I like that eizen doesn't have any animosity towards velvet when she beats both him and zaveid up. "If I had good judgement, I wouldn't be where I am today" it sound like he's teasing her. And all the cautious trust they have in one another, agreeing to kill shigure against rokurou's orders and following eleanor. And how he never blames her for anything that can be his fault. When velvet asked if phi would become a demon because he overstrained himself for her. He just tells her how to stop that from happening. And he reassures her, unprompted, that rokurou would get over it. He's a very gentle person in his own way. And she seems to listen to his advice almost always, it seems like a respectful bond - it could be absurdly strong too. I wish they hadn't been separated.
first off im sorry to took me a while to answer back
more importantly, you're absolutely right. They have a mutual respect for one another. they gravitate towards each other, even if you ship them romantically or not, it's there. it's canon. he even wrote letters to his sister about velvet so much that edna wanted to meet her.
like in the cutscene when eizen and rokurou have a drink to themselves in the capital, iirc eizen had teasingly call velvet an idiot and rokurou without missing a beat, replies with "she'll kill you if she heard that."
i see it as definitely teasing, tho I'm biased bc i ship EiVel. plus the fact that Eizen replies back that he's interested in where her [velvet] path, obviously destructive and revenge filled path, takes her
Title: Live On, Don’t Forget
Author: randomwriter57
Rating: G
Word Count: 8,091
Event + Prompt: @sormikweek day two - Loneliness/Community (Snow)
Notes: you know when you finish the game for the fifth time and all you can think about is epileo angst? yeah. (also this has nothing to do with snow and is only vaguely related to the other prompts oops.) enjoy!
Summary: From the beginning, Sorey was always going to die before him. He just never expected him to leave so soon.
Also on: AO3
It hurts more than he expects it to.
Even before Sorey confessed his plan to dwell in slumber as Maotelus’ vessel, Mikleo knew they would part one day. In Elysia, he barely considered it, too wrapped up in the childish affairs of adventure and exploration. Back then, he hardly noticed how Sorey was different from him.
But as the dangers around them increased, throwing his efforts into self-improvement was all he could do to wash out the thought that constantly crossed his mind otherwise: ‘When Sorey dies, what will I do?’
Because from the beginning, Sorey was always going to die before him.
He just never expected him to leave so soon.
Sorey isn’t dead. That’s his only saving grace, whenever his mind strays into dangerous territory. One day, Sorey will wake up, and they’ll be together again.
He tries not to think about how far away that day is.
After Sorey leaves, Mikleo crashes. He doesn’t think it’s due to grief, though that certainly contributes to his emotional exhaustion. The fact of the matter, though, is that they’ve spent the past - lord, he’s lost track, how long has it been? - fighting constant battles in thicker and thicker malevolence until he practically choked, unable to breathe without the life support provided by Sorey’s domain. They proceeded to turn their own life forces into living attacks, using every last ounce of energy in their beings to defeat the greatest source of malevolence in the world. Taking that into account, it’s no wonder he’s exhausted.
Now he kneels at the edge of a giant crater. What was once a majestic temple, then a shrine of chaos, is now only a ruin of rubble. Around him stand his friends, sans the only one he’s been with all his life.
He doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t have the energy to feel, right now.
It’s only when a pair of red-clad arms wrap around him, pulling him into a tight embrace, that he realises he’s crying.
Scrunching his eyes shut, he buries his face in Lailah’s shoulder. For once, he doesn’t care that the others can see him like this. Right now, he only feels the burning hole in his heart and the empty space at his right hand side.
The last of his energy saps out of him, and the world goes dark.
His seraph companions let him have the time he needs to recover. In Elysia, they give him space, staying only to rest up after the battle. When they part, it is with the promise to meet again, in Ladylake.
Mikleo spends the next days surrounded by the comfort of a grieving family. Together they pay their respects to two family members: the human who changed their lives more than anyone, and the lost lightning seraph, whose death still wakes Mikleo up on the rare occasions where he finds sleep, tears running down his cheeks and a childish plea on his tongue.
These days are for reminiscing, for paying tribute to their sacrifices. They are for cleaning up the damage remaining from Bartlow’s attack, for fixing the broken buildings and setting up a new blessing to cover Elysia’s domain.
Mikleo offers to clean up Sorey’s house. Part of him wishes he hadn’t, especially when he sees the damage done to it by the humans. All of the memories he shares with Sorey from their childhood are here, lying in pieces on the ground. Antique pots and vases, stone slabs with interesting markings, and in some cases, items they found in the ruins with no real historical relevance at all. A tiny, broken laugh escapes his throat when he remembers Sorey picking up a chipped coin, his eyes shining with excitement.
“Look at this!” he’d said. “Where do you think it came from? Who do you think dropped it?”
He manages to pack away their memories into a few neat boxes, two of which are taken up only by broken pieces which he can’t bring himself to throw away. It’s only after working for those days without rest, cleaning every piece of dirt and dust that has built up around the house, that he collapses onto Sorey’s bed.
The scent of musky trees and sweet herbs fills his consciousness.
When he wakes up, the pillow is stained with tears.
Once the village returns to its previous state, though, Mikleo feels different. Detached. Though he is at home here, with his family around to support him, he finds himself craving the outside world. He wants to hear the countless voices crowding the cities, to feel the excitement of finding a new discovery, to taste human food in a warm inn with his companions.
He wants to travel.
This time, when he leaves Elysia, it’s not in the dead of the night. He says his goodbyes properly this time, promising to stay safe, to write letters and visit regularly.
Then, with Sorey’s light at his back, he departs for the world below once more.
When Mikleo makes his way to Ladylake on a path which leaves a lump of familiarity in his throat, his friends meet him there with open arms.
Lailah pulls him into a hug once more, the same sense of maternal comfort filling his chest as had done when they materialised in Camlann. This time, he does not cry. Rather, he hugs her back tightly, offering her the empathy she has shown him.
Once they part, Zaveid claps him on the shoulder, tries to keep his spirits up through remarks about finding time to bond. He offers to take Mikleo drinking, which Mikleo refuses, but it sparks a teasing debate on how long he’d last until he became black-out drunk. If anything puts him off, it’s that.
Beneath the joking exterior, though, Mikleo can tell Zaveid is trying his best, and he is grateful for it. Not that he’ll ever say that to his face, of course.
Even Edna’s teasing, though lighter than usual, feels comforting in its familiarity. She doesn’t bring up Sorey, instead teasing him for other insignificant aspects of himself which he can’t help but be riled up by. When he bites back, it distracts him. It’s temporary, but it’s a relief all the same.
Only when they head to the inn does he see Rose, sitting cross-legged on a bed, sharpening her knives. When she sees him, her grin is as bright as always, which tells him how much she’s hiding behind it.
“Hey,” she greets him, putting down her tools and holding out a hand. “Be my sub lord?”
Just because it’s Rose - because he can hear the strength of her voice, can see the intention in her eyes, trusts her well enough from months of travelling together-
Because it’s Rose, he accepts.
In the first month, Mikleo falls back on what he’s always done: he throws himself into work.
Researching seals, finding new ways to protect Camlann, making sure Sorey stays safe during his sleep - these are the thoughts which he entertains the most. He dwells in Rose’s consciousness at night, staring up at the metaphorical black ceiling provided by her sleeping body, and his mind races. He can’t sleep for thoughts of, ‘What else can I do to protect him?’
(Not that he needs sleep, and truth be told he’s always found it difficult without Sorey’s warmth at his side.)
It’s during a late-night study session in their room at the inn that Rose asks him if she can borrow The Celestial Record.
He looks up from the library-loaned book he’s been reading in the moonlight, surprised to find Rose awake but more so to hear this request. Taking the book out of the pouch he’s taken to storing it in, he feels a pang in his chest.
“I thought you hated things like this?” he says, offering it to her.
Rose shrugs, though she takes the book carefully, trying not to damage it. “If I’m gonna be a Shepherd, I feel like I should at least give it a shot, don’t you think?”
“It’s your choice,” Mikleo says, turning back to the book in front of him. “It’s not like every Shepherd had a book like this to guide them.”
In a low voice, Rose answers, “The important one did.”
For a moment, Mikleo considers that this might be Rose’s way of honouring Sorey. With him being Maotelus’ vessel, there’s no telling how long he’ll be asleep for. By the time he awakens, Rose will almost certainly be gone.
This is the last thing they have of Sorey, except for his light.
From that night, Mikleo and Rose spend a lot of time reading together.
Whenever they’re not cleaning up leftover hellions or sealing hidden passages, the two youngest members of the group sit in a rare state of silence, heads buried in books. For Mikleo, the cover changes but the subject matter never falters; he gets through five volumes on seals before Rose gets halfway through The Celestial Record.
One night, when they’re relaxing at their makeshift campsite in Lakehaven Heights, Rose lets her head hit the tree she’s leaning against with a groan. The campfire in front of her flickers, spreading lines of orange across her skin.
“This book is so boring,” she complains. “I don’t know how you guys are so into this kind of thing.”
“It’s interesting,” Mikleo says, barely lifting his eyes from his own page. “Well, to us at least.”
“I can tell,” Rose says. “You’ve written all over the damn thing! Not that I can make out half of your scribbles, they don’t even look like real words.”
Mikleo glances over at the page she has open. She’s on a spread describing the leaning towers, one which is covered in shoddily-drawn symbols. He has to fight to stop his lips curling upward at the sight.
“It’s the Ancient Tongue,” Mikleo explains. “Sometimes Sorey would practice writing it in the book to help us learn what the symbols meant. We stopped when we became fluent, though.”
Rose trails her fingers over the symbols. For a moment, she bites her lip, thinking over something before she says, “Can you teach me a little?”
“You want to learn the Ancient Tongue?” To Mikleo, this is more surprising even than her wanting to read the book. He’d never have pegged Rose for wanting to learn a language, especially not one as complex as this.
She scratches the back of her head. “I want to know what these annotations say, at least. And I kinda need to know what to say if I ever get a Squire, don’t I?”
“That’s true,” Mikleo says. “Alright, I’ll try my best.”
They spend that evening going through Sorey’s annotations, with Mikleo translating them and helping Rose to understand them better. Part of him forgets Sorey isn’t physically here with them, reading his words. Every word he chose to write down here seems to capture his essence, preserving it in these pages.
Only once the others go to bed and the light of the fire burns low do they reach the end-paper. Mikleo’s mouth goes slack, seeing symbols he’s never noticed in the back of the book.
“Mikleo?” Rose says when he doesn’t say anything. “Is something wrong?”
He can’t bring himself to speak those words.
Written in Sorey’s handwriting, printed with more care than anything else in the book, are the words: Luzrov Rulay. My one and only.
Not long after that, their party splits up.
The girls head to the west, ready to check on Marlind and Rolance whilst Mikleo and Zaveid stay behind, working to finish sealing up Camlann.
At first, Mikleo dreads it. He hasn’t spent much time alone with Zaveid, but knowing what he’s like with the others around, he’s not sure this will be any better. He doesn’t particularly want a repeat of the sauna incident. Or the swimsuit incident. Or the ‘winds of love’ incident either, for that matter.
But Zaveid is surprisingly considerate. Though he jokes around as usual, he’s serious about their work, and they get through it without much trouble. Zaveid does try to chat up a few of the Elysian seraphim when they’re there, of course, but none of them fall for his words.
One night, after a gruelling day of sealing, Mikleo heads out to the overhang outside of Elysia. He remembers this outlook fondly from memories both old and recent. Countless nights, he sat here with Sorey, watching the stars, dreaming of faraway lands they knew only from books and their imaginations. Not to mention that one day, near the time of their final battle, when once more he found his feelings trapped on his tongue.
Now the view has changed. A bright shoot of white stretches through the stars, reaching all the way up and down, embracing the world.
If he wants, Mikleo could fool himself into feeling like Sorey is here, beside him. In a way, he is here. Asleep though he is, Sorey is one with Maotelus right now, which means he is one with the earth itself. Somehow, Mikleo feels like if he says something now, his words will reach Sorey, no matter how far away his body rests.
A breeze brushes against his skin. His words join it in a single breath.
“I love you.”
“Flattering, but I’m way too old and straight for you, Mik-boy.”
Mikleo jolts as Zaveid flops to sit on the grass beside him. He tries to ignore how his cheeks burn in embarrassment. “I- I wasn’t talking to you-”
“Settle down, I’m just teasing you,” Zaveid laughs, patting his back. “Like I said, the wind carries all sorts of messages. I didn’t expect you to take me seriously when I told you that, though.”
“What do you want?” Mikleo says, glaring at the wind seraph.
Zaveid’s laughter dies down, and he looks out onto the skyline, lips pressed in a line. “I lost someone important to me, too. A long time ago.”
This catches Mikleo’s attention.
“Her name was Theodora,” Zaveid clarifies. “Amazing woman. Lively, upbeat… We were happy together.”
A stupid, inappropriate part of Mikleo wants to poke fun at how Zaveid managed to hold onto a lover at some point, but he stops himself.
Instead he asks, “What happened?”
Zaveid lets out a mirthless laugh. “What do you think? She became a dragon.”
Mikleo doesn’t need to ask how the story ends.
“The problem I had was that I didn’t want to believe it,” he continues. His hair rustles in the breeze, drifting around his shoulders, freer apparently even than Zaveid himself. “I convinced myself she was herself, right until the end. If Eizen hadn’t killed her, I might have ended up the same way.”
When Mikleo doesn’t respond, Zaveid turns to face him, eyes burning with a seriousness he hasn’t seen in a long time.
“Sorey’s not dead,” Zaveid says. “And he’ll come back someday. But you can’t just hang on to your memories of him. Time changes everyone. It’s not something you can resist.”
Those words strike his core deeply. It’s something he’s told himself before but never wanted to admit, a fear which curdles in his throat, forced down by will alone.
But Zaveid is right.
In a broken breath, Mikleo whispers, “I know.”
A large hand pats his back, and they exchange no more words. Only the wind whispers their shared sorrow into the night sky.
The issue with having a problem is that identifying it is the easy part.
Mikleo shouldn’t be this hung up on Sorey. He’s been trying so hard to keep busy, to drown out the loudness of an empty space, to keep his mouth shut when all he wants to do is turn to his right and find someone listening to him.
He made a silent vow, that night in Lastonbell. When Sorey told him his dream would live on, Mikleo promised himself that he would, too. He’d move on without regrets, without staying stuck in the past. Because he knows Sorey would not want him to live like this.
But it’s hard. Naturally so, given that it’s only been a few months, and he’s lived alongside Sorey for eighteen years. To think of the amount of centuries looming before him would make him waver all the more.
Mikleo has always been stubborn, though. He can’t let himself be held back by regrets, or loneliness.
Sorey will return. Until then, Mikleo needs to live life enough for both of them.
After all, they haven’t achieved their dream yet. There’s still work to do.
When they return from Camlann, Mikleo cuts his hair.
He hasn’t done it for a while, since even when he and Sorey journeyed together they never got the chance to sit down and maintain their appearances. Mikleo only ever bothers with his own when Sorey needs it done. To cut his hair alone feels almost sacrilegious.
But he needs to move forward. Zaveid’s words have lingered in his mind, urging him to take up the scissors. As he stands before the mirror, eyeing up how his fringe brushes lower over his eyes than it should, he knows he needs to cut himself off from this slump. Not that he’s slumping right now - it takes a lot of concentration to make his reflection show up at all.
He raises the scissors to surround a few strands of his fringe.
“Mikleo? What are you doing?”
It happens all at once: the scissors close with a metallic finality, a clump of his fringe falling onto the vanity table. His reflection fizzles out of sight, and Rose shrieks.
“Calm down!” Mikleo says, watching her jump away, putting her arms over her face in self-protection.
Rose glares at him, lowering her arms. “Don’t do that!” she yells.
“I didn’t mean to! You’re the one who made me lose concentration.”
Reaching up to his fringe, he surveys the damage. It doesn’t feel too much shorter than when he’d usually cut it. He can probably salvage it without too much trouble.
(It’s certainly nowhere near as bad as The Incident. For once, he actually feels glad Sorey isn’t here to laugh at him for this.
A lump of guilt forms in his throat, and he stops thinking about that.)
“Are you cutting your hair?” Rose asks, eyeing up the hair on the table. “You any good?”
“Usually, yes,” Mikleo says. “When people aren’t shrieking around me, anyway.”
Rose ignores his prod, instead asking, “Would you mind cutting mine for me when you’re done? It’s getting too long, it’s a real pain in battle.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks!”
She heads out of the room, leaving Mikleo alone once more.
He stares at the empty mirror and lets out a long sigh. Time to try again, he supposes.
From that day on, whenever Mikleo cuts his hair, he trims Rose’s hair as well. If Alisha is with them, he’ll offer his services to her, something which she declines at first, too modest to accept such treatment from the seraphim she is supposed to worship devoutly. He soon convinces her that there’s no reason she should treat him any differently than her human friends, though, and she allows him to cut her hair too.
(He can’t help but roll his eyes when he remembers the true name Rose gave to Alisha. If Rose remembered anything of the Ancient Tongue Mikleo taught her, of course it was that.)
Edna jokes about him becoming a hairdresser for Shepherds and their companions, which irks him for a while. It’s not like he chose this for himself. But the irony comes when Edna plops down on the chair in front of him one day after Rose vacates it.
“Don’t mess it up,” she tells him, laying her umbrella across her lap as a warning.
As he trims away the split ends from her hair, Edna mostly stays silent. It’s different from when he cuts Rose’s hair - being talkative by nature means she never has nothing to say. Even Alisha makes polite conversation, and it’s a far cry from when he used to cut Sorey’s hair. That doesn’t make it unpleasant, though. The silence between them is surprisingly amiable.
“Did you cut your own hair, on Rayfalke?” he asks one day.
Edna takes a moment to respond. “Sometimes, yeah. My brother did it for me, before he left. After that I did it myself.”
“Oh, I see.”
A couple of questions float around Mikleo’s mind. He wants to ask her about Eizen, and more specifically about her life without him, before he became a dragon. He holds his words back, though. Now is not the time to ask them.
Some day, though, he’ll ask, but he needs to give it some time first.
“You’re not telling anyone?”
Mikleo looks up from the book he’s reading. They’re in Marlind’s inn, where nearby there was a resilient hellion causing havoc which they’ve since managed to subdue. Now, Rose sits cross-legged in front of the fireplace, shrugging at Alisha’s question.
“Don’t see a need to,” Rose says. She puts down The Celestial Record, keeping note of the page even though she hasn’t turned it in at least half an hour. “It’ll only cause trouble if people go looking for him, right? As long as they know the world’s at peace, there’s no need to make Sorey’s actions a public affair.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Alisha says, though she sounds uncertain. “It’s a shame, though. No one will ever know of his valiance, of the sacrifice he made for our world.”
“Sure they will,” Rose says easily. “Mikleo’s gonna write a history book or two about it. It just might not come out for a hundred years or so.”
Mikleo gives her an unimpressed look. “I don’t think it will fill two whole volumes, Rose.”
“Sure it will! You’ll be dedicating a whole volume to me, won’t you?” she says with a grin.
“In any case,” Alisha says, “as disappointed as I am that I won’t be able to read Mikleo’s book, I’m glad I lived to witness the events of it happening.”
Mikleo looks down at his lap, subdued. Alisha, just like Rose, is human. It’s something which plagued him with Sorey, and which has began to bother him with the girls, too. They will die, some day. There’s no self-sacrifice for them to make to extend their lifespan. They’ll live as normal humans do, with lives shorter than Mikleo can imagine.
Rose, perhaps sensing Mikleo's thoughts, says, “Yeah. Who cares about being able to read about what happened way back when. It’s better to be able to say you were there when those things happened.”
Alisha smiles. “You’re right. I’ll be forever grateful that I had the chance to journey with two Shepherds, both working their hardest to bring this world to peace.”
“Hey, you talk like you didn’t help at all! People will be talking about you for centuries.”
“Y-you really think so? I’m not sure...”
Mikleo turns his gaze back to his book, though his mind stays locked on their conversation.
Well, so long as Rose and Alisha have no regrets, it’s all he can do to support them until the very end.
One day, years later, Mikleo cuts Rose's hair.
The world is far more peaceful than it had been in their youth, thanks to the hard work of Alisha and Sergei, who kept their countries sane after Sorey made his sacrifice. The air feels purer, nowadays, and it’s rare to find places filled with as much malevolence as the cities used to be.
But there’s still work to do. Mikleo knows in his heart that there’s a long wait ahead of him before the land is wholly purified. At this point, it’s something he’s accepted. All he can do is wait and work his hardest to achieve their dream in the meantime.
Rose is, surprisingly, still the Shepherd. Not that there’s nearly as much work to do as Shepherd now as there once was, but so long as humans produce malevolence, hellions will continue to exist. Whilst Alisha and Sergei work on the roots of the problem, Rose nips the buds of malevolence before they can spread like weeds.
He cards his fingers through strands of vibrant red, which is only a bit longer than it once was, and kept out of the way more often than not. As he lifts his scissors, though, he notices something shining.
“Something wrong?” Rose asks when he hesitates.
“No, nothing,” he responds.
When his scissors wrap around those strands of hair, they take a strand of silver along with them.
Rose only takes on one other Squire in her lifetime.
His name is Tristan. He’s idealistic, that’s for sure. His short, dark hair frames eyes filled with curiosity, ones which search for answers about the wonders of the world. In a sense, he reminds Mikleo of Sorey, though there are more differences than similarities between them. Other than looking nothing alike, his demeanour is more sceptical than sincere. He is genuine in his hopes to follow in the footsteps of his predecessors, though, learning more about the world as he helps to keep it safe.
Though Rose isn’t one for teaching, she manages to show Tristan the ins and outs of being a Shepherd. He soon handles the power of purification without Lailah’s guidance, and eventually he starts taking charge in their battles, allowing Rose time to relax after long days of work.
With his rapid development, it doesn’t surprise Mikleo when Rose announces to the seraphim a year after his becoming her Squire that she’ll be retiring.
“He’s happy to step up as the Shepherd,” she tells them, and the confidence in her gaze makes Mikleo believe her all the more.
Still, with this change comes an abundance of decisions to be made. Tristan has worked hard as the Squire, but he hasn’t gained the power of armatization just yet. Not only that, but Mikleo isn’t sure he wants to continue on this journey as a sub lord. He enjoys travelling more than anything, and being with his friends has given him years of happy memories. But he’s ready to move on, now. There’s more to his dream than purifying hellions, and helping the Shepherds on a journey which has turned into routine hellion clean-up duty will get him nowhere.
When he tells this to Lailah, however, she wears an understanding expression.
“To be entirely honest,” she tells him, “I’m planning on stepping down as Prime Lord, as well.”
“Wait, really?” Mikleo says. “You can do that?”
Lailah nods. “Of course! Even Prime Lords need vacations, right? Besides, I know the perfect candidate to take over for me.”
Mikleo doesn’t know why he expects an explanation, anymore.
In any case, the decision is quickly made: Tristan will soon succeed Rose as the Shepherd, with the seraph Uno taking over as Prime Lord. Lailah will step down and become the Lord of the Land for Ladylake in his place, leaving the other seraphim to do as they please. After all, with the lack of hellions roaming these days, there certainly isn’t the need for a full party of seraphim anymore. It’s time for this Shepherd to make his own journey, where he will find his own companions.
When Rose passes the mantle on to Tristan, and Mikleo hands over the Divine Artifact to Uno, he can only wish them the best of luck.
The last conversation he has with Rose is in a clearing in the Volgran Forest.
She lives in a small town now, known far and wide as a trading outpost for merchants. When she said she’d be retiring, Mikleo should really have guessed she’d continue working in some form; there’s no way she’d give up both her trades as a fighter and a merchant. At least being a merchant is the less dangerous of the two.
With a world spread in front of him, ready to be explored, even now he can’t help returning to visit her every now and then. It would feel strange, not to see her for months on end. And, well, he feels like he’s grown up with Rose, in a way. They’ve known each other since they were both young, after all, and it has been - what, fifty years since they met? He needs to keep better track.
Rose pulls out The Celestial Record from her bag. Mikleo is surprised to see she has it, and intact, too.
“I never returned this to you,” she says, though she doesn’t pass it to him. Instead she lets her hand trace the cover, fiddling with the worn bookmarks sticking out of the top. “But I’m gonna be selfish and ask a favour. Can I pass this on to Tristan?”
Mikleo hums. A part of him wants to refuse, clinging onto the memories held within it and the confession at its end. The part which still aches at the sight of the book is happy to see it go. “I thought you hated that book. To hear you’d actually want someone else to read it is kind of surprising.”
“Aw come on, I got through it eventually!” She elbows him for good measure, and he tries not to focus on how much less force is behind the action than there used to be. “I think this book should live on with the Shepherds. A Shepherd wrote it, and it’s what brought Sorey into being a Shepherd. And I don’t want to admit it, but it’s helped me out a lot, too. I think it’d probably benefit Tristan, and all the Shepherds who come after him.”
Reluctantly, he accepts. “Makes sense. I think Sorey would like that, too.”
“Good!”
She stows the book away, then pulls out a letter. The envelope is already crumpled from age. She passes it to him. On the front, written in a familiar scrawl, is the word, ‘Sorey’.
“You wrote him a letter?” Mikleo says, turning the envelope over in his hands. “That’s not your style.”
Rose laughs. “I know, I know. But I had a lot I wanted to say to him, and he didn’t exactly give me a chance to say it. Pass it on to him for me, will you?”
He tucks the letter away, feeling his heart sink a little with the connotations of it. “Of course.”
“Thanks, kid.”
“You don’t get to call me kid,” Mikleo complains, frowning at her. “We’re the same age.”
“Maybe, but you don’t look anywhere near my age, so I can call you that all I like!”
When she sticks her tongue out at him before bursting into vibrant laughter, he can almost fool himself that they are still both kids, enjoying life together whilst they can.
Her funeral is a quiet affair.
The gravestone stands atop a wind-brushed hilltop.
All Mikleo can think of is how this is only the first friend he’ll outlive.
He stays for a long while, then heads off with the other seraphim, no destination in mind.
(Alisha gives Mikleo a letter for Sorey too, before she passes away. It’s far more well-maintained than Rose’s, kept in pristine condition, and he knows Rose must have made the suggestion to her before Alisha died.
She leaves behind a pair of loving children, the loyalty of the citizens of Hyland and Rolance, and a legacy which Mikleo knows will last for centuries to come.)
After Rose and Alisha die, Mikleo travels alone for a while.
He’s not sure what else to do. Without anything tying him to any place, there’s a whole world waiting for him to explore it. Now is the time when he’ll get to discover everything he and Sorey ever dreamt of seeing. Each place he visits, he notes into his journals, diaries of his travels which span their whole lives. By the time Sorey returns, he swears to himself he’ll have filled at least five volumes.
(Incidentally, he’s already filled two - one with his journeys with Sorey, and the other dedicated to Rose’s time as Shepherd. He wishes she and Alisha were still here to read them.)
The thing with travelling alone, though, is that he has no one to share his discoveries with. He quickly realises, halfway into a shrine to Eumacia in the depths of Westronbolt Gorge, that there’s something inherently uninspiring about exploring a ruin alone.
That doesn’t stop him from venturing through the whole ruin, of course, as well as a couple more. It’s an opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, to think more carefully about how no one is here to hear his theories. Rather than speaking, he learns to put those thoughts into writing, creating discovery logs and making a mental note to talk to Sorey about all of this when he awakens.
(His conscience helpfully reminds him that these ruins may not be standing by the time Sorey awakens. He forces himself to ignore it.)
Eventually, though, he becomes tired. The discoveries he finds don’t enthuse him as much as they once did, and he abandons his adventure halfway through. It is with a heavy heart, of course, but he feels hopeless. How is he supposed to live when the things he enjoys don’t feel worthwhile anymore?
On the way back from a ruin, he bumps into a group of travellers in a caravan, and on a whim, he hops into the carriage.
They’re merchants, not related to the Sparrowfeathers but somewhat reminiscent of them. They fill their journey with lively banter, keeping the atmosphere joyful despite their uneventful surroundings. None of them have enough resonance to see or hear Mikleo, though one of them swears a couple of times that she feels a presence nearby.
The merchants are surprisingly devout, though, and Mikleo feels warm in their company.
(He wonders, fleetingly, if this is why Dezel joined the Windriders. Even before his friend’s death, Dezel must have enjoyed the company of these humans who may not have seen him, but who believed in him all the same. It’s a comforting thought, really. To know he’s being appreciated.)
Part of him regrets leaving, once they reach the merchant town where Rose once lived. But they’re planning on returning into Rolance, and Mikleo wants to go back to Hyland for a little while. Maybe now, he thinks, would be a good time to visit home.
(Probably, he thinks, the cause of this feeling is homesickness. He’s not sure if it’s for Elysia or for something else, though.)
Mikleo doesn’t plan on bumping into Edna.
To be fair, he had no idea she’d be in Marlind when he got there. When he sees her, though, he feels a sense of familiarity, one which is combined with a childish feeling of dread which remains from their adolescent arguments.
“Edna,” he greets her once he reaches her perch in the roots of the Great Tree. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugs, twirling her umbrella. For the most part, she looks the same as ever; she still wears the same dress, boots and glove, and her umbrella still holds the normin mascot, which is now just a plushie (or at least, so Mikleo hopes). The only difference is that her hair has grown longer, now reaching below her shoulders, where one of the straps of her dress has a knack for falling down.
“What, can a lady not visit town every once in a while?” she says, arching her brow. “Perhaps I should be asking what a lonely Meebo is doing here.”
He groans. He’d at least hoped she might have dropped the nickname by now. “Just passing through. I’m heading back to Elysia.”
She hums, appraising him. “Your hair’s gotten longer.”
Reaching for the back of his neck, he finds that she’s right. The strands now reach closer to his chin, not unruly but less controlled than he usually lets it get. “Well, so has yours,” he counters.
“My hairdresser decided to wander off on his own. It’s only natural that it would get out of control with such negligence.”
“You could have cut it yourself, you know.”
This time she doesn’t respond, instead hopping down onto solid ground. “The least you could do in return is offer to buy me lunch, you know.”
Mikleo rolls his eyes, but relents. “Fine, whatever.”
They head to a nearby bakery, one of Edna’s choosing, and grab a couple of pastries each. They have to leave their gald on the counter and take their pastries straight from behind the counter, since the bakers don’t have resonance. They’ve both gotten sued to this kind of thing, though. Heading over to the museum, they sit down on a nearby bench, watching as the humans go about their daily lives.
“What brings you so close to the humans, anyway?” Mikleo asks. “I thought you hated them.”
“I did,” Edna says, holding a palmier in her bare hand. “But I can deal with them, now. Besides, I wanted some pastries.”
Humming, Mikleo takes a bite into his Madeleine. The sweet flavour wraps around his tongue. It’s been a long time since he bothered to stop and make something sweet to eat.
“Edna,” he says. “What did you do when Eizen left? Before he became a dragon, I mean.”
For a long moment, Edna stays silent. He thinks she’ll probably leave, or make him drop the question. After all, she’s never been keen on that topic.
In the end, she answers.
“I waited,” she says. “I stayed on Rayfalke and tried to stay busy while hoping he’d come back.”
“You didn’t leave at all?” he asks. “What did you do there all day?”
“I have hobbies,” she says. “I practised fighting, I wrote letters, I cooked. Sometimes I’d scare earth-dwellers away if they started coming up the mountain.”
Part of Mikleo can’t help but ache, knowing that he could be doing the same thing as her right now, biding his time without any action.
Perhaps Edna notices his mood, and she pokes him with her umbrella. It’s gentler than usual, which takes him more by surprise than her poking him at all.
“You shouldn’t do what I did,” she says. “It’s a pretty dumb thing to do. Plus Sorey wouldn’t want you to just wait around for him to come back.”
He turns to her, a rush of gratitude filling her. It’s kind of weird, but he smiles regardless. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Edna.”
She turns away, eating the last of her pastry. “It’s nothing.”
When she stands up to leave a few minutes later, she puts her umbrella up, not facing him as she speaks. “You can grow your hair out, by the way. He’ll recognise you.”
Edna leaves before he can say anything in response.
In a darkened room, the only sound is the scratch of pen against paper, smooth lines of ink creating word after word, filling pages in no time. The candlelight flickers, its glow barely reaching the desk, but it’s enough. Mikleo’s eyes have gotten used to the dark.
The curtains flutter by the window, the outside world visible but darker still than the room he’s in. A breeze brushes his face, making his light falter for a moment.
Mikleo looks up, his eyes meeting the window.
‘Oh,’ he thinks, ‘it’s already night.’
His hand hovers over the paper, pen poised and ready to continue. But now he’s distracted, and he can feel the weight of his eyes dropping closed. When was the last time he slept? He can’t recall. Maybe it was before he returned to Elysia… How long ago was that? What date is it?
Mikleo never intended for time to pass him by. Especially not knowing that that’s exactly what’s happening to Sorey; that only makes him more conscious, to know that Sorey would be disappointed to see him like this. But Mikleo can’t help it. Once he got home and sat down to work, he became so focused that time got the better of him. Without the biological needs of a human to take into account, he can continue working for as long as he likes.
Doing so isn’t living, of course. That’s what aggravates Mikleo the most, knowing that doing this means he’s not living his life, the way he promised he would.
He lays down his pen, forcing himself to stretch tired arms over his head. His muscles feel weak from lack of use, and he berates himself for not thinking to get up and stretch at all. Still, it’s late now, and he’s too tired to exercise at this time. He heads through into the bedroom, shucking off his clothes and burrowing under the covers of the bed, trying to ignore the scent of dust tickling his nostrils. Sorey’s scent has long since disappeared from the house, but the memory of it calms his mind.
For the first time in centuries, he falls asleep without trouble, entering a dreamless void moments after his head hits the pillow.
Time passes him by even more quickly when he’s on the move.
Mikleo spends the next few centuries travelling the continent, researching and exploring unknown ruins, recording all of his discoveries for future reference. He comes across a few seraphim as he travels, who help him learn more and refine his artes. Occasionally, he finds one of his old companions, who he stays with for a while, catching up on the time they’ve been apart.
It’s only when Mikleo hair reaches his forearms and his writing fills four volumes that he speaks to a human.
He’s in a forest near a human village, gathering herbs and other supplies for his travels. Though he rarely needs healing items anymore, he can’t help his own need to be prepared for any situation, no matter what. Besides, the herbs will taste great in food if he doesn’t use them for medicinal purposes.
The young girl finds him near the edge of the forest. Her age is far younger than Mikleo can imagine being anymore, and she beams at him without understanding his surprise.
“Hi!” she says. “What’s your name?”
“You can see me?” he asks without thinking.
Her nodding is filled with enthusiasm, and his heart clenches, the faded memory of Sorey’s grin returning to his mind. “Of course I can, silly! Why wouldn’t I be able to see you?”
For a long moment, he stays silent in awe.
He spent eighteen years of his life with Sorey, dreaming of a day when humans might be able to see him and not remember a time when that wasn’t possible. Now, he’s seeing that reality come to light in front of him.
This girl and her words make his heart lift.
Without restraining his smile, he says, “My name is Mikleo. I’m a seraph.”
Her eyes light up, bright azure filled with the same awe he feels. “Really? My friends are gonna be so jealous when they hear I met a seraph!”
Looking at this girl, for the first time, Mikleo doesn’t think about human mortality.
He looks at her and he sees the future. He sees his and Sorey’s dream living on, and he feels at home.
The next time he sees Lailah is when they visit Camlann together.
She’s able to travel a lot more now, even though she’s still working as the Lord of the Land. Since so much more of the land has been purified, Ladylake doesn’t need the constant blessing of a seraph. It gives her a chance to stretch her legs and see more of the world, which Mikleo is glad for. Ten years had seemed like a long enough time back when she’d first been waiting for a Shepherd to appear.
When she sees him, she spends a good few minutes hugging him, and even longer enthusing about his newly grown-out hair, which he’s now taken to setting in a high ponytail, not unlike hers except far wavier by nature. After she calms down, they greet the Elysians. Their village has grown into a larger town now, with a few humans in their midst, and it’s comforting to see how warmly the humans welcome another seraph as a visitor.
They stop by Gramps’ grave on their way to Camlann. It doesn’t look at all weathered by age, something which Mikleo can only guess is down to seraphic artes. His pipe remains on the grave, cleaned regularly by the seraphim to keep it from harm. After all, this is one of the only things they have left of him.
By this point, Mikleo has long since accepted Gramps’ death. It was something he and Sorey had to do, and though it pains him to think about it, he knows Gramps was proud of them. If Gramps is somewhere seeing the way the world has grown since then, he knows he’d be proud of them for that, too.
Camlann is only a walk away from there, and they spend most of that time catching up on their time apart. Lailah talks of her days in Ladylake, people-watching and listening to prayers. She tells him of the people with resonance, a growing population who often come to greet her, thanking her for her hard work. She tells him of a girl with blond hair and green eyes who reminded her of Alisha, reading a book on the steps of the sanctuary. She tells him about the current Shepherd, who is practically a part-timer compared to Sorey and Rose, but who still serves a vital purpose in this world.
She tells him about the days she spends gazing at the sky, smiling fondly on the memories of their past.
They head into the village, gazing down upon the crater where Sorey rests. His light is as bright as ever, burning gently through the sky, filling it with purity. Flowers have since grown around his resting place, surely aided by the artes of certain earth seraphim. Camlann has become a beautiful place; Mikleo can only hope that once Sorey awakens, they can rebuild the Origin town of peace that Michael wanted to create in the first place.
He tells Lailah this, and her eyes glimmer with emotion.
“I’m sure he’d have wanted that,” she says.
“Wasn’t it hard?” he asks after a moment, as they sit at the edge of the crater. “When Michael left?”
“It was,” Lailah says, holding a hand over her heart. “But I didn’t want him to feel burdened. He was the Shepherd from such a young age, I wanted him to live a normal life, too.”
Her face forms a smile, though, and she looks over to him with eyes filled with hope.
“But Sorey brought peace back into the world,” she says. “Now, we are living in the world which Michael envisioned, and which you have brought into reality. I can’t find it in myself to regret any of that.”
Shaking her head, she says, “Don’t discount your own efforts, though. You’ve been incredibly strong, Mikleo. I’m sure it will pay off soon.”
He can’t find the words to express his gratitude to her, so in the end, he simply turns back to Sorey’s light.
“I hope you’re right.”
It feels better than he expects it to.
Though it’s not a rush of euphoria or an overwhelming excitement, it’s still a breathless kind of joy, a blossoming warmth in his chest, a hope which feels like home.
When he feels Sorey’s hand grasp his, pulling him out of the darkness, he can’t help but grasp on tight, a new resolve forming in his heart.
Sorey pulls him close, and he can feel his skin thrumming with newfound power, an energy Mikleo has lived with for so long that it’s strange to feel coursing through another person. His hair tickles Mikleo’s face as they hug, neither wanting to let the other go.
Mikleo can’t even remember how long it’s been, anymore. They’ve both changed, but the time that has passed doesn’t seem to matter in this moment, as they connect once more. Two halves of a whole, they murmur shared words of affection with teary eyes.
They brush noses, pouring laughter into each other’s lips, relief and comfort and the feeling of coming home emanating through them.
Sorey is back, and they’ve got all the time in the world to make the most of it.
For Sormik Week Day 5 - Lohgrin and Truth (Even though it’s way late, geez)
What they learned at Lohgrin was a lot to take in. It requires quiet a moment for Sorey and Mikleo to talk, and to work their way through their past.
Read on AO3
Dinner at Lohgrin was a silent affair, the night after learning the truth contained in the last Iris Gem, with barely a word exchanged aside from requests to pass this or that. Nearly everyone had their own private grief to occupy them, besides Edna and Zaveid, but they had fallen into the subdued atmosphere just the same. While Sorey hardly spoke, he did glance towards Mikleo several times throughout the meal. After all, their sorrows were very much intertwined.
The whole of the day’s events had settled across his shoulders like a heavy weight, but by the sheen of Sorey’s eyes and the curve of his spine, it lay on him even heavier. That hurt almost more than the rest. Mikleo set his utensils down on the table, appetite dwindled to nothing, and announced, “I’m going for a walk outside the walls.”
“Will you be alright on your own? There are still hellions around,” Lailah said. Her voice sounded normal, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. The guilt of her past charge’s actions kept her turned away. That would be something to address, too, but not right now.
“I should be fine.”
“Maybe I should go with,” Sorey suggested and stood, abandoning his food half-eaten.
Mikleo nodded and turned toward the doors of the tower. Outside, there was little shade to protect from the scorching desert sun, but it would cool quickly enough once the last bits of sunlight slunk below the canyon walls. He kept that in mind as he settled onto the warm stone of the steps; as uncomfortable as it was now, it would be nice later.
“I thought you wanted to go for a walk?”
A shake of his head this time. “You looked like you wanted to get away. To talk.”
“Oh,” Sorey said, and the dropped down to join him. Mikleo did not miss the way he edged closer until their sides were pressed together.
“Where would you like to start?”
“It’s… it’s a lot.”
Mikleo waited for Sorey to speak, and when he didn’t right away, reached for his hand instead. He squeezed gently, and Sorey squeezed back, hard, without letting up. “Ow, Sorey.”
Sorey jumped just a bit as if he’d been startled out of his thoughts. He immediately eased his grip and his face morphed into one of apology. “I’m sorry,” he said, and brought Mikleo’s hand up to kiss the back before lowering it to cradle it in his lap. He was silent for a moment more before saying, “We finally have an answer, and what we have to do.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Yeah. And I feel like it’s the right one. And I know Lailah said it would be far worse to let fear make me waver from my answer, and so I will not waver. I do have the conviction, and…”
“Sorey,” Mikleo said, cutting off his rambling before it could get worse. “We don’t hide anything from each other. You don’t need to justify what you want to say.”
Sorey slumped and murmured towards their linked hands, “I’m still scared anyway.”
Mikleo certainly couldn’t deny that his stomach clenched some at the idea of firing himself into the heart of so much malevolence. “Me too, a little bit,” he admitted, “but we’re strong enough for this. I’m strong enough to do this for you.”
“I know, and I trust you. But it’s one thing to say it to your brain, and another thing to tell it to your heart.”
“That’s true. It’s okay to feel like that if you’re sure you won’t waver.”
“Thank you.” Sorey fell silent again, this time occupying himself by rubbing small circles onto the back of Mikleo’s hand with his thumb.
The sun had finally slipped below the walls of the canyon. Mikleo could let his eyes relax with a sigh of relief, and watch the pink and gold light creep across the undersides of the clouds as he waited once more. He knew that this was only a piece of what was bothering Sorey, and he would get to the rest if given the chance to gather his thoughts.
“And then, Mayvin.”
Mikleo swallowed, and nodded. He was truly unaccustomed, yet, to the nature of losing someone they knew. Unaccustomed to burials, and gravestones. They had been so lucky in Elysia, and so sheltered. Aloud, he said, “Even though we didn’t know him all that well, he was a good man.”
“He was,” Sorey agreed. “And even beyond that, in who he was and how he lived as an explorer, I saw something like a future for us in that.”
“Yeah, he did manage to do a lot of what we’ve dreamed of doing. To me, it seems as if he lived a good life.”
“That’s true,” Sorey said with a nod.
“There’s something else bothering you, still, isn’t there?” Usually, by the time Sorey got what he was upset about of his chest, or Mikleo pried it out of him, he would start to perk up at least a little bit. But, he was still slumped and his face downcast.
His grip clenched around Mikleo’s hand once more, thankfully not hard enough to hurt this time, and his mouth was taught with emotion. When he finally looked back up, his eyes were torn between holding Mikleo’s gaze with a kind of desperation and flicking away. “You died,” he whispered, barely audible even in the silence of the desert.
Mikleo reached out a hand to cup Sorey’s cheek. “Is that what this is all about?”
He nodded, and that seemed to signal the breaking of the floodgates. His eyes filled and then spilled over with tears. Mikleo flicked a few away with his thumb, and then shifted so he could pull Sorey into a hug. Sorey’s arms came around his back as well, hands clinging to the back of his shirt and squeezing him just a bit too hard.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here,” he said into Sorey’s ear, barely audible over the sound of his crying, but he didn’t think that mattered too much. The best he could do for now was rub his hands up and down Sorey’s back, and murmur reassurances while he sobbed into his shoulder.
“You d-died,” he repeated. “You were just a b-baby and you died and we had to w-watch.”
“I’m here now. I’m alive, and healthy, and right here with you.”
Mikleo felt Sorey nod, but the tears didn’t stop, either. He brought one hand up to stroke Sorey’s hair in time with the one still at his back, and began to rock them gently from side to side, the same way Myrna used to when they were small. It was hard to breathe or swallow past the knot in his own throat. He tilted his head up to look at the sky, now fading from blue into indigo, to blink away the wetness in his eyes. It wouldn’t help if they both went to pieces.
As it was, Sorey was doing a good enough job of crying for the both of them, his sobs now falling into the kind of hiccoughing sound that said he was struggling to catch his breath but unable to stop. The last time Mikleo could remember hearing Sorey cry like this was when he broke his leg falling down a trap in the ruins as kids, but even that was put to a quick halt by a strong healing arte. There was no healing arte for this. Only hoarse whispers of, “It’s okay, we’re okay,” in his ear, and kisses in his hair while he waited it out.
Eventually, Sorey’s crying slowed, and then petered out. He tugged himself gently away from Mikleo’s hold and tried to sit on his own again. Mikleo only caught a glimpse of reddened eyes, and wet, red cheeks, before Sorey swayed and whined, “Oh I feel dizzy.”
“What do you expect after crying for so long? Honestly. Come on, lie down.” Even though Mikleo tried to hold some teasing in his voice, he didn’t feel like he did a great job of it. But, he was far more focused on guiding Sorey’s head down so it was cushioned in his lap, at any rate.
Once he got him settled on his back, Mikleo opened the clasps on the Shepherd’s cloak and pulled apart the first few buttons on his shirt. It was really only a symbol, but perhaps shedding some of the weight of responsibility would help him.
Sorey looked back up at Mikleo with a sad smile and a few new tears collecting at the corners of his eyes, and reached up to touch his face. “How are you doing?” he asked, in a voice that was scratchy and stuffy with crying. “It was you, after all.”
“Mostly worried about you, actually,” Mikleo said, and started to run his hand through Sorey’s hair. “I don’t remember any of it, of course. It hardly even feels like it happened to me, almost as if it was someone else.”
“That’s good, I suppose.” Sorey let his hand fall from Mikleo’s face and back to his chest. He rolled onto his side, so that he could press his face into Mikleo’s stomach, and wrap his arms around his waist; the Shepherd’s cloak fell away from his shoulders and was left behind on the ground. “But it’s still sad,” he said, muffled by his position.
Mikleo adjusted so that he could keep running his fingers through Sorey’s hair. “It’s not the fate I would have chosen for myself, no.”
Sorey hummed his acknowledgement. They were silent for a few moments more, while Sorey took up the occupation of gently scratching his nails up and down Mikleo’s lower back. Finally, he asked, “Do you think that’s why?”
“Why what?”
“Why you’re a water seraph,” Sorey finished quietly, as if he was afraid to let the words have too much weight or sound.
Mikleo’s chest constricted. He knew the kinds of images that would be going through Sorey’s head – of a tiny infant just stepping into his rebirth as a seraph and into a world of heat and flames and the scent of burning flesh, even if it wasn’t the fire that had killed him. He still could hardly image that baby as himself, and he was glad his brain wasn’t pressing him to try. “Maybe,” he acknowledged, because it was a logical hypothesis. “I have always thought my element rather suited my nature, though. But I guess there is no way to know for sure if my element was influenced by my nature, or my nature influenced by my element.”
Sorey shoulders seemed to relax with relief and he nodded with more vigor at the thought that his morbid idea wasn’t the only possibility. “Yeah. Okay. Okay,” Sorey murmured, as if he was trying to reassure himself more than anything.
“You know, everything that happened brought us to where we are now.”
“We would have still known each other, though. We could have been normal kids, with normal mothers. I know I would have still fallen in love with you.”
Mikleo had to pause for a moment to tell his traitor cheeks that this was not an appropriate moment to be blushing. It wasn’t as if Sorey could see, though. “And I with you,” he reassured quietly, “but then we would have never met Gramps, or anyone from Elysia. And, there was still a war, with Camlann as a strategic location. Who’s to say we would have grown up normally?”
“That makes sense, I suppose.” Sorey spoke slowly as he conceded, a combination of his mind still being elsewhere, and disliking to admit that Mikleo was winning, regardless of the situation. “But then…”
“No, Sorey,” Mikleo cut him off. “Saying ‘this might have happened, or that’ is just going to make you more upset. Right now, I’m alive and here with you. And starting to get cold, actually. Do you think we could go back inside?”
He felt Sorey nod against his stomach, and he had to bite down on the urge to laugh at the ticklish feeling. Instead, he helped him to sit up again, and then picked up the Shepherd’s cloak from where it lay, slightly crumpled, on the ground. He folded it over one arm, rather than offering it back.
“You know, if you’re cold, you should wear the cloak,” Sorey suggested.
Mikleo could feel himself blushing again and looked away, even as he slung it around his shoulders. He focused on his fingers doing up the clasps instead of looking to his side.
As soon as they stood, though, arms wrapped him up and pulled him to a warm chest. Mikleo held in a squeak of surprise, as Sorey kissed his cheek and said, “Thank you for bringing me out here to talk.”
“Of course. If you don’t talk about these things, they just get worse.” And that’s the path to malevolence. Neither of them said it, but they both understood.
“I love you, Mikleo,” Sorey said. He squeezed him tight once, before letting go and taking his hand instead. “Will you stay with me, tonight?”
“I think I can do that,” Mikleo said, as he turned them back towards the door into the tower.
@toradh replied to your post “So I was just thinking: "What if Mikleo somehow dies before Sorey...”
*sniffs* I’m glad to see that all can be sad and unfair, but at least our beautiful queen Lailah is still ship captain and sets things as right as they can be, considering the circumstances. *cries*
Yes! Lailah will always be Ship Captain. But since I’ve had all day to think about that Roleswap Reincarnation Romance AU (yes, that’s what I’m calling it, the alliteration is great) have a few bonus tidbits and headcanons:
The look on Lailah’s face as she watches the sparks fly between Seraphrey and Shepherdleo. She’s hiding this incredibly gleeful grin behind her sleeve, and if either Seraphrey or Shepherdleo had seen her, they’d be asking her about it, but they’re both too distracted by each other to even notice her.
Seraphrey just reading all the history books and legends about Shepherd Sorey, and his love for Mikleo, but never finding out what really happened to Mikleo. He struggles with how detached he feels from the situation - it’s his past after all - but Zaveid also makes a point of telling him that he’s free to live his life as he wishes. He does, spending a lot of time exploring ruins and learning how to use wind artes from Zaveid, but he never quite shakes the feeling he’s missing a part of himself, right up until Lailah introduces him to reincarnated!Shepherdleo.
Also, he tries to learn how to fight using pendulums from Zaveid. It doesn’t take long before they both realize Seraphrey is better at getting them hopelessly tangled into his ponytail than actually fighting with them, so they seek out Edna to get Sorey a sword to fight with instead. Who laughs her ass off for a good hour, but helps them out in the end.
Zaveid running into them as they’re traveling (being a Shepherd is mostly a ceremonial title these days, but since Shepherdleo has a pact with Lailah, he’s still the one who can purify hellions and clear up pockets of malevolence), and at first is all ready for his sub lord pact. And then Lailah tells him, oh no, not this time. And at first Zaveid’s confused, until he catches snippets of the latest discussion on ruins between Seraphrey and Shepherdleo on the wind and he immediately understands.
Bonus: Zaveid tags along for a little while, and decides to offer Seraphrey a hand with romancing Shepherdleo. Seraphrey politely declines, not that it stops Zaveid from asking time and time again.
Edna, however, is not so lucky, and gets roped into it. She spends much of her time grousing about how it’s not much better than it was the first time. In fact, she charges interest on all of this, via her snarkery and snack tax. Shepherdleo, though, is just as easy to rile up as she remembered Meebo being (even though she mercifully refrains from mentioning Mikleo) so at least there’s that to keep her entertained between their moments of pure sappy romance.
It surprises precisely no one when Shepherdleo takes to favoring the wind armatus in combat, to the point where Edna teases him about it, only to have Seraphrey be his usual honest self (”But I don’t mind! I really like armatizing with you!”). Cue Shepherdleo turning into a tomato.
Seraphrey helping Sheperdleo with the weight of the Shepherd’s Burden. He might not have all of his memories of his time as Shepherd, but he does get hazy feelings and glimpses of memories from time to time, and it’s enough to let him relate. During rough spots during Shepherdleo’s tenure, it’s not uncommon for Shepherdleo to fall asleep curled up in Seraphrey’s lap.
And of course, at some point, Shepherdleo passes away from old age, but he reincarnates into a Seraph. And this time, they do get their happily ever after.
pairing: sormik
WC: 1484
rating: T
AU: witch hunt au
notes: right so this is the beginning of an au i kinda abandoned, but i dont really wanna get rid of it cause it has a few nice lines that im actually proud of,,,, ://
theres an explanation of the au at the bottom -b
The night, with its twinkling stars and lack of any burning lanterns, provides the perfect cover. Slipping in and out of narrow, crooked alleyways, no one would notice a shadow, silent and quick.
A lantern, dark and smelling of hot wax, dangles in his hand, carefully gripped so it makes as little noise as possible. The other hand hugs a gray cloak close, its edges fluttering to and fro as he walks.
Just a little more.
He rounds a corner, and another. Ducks to the side, crosses the street in two calculated steps. Slips into an alley where even his skin shines likes the moon. Winding the cloak ever closer to himself, he raises one gloved hand and taps the leathered knuckles over a wooden door, thrice.
A tiny slit opens between the heavy planks, two eyes looking through it. They regard him, wait until he pulls the hood back enough to expose his face, his shining eyes, and then the slit closes again.
The door opens with a squeak that could be mistaken for a mouse. He wastes no time and slips inside, the tension fading from his shoulders as if on command as the door clicks closed.
"Is it Tuesday yet?" the guard -Edna, tonight- pipes up, but there's no bite to her barking.
"I had to see him," he sighs, turning to look at her. She had already retaken her seat by the door, a single chair propped against its handle, and is now twirling her umbrella. Opening an umbrella inside means bad luck, his mind supplies immediately. The last thing they need is bad luck. He pushes the thoughts that follow back, forcefully. "How is he?"
"Better," Edna says, as if it were that simple. The concern lacing her brow is still evident, however, no matter how hard she tries to cover it with her usual stoic mask. "Better than before."
Leaving Edna to her assigned duty, he twists on a heel and marches up the stairs, steps muffled by the imported carpet. The upstairs is quiet as well, but if he strains his ears, he can hear the hushed sounds of a conversation.
He follows it to the first door on the right.
They changed it again. The bed that used to be in the middle is now pushed to the side, with just a little free space left between it and the wall. Whether that's to keep it from the cold of the nightly bricks or to ease the access of anyone on cooling duty, he isn't sure. The table is pressed next to it, and the free space is now occupied by chairs, arranged around a smaller table. Three chairs, two occupied.
Lailah perks up, expecting Edna, her eyes calming from confused concern to just understanding, and her shoulders relax again.
"Sorey," she says, instead of a welcome. Zaveid nods his way.
"Hey guys," Sorey replies, pushing the hood back. His hair springs free, tousled and wild. The cloak ends up chucked over the backrest of the empty chair. He can’t resist asking, even though Edna already told him, "How is he?"
"Fever went down," Zaveid tells him. Sorey rounds the sitting spot, leans over the bed. His fingers right the snowy hair before pushing it out of the way so he can feel the Seraph's temperature himself. He isn't a physician, and can't tell if this is Mikleo's normal temperature, but it doesn't feel like his insides are on fire anymore. He breathes an unconscious sigh of relief. "He's been like this since last night. With some luck, he'll wake up soon."
"Thank gods," Sorey mumbles, pulling his hand away.
Like this, Mikleo looks like he's just sleeping. His face is calm, if a little paler than usual. His lips are chapped, but parted. The half empty cup on the table lets Sorey know that either Lailah or Zaveid had made him drink recently.
"Were you really that scared? If anything happened we'd tell you, you know?" Zaveid says, with his legs on the table. If Sorey didn't know him, he could easily take his teasing as nonchalance. But he also knows how much time Zaveid spent sitting by the bed, replacing the cold rag on Mikleo's forehead when he was wracked by the fevers.
"I know." Sorey offers him a smile, one that lights up even the circles under his eyes. "I just..."
Zaveid spares him the need to say the words. "We know, buddy."
Sorey pulls the chair away from the other Seraphim and sits by the bed, looking over the passed out boy with a valiant gaze. "Wake up soon, Mikleo," he whispers, low enough for the others no to hear him.
"-ake up! Wake up!"
He's shaken, but it takes a moment to come back to the land of the waking. Sorey's eyelashes flutter and he stirs, blinking up. Zaveid towers over him, even more than usual now that he's sitting.
"Wakey, wakey," the Seraph teases, "we got breakfast."
"I fell asleep?" Sorey asks sleepily, lifting a hand to rub the sleep crust out of his eyes. According to the crick in his neck, yes, he did.
"Yup," Zaveid confirms, "You'd make a terrible guard."
Sorey can feel blood rushing into his cheeks. "Sorry," spills from him before he can think.
"But you weren't the guard, so don't worry. You gave me some more private time with Lailah." Zaveid lifts his brows in an implication.
"I read his fortune!" Lailah pipes up innocently, a piece of bread with honey poured over it in her hand. She's eyeing it, paying close attention not to spill any.
Zaveid's brows come back down. And then furrow. "She said I would die alone."
"Well, you probably won't die alone," Sorey says, standing up and stretching his arms. His joints pop with satisfying sounds. "You'll probably get killed, and that means that there will at least be your killer around. Probably a whole crowd, in your case."
Sorey drags his chair back to the table and accepts the butter knife Lailah hands him. He grabs a piece of the bread and spreads butter on top, following her example of a honey meal.
Zaveid joins them and they eat in silence. Somewhere along the way, Edna comes upstairs, pulling along her own chair, presumably from the other room (though Sorey wouldn't really put it past her to take it all the way from downstairs). She joins them with only a remark of 'Zaveid's really quiet. Finally.'
They finish their meal and Sorey grabs his cloak again. He does, however, pause in the doorway, eyes falling onto Mikleo's unmoving form again. "I'll come again tonight," he promises.
"You know it's dangerous," Lailah says, her brows furrowing. "What if somebody sees you?"
"I didn't get caught yet! Don't worry!" Sorey tries to reassure her, but he himself knows what would happen if someone were to see and -gods forbid- follow him. Associating with Seraphim is the biggest form of treason, and punishable by a Seraphic trial along the Seraphim. Edna might be able to survive underwater by building a barrier, but he sure can't. He shudders at the thought; pushes it back where it came from, to the dark corner of his betraying mind.
"Just be careful, I don't want to follow my brother's steps," Edna says, using a hendkerchief to wipe stray droplets of honey from her fingers.
Sorey's eyes lower at the mention of Eizen. He puts on his coat in silence, and in silence he also slips out, leaving them alone to tend to Mikleo.
The morning streets greet him with people already bustling about, erecting their stalls and hauling the night's catches over. He can pull the cloak off when he gets to the heart of the market, no one paying him any mind as they mill about, hell-bent on getting the best fish today has to offer before someone else swoops in and steals them.
Sorey stops at a stall and buys a pair of handfuls of freshly caught prawn, despite himself. No one spares him a glance as he's handed the clothed bundle.
No one knows.
It always sends a pang of paranoia through him, when he's around people. He'd be lying if he said he's scared for himself and the possibility of being drowned or hung as a traitor to humanity. What truly strikes fear into his heart is the thought of Zaveid getting set ablaze. Of Lailah being tossed to the bottom of a lake. Of Edna pushed off a cliff, bound and helpless.
Of Mikleo, still unconscious and weak, being buried alive.
He finds himself gripping the cloth bag so tight that his nails bite into his palm through it; his heart is hammering and breath short. He takes a moment to calm himself and slips through the ever-unaware crowd back home.
WITCH HUNT AU;
aka medieval au where all humans hate and hunt the seraphim. theyre very, very ostracized and humans arent allowed by law to even talk to one. getting caught helping one (much less four) is punishable by a public execution. even rumors are enough to get inquisition on your ass; be careful!
sorey grows up alongside mikleo, a boy he met by the lake. mikleo admits hes a seraph a few years down the line, because he trusts sorey. and, just as expected, sorey makes sure to keep him safe and sound.
they meet the gang eventually, because mikleo, being a seraph, can tell when there are others around. lailah gets herself backed into a corner by a mob after badly dodging a question about her looks. burn her. no, she is fire. kill her! drown her! sorey and mikleo snatch her and lead the angry mob on a wild chase around the city that they know like the backs of their hands. edna is outed when she tries defending eizen before his execution. its just wild luck that mikleo was around. it was absolutely coincidental that the lake suddenly formed a tsunami-like wave. absolutely. zaveid finds them. he tries to flirt with lailah in the pub. needless to say, the poor guy is let down. at least the beer is close.
they dont meet rose and dezel until later. dezel protects rose to the best of his abilities, almost to the suicidal edge. rose doesnt even know hes a seraph until they meet the guys
eli told me this is basically canon (the human & seraphim hating each other), so i kinda scrapped this idea since i didnt want to seem like i was. idk. wrongly copying the canon. i know nothing about berseria
Sorry I haven’t been posting much on this account. There’s been a lot going on IRL, so I’ve been a bit preoccupied overall. Thank you to those of you who are still sticking around though! Before I wrote fic for Zestiria, I’ve only had a handful of followers and now there’s more of you (if I don’t count the bots...lol). It’s both a bit unnerving and nice (?!) since I’m not used to having this many followers for my writing...
AnYWAY, I’m slowly working on a few stories and hope to finish up at least one fic in the weeks to come sorry my writing rhythm is really inconsistent adksjkhjf
Till then, here are a few (unedited) snippets, if you’re interested. Putting under a cut for length:
Dezel, Sorey+Rose brotp, CATS (canon)
He shouldn’t have been surprised, honestly. Incidents like these – they were a norm and really, he should be used to them by now. Being part the Shepherd’s posse seemed to bring about both irritability and absurdity in equal parts – he was aware of this even before Rose had decided on sharing the burden and took on the role of a Squire; before she had risked her own life to save the Shepherd brat from certain death because he had been foolish enough to face off with the Lord of Calamity.
Still, nothing quite prepared him for this; he was more of a dog person, after all.
“But why cats, though?” Rose finally blurted out, incredulous. Hell, Dezel wanted to know too – who would come up with such a sick joke anyway?
“I’m not a cat!”
The small silver creature standing in the grass was scowling up at them with narrowed, violet eyes. His mouth was open, as if he were attempting to speak. But the only sound he managed was a very indignant and cat-like meow (it was more a kittenish mewl, really, Dezel thought).
“W-What?” The silver kitten crinkled his nose, tail waving back and forth in confusion. He glanced over his shoulder, gazing at a second cat – a female with a silky white coat and a long, red-striped tail. “Why can’t I… Lailah, what’s going on?”
“Huh,” Sorey said from where he was crouched low to the ground. There was a contemplative look about him as he swept his gaze from the silver kitten to the white cat. Skulking beside his right knee was a smaller, calico-patched kitten with sky-blue eyes and a foul temper, her short tail fluffed up. And draped casually over the kid’s shoulder was yet another cat – a sleek, muscular tom, grey-striped and wearing a languid amber stare. Sorey watched the cats surrounding him for a bit longer, before he reached out tentatively to let the silver kitten sniff his fingers.
“Well, at least she didn’t turn you all into frogs,” Sorey added unhelpfully. “Ow–!” He yelped when the silver kitten nipped a finger.
“This isn’t funny, Sorey!” the kitten said, ears twitching irritably.
Before the Shepherd could reply, the grey tom leapt down from his perch to the grass below, splaying his claws as he stretched his long limbs out easily.
“Better a cat than a frog, eh, Mikster? Though I suppose it might have been easier if we had been turned into frogs – a kiss from the handsome Shepherd himself or a pure maiden should do the trick.” The grey tom glanced up at Rose, a mischievous gleam in his eyes now. “No harm trying it out with cats too, right? How about it, Rose? We all know Sheps here has already reserved his for Mikleo, but I’m sure the rest of us can make do with a kiss from a fine lady such as yourself.”
“Er,” Sorey began hesitantly at the same time the calico kitten growled softly in her throat. Bunching up her paws beneath her, she sprang forward and aimed a swift paw-jab to the grey tom’s face that had him yowling in surprise and backing away.
“As lewd as ever even in this form,” the calico hissed as she swished her bottle-brush tail in contempt. “Just because you’re a fuzzball now doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be gross, Grossveid.”
Rose rubbed at her nape, still confused, as she stared at the gathering of cats. “How are these cats even talking to us? It’s like I’m hearing their voices in my head and that’s creepy. Just like how... whoa, hold on a sec–” She stiffened, eyes widening as she finally caught on. “Is this kitten... Edna?” She flicked her gaze back at the grey tom, who beamed and twitched his whiskers proudly at her. “And Zaveid?!”
Dezel was already internally groaning at Rose’s slow uptake. But Sorey, ever the sunshine of their dysfunctional little band, only let out a chuckle.
“So you can hear them too, huh? This one here is Mikleo!” He reached for the silver kitten who was still puffed up in annoyance, holding up his now fluffy best friend for Rose to take a better look. “Doesn’t he look like the cutest bundle of fur now?”
“Ugh, Sorey!” Mikleo the kitten groaned, struggling to bat Sorey over the nose with a paw.
This time, it was Rose’s turn to laugh. “More like an overpriced fur stole, really.”
“R-Rose?!”
Before the two could continue with their good-natured teasing, the white cat with the red tail purred, clearly amused. She bounded up to balance herself easily on Sorey’s right shoulder, gazing over at Rose and Dezel with bright eyes.
“And I take it this one here must be Lailah then,” Rose said.
“That is correct,” the Prime Lord (Prime…Cat?) nodded. “It seems that what we’ve heard from the villagers aren’t mere rumours, after all. With her level of resonance and her apparent skill in transmutation artes, perhaps this woman really is a witch.”
“Great,” Dezel muttered under his breath. “That just means more work cut out for us.”
Symmone character study, Camlann illusions (canon)
“Why do you still keep smiling, even when I tear open your wounds?” she spat, vehemence laced in every word.
(Many moons later, she would find herself asking the same question, to yet another who smiled just like he did even through the anguish and pain.
How could they…. How dare they? It didn’t make any sense, it couldn’t–)
Her brows creased in anger, Symonne forced herself back up to her feet even as her limbs ached and trembled from the growing exhaustion of battle. Being delicate in stature had its drawbacks; she would tire easily from direct combat in a battle. As such, she had perfected the use of her seraphic artes, weaving illusions and doppelgangers born from one’s own deepest fear. She had not asked for this accursed blessing, never wished for any of it. But it was all she’d ever known, all she’d carried within her throughout centuries of misery and growing apathy. It was she was but it was enough for this, for her Lord – she reminded herself, again, as she struggled to stand upright, pointing her baton at the two humans before her. It was enough that she could serve him, her Master. She won’t stop here; no, she couldn’t stop, she must not fall–
“That’s enough, Symonne.”
The Shepherd’s voice was soft and gentle, and Symonne felt frustration flaring from deep within. She lifted her head, staring up at the disgustingly radiant smile, at the pity in those evergreen eyes.
“Why do you still keep fighting back? How can you smile like it doesn’t hurt?!” she cried, hurling all of her anger and confusion outward, streaks of magic dancing in violent crackles around them. She wants to strike them down, wants to wipe that infuriating smile off his face and gouge the kindness in those eyes.
“Symonne.”
She froze, her muscles tensing in agitation when she sensed the Shepherd’s approach. But he only knelt before her slowly, his countenance soft and heavy with sadness. Standing close by, the Shepherd’s water seraph wore a similar expression of pity even as he kept his staff pointed at her. The Squire herself remained on guard however, her gaze as sharp as the blades she held poised.
“Why do you keep fighting?” Symonne tried again, her eyes burning with tears now. “When all there is at the end is inevitable doom? Is it so bad to want to just let go?” She raised her baton once more, threading wisps of magic through the thick violet miasma around them, even though she was already worn from their earlier battle and now from the crushing weight of Heldalf’s domain bearing down upon her. The illusions danced briefly around them – shadows of the bandit children laughing alongside the Cardinal; of the old Explorer and the blind wind seraph who smiled back at the Shepherd and his Squire – this would throw them off, surely, and turn them to despair, it must–
But the shadows flickered weakly, fading along with the remainder of her strength, and Symonne was left curled against the cold, hard ground.
“Don’t you wish they could have at least survived? I can make it a reality, so why do you keep fighting back, why?!” She wept, feeling a last spike of defiance she glared up furiously at the Shepherd.
Sorey smiled sadly – that abhorrent smile, bright and untouched like the sun, she hated it so – and reached out for her, only to pause and thought better of it, pulling his arm back to rest at his side.
“If Forton, Mayvin, Dezel, and even those children were brave enough to have endured the pain that comes with reality… Then, we as the Shepherd and Squire – we surely have to do just as much and even more.”
“That’s why we’ll keep pushing onward,” the water seraph said. “We could never cast away the memory of these people by accepting the illusions, perfect as they are.”
Beside them, the Squire nodded, a rueful look in her eyes. “Doing so would be a disservice to all the pain and hardships they had suffered.”
Sorey+Mikleo, ensemble (Exile/Rogue AU)
“Do not let yourself be so readily deceived by all that glitters, by their honeyed words. After all, they murdered your father when he would not be silenced, and then banished us to the Wastelands. They sent your mother to die all alone – you still remember, don’t you? Her terrified screams when she was cut down, the way her blood stained the wheat fields crimson? Remember that always, child.”
Sorey flinched from the twist of emotion within his gut. Lady Maltran might not be close by, but the ghostly whispers of her words still sent a trail of ice shivering down his spine. He shook his head, pushing away the taunting memories back. No, Lady Maltran was right – this wasn’t the time to let his guard down. He exhaled slowly, finding his centre again, and drew his thoughts back once more to the present. To focus on what had been drilled into him, what he had been sent to do.
To distract himself from the lingering memories, he turned his attention to the dark wooden cabinets that lined the walls of the sitting room instead. They were packed with volumes of leather-bound tomes with yellowing pages. Curiosity getting the better of him, Sorey found himself easily absorbed by the contents of a book he selected from the nearest shelf. It was only when Fiuves’ abrupt movement caught his eye that he’d finally noticed the sound of approaching footsteps. Sorey could feel the marten’s claws twitching from where she was balanced upon his shoulder, a soft growl rumbling from her throat.
Just as he was about to turn to see who was approaching him, there was another flash of movement; Sorey felt the book he’d been reading easily snatched from his hands. He blinked, surprised, only to glance up to meet the cool gaze of the young Prince Mikleo.
"Oh," Rose says, catching her in her arms. "Wow. I mean, uh, are you... okay? Or are the decorations really that bad?"
She gives a watery laugh at that, sniffling between her breaths, and shakes her head, holding onto Rose tightly and taking in her familiar scent. "They're pretty bad," she admits, staring up at the garish assortment of balloons and streamers hanging off the entryway's main staircase. Compared to the deep earthy color of the rest of the manor's railings and floors, the decorations look a bit like a jungle of mismatched flowers sprouting from every corner.
"Oh."
"But I love them," she finishes, laughing again. Rose huffs in offense.
"You don't need to humor me if they're really that bad," she grumbles, and when Alisha pulls away to peer at her expression, she finds Rose's face contorted into a pout. The sight is adorable.
Poking at her lover's cheek, Alisha blinks away her tears as best as she can and smiles when Rose glances over. "Really, I do like them. Thank you," she says, and her smile grows wider when Rose begins to sport a light blush.
She honestly didn't think the Shepherd would be back in time for her birthday, not that she blamed her for it of course. Rose had set off a few days earlier to deal with a rise in malevolence somewhere in Rolance, and so they'd said their goodbyes and promised to celebrate whenever Rose returned.
That's why, despite the clashing colors decorating her entryway, she is genuinely moved at Rose's efforts, because the sheer amount of decoration in the room combined with how tired Rose must be from traveling truly speaks volumes about exactly how much effort was involved. So she started crying.
(Although, if she's being completely honest, a little bit of the reason she started crying is because the neon streamers hurt her eyes a bit. But Rose doesn't need to know that.)
"I'm glad you liked them, but you didn't have to cry over it," Rose mumbles, rubbing the back of her neck and turning away. Despite the strange half smile, half frown she's trying to hide, Alisha knows Rose is too embarrassed to admit she's relieved. Her Shepherd really is too cute.
"I can't help it. I truly am happy and thankful for your efforts."
At this, Rose's head perks up. "Yeah?" she turns back around, face lighting up.
"Besides, making me cry is just another daily occurrence for you, isn't it?" she teases, and the look on Rose's face afterward has her laughing so hard she's in tears once again. "I'm sorry, Rose. I couldn't resist."
"Do a nice thing for a pretty girl and this is where it gets me," she sniffs, glaring at the still crying and still laughing princess. She pulls away from their embrace and folds her arms over her chest.
"A pretty girl, am I? Well," Alisha starts, grabbing Rose by the shoulders and leaning in close. "I appreciate the compliment," she finishes and presses a quick kiss to her lips that leaves Rose blushing but smiling too.
"A-Anytime. Just for you, princess."
"By the way," she says nonchalantly, adjusting the bandana on Rose's neck and smoothing it out. "You spelled 'birthday' wrong." Finishing with the bandana, she points at the banner hanging against the back wall of the staircase, and Rose quirks an eyebrow and follows her hand. Her eyes immediately widen once she sees what's written there.
"...Zaveid! Where the hell are you?" Rose starts shouting into the mansion, looking around left and right. From somewhere down the hall, probably near the kitchen if Alisha is hearing right, a loud laugh erupts and echoes. "I swear, if he's eating the cake too..."
"You got me a cake?" she blinks, surprised. Rose snorts.
"It's your birthday, of course I got you a cake. And a present, but that's for later. Now come on, everybody else is waiting," Rose beams, pulls her by the hand and drags her forward. "Oh, wait a second." She stops, brings her hands up, and begins to wipe away the wetness still shining on Alisha's cheeks. "There."
Alisha feels like her cheeks are threatening to break from how much she's been smiling in the past few minutes. Leaning forward, she kisses her again. "Thank you," she says when she steps back.
Rose, coughing away the blush, just waves her off and continues dragging her to where she can now hear the seraphim talking amongst themselves. "Don't thank me yet. Let's see if you still have a cake to eat."
She giggles and squeezes Rose's hand in response. "Hey, Rose?"
"Hm?" Still walking, she looks over her shoulder and meets Alisha's gaze.
"You know, 'Happy Babeday' kind of has a nice ring to it."
Rose's steady steps falter for a second.
"...Don't you dare say that to him. He'll never stop using it."
Grinning, Alisha decides she's probably right. But now she knows what she's doing for Rose's birthday when it comes. For now, though, she prepares herself for what is surely going to be a rowdy, yet entertaining evening. After all, with Rose around, it's never a dull day.
Especially when there's alcohol involved. She hopes there's no alcohol involved.
...
(There is alcohol involved. However, considering she wakes up the next morning feeling fairly well rested and curled up naked in the arms of her lover, she can forgive Rose this time.)
By now please understand that Zaveid is in Berseria thanks
Why I like themI love the way he jokes around, the way he enjoys life, but knows to be serious when it’s time to get down to business. I love his character journey. I love the way he grew and learned through Berseria, to become who he was in Zestiria. I love his loyalty, first to Theodora, then to AIfread. I love how determined he was to save everyone, even at the risk of his own life. And when he finally realised that that would not always be the best answer, he would still fight with everything to save a friend from himself.
Why I don’tHis writing in Zestiria alone was disappointing, considering he came in after roughly 4/5s of the game, and there just wasn’t space or screentime for him to get development. Thankfully, we got more in Berseria, but considering he’s a playable character in Z he should really have had a lot more room on the official plot truck. Honestly, before Berseria I was just casually fond for him, because he amuses me a lot, but I didn’t learn to love him until I found him in B.
Favorite episode (scene if movie)………..Surprisingly… it might be when he fought Aizen in ZX season 1. The way he was yelling got to me really bad ;w; Alternatively, when he protected Laphicet in B.
Favorite line“But I’ll only kill you once you’ve stopped being yourself. Only then.”
Favorite outfitHmmm maybe the vampire outfit from Link/Asteria without the hat. Or the yukata from Tales of Festival!
OTPTheodora ;_;
BrotpEizen. Also with Laphicet. Also with Aifread.
Head CanonHe visits Theodora’s grave every now and then, to talk to her about all he’s been doing. After Zestiria, he visits Aizen’s grave too, although he usually doesn’t talk as much there. He just drinks.
Unpopular opinionOut of the whole Zestiria cast, only he (through Berseria) and Sorey got any character development. The rest are either messily developed or left forsaken by the character journey gods. I also dislike them giving him Dezel’s hat. He’s /not/ a replacement goldfish, dammit.
A wishI kind of hope he finds a resting place one day. Living for hundreds of thousands of years still sounds like torture to me, to be honest…
An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happenDON’T LET HIM TURN INTO A DRAGON EVER
5 words to best describe themAbs, promise, whirlwind, bro, tease
