Sorey's hands fly from his back to his arms, holding on tightly as blue-tinted masses of leather force their way from beneath Mikleo's skin, stretching to their full length and knocking the head of the statue in the fountain off. They shine with a mixture of blood and something else that Sorey can’t immediately place, each scale growing on the leathery surface a different hue of blue in the uneven lighting.

Mikleo ends up slumped in Sorey's hold, the wings twitching on their own minutely.

"Wow, Mikleo," Sorey whispers, completely lost as he follows the curves of the wings and the ever changing colors playing on them. "I'm sure there are no prettier wings anywhere."

And, at that stupid, Sorey-like comment, Mikleo bursts into laughter, aching shoulders shaking with his breathing underneath Sorey's palms. "Truly a hopeless romantic," he wheezes out, earning himself a grin, ear to ear.

"You don't want to turn into a dragon, do you, Mikleo?" Sorey asks, gently, so very carefully running a finger over the bony part of one wing, pulling away as soon as Mikleo jerks.

Mikleo thinks back to Eizen, of how he didn't hesitate to attack even his closest friend and sister. "No," he says decisively.

"Let me take some of your malevolence, then," the shepherd says.

Mikleo doesn't say anything, but malevolence rolls off of him in waves and Sorey takes it in strides, until Mikleo unhunches himself, breathing a little deeper now, a little more stable. And suddenly, the weight of the air isn't as much; in fact, it almost feels welcoming now, curling around them like a hazy blanket.

"We'll be together, right?" Mikleo asks, pale hand tracing the contour of Sorey's cheek, thumb pushing his lips apart, examining the way his teeth seem that much pointier, especially as the lips curl into a grin.

"We'll make this world one where we can live together," Sorey says, sounding absolutely sure. Some of that confidence seems to rub off on Mikleo and he grins back, jagged fangs making for a look not many would describe as happy. Sorey does, though. Cute and fitting are other words he'd describe it as.

"You think you can fly?" Sorey asks out of nowhere, running a finger down a wing again. Mikleo shivers at the contact, but otherwise doesn't move to get it off.

He hums, "We can find out."

"I've always wanted to see the world from all the way up there."

"Am I your personal transporter now?" Mikleo asks, feigning hurt, but it's lost as he's still smiling, the thought of Sorey riding him all the way up in the cloud thrilling.

Sorey leans in to press a kiss to the side of Mikleo's face. "The one and only."

#tales of zestiria #toz #sormik #soymilk #tainted au #eso's fics #mine

78 notes · View notes

diatasair · 8 years ago

Text

does anyone even follow me for the sormik anymore, much less fics? hoo knos

the color of the wheat fields (5/?) ( part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4)

There’s something exciting, celebration-worthy, muted, and terrifying about thinking about a year’s end.

Sorey doesn’t really know how to describe it, exactly—every time it approaches he eagerly anticipates it then he thinks about all the things he’ll leave behind and get terrified, but they’re never bad days, those last days. Mostly just very yawn-filled. There are lots of festivities. It’s just that in the lulls of the in-betweens, the darkness between two lights feel deeper than usual.

It’s a stupid fear, honestly. Even he’s not buying it. New Years are great.

“Sorey?” Mom calls from the kitchen. Sorey looks up from the chickens, thumb restlessly fiddling with the fodder meals he’s just gotten. They’re soft but ultimately rather squishy in his palm, which is kind of eugh when he thinks about it too long. “Did you pick up the cornmeal from Camlann yet?”

“I did,” Sorey answers, throwing the rest of it to the ground before dusting off his hands. They’re probably gonna run out of it in two weeks or so, though, so they’d better get some soon after New Years. Though then again, he did see clovers and stuff, and there’s no real shortage of worms around, if Sorey’s childhood is any indication. They’ll be fine. “Do you want to make the cornflakes now?”

His bike—blue and pretty new, just two years old—is leaning against the wall, and the big bag of cornmeal is tied on the back seat. It’s a tradition, here, to make snacks and just eat as they light a bonfire in the middle of the village, chairs circling it. And well, snacks for an entire village is a lot of snacks, and it’s not rare for them to get ready two weeks prior. With now being a week before the end of the year, they’re cutting it just a bit close, but well. He and Mom work best when chased down with a broom called deadline. Aunt Muse and Uncle Michael have been busy making snowfall cookies these past few days, on the other hand. They’re really the best at it—so soft it seems to melt, with the powdered sugar coating them tasting icy and—

“Sorey! Come on, stop daydreaming about Mikleo. Or cookies. Whichever it is you’re daydreaming about.”

“’m not daydreaming!” Sorey calls back as he hefts the sack over his shoulders, sulking at the ducks passing by. Then, in a murmur, “you’re daydreaming. Probably. Maybe.”

Contrary to popular belief, Sorey grumbles mentally as he makes his way to the kitchen, he does thinks about stuffs, sometimes. Sure, he acts a bit—well, a lot—spacey and jump topics and stop and stares at the ground way too often too fast, but he’s not just dreaming.

Well, at least Mom doesn’t get too on his case about it. His teachers do, though. His answers aren’t always textbook answers, and while his old teacher appreciated his answers on their language arts class, the ones this year are really prickly about what he says on answers sheets, and—

“Sorey, cornflakes!”

“All right, Mom!”

Right, so, past few days—mostly goats, cornflakes, cornflakes, their garden, Lawrence with twenty bottles of soda pop. Food was communal whenever these type of festivities happen, partially—he and Mom end up at Mikleo’s, where they fried up tofu after dinner, dipping it in some soy sauce with chopped up garlic and onions in between batches of snacks. Sorey knew that Uncle Michael had a thing for coffee, but he wasn’t sure that it was normal or a good idea to drink it at 11 pm. He looks kind of like he’s ready to bike his way to Camlann at that very moment, which isn’t really a good idea considering that a considerable amount of streets there tend to be chained up for the night, thanks to some old wariness for the military. They were gone when Sorey was two or three, but apparently despite the pretty short duration, its effects were long lasting.

Anyway, Sorey’s been eating the misshapen leftovers of the cookies. Ever since he was seven, Uncle Michael was banned from succumbing to his wide-eyed begging to make more misshapen cookies so Sorey can eat them without waiting for the New Year’s Eve. Mom can be cruel sometimes.

“Stop mooching off the cookies,” Mikleo chides as he elbows Sorey’s side, barely making contact from how his hands are holding on to big plastic containers filled with the cookies. Sorey’s just escorting him. Him and his cookies. The cornflakes are already at their places, so he’s just filling his time being nice. “I think you ate like half a kilo of the stuff already. Don’t you get bored of it or something?”

“The likelihood of that is about as high as me getting bored of ruins. I dunno, Mikleo.”

Mason is by the wooden pyramid, yelling and waving at Ed as they get the bonfire ready. It’s seven, eight o’clock now, and everyone’s out of their houses—from hunger, probably, because dinner is postponed until the roasts. Not on the bonfire, of course, but it usually starts with it, if only because that’s when Ed hauls the coals from the storage. He can already smell the birds and chickens and corns, in the distance. The smoke tastes like excitement.

Sorey helps Mikleo place the containers on the coffee tables dragged out, nestled between bowls of cornflakes and berries and soda, cubed papayas and hot ginger milk tea. Behind them the fire crackles to life. Mom is bent over as she talks to Medea, who’s starting to roast the chickens, while Aunt Muse is talking to Gramps, a plate of the cookies extended towards him. Eyes darting, his mind catalogues people, noises, lights, probing each sensation with the curiosity of a bird before hopping back, hopping on, and suddenly, it all feels overwhelming and not enough.

“Sorey?”

There’s so much in this one moment, and it makes him think about the days before—they’re equally rich, aren’t they? But he can’t remember them all. But at least by staying in this year he’s still somehow attached to them, tethered by a thread, a common ground—

“I’m going to get some soda,” Sorey says instead, moving back home for a cup. “Want some?”

Mikleo raises an eyebrow. “I think I’ll get the tea instead, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

Melody and Cynthia and Kyme wave and nod at him as he passes by, and Sorey grins in return. It’s unlikely that it was even visible, though, he muses, smile fading with each step—they don’t have street lamps, and the only lights are from the open doors. There’s tons of noise, cluttered like his house, but it’s the spaces in between the sounds that feel excruciatingly empty. He wants to cram everything into them, things that overflowed from the tight fits, like that concept of osmosis he learned this semester. Even it out, maybe. To divide them into memorable chunks.

He sort of needs to go back to the crowds, somehow. He’s sort of scared.

As he stumbles home his eyes catches Uncle’s silhouette, sitting hunched on the front steps of his home, holding onto a cup by its rim. He’s staring at the festivities, faint lights showing his tiny smile. Sorey makes a beeline for him.

Uncle raises his glass. Fizzes—soda. “Hey. Waiting for dinner?”

Huh? Oh—the other half of the roasting team, the ones with the birds, are ten meters away. It’s Natalie and Loanna and Shiron, so they’re pretty quiet; Sorey almost didn’t realize they’re there, with how their hunched forms covered the fire’s glow. “Not really,” Sorey says. “Just kind of. Uh.”

Uncle pats the step beside him. “Sit down.”

From here, they’ve got a sort of good view of the sky down to Camlann—the town itself isn’t visible, but Sorey’s seen enough of this scenery to guess where’s what, and every year they always look there, because it’s where all the fireworks are. They don’t do fireworks, here—scares off the livestock. They have sparklers, though, for after dinner. Sparklers remind Sorey of what he’s going to lose, after the fizzling sparks disappear: an after image, too vague to be a concrete leftover, too long to disappear without a pang. It feels like crushing a can. Kinda like the realization that fireworks are gorgeous and exciting and awe-inspiring, but those five seconds are all they have, and afterwards nothing can ever really be like it again.

“Have you ever been scared of New Years, Uncle?”

“Hmm?” Uncle takes a sip of his drink, unblinking eyes on the sky. “New Years? Why?”

“Mm, nothing. I just…”

Like this world is something he loves, and he loves all of it? What makes it it is all the experiences and memories and losing it feels like losing a crucial part of who he is, because Sorey likes to gather all the tiny moments and sort them, tagging them to be reviewed later. Because all of it—the sounds, the tastes, the feelings, the sights—shape him to who he is now, and Sorey likes to know his roots. Because he wants to remember what it is about everything that makes him fall in love with the universe.

“I dunno,” he mutters. “I want to see the New Year, but I also don’t want to leave this behind.”

“Ah,” Uncle says. “That.”

“Yeah.”

Above, the leaves rustle with bats and winds. Some yelp and yells follow, filled with panic about the fires, but they all glide over his skin and just raise goosebumps.

“Why does it scare you, Sorey?”

“Well,” Sorey starts, fiddling with his sleeves—“Like, I mean, everything I am is sort of, uh, an aggregation of all I was and how I react to it? And. All my thoughts during all these years. The decisions. It’s kind of scary to think that I’ll forget them.”

It’s not something people think he has, all things considered. They think he likes living in the possibilities. And he does! It’s just that, well, the past were also possibilities—it’s just that they were possibilities that he chose, subconsciously or not, and that makes them as valuable, too. He likes to understand himself. He likes to know why he’s doing the things he does right now.

“Oh, you mean that,” Uncle says. “There’s no real way to keep all that, that’s true. The brain only has a limited capacity for information—most of what we experience is lost. But honestly, I think… It doesn’t only have to be your brain that remembers.”

Sorey blinks. “Huh?”

Uncle turns his head, staring at him. “Most of your experiences are shared, aren’t they? It’s not just you who remembers it. And your thoughts… You can always write it down—share it with the paper. We’re not put in this world solely to rely on our own capabilities; we all have lived through so many things because we have resourcefulness, people to shoulder half the work. There’s so much we can do, but by distributing, sharing what we have to carry, what we do ends up being what’s meaningful to us.” He takes a sip. The distant stare towards the night sky makes Sorey turn, too, to see what he’s looking at, and his eyes find the pale, blinking stars. “It took me a while to realize that, too. But anyhoo, you should probably get back.”

“What about you?”

Uncle raises his cup, smile lopsided. “I’ll join you all later. Food smells good right now.”

It’s far later at night. The green glow of his watch is kinda hard to see with all the red and yellows but it’s nearing midnight, now, and everyone’s buzzed up on fizzy soda and lots of sugar, laughing as an occasional firework fires off from Camlann. Sorey’s got one leg up on Mikleo’s chair, and Mikleo’s leg is bent and resting up on his knee. They’re kinda sleepy but one container of cornflakes is sitting precariously on Mikleo’s leg, tilted and leaning against his leg, and they’ve stolen a bottle of the lemon soda for themselves, sharing a cup as they munch. The packs of sparklers rest against their plastic chairs, waiting for midnight.

“C’mon boys,” Mom says suddenly, standing up. “It’s a quarter to midnight. If you want to watch the lightworks, uppity up.”

Sorey jostles, then Mikleo jumps, and they almost spilled everything. Mom swipes the cornflakes, though, and Mikleo just barely saves the cup, so Sorey grabs the sprinklers and hops to the balls of his feet, sleepily exhilarated. The muted sounds of celebrations echo down the mountains—he can’t see the lights, but he can feel it bubble up inside. It would be so, so great to be able to bike down to Camlann as the fireworks fly, to feel the harsh cold air against his hair as his ears ring, but that’s too lonely, and Uncle’s right. This is a moment to be shared, because it’s a precious one he wants to remember.

Mikleo sends him a glare. “Calm down, will you? We almost spilled the soda.”

“Fireworks!”

In the end, it’s pretty much everyone who joins them. Even Gramps and Uncle have gotten up, staying in the far back—Ed and Cynthia and Melody have sparklers of their own, too, while Mason holds the match. Mom taps her foot as she counts out the minutes. Five minutes, three—the light is on, and everything bursts into pale gold.

Sorey looks up, grinning. Mikleo is grinning back, and they wave their sparklers.

“Midnight,” Aunt Muse says, voice light with bated breath.

In the distance, above their ephemeral string of lights, flowers rain. Laughter is echoed by the muted bangs, cloaked and masked and balled up, but it feels free here, in this clearing, so it flies free. They’re at the edge of Elysia—beyond them is the road down to Camlann, the endless steps of fields that line it, the mountains. Beyond them is the world.

Mom kisses his cheek as she grabs his hand with a laugh, making a swish with his sparkler before letting go. Everything feels close together, that second—lights, sounds, warmth—and when he looks up, when he looks up and sees Mikleo and Mom and the rest of his family, the silhouettes of his home, and he sees the after images of the lights, they’re all the color of the wheat fields.

#fic actually #tales of zestiria #sormik #the color of the wheat fields #i shall proceed to continue on my casual existential crisis now #have a nice year folks!

8 notes · View notes

mxdotpng · 7 months ago

Text

the zestiria anime fixes and also messes up many things at the exact same time its actually kind of impressive i have to salute them for it

#.text #zestiria #i mentioned this elsewhere but i really really loved sorey and mikleos argument in the game.#like i love it so much.#mikleo is angry because sorey wont let him fight for the sake of protecting sorey - and. to be honest. himself. he is much less #in danger of succumbing to malevolence as a sublord - and sorey is angry that mikleo doesnt understand that he doesnt want #him to be put into danger especially for the sake of. Sorey. of all people. he wants mikleo to be safe. much like how #mikleo wants sorey to be safe #and i wish mikleo had been more fussy abt sorey being so. like. 'willing' isnt extreme enough of a word really.#but how he was so willing to make alisha his squire at the sake of his own health and his own life #whereas he outright refused mikleo wanting to be his sublord at every chance. because. well if i were mikleo thatd piss me off so. much #mikleo never blew his casket though even though he wouldve been in the right so u know maybe hes better than me #but i also do genuinely love how mikleo realizes hes lost. Without all of that. and it isnt entirely because of sorey either #i think mikleo does suffer a lot from. hilariously. having a character too ingrained into sorey. much like woman love interests go figure..#so him realizing that his entire life has been with and For sorey and now that he has this destiny & they stand on diverging paths #mikleo doesnt know what his life is supposed to be or what kind of person hes supposed to become. is good. thats good.#and i like it a lot #but oh my god i MISS that argument it like. said so much about sorey and mikleos characters #it pretty much set the stage for soreys self sacrificial tendancies and how he has little regard for his own safety #and mikleos devotion and loyalty. as well as his fear of losing too early the one thing in his life he knows he wont have for long #does this make any sense im just saying words now #idk im still watching maybe itll happen in the next episode!! if it does then DISREGARD EVERYTHING IVE SAID #tho the anime DOES mess up a lot of things -- im not fond of the way the bersy section played out #it isnt bad that its different however some choices feel ... absurd ? to me #ok back to my hw bye!

1 note · View note

pengiesama · 7 years ago

Text

A Reasonable Amount of Trouble (Fic, Sorey/Mikleo, Detective AU, Chapter 2/?)

Title: A Reasonable Amount of Trouble, Chapter 2/? Series: Tales of Zestiria Pairing: Sorey/Mikleo Summary: Sorey is an experienced member of the supernatural detective division, the Shepherds, but is a fresh face to the city squad when an unexpected transfer lands him in Lastonbell. Things tend to get complicated when you realize that hot hookup from the bar last night is now your new partner on the force. (Detective AU)

Sorey fails to bond with his new team, fails to churn butter, and fails to get over Mikleo.

Read Chapter 1 here!

Link: AO3

This was a commission from @shamingcows, who requested fic from her fantastic Detective AU!

Check out my commission info here.

Read on Tumblr!

Sorey was settling in to Lastonbell well, he thought. He had been spending the last two weeks admiring local historical sites, checking out museums and art galleries, and sampling local cuisine, and was getting to know his coworkers a little bit better both in the office and out. He missed his teammates from Ladylake, but Sorey was the friendly sort, and knew that it was only a matter of time before he was just as close with his new team as he was with his old.

That being said, there was a certain teammate he’d love to get closer to sooner rather than later.

But the problem was, Sorey supposed, that he’d gotten close to him a bit too Sooner, making the Later a lot more complicated. Sorey snuck a sneaky peek at Mikleo, who was seated next to him, and tried to catch his eye. Mikleo continued to stare straight ahead at the whiteboard at the head of the room, though Sorey saw him jump a bit when Sorey poked him in the side. Small victories. Mikleo glowered at him, and smacked him away; Sorey grinned and gleefully escalated the tickle duel. Flirting with coworkers might be an awful idea, but it had its perks when it came to spicing up boring meetings.

“Excuse me! Detective Sorey! Detective Mikleo!”

Sorey winced and ceased all tickle activity, looking up a bit sheepishly at the source of the admonishment. Maybe he shouldn’t have been screwing around in a department meeting when he was still a fresh face in the building. Detective Eleanor had raised herself to her unimpressive stature, and was fully fluffed up and ready to unleash a lecture.

“While it is wonderful to see that you are already bonding with your new partner--”

Another one of his coworkers, Detective Zaveid, burst into giggles at the phrasing. Sorey didn’t know how Zaveid found out about his and Mikleo’s...pre-existing bonding encounter(s), but he did seem to have ears and eyes everywhere in the city. Or maybe Sorey had had a small slip of the tongue when Zaveid took him out for drinks. Or maybe Zaveid was crawling around in the office air ducts to spy on him and Mikleo while they worked. The latter scenario would be entirely unsurprising. Sorey had very quickly found out that, much like Sorey’s motorcycle needed fuel, or a flower needed sun, Zaveid needed to consume a constant stream of gossip or he would instantly fall completely dead to the pavement. Eleanor frowned at him and fluffed herself up further to increase her lecturing power level.

“--and while it is also wonderful to see senior members of the department taking an interest in helping you acclimate--”

“Who’s a senior?” Zaveid said, with hurt in his voice. “Eleanor, are you telling me that I’m not cut out for this job anymore?”

Eleanor looked like a deer in headlights; her cheeks red as her hair. To not confront misbehavior in an individual who should be a paragon of morals and virtue was intolerable; to contradict one’s professional senior was likewise intolerable. Eleanor was conflicted between these impossible extremes, and seemed ready to burst from strain.

“Detectives! Your captain has something to say.”

They all looked warily at the front of the room, where Captain Sergei Strelka stood: back straight, shoulders squared, and patiently waiting for his team to redirect their attention to him. Captain Strelka was something of a legend on the force – Sorey had heard about him even before he was assigned to Lastonbell. He was hyper-competent, and had spearheaded the initiative to clean up Lastonbell’s organized crime and drug trafficking activity. He was professional, an excellent leader, and a great public face for the department. His position was well-earned.

Sergei looked to the hand-puppet of himself that he wore on his right hand, and made it cross its arms firmly.

“I’m Cap’n Strelka, and I’m here to lead everyone in a fun-filled team-building activity at the behest of HR!”

Sorey had wondered why they’d been called into this meeting in the middle of the afternoon. He didn’t wonder so much about the puppet. Not anymore, anyway. Sorey briefly wondered what it was about the position of captain that seemed to make people…like this. Sorey thought back to some of his more disturbing encounters in Ladylake. He’d watched Captain Lailah confiscate the shed skin of a Medusa-class hellion (a Class V biohazard), determined to purify it enough to mount it on her wall, all because it had dried and coiled into a curl that had captured her heart. After three days the entire station needed to be evacuated and a team in full protective gear needed to be sent in to clean up the miasmatic haze. Lailah lost her trophy to the incident, and sank into an abiding despair that lasted months.

And now here in Lastonbell he was regularly attending lectures on workplace safety and cultural sensitivity hosted by a hand-puppet.

(Early on, Captain Sergei had called Sorey into his office, and quietly asked him about how he’d been adjusting. He encouraged Sorey that he could always talk to him and the Cap’n about his feelings. Sorey thanked them both for the opportunity. Later, as he carefully turned the encounter over in his mind to come to terms with his new reality, he’d asked Mikleo why Captain Sergei seemed so familiar.

“His twin brother is the head bartender at Katz Pajamas. You probably saw me talking to him while you were there.”

“…is he…does he do the hand-puppets too?”

“No, thank god.”

“I bet that’s kind of weird, though? You’re in there cruising for hookups, and you’re getting poured drinks by someone who looks like your boss.”

“I’ve done body-shots off Boris’ nipples while he was dressed like a slutty cat at the bar’s Halloween party a couple years ago. We’re way beyond weird.”)

The team looked resigned to their fate. Zaveid forced a smile.

“Team-building! Great, let’s all meet up at the nearest bar and really get our team on--”

“It’s three in the afternoon!” Eleanor scolded him.

“I know a place that does all day mimosas,” Zaveid explained. “I bet if you wanted to make a lunch version you could find a half-empty plastic gallon jug of orange juice and fill the rest with vodka--”

“That’s just a screwdriver for people who’ve given up on life,” Mikleo shot back.

“Team! We can go out for drinks later,” Sergei assured. “But Miss Moo Cow is only booked with us for an hour before she has to go back to the park petting zoo.”

The door to the meeting room opened, and a full-size dairy cow led by a person in a cow suit entered. Mikleo sprang out of his seat and inched over to the windows, all the color draining from his face. As he slunk away, Sorey stood up from his own seat and carefully trailed after him with no little concern.

“No. Not after last time,” Mikleo said firmly. “No, no, no.”

“Detective, I assure you that Miss Moo Cow has gone through the required sensitivity training to prevent a repeat of last year’s events,” Sergei said reassuringly. He gestured at Mikleo with his Cap’n-bedecked hand. “Would you like to talk with Cap’n about your feelings before we start the process of churning some delicious homemade butter?”

Mikleo was clearly not convinced, and was in the process of climbing out the window and onto the fire escape. Despite his better judgement – though homemade butter did sound nice – Sorey put on his negotiations hat and tried to talk Mikleo down.

“Mikleo, why don’t I do the honors with Miss Moo Cow for you, and then we can both get churning --”

Mikleo was out and away, his footsteps clanging on the metal fire escape stairs as he headed towards the roof. Giving a sheepish smile to his teammates and a respectful nod to Miss Moo Cow and her associate, Sorey climbed out the window to follow him. As he pursued Mikleo to the rooftop, he heard the Cap’n asking who’d like to go first; and Eleanor’s small, despairing affirmation.

Sorey found Mikleo seated on one of the industrial fan boxes on the rooftop; smoking a cigarette to calm his nerves down from whatever cow-based horrors had rattled them. Sorey had seen him smoke before – he thankfully wasn’t a pack-a-day addict (Sorey surely would have tasted it on his tongue during their long weekend together), but he still lit up more often than Sorey liked while on the job. Sorey knew the stresses of this kind of work, and maybe smoking didn’t have as bad an effect on seraphim, and Mikleo of course never did it where anyone else had to breathe it in. But when it came to Mikleo’s health, Sorey couldn’t…

…what he really couldn’t do was anything about it, at all. Mikleo wasn’t his boyfriend. They weren’t in a relationship. They’d barely even established a professional connection. He was a guy he’d hooked up with over one wonderful, unforgettable weekend; he was a guy he was hopelessly hung up on. Sorey knew from the start that he was terrible at keeping things casual, at keeping feelings out of bed. And yet he dove in head-first regardless. This is what he got for ignoring his own good advice. Sorey shoved his hands into his pockets and flopped down next to Mikleo on his perch.

“So what’s your beef with Miss Moo Cow?” Sorey asked jovially.

Mikleo gave him a flat look. Back in Ladylake, that kind of pun would have gotten Sorey a promotion from Captain Lailah. The times, they were a-changin’.

“I know you’re not lactose intolerant, considering how many ice cream bars you can pack away.”

“I prefer to not remember the incident,” Mikleo said tersely. He took another drag of his cigarette, and exhaled a long, slow breath. “Suffice to say that I don’t have faith I wouldn’t see a repeat of it.”

“Well, whatever horrors you think she’s capable of, you’ve abandoned Eleanor and Zaveid to suffer them alone.” Sorey tsked his tongue teasingly. “Hope that’s not me someday.”

“If and when that cow ever goes hellion? It just might be,” Mikleo retorted. He stubbed out his cigarette. “That being said, rest assured that I have your back in other circumstances.”

Sorey grinned wide. “Is that a date?”

Mikleo snorted, but Sorey could see a smile on his lips regardless. “You wish.”

Text messages (4), Mileena Weiss

Hi Sorey!! How’ve you been?

We’ve missed you here in Ladylake! (heart emoji) Ix has wanted to text you since the day you left to see how you’re doing, but, well, you know him. He thinks it would just be “bothering” you. (eyeroll emoji)

Captain Lailah is as elegant and graceful as ever, but I can tell she misses having you around. I bet she’d love a text or email from you sometime. If you make a beautiful lady like her cry, I’ll break into your apartment at night and break the bindings on ALL your books!! (knife emoji, knife emoji)

The precinct’s been pretty quiet lately, so maybe we can both take some time to visit you in Lastonbell. Ix has been daydreaming of going to all those museums and galleries you told him about before you left; if I don’t get him there soon, he’s liable to wilt away from nerd starvation. (skull emoji) Help him!!! Love you lots!

Sorey read through the texts with a small, sad smile on his face. Mileena and Ix were the resident rookies on Ladylake’s squad, and ever since they’d joined the team, Sorey had felt a certain kind of responsibility for them. Especially Ix, who – though showing deductive skills and proficiency with purification that rivalled many of the more seasoned squad members – was a complete and utter nervous wreck even in the best of times. Crippling indecision and heartbreakingly low self-esteem were not traits that meshed well with a career in criminal justice, no matter what skills were there to make up for it. On his especially bad days, Sorey would load him up on the back of his motorcycle and drive them both over to his favorite café and bookstore to chat about history until Ix’s tension passed.

When Sorey got the notification that he was being transferred to Lastonbell, he couldn’t help but be concerned at what would become of the rookie when he wasn’t around…he had Mileena, of course, but there were just some things that you couldn’t talk about freely with someone you had feelings for.

Sorey knew that pain. He dropped his phone to his chest and let out a sigh.

You:

Hey guys! That sounds great, but I’m not sure if you really want to see my apartment right now…

Mileena Weiss:

Have you seriously not unpacked yet???? It’s been two weeks!! What will you do if you want to bring a special someone home with you, make them sleep in a box like a cat??

You:

Well, if it came to that…

Mileena Weiss:

I swear I don’t understand men honestly

I’m gonna tattle on you to Captain Lailah

You:

Nooo. Nooooooooooooo

I’ll unpack soon. Promise (halo emoji) And then the two of you can come tour the city with me!

Mileena Weiss:

I’ll hold you to that! (heart emoji)

The twinge of homesickness in his chest eased, if only a little. Sorey paused for a long moment, gazing at the gathering clouds outside the window, at the twinkling city lights in the late night air. He tapped over to his contacts and brought up Mikleo’s entry, and stared at the picture Mikleo had sent him to associate with it – before they’d found out they were coworkers, of course. Sorey was sure that Mikleo wouldn’t have ever sent him a photo like this otherwise.

His naked neck, marked with Sorey’s hickies, his shirt unbuttoned to show the lines of his chest, his unbound hair falling in waves down his shoulders, and just a hint of his full, soft lips. Sorey probably shouldn’t still have it associated with Mikleo’s contact, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to disassociate the Mikleo he’d fallen into bed with, with the Mikleo he was now working alongside every day in the office. Doing that felt like giving up, and reasonably, that was exactly what he should be doing – Mikleo had rebuffed all of his advances once they’d started working together, so he clearly wasn’t interested in dating a coworker. He’d have to ask Mikleo for another photo sometime. Maybe now?

It was perilously late. It is widely known that at a certain time of night, the urge to send maudlin/horny/needy texts to your crushes becomes an irresistible self-destructive directive. Sorey was caught up in this compulsion, and before he even realized what he was doing, he’d already texted Mikleo.

You:

Hey. You still need a picture of me for your phone?

Sorey then pulled his phone back to take a selfie; turtling his neck in an attempt to give himself as many chins as possible in the shot. He sent it over to Mikleo, and as five whole seconds ticked by without a reply, Sorey fought the urge to go curl up in the bathtub in a shame ball. Luckily or unluckily for Sorey, he didn’t have to wait more than another torturous minute or so for a response.

Mikleo:

That wasn’t the kind of photo I was expecting when I saw your name, but if you insist. Have you been drinking?

Sorey hadn’t been. He didn’t need to be drunk to make poor decisions in love.

You:

drinking!! The very idea

What kind of man do you take me for

Mikleo:

The drunk kind. Go dunk your head so you’re lucid for work tomorrow

You:

Is this the kind of thanks I get for sharing my chins with you (crying face emoji)

Sorey didn’t get a response for a minute or two, and briefly thought that Mikleo had abandoned him for the night to recover from his not-impairment. However, Sorey’s phone buzzed again, and Sorey’s heart skipped when he saw that it was a photo message. Swallowing hard, Sorey opened the notification.

He knew that Mikleo wore reading glasses – Sorey saw him wearing them at work, and he looked good enough in them there, but this. This was simply unfair. Mikleo had sent him a picture of himself in half-profile, leaning his chin on his hand, and giving the camera a half-lidded look over the tops of his spectacles. His hair fell over one shoulder in a loose braid that just begged to be loosened further by Sorey’s fingers. He looked like he had been reading in bed when Sorey texted, and apparently slept without a shirt on. (Well, he’d slept without a shirt on at Sorey’s place. But he didn’t have pants on then either. Asking if the latter still held true seemed to be an inappropriate question to ask.) The dim lighting of Mikleo’s room cast shadows on his features; perfectly outlining the beautiful lines of his jaw and cheekbones, and the tiny curl of those lips as they smirked at Sorey through the screen. It was no less lewd than the picture he already had of Mikleo, and Sorey felt awash in an exquisite despair.

He was getting the distinct feeling that he’d find something to fixate on no matter what picture Mikleo sent him, no matter how innocuous. He wondered if he could maybe sneak one of Mikleo while he was eating. That might work to get something that wouldn’t destroy him every time he looked at it.

You:

too few chins. a B+ at best. See me after class

Mikleo:

I’ll dispute that grade with the dean’s office tomorrow, I assure you.

Good night. I’m sure you know to drink water before going to bed

You:

Of course. Partners always looking out for each other

Good night

So now Sorey had two lewd pictures, a renewed ache in his chest, and one very empty bed.

Sorey covered his face in his hand and sighed. This city was feeling lonelier than ever.

#sormik #suremiku #soremiku #soymilk #sorey/mikleo #tales of zestiria #i guess this is my personal tales of zestiria tag now #a tenderly crafted fanfiction #writing commissions #commissions

5 notes · View notes

somefinelipstickonthatpig · 8 years ago

Note

I don't know if you still accept drabble prompts or not, but...how about Sorey trying to keep it together but finally breaking down after his awakening, taking in Gramps' death and everything else that overloaded him during his time as Shepherd, and Mikleo comforting him the best he can?

Krissey’s Notes: ohhhhh my gosh okay I’m sorry this took so long. When I first got this prompt, the idea was so good, that I knew I wanted to take my time with it.

but this prompt also gave me the opportunity to slip in a lot of my personal headcanons about Sorey’s reaction to waking up again, particularly in a sudden new world and all that?? so really this prompt was perfect and thank you so much for giving it

WITHOUT MUCH FURTHER A DO HERE ComES THE ANGST!!

The tears don’t come until the night, when the sun passesand the world falls quiet, settling down its weary self for slumber.

Sorey can hear nothing else but the deep breathing of Mikleoat his back with the tranquility of Elysia just outside their hut door. It isa sound he has always, always known, which alone brings a strange comfort sojuxtaposed from the rest of the new world around him.

Listening, straining his ear for every inhale and exhale ofhis bedmate, he rolls onto his back. His hands fold over hisstomach. But then, eventually, his fingers find a way to his chest.

That’s where it usually begins, too. No matter how hard hepresses, he can never find a pulse.

It is usually one thing such as that, that sets off thetears. And whatever begins it, other regrets and sorrows soon follow,compounded by the heavy grief inside him. It surprises Sorey every time that he could feelso, so sad.

He wonders sometimes if this is why humans who becomeseraphim usually and mercifully don’t retain their memories.

Sometimes Sorey gets really selfishly sad about missing outon certain parts of being human that he had, quite honestly, been lookingforward to. There is a certain joy to living and growing in the way he knewthat he knows he will miss, and that he’s sorry to never get toexperience.

Sometimes Sorey thinks of Gramps, and cries anew withmemories and sorrow that he was gone. It has been years since his passing—too many to count. But what would hit him the most would be the reminder that even though Zenrus had been a father to him, he still missed thefuneral rites the seraphim of Elysia performed for him. He had slept throughthe entire ceremony, whenever they would have decided to do it. He never got tosay his proper goodbyes.

Sometimes Sorey turns over further to touch the length ofMikleo’s hair, to see if he could measure with his own fingertips just how long it had been since he saw him—justhow long it was that he had slept—and just how much time he had missed out on. Sometimes, that hurt the most: to see with real manifest evidence how muchof his other half’s life he had slept through.

And sometimes, when the grief is heaviest, he wonders howmany times Mikleo cried while he was asleep, with pain equally so heavy andawful, that Sorey will likely never know about. How many times, while he wasasleep, was Mikleo afraid? How many times did Mikleo feel lonely?

Mikleo had to grieve Gramps’ passing alone, Sorey knew.

Sometimes, that regret alone made him sob until he couldn’tbreathe, fingers pressed over his eyes and clutching to his temple. Face hiddenin the night.

There were many times Sorey found himself sobbing silentapologies, gasping them into the air, fingers shaking, so utterly sorry for abandoning the light of his life when Mikleo had already losteverything else only moments beforethat final fight. Sometimes, Sorey felt like he had made the most horrible andselfish mistake to sleep the years away instead of find another way to achievetheir dream—together.

The grief came regularly each night in Elysia as Sorey foundit harder and harder to sleep with a body that no longer required rest. Themore hours he spent staring into the darkness with his thoughts as his onlycompany, tormented by memories of a five-hundred-years-ago yesterday that therest of the world had long forgotten about—that Mikleo might have forgotten about—he felt out of place. He felt astranger to his own home, to his own skin.

But above all, he knows he has made the gravest error ofall: he abandoned the one person mostimportant to him, most likely when Mikleo needed him most.

“Sorey?”

Sorey turns from where he stands at the cliff’s edge, aprecipice along the southern skirts of Elysia that he remembers fondly fromtheir journey together. His loose button-up flutters in the wind as he seesMikleo walking towards him. The water seraph’s long hair is pulled back in aponytail. When the wind lifts it up, it frames his pale, moonglow face likewings, and Sorey thinks how pure of heart Mikleo must be, that he managed tosurvive all he did and still stand before him wholly untainted.

Even after five hundred years.

Sorey turns back around to view the world beneath. In thebreak of dawn, the world is quiet and crisp. The sun has only just begun tocreep over the horizon, and the sky yields to its burning hues of red and gold.

“...what are you doing out here?” Mikleo says slowly as hereaches his side.

Sorey can feel the burn of his eyes on his profile, and hedoesn’t know what to say. He blinks once and bows his head. His eyes fall uponthe way his fingers clutch at the cuffs of his blue sleeves.

Mikleo continues after a long pause. “Sorey?” And when hestill doesn’t answer, the water seraph drops his voice. Maybe he knows. “Areyou…okay?”

Sorey shakes his head.

Mikleo exhales; it’s a careful breath, but in part relieved.“Bad dream?”

Sorey shakes his head again. But then his face tightens. Hefrowns carefully, and considers whether or not his answer is true.

Mikleo waits, as patiently as ever.

And it makes Sorey suck in a sharp breath.

Like the sun shining its rays down on their sorry worldbelow, even in the world above the world, Sorey realizes that he’s been makingMikleo wait for more time than they had ever even spent together. And all atonce, he thinks how selfish he must be for doing that to him, for turningaround and when the waiting period was over, expecting Mikleo to just pick himback up and accept him back into his life like nothing had happened. Likeall those years didn’t make a difference; like things didn’t change after allthat time. Feelings didn’t change; concerns didn’t change.

Like a waterfall, follows the thought: no more.

“I can’t believe you didn’t just—forget about me,” is the first thing he can think of to say andit’s nonsensical. Mikleo seems as surprised as him that it came from his ownmouth but now that it’s there, from it, spouts so much more.

“Y’know, I didn’t dream while I slept,” Sorey says and heshakes his head. “I closed my eyes and I opened them and then suddenly, the worldwas different.” He looks to Mikleo,and his eyes take in how much older helooks, how much taller he is. Thelength of his hair. Sorey looks away, back out over the edge. He shakes hishead, and the wind picks up his bangs.

He hates the way his breathing starts to get short.

Mikleo’s eyes go wide, and Sorey can’t conceive why.“Sorey…is…that what’s bothering you?”

Sorey just shakes his head, and chokes on his next words.“No!” he first says, and it’s stronger than he meant it to be. He can feel hisown throat go hoarse at the single word. He clenches his hands into fists. Heshakes his head again. “Yes? I—I don’t know. I just—I didn’t think it would belike this. I really didn’t.”

Mikleo stares at him. There’s a beat before he asks, just asquiet as he has been, “Didn’t think…‘it’ would be like what?”

“I didn’t think…” Sorey pauses. It’s hard to get the wordsout. But he says them anyway; Mikleo deserves closure and deserves release fromthe obligation he’s subconsciously held him to—all in the same breath. “…I didn’tthink I’d wake up to a world where I didn’t fitanymore. Y’know?”

The words go out through a tight, strangled throat. Sorey standsthere a moment more as the tension in his face gets harder and harder and hecan’t hold the tears back. He raises his arm to cover his mouth and the firstfragile ones break free.

When he next speaks, his voice is muffled, “I can’t sleepanymore.” He shakes his head, swallows and lets his arm fall to his side. Theworld starts to become hard to see. The tears distort his vision. “I know I don’thave to anymore, but…even if I could.I think I wouldn’t. I think I’m afraid to. I think if I sleep, I won’t wake upagain. Or—when I do wake up—I’ll wake up and the world’s different again—” –and you’redifferent again— “—and I’m afraid this time there won’t be anything I recognize.”

This time there willbe no one there in that uncertain future who still loves me.

Mikleo doesn’t say a word, but he listens. He stands thereon the precipice with Sorey, his expression hard to read.

“I lost…everything, Mikleo—evenwho I am—and I didn’t think thatwould happen.” He had thought so few things when he first accepted theresponsibility of being Maotelus’ vessel.

He should have thought more.

Sorey’s hands turns into a first and he sniffs. The tearscome faster now, and his voice turns shaky. “I’m not human anymore. I’m not the Shepherdanymore. I don’t know what I’m here foranymore. I don’t know why Maotelus brought me back as a seraph. I don’t knowwhy he let me keep my memories. I don’t—” –and perhaps this was the part he wasmost afraid of— “—I don’t even know if I’m still your best friend anymore, or if you still love me, because it’s been half of a millennia—and I don’t know what to d-do if—if I’m not—”

Mikleo’s hand touches his arm, and turns Sorey around toface him. “What do you mean you don’tknow if I still love you?” he asks, like it’s obvious.

And it flows out of Sorey; he could stop the tide if hetried. “I wasn’t there, Mikleo…! Forfive hundred years I slept, and I left you aloneright after Gramps died!”

He lets that sit in a hanging, awful silence, before it alltumbles forth, with a sudden fire and ringing pain that wasn’t there before.“Right after your mother died again—andthen me—” It’s a hard sob that breaks free. “I don’t know how you don’t hate me. I wonder if you do. I wonderwhy you don’t. I tossed the responsibility of the world on your shoulders when I decided to sleep, and I left you alone for—for forever, and I’m sorry! Iwasn’t there for you! I missed so much of your life—I missed countless birthdays—Imissed Rose and Alisha dying—I missed—!”

His throat gets too tight to talk, and he barely gets out,“I missed everything! I’m so sorry!”before he shakes too hard he can’t say another word.

Sorey sobs.

It’s unlike any other cry he can remember in his human life.It feels supremely inhuman, the wayhe feels like he’s crying from the depths of his soul and on out. He can’tremember crying this hard before, at a loss so deep and so grave and so sweeping.

But Mikleo doesn’t remove his hand from Sorey’s arm.

Instead, he pulls him closer. He wraps his arms aroundSorey.

And for the first time since waking up in this new andunfamiliar world, Sorey feels something like home.

“…I wasn’t alone, you know,” Mikleo whispers to him.

And Sorey clings to Mikleo, his arms wrapped tight aroundhis one anchor. He can’t form the words to respond back, but Mikleo continueson anyway, as if not expecting him to.

“When Gramps died? After the final fight?” He shakes hishead and Sorey can feel the soft movement of his chin against his shoulder. “Youdon’t have to feel like you abandoned me, because you didn’t, Sorey. Because of you and because of our journey together,I had friends who helped me afterwards to grieve him….and to grieve you. Rose, Alisha, Lailah, Zaveid—even Edna.”There’s a small rumble of a laugh in Mikleo’s chest. It’s so familiar, Soreyfeels more tears bubble to the surface. “They were there for me. And I wouldn’thave had them if it weren’t for you.”

Sorey shakes his head, but Mikleo doesn’t let him pull away.He tightens his hold, and he said again, “Yes.If you can believe it, I am gratefulfor you, and I don’t resent yourdecision, Sorey.”

He holds on for a moment longer, a beat of silence driftingbetween them, before he admits quietly, “I mean, yes, I was sad to not haveyou. Yes, I missed you.” Missed you so much that words cannot spanthe depths of that ache. “But I would never hold or have held that againstyou. Not in five hundred years. Not even in a million years.”

Sorey can feel Mikleo take his next breath, and he holds onto hear it. To feel it against his own chest. “You going to sleep was the onlyway to achieve what we’ve been dreaming about for all our lives up until thatpoint. And you know, maybe the reason you didn’t dream in all that time andmaybe the reason it’s so hard to sleep right now, Sorey, isn’t because you’reafraid to wake up. Maybe it’s because now, you have nothing to dream for.”

Mikleo loosens his hold and pulls back. Sorey looks up,lifting his head and tear-stained cheeks.

And Mikleo’s gentle smile that greets him is like the sun.

“…gosh, there’s so much more I want to tell you,” Mikleoconfesses to him, and he raises his hands from Sorey’s back to his face, tocradle the lines of his jaw with his own palms. His thumbs wipe away Sorey’stears.

Sorey sniffs. He raises a hand to cover one of Mikleo’s own,holding it to his cheek. Hope kindles in his chest at those words, a soft andlight-winged burn. Something to dream for, huh? “…y-yeah…?”

Mikleo’s smile widens. “Yeah,” he breathes back. “After all,it’s…all I’ve been dreaming about forthe past five hundred years. Talking to you again. Sharing space with youagain. Having the other half of me back.”

Sorey sucks in a sharp breath at those words. “…yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sorey swallows hard. Despite all that Mikleo has said so far, despite all the promise of more that Mikleo wants to share with him too, the Shepherd-turned-seraph finds himself asking, “You—you mean still—”

“—Sorey.” And the single, familiar, chiding call of his namemeans so much more than any other word could. “I never stopped.”

A shuddering, shaky breath. A wet, incredulous laugh.

Sorey brings his forehead to meet Mikleo’s own, the risensun warm on their faces and their backs. And ironically, it’s him who feels released. It’s Sorey whofeels finally free of guilt and worry and shame.

“Not even in five hundred years?” he asks, breathless withthe impossibility of it.

But Mikleo always could do the impossible. And he alwaysdid.

“Not even in a million,” Mikleo promises.

The kiss they share tastes of home.

#zestiria #sormik #sorey #mikleo #tales of zestiria #seraph!sorey #mod krissey #krissey writes a thing #Anonymous

92 notes · View notes