The first time is a desperate accident.
The slaughter is no stranger, but the poison burning its way through Kayn's veins is. One wiff of the toxic gas, and Rhaast feels the way it drags at them, clawing them towards the earth. Kayn's breathing is labored, his muscles aching, and though he pushes through, he is slowing, stumbling--
An arrow takes him in the shoulder, and kayn staggers with a startled cry. He does not go down, but he falls heavily onto Rhaast to hold his weight. Rhaast growls, snarls, scrapes at the edges of his curse, but there is a spearman charging them and he cannot get free.
"Kayn!" he shouts, slamming a hand against the barrier between their minds, and he means it only to be a warning, a command to move.
He does not expect Kayn to reach back, and he certainly does not expect the touch.
The second time comes not long after.
If there is one thing that the Noxians are good for, it is inflicting pain. Kayn bore it with as good of grace as he is capable of, for as long as he could, but between the poison and the exhaustion he breaks quickly when the arrow shaft comes free and the arrow head remains in his flesh.
It takes four attendants to hold him down as the healer slices through his shoulder with quick efficiency. Kayn whines and sobs, teeth tight around the bit of wood forced between them, and no amount of Zed's sharp orders or the healer's calm assurances can calm him.
"Kayn," Rhaast croons, pressing himself against that barrier once again. Reaches out a hand as far as he can, palm up. Offering. "Reach for me, Kayn. Let me take you away from this."
His skin is smooth against Rhaast's own, hair soft beneath Rhaast's cheek as he curls himself around Kayn's body, their hands tangled tight together. Rhaast can endure the pain.
Rhaast has endured far worse.
Kayn changes, in the aftermath.
Gone is Rhaast's corruption from his flesh, flaking off and dropping like dragon-shed. Beneath, the skin is bruise-blue-black, a solid color that stains and curls up Kayn's arm, over his shoulder, down his side and up his neck to cradle his eye.
Zed praises him for his victory over the Darkin. Tells him to rest, recover strong-- he has become a weapon worthy of care, of use, and Zed intends to use him.
But when Zed is gone, Kayn touches that corrupted flesh, carefully, delicately, and they marvel at the phantom sensation that Rhaast can feel.
Together, they tear through the battlefield. Kayn has become a shadow, faster, stronger. Momentarily incorporeal, even, though each time he reaches for that power it lasts a little longer, takes him a little further, until he can slip into the deepest heart of a noxian stronghold without so much as setting foot on the foul stonework until his scythe is falling on the commander's head.
Their target was only the commander.
They slaughter their way out, just because they can.
Kayn reaches for Rhaast, and Rhaast reaches back.
It only strikes Rhaast much later, that the barrier has thinned.
He could take Kayn now. He could have a long time ago, a hundred times. Every time their hands met, Rhaast could have pushed for more. Could have clawed and consumed. Could have had everything he wanted and so much more.
Kayn sleeps curled around him now, when they are allowed. On the road, with no other prying eyes to see, Kayn draws Rhaast in close, a gentle cradle, head resting near Rhaast's eye. Even the thought of separation is pain enough that echoes through their bond, Kayn whimpering and shifting in his sleep.
Rhaast is quick to soothe, reaching through that flimsy barrier to run his claws over Kayn's scalp, to press close, scales to skin. Kayn stills again, settling back into the depths of his slumber, but Rhaast.
He does not leave. He has stepped over a line, somewhere, too far back to retrace his steps.
All that is left is to commit to his mistake.
Their scythe changes too, black scales and brimstone still, but. Sleeker. A more refined weapon of reaping death. Shadows drip from it when it is called, bruise-blue-black slipping slick down its hungry edge.
But Rhaast rests within Kayn, and Kayn within Rhaast. One person, two apart, three together. A weapon, reforged, with all the unnecessary excess shed and left behind.
Noxian ships land on Ionian shores.
"Rhaast?" Kayn murmurs, inquisitive and eager, and Rhaast raises his head, slipping from Kaym's skin to settle in his hand.
They reach for each other, together.
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