#these three ships are tethered and I need them all endgame

[nikkiruncks]

big three + being playful

[veliseraptor]

it slips between my fingers now, 3.9k, thor pov, endgame fix-it, thanks @portraitoftheoddity​ for this idea it was a lot of fun to write as you can tell by the fact that I did it in less than a week when I should have been working on other stuff, anyway a lot of angst but there’s a happy ending?

Thor had been with the Guardians for maybe a week when he first caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. When he turned his head, though, there was nothing there.

Of course there wasn’t. Whatever else he was (and Thor could think of a number of things he could call himself), he wasn’t mad - at least not yet. So it was impossible that he might have seen his brother.

Because Loki was dead. And the piece of Thor’s heart that whispered you thought he was before - that piece was poison, a deadly hope that could kill (and stubbornly refused to entirely die).

So no - he had not seen Loki. A trick of the light. His brother was far from here, at peace in Valhalla, along with Frigga, and Odin, and the Warriors Three, and Heimdall, and probably Sif as well. All gone, and he remained.

A fist clenched around Thor’s heart and he went to raid the hold for drink.

**

On an unnamed planet in the Thaumis system, cleaning Stormbreaker of the blood of the creature he’d just helped slay, Thor saw him again.

He froze, and this time he was certain, or nearly: it was Loki, or a shade of him, translucent as mist. He looked just as he had in the moments of his death, frozen in time as he was in Thor’s memory. Bruises ringing his throat, hair disheveled.

A cry burst from Thor’s lips, and as though the sound drove him away Loki vanished into nothingness.

“What, did you chop one of your toes off with that thing?” Rocket asked. Thor shook his head.

“No,” he said. “That isn’t…” He swallowed hard. My brother. I saw my brother’s ghost.

Half Rocket’s comrades already thought Thor was a little mad. He did not need to prove them right. He might have imagined it. (You didn’t.) Conjured Loki from thin air out of wishful thinking. (When you try to avoid thinking too much of him at all.)

“It’s nothing,” Thor said, calling up a smile. Rocket eyed him dubiously, but didn’t question him. That was one of the things Thor appreciated about his new comrades: for the most part, they didn’t question. Did not want to ask probing questions about Thor’s thoughts and feelings.

There was too much, and if he spoke it it would drown him.

“Okay,” Rocket said. “Sure. Sometimes you just gotta yell for no reason.”

“Yes,” Thor said. “Exactly.”

**

In the dark, lying awake in his bunk, Thor tried to recall everything he knew about ghost-lore.

It wasn’t much. It had hardly been an area of study for him - he’d found the very idea unnerving, and Loki’s pranks at his expense–

Thor cut himself off and redirected his thoughts before he could sink in them. Ghosts, or shades, were rare. There were the undead, like the soldiers Hela had raised, but a true spirit was something else, less common, that resulted only from specific circumstances.

But what were those circumstances? Improper burial rites, Thor thought he remembered. Some unfinished business tethering a soul from taking its proper place in the afterlife.

Loki had not had any burial. And unfinished business? He - Loki’s murderer - was dead. What else…

You. You let him die. You let them all die.

For a moment Thor could not breathe. He had to focus, hard, to make his lungs inflate again, and then again, and again.

Was it possible? Was he being haunted?

Was his failure keeping Loki from Valhalla?

He was cold. Thor wrapped the blankets tighter around himself and bit the inside of his cheek. Let it not be so. Let it be something else, anything else, let it be creeping madness, but let this one thing not be his fault.

When he fell asleep, eventually, Thor dreamed he was floating amidst the shattered remains of the Statesman, Loki’s body just out of reach. His eyes snapped open and he said in a voice like death, “why did you leave me, Thor?”

Thor woke with tears on his face.

**

The next time Thor was alone, he tried to call him. “Loki,” he said, “show yourself.”

He did not. Did not appear to explain to Thor what he wanted, did not tell him what he needed to do. Of course he didn’t. Loki had never done what he was told. Why should his shade be any different?

Thor wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or laugh.

Instead, later, when Thor was in the middle of attempting to explain why visiting Muspellheim was a bad idea, there Loki was, standing in the cockpit with his back to Thor, and his voice choked off in the middle of a sentence.

“I don’t understand,” Drax said.

Thor didn’t dare blink, or look away. He seemed clearer this time, more solid and the only word Thor could force out of his throat was, “look.”

The Guardians turned, looked, and then turned back to Thor, to a one with expressions of total incomprehension.

“Look at what?” Peter asked.

“Don’t you see…” Loki’s head turned, and then he did. His eyes looked through Thor, blank and lifeless.

“Are you seeing things that aren’t there?” Mantis asked politely. “That isn’t a good thing.”

He is there, Thor wanted to say. He’s right there, right in front of me, but he couldn’t speak and couldn’t move and Loki didn’t seem to be seeing him at all.

Then Loki’s eyes moved, locked on Thor’s, and widened. His lips parted like he was about to speak.

Drax stepped into his line of sight and said, “I don’t see anything,” and Loki was gone.

For a split second Thor could have struck off Drax’s head. The fury evaporated quickly, leaving a hollow in its place.

“What just happened,” Rocket asked.

Thor turned and walked away without answering. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

What had Loki been about to say? What words were so urgent that they bound his brother here? He feared them. He needed to hear them.

“Loki,” Thor whispered. “Can you hear me?”

No answer. Maybe he really was going mad.

**

“Thor.”

A voice that reached down through his dreams, drawing him up out of alcohol-soaked slumber. It was little more than a whisper, but he answered its call instinctively, and for a moment he hung between sleeping and waking where he almost believed that the last five years had been some terrible dream.

Then he woke entirely, and remembered.

Loki was standing by his bed, looking down at him. Thor stared back, barely breathing, not daring to move. Something built in his throat and exploded out of him, an inarticulate sound, and he reached out but stopped himself before he could feel that there was nothing there to touch.

“Loki,” Thor said, his voice choked, and the next words, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–”

Loki blinked at him, eyebrows knitting with confusion as they might have in life, and if it weren’t for the translucence of his body, the fuzziness around his edges, he might have been. Thor could almost pretend that it was one of Loki’s projections, the early attempts.

“For what?” Loki said.

“You-” Thor could not say died. “I didn’t save you.”

Loki just stared at him. “You couldn’t,” he said. Simply, sensibly, and it wasn’t good enough. Thor had dreaded his brother’s rage, a ghost’s need for vengeance, haunting Thor for redress of his wrongs. But it was worse to be so easily released.

I should have. I should have been able to. If I were everything I am supposed to be…

“How can I set you free?” Thor asked. Loki looked blank, and he said, “you are trapped here, when you should...you should be at peace in Valhalla.”

(Some hideously selfish part of him said don’t go. Stay. Stay with me.)

“I,” Loki started to say, and broke off at a sharp knock on the door.

“Who are you talking to?” said Nebula’s harsh voice, and Thor almost snarled. Loki was gone again.

He stalked over and yanked the door open. “What do you want,” he snapped.

“I heard you talking,” Nebula said. Her gaze was direct and apparently without emotion. “Are you losing your mind?”

“I wouldn’t know if I was, would I,” Thor said harshly. “I was busy.”

Nebula shifted slightly. She seemed, Thor thought, uncomfortable. “Look,” she said. “If you ever want to, I don’t know, talk...Mantis is actually a decent listener.”

Thor sighed. It wasn’t her fault. Wasn’t anyone’s fault. (Except his.) “Thank you,” he said, what he hoped sounded like it was sincere. She shrugged.

“If you’re going to talk to yourself, just do it a little quieter,” she said. “I can keep my mouth shut, but no one else on this ship can.” She walked away before he could answer, and Thor retreated. Loki didn’t reappear, though. Thor stayed up the whole night, just in case, but he never came back.

**

“All right,” Rocket said, plopping himself down across from Thor and stealing the rest of his drink. “If no one else is going to ask...spill.”

“Give that back,” Thor said, gesturing at his flask. Rocket drained it and then tossed it back in his direction.

“Come on,” he said. “You’re dragging the mood down. Get it out of your system and stop moping.”

Thor’s jaw tightened, then relaxed. Hel with it. “I’ve started seeing my brother’s ghost.”

“Your dead brother,” Rocket said. “The one Thanos-” Thor twitched, but Rocket didn’t react. “-killed five years ago. That one?”

“Yes,” Thor said.

“And you’re seeing his, uh, ghost.”

“Yes,” Thor said. Rocket just stared at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Sounds reasonable. Not crazy at all. Does that happen a lot where you’re from?”

“Not often,” Thor said. “But it does happen. The restless dead have been known to linger.”

“Seems like maybe he’s a little late,” Rocket said. Thor gave him a sharp look, and he held up his hands. “Just saying.”

Thor faltered. “I wasn’t exactly…” He paused, and said carefully, “I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings.” And that was a thought that struck him like a blow. That Loki might have been there all along, and Thor hadn’t seen him, hadn’t known.

“You know you’re kind of fucked,” Rocket said. “In the head. Right?”

“I am not seeing things,” Thor said loudly. “I spoke to him, and he answered me. He is real. My brother - Loki-”

There was an odd look on Rocket’s face. “That was his name, huh?” Thor glanced at him, and he shrugged. “You’ve never actually said it before.”

“Oh,” Thor said after a moment. “Hm.”

They were both quiet. Finally, Rocket shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “So you’re seeing your brother’s ghost. How come no one else has?”

“I don’t know,” Thor said. “Maybe because he’s my brother. Maybe he’s not strong enough.”

“Or maybe,” Rocket said, “ghosts aren’t real and you’ve got a bad case of wishful thinking.”

Thor’s temper surged and for a moment he almost lashed out. He shoved back and stood instead. “You asked what I was thinking, and I told you,” he said. “You don’t have to believe me. But don’t mock me.”

He didn’t wait to hear any response. His heart beat in his stomach, but a part of him wondered if he wasn’t angry because of the possibility that Rocket might be right, and he’d somehow wished a shade of Loki into existence out of desperation.

**

Loki appeared to him again in the middle of the night when Thor was drinking instead of sleeping. He sat down, or seemed to, and said, “you don’t look well.”

Thor didn’t look at him. “Don’t attempt to appeal to my vanity. I haven’t any left.”

“I’m not,” Loki said. “Only…” He almost heard him sigh. “You left Asgard.”

“What’s left of it,” Thor said. “Valkyrie is in charge.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Loki said.

“She’s better at it than you’d think.” Thor set down his drink and raised his eyes to look at Loki. “Are you real?” Loki’s brow furrowed in that too familiar expression and Thor’s eyes burned. “I mean - am I imagining you because I want so badly for you to be here?”

Loki seemed to think about that. “Would I know?” he asked.

“What do you remember?” Thor asked. Desperate. For a moment, Loki seemed to flicker, then solidify again. He seemed stronger now, Thor thought. Like glass instead of mist, though as likely to shatter.

“I died,” Loki said. “I remember that.”

Loki struggling, clawing at Thanos’s arms, gasping out his last words and then that horrible crack, his body going limp. Thor took a shuddering breath in and downed the rest of his mug. “And then…?”

Loki’s hands twisted together. Another gesture so familiar from life, from their mother, a tell of unease and discomfort. “I was in Valhalla, I think,” Loki said. “It’s not...clear. But then I wasn’t.”

“Why?” Thor asked. “Why did you leave?”

“I don’t know.” Loki looked lost. He wrapped his arms around himself.

“Is it me?” Thor asked. His eyes prickled. “Is it because of me that you can’t rest?”

“Why would it be because of you?” Loki asked. “I just know that I’m cold, now. I remember sun and light but now it’s just...the cold. And you.”

Thor felt a pang. So Loki had been at peace, and now...and now he wasn’t, drawn back it sounded like against his will, suffering…

Pulled out of Valhalla - back to the land of the living. Cold - like the depths of space.

A spark bloomed in Thor’s belly and his breath caught. Bruce had tried, he remembered, to bring back Natasha, and said he had failed. What if he’d been wrong?

What if he’d been wrong, and Natasha wasn’t the only one he’d brought back, only...only they had stayed just where they’d fallen?

“Loki,” Thor said, and he could hear the vibration in his voice, knew he was treading on dangerous ground, ice that if it cracked would plunge him into black depths from which he might not surface. “Do you know...can you see anything?”

“You,” Loki said. Thor shook his head.

“Anything else.”

“No?” Loki was giving him an odd look, but Thor’s heart was pounding, and he ran for the cockpit.

“Do you have the coordinates for where you found me,” Thor asked.

“What?” Quill said.

“I said, do you have the coordinates for where you found me,” Thor repeated.

“I...might, I guess,” Quill said. “Course, that was five years ago. Why the fuck do you want to go there?”

“Because I think Banner might have been wrong,” Thor said. “I think maybe...I think maybe he brought them back after all.”

Nebula jerked. “Brought who back?” she asked.

Thor took a deep and unsteady breath, his eyes fixed on the stars in front of him. “My brother,” he said. “At least. And maybe...maybe not just him.”

There was a profound silence.

“All right,” Rocket said. “I’ll say it. You’ve officially lost your fucking mind.”

**

Thor dug in his heels. He argued. He pleaded. He stopped just short of threatening, though only just. Finally Nebula said, “either humor him or knock him out, I’m sick of listening to this,” and Quill threw up his hands.

“Fine!” he said. “Fine, we’ll go check it out. I hope you’re happy.”

Thor didn’t respond, his eyes fixed forward. He was thinking of how Loki’s ghost had been growing more and more solid. Closer to death? Even a Jotun could not live forever in the cold depths of space, without air, or sustenance.

Would Heimdall be there as well? The other Asgardians?

Had Bruce brought Natasha back after all?

Too many questions. At the moment his focus was narrowed to one: finding Loki and bringing him back.

“What are you doing?” Loki asked.

“Saving you,” Thor said. As he should have before. But at least now...perhaps now he could redress at least this one thing. “Hold on,” he whispered. “I am coming.”

**

Thor had expected the wreckage of the Statesman, but of course it was gone. Dispersed, drifted apart, and Thor’s heart plunged into his stomach. The bodies were gone, too; of course they had not simply stayed in place all this time.

Which meant he still had no idea where Loki was. How far his body might have drifted after five years.

“Okay,” Rocket said. “So...what now?”

“He’s here,” Thor said. “He has to be here...somewhere.” He scanned the stars as though he might see him. “Search for anything living,” he said, and could hear the desperation in his own voice.

“Thor,” Peter said, and he almost sounded kind, “there’s nothing out there.”

His chest tightened. The now familiar onset of panic, and he tried to force himself to calm. “No,” he said. “I am sure...look again.”

“Buddy,” Rocket said. Thor banged his fist against the side of the ship.

“I said–”

“Watch it,” Nebula growled. Thor glared at her, and she looked back at him, her jaw tight.

Something went out of Thor. The ice cracking under his feet.

He turned and walked away before he could break down in front of any of them. His eyes burned, and he found a quiet corner and collapsed into it, burying his face into his hands.

Loki was here. Somewhere. Thor was sure of it. And yet...space was enormous, and he didn’t know how much time they had before Loki died again. Thor failed him, again.

He almost heard the whisper of air as someone sat down next to him, and knew without looking that he was no longer alone.

“Thor,” said Loki’s voice. “It’s all right.”

“No,” Thor said, raw and hoarse. “It isn’t.”

“I’m not in pain,” Loki said. “Only...a little cold.”

Thor shook his head, his throat closing. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t try to make me feel better. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that you died, and it isn’t fair that everyone else…” He swallowed hard. “If you could just tell me where you are. You shouldn’t have to...I was going to save you.”

Loki had a small, strange smile. “It’s good of you to try,” he said. “But I’m not certain I’m alive at all.”

Thor shook his head. “I know it,” he said desperately. “Why would you be here, otherwise? Why would you not be in Valhalla anymore? Why appear to me?”

“Bad luck?” Loki said. He sounded so clear. So real. The sound Thor made was akin to a sob.

“Loki,” he said, and stopped. He didn’t know what to say, other than that, and fell silent. They were both quiet. How long, Thor wondered, did he have? How long before Loki was gone again, and this brief glimpse of what it was to have him ripped away?

“How did you find me?” he asked. Loki shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I was alone, and cold, but I reached out and you were there.”

“Reached out,” Thor said. “With what?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know that either,” he said. “With...whatever it is that binds us together, I suppose.”

“Could I…” Thor trailed off. “Could I do it? Reach back, and...and find you?”

Loki blinked, and was quiet. Thor reached for his hands, but his fingers went through.

“Tell me how,” he said, soft and frantic. Loki shook his head, mute, and Thor said, “please,” with all the desperation in him, all the grief and pain and need, and Loki flinched back like Thor had struck him.

“I don’t know how,” he said.

Thor squeezed his eyes closed. He tried to imagine Loki: his face, his voice, the gestures of his hands. The sound of his laugh. His knives in Thor’s side, the force of his rage. The feel of him in Thor’s arms. The texture of his scales when he was a snake, or fox-fur, or feathers. Trying to hold everything that was Loki in his mind, his heart aching.

He imagined on the Bifrost, as he had a thousand times, reaching for Loki’s hand and grasping his wrist.

For just a moment, his awareness doubled. He was sitting on the ship, and he was drifting, frozen, heartbeat slowed almost to stillness. Thor sucked a breath into his lungs and he was only himself again, but he still felt it, a tug in his chest like there was a string wrapped around his heart.

He lurched to his feet and strode back to the bridge. “That way,” he said, without preamble, pointing.

“Um,” Peter said.

“I’m certain,” Thor said. “Go that way. Not too quickly.”

Silence met him.

“Go,” Nebula said, finally. Peter muttered something under his breath, but he went. Thor held very still, barely breathing, all his attention dedicated to that string pulling him onward, onward–

“There,” he breathed, because he could see it, just see it, one body in all the dark. “There.” His heart was pounding in his ears, fear and hope warring in his chest, and he did not dare move, as if to move would break him.

**

They brought him aboard. Brought Loki’s body aboard, and placed him on a table like it was a bier.

Thor drew close, slowly, and looked down at Loki’s face. There was ice rime on his eyelashes, his skin Jotun blue and Thor had never seen him like this before but he could scarcely even care. Just as on his ghost, the bruises lingered, a deeper purple on blue skin. He looked dead.

No, Thor thought. No. Don’t you dare. Not when we’re so close.

“Mantis,” he said. “Do you know...can you tell…”

She moved closer, tentatively, and reached out to lay fingers against Loki’s temples. Her antennae glowed softly, and Thor held his breath.

“He is alive,” she said, and Thor heard himself make a soft noise. “But sleeping very deeply.”

“Wake him,” Thor said, and remembered to add belatedly, “please.”

“I’ll try,” Mantis said. She sounded uncertain, but closed her eyes, brow furrowing in deep concentration.

Loki’s chest rose. Movement flickered briefly under his eyelids. Thor leaned forward, barely breathing himself.

His fingers twitched, and heaved in a ragged breath.

Red, red eyes opened.

The sound Thor made was weak and wretched, what another version of himself might have called pathetic. He didn’t care. He lunged for Loki, seized him and pulled him into a hug, not caring if the cold burned him, not caring about anything but this, this gift, the universe at last giving him something back after all it had taken away.

He could not speak.

“Thor,” Loki said, almost a wheeze, and Thor loosened his hold, pulling back just enough that he could see Loki’s face, drink in the familiarity under the unfamiliarity. Loki looked at him, clearly dazed still, blinking out of whatever hibernation might have saved him. Thor could not tell if he was laughing or crying; perhaps both.

Loki blinked at him twice. “Thor,” he said again. “Where did you get a new eye?”

Thor grabbed him again, not answering. The string around his heart thrummed, and he didn’t think he would ever let go again.

[eachainn]

prompt for toz/tob au, Sorey worries about nerd friend Alisha status in the Abby. Mikleo comes in with books talk over the ruins they went through and generally comforting (though he tells himself he's just doing so to keep down any malevolence.*lies*)

We’re probably getting closer to spoiler territory for Berseria at this point. Nothing about the endgame, but I am using one of the big revelations. Also, you may have noticed I changed the name of Rose’s ship, mostly because I thought Windrider felt a bit more ship-like than Sparrowfeather…and I needed the other name. (Parts: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4).

It was always easy to find Sorey. Mikleo didn’t know if it was because they seemed to understand each other so well or because Sorey was his vessel. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever felt that way when he had been tethered before, but it was hard to really remember anything about that time. It was all a vague blur. The only thing he remembered was what Sorey had called him then and some of the facts from the books that he had read.

Mikleo shifted his hold on the books in his arms, glancing down at the stack before looking up at where Sorey was sitting on a driftwood log by the sea. 

He’d been there since they’d made their rounds through Yseult’s market. It had been a mandatory stop according to Rose. Saving the world or not, the Sparrowfeathers had to keep their business running. The Windrider might be at their disposal, but it took money to keep the ship running. 

Besides, it was hard to argue with Rose’s demand that they put in at the southern island, especially when part of their purpose there was to gather supplies for Hellawes. Mikleo might not have remembered exactly what had happened in the city, but he knew that the city was in trouble. As far as he was concerned, the people shouldn’t suffer for what their leaders were doing. There was enough suffering in the world.

Mikleo bit his lip, glancing up again. He jumped when he saw that Sorey had turned to look at him. He was unable to keep himself from smiling in response to the smile that crossed Sorey’s face. Sorey’s smiles were infectious and always drew him closer.

He crossed the distance between them, sitting down on Sorey’s right side out of habit. It felt like his place and Sorey seemed to expect him. Sorey was already leaning towards him even as Mikleo settled on the log. Mikleo sighed and leaned into Sorey, their shoulders knocking together.

Sorey seemed more than happy to lean against him and Mikleo wasn’t about to push him away. 

By all logic, he should have been tired of Sorey’s company considering the tight quarters on the Windrider but he wasn’t. It was comfortable and Mikleo kept finding excuses to seek Sorey out, whether it was to get away from Edna’s teasing, Michael’s strange moments of staring or just to check on his vessel. He’d gone after Sorey for the latter reason, just because he’d been worried.

Ever since they had gotten to Yseult they’d heard nothing but the excitement for their new praetor. Mikleo had been ready to ignore it until he heard that it was the princess who had taken orders with the Abbey. He’d heard a little about her while they had been in Logres, but it had never been important, not until Sorey had reacted by going strangely quiet.

Mikleo stacked the books carefully in his lap, running his fingers over the embossed sun on the cover. “Sorey?”

“I’m alright, Mikleo. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Mikleo huffed, shooting Sorey a glare that he was sure that the human didn’t see. Sorey’s gaze had gone back to the ocean. Mikleo pressed his fingers into the cover of the book, taking a deep breath to try and formulate a question that would get Sorey talking.

He didn’t get the chance to, Sorey shaking his head and leaning back on his hands. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“Just as long as you don’t start generating malevolence.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

Mikleo quickly looked away as Sorey tuned his head. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stand up to the expression on Sorey’s face. It had been getting fonder every time, and he didn’t know how to deal with it, not when it made his stomach twist.

He cleared his throat and shoved the stack of books onto Sorey’s lap. “We might be here for a while. Rose seems determined to haggle her way through the entire market.”

“Let her. She seems to enjoy it.” Sorey turned the stack to look at the titles before settling them back on his lap. “Besides…I’d like to stay for a little while longer.”

“Because of Alisha?”

Sorey nodded, opening the book on the top of a stack to a random page. He rested his hand on the sketch of an eight-headed dragon, not even looking at the writing on the other side of the page.

“I don’t know if we could be called friends, but we went into the Abbey at the same time. She might be royalty, but she’s nowhere close to the throne. I just remember her being so happy at being able to see malakhim. It was something that she always wanted to do. That and help the people.”

Mikleo glanced at Sorey before shaking his head. “She’s in the wrong place if she wants to do that.”

“I know, but I don’t know if she does.” Sorey bit his lip. “I’m worried about her. Why would they send her out here? It’s obviously important because the Abbey took over Amenoch’s temple.”

“She’s a praetor.”

Sorey shook his head. “It’s a title only, in deference to her other one. And she knows it, but she’s not going to let it stop her.”

Mikleo shifted in place, trying not to show his nervousness.

They hadn’t had to face a praetor in a long time. It wasn’tthat he didn’t believe that they could do it, but it was just a matter of howstrong the praetor was, and if Sorey would be able to follow through. Hetrusted Sorey not to betray them, but that didn’t meant that Sorey would justignore the connections he had made while attached to the Abbey. That would betoo much to ask.

Mikleo sighed and slouched forward slightly. He stared outat the water, letting the motion of the waves calm him.

It wasn’t like they were going to have face Alisha, theywould probably be gone long before Alisha reached Ysuelt.

He turned his head as he heard a page turn, watching asSorey flipped back and forth between the pages in the first book with a frown.Mikleo leaned back in time to see Sorey drag his fingers along the ragged edgeof where one of the pages had been torn out before shrugging and going back tothe first page that he had opened the book to.

Sorey leaned close, his mouth moving as he worked over thewords, Mikleo watching him with fascination. He was glad that the books he hadbrought as a distraction were working, but that didn’t make him any lesscurious.

He scooted closer, the corner of his mouth twitching up asSorey immediately made room for him as well. Mikleo spared a quick look at theillustration of the multi-headed dragon before looking at the text on the otherside.

He frowned when it didn’t immediately make sense, the linesarranged with a strange array of symbols that were almost familiar.

Mikleo tipped his head to the side, trying to make somesense out of them before giving up. He looked back up at Sorey, surprised to seethat the human looked like he was making some headway. Mikleo’s gaze lingeredon the wrinkles that formed on Sorey’s forehead as he frowned at the text,startled by the urge to reach up and smooth them out.

He flexed his fingers, quickly planting his hands on thedriftwood so he wouldn’t give into the urge. Instead, he focused on the strangealphabet. “Can you read it?”

“A little. I’m a bit out of practice.” Sorey laughed, hisfingers brushing over the page almost fondly. “It’s been a while since I’ve hadto read the ancient tongue. The Abbey usually kept these books locked up tight.If Rose has a copy, then it’s really rare.”

Mikleo hoped that Sorey didn’t notice the blush that crossedhis face. He hadn’t gotten all of the books from Rose, although most of themwere from her. The book that Sorey was pouring over was something that Seleneand Muse had taken from the royal villa. He hadn’t asked them their reasons,but the look on Michael’s face when Muse had handed him the book had beenenough of an answer. Mikleo was sure that Michael wouldn’t mind him borrowingthe book for a while, if only to keep Sorey’s mind from fixing on the subjectof Alisha for too long.

He scooted a little bit closer, leaning his shoulder againstSorey’s. Sorey turned the book so he could see it, running his finger along oneof the lines and reading it out loud. “Sa, popo, mucho, sanchon.” Sorey paused for a moment before, speaking again.“The parent hates tomatoes; the child eggplants.”

Mikleo whistled, reaching out to rest his hand on the text.“Where did you learn to do that?”

“Back in Aball. There was an old seraph that stayed for afew years, just before the opening three years ago. I used to rush through mychores to be able to listen to the stories that he would tell. No one elsewould bother us because no one else could see him. He taught me the ancienttongue because he thought it would be useful with the way I was poking aroundthe old ruins in the area. Then we could actually read what was being said onthe walls.” 

Sorey laughed, the sound trailing off suddenly. His fingers curledon the page before he straightened them out, Mikleo seeing the way that theyshook with the motion.

He looked up at Sorey just in time to see him let out ashaky breath. Mikleo reached up to touch Sorey’s wrist, holding it gently asSorey leaned into him.

Sorey was silent for a moment before he shook his head.“Sorry. I…I was just thinking about home.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Yes. But I miss the people there more. And this is justreminding me about my friend. He was…he was learning this with me. We promisedeach other that we would use this to travel the world and look at all of theruins. We wanted to write a comprehensive history of the world together. But hedied before we could even leave the village. Something happened to him thatScarlet Night.”

Mikleo felt a chill run up his spine. He stared at Sorey,having to work to force the words out. “W-what happened?”

“I don’t know. Mother and I hid in the cellar until Fathercame to rescue us. The only people that would know are Muse and Michael, and itwouldn’t feel right asking them about it. And…I almost don’t want to know.There’s no arte that I know of that can bring people back from the dead. Soit’s up to me to live out our dream, just as soon as I finish helping youguys.”

Sorey reached up to rest his hand over Mikleo’s. “Isound like some kind of mourning widow, don’t I?”

“No. He was your best friend, and you miss him.”

“They named you after him, you know.” Mikleo froze, not surewhy he felt dread rush through him. There was something in that, something justout of his understanding that bothered him. He swallowed, almost missing whatSorey said as he continued talking. “I was surprised, but it suits you.”

Mikleo blushed and looked down at the book again. The dreadwas still there, lurking around the embarrassment, but he didn’t know how todeal with it, especially when it was without direction. It was easier to let itsit and turn his attention back to the book. Then he wouldn’t have to thinkabout it or Sorey’s attention. But that didn’t stop him from focusing on theway that Sorey’s thumb rubbed gently over his wrist.

He swallowed and searched for something to distract himself,fixing his attention on the book because it was safer.

He looked over the text, his gaze lingering on the line thatSorey had read to him. He skimmed over it, tipping his head to the side. Hisattention catch on a line of symbols, Mikleo scanning up and down the pagebefore wiggling his hand free from Sorey’s.

Mikleo heard Sorey make a disappointed sound, but hisattention was on the book. He pointed at the line, flicking his finger up atthe lines before it. “You could read it like sansan, pochopocho, pochomusan, pochomusan couldn’t you?”

He felt Sorey jerk, only realizing what he had done a momentlater. His first instinct was to pull away, but he was stopped from doing thatwhen Sorey grabbed onto him.

Sorey stared at him, a huge smile crossing his face. “Youcan read the ancient tongue?! I never knew.”

“I…I can’t.” Mikleo shook his head, glancing back at thepage in the hopes that something would make sense, but the old symbols wereback to being an illegible mess to him. “I don’t know where that came from.”

Sorey hummed, letting go of him to look at the page. It wasthe perfect chance to retreat, but Mikleo found himself staying where he was.He didn’t particularly want to go back to listening to Rose haggle and hewanted to figure out where the spark of knowledge had come from. Maybe if hestudied the book for a bit more, then it would come back. For all he knew, hehad stumbled across something like this when he was still tethered and it wasjust coming back to him. The book might be a good chance to practice.

Besides, if the Abbey was restricting access to books in theancient tongue then it might have something important to disrupting theirschemes.

He tucked himself back against Sorey, surprised by how rightthe position felt. “So…what does it say like that?”

“It would be something like…” Sorey screwed up his face ashe spoke. “The Nameless Emyrean hath one heart. The Nameless Empyrean hath one body.”

Mikleo grabbed onto Sorey, his heart pounding quickly as hestared at the page. They had been looking for something to do with Innominat for so long, and they hadbeen carrying it around with them the entire time. Why someone hadn’t noticedit before was beyond him, because he’d seen Michael looking at the book a fewtimes, but maybe he had never gotten that far.

He scrambled for a better hold on Sorey’s arm, practicallypulling him into his lap as he leaned closer. “That’s it. Can you translate therest of it?”

“Y-yes. But it will take time.”

“We have that.”

Sorey threw a glance over his shoulder, Mikleo not daring tolet go of Sorey. Sorey shifted in place for a moment before nodding and turningback around. “Right, let’s see how far we can get.”

Mikleo perked up at the we, but pushed it aside. He couldthink on it later. It was more important to lean over the book and listen toSorey work on translating. He hoped that he would have another flash ofknowledge, regardless of where it came from. If not, then he could at leastlearn, just in case it would be needed later.