"Hey! Get back here, 'Star!"
"Can't catch me, Mak! I've got the Winds of Excalibur under my heels!"
Maka pouts as she chases after the boy, his blue hair a bright spot against the otherwise green courtyard. It reminds her of the sky, which reminds her of her mother. Suddenly, she's lost, looking up at the white clouds, fluffy like pegasi wings against a familiar blue. The wind whistles past her ear and plays with her ash blonde pigtails, clipped by the winged fittings her parents had gotten her for her last birthday.
She falls to her behind, no longer caring to chase after BlackStar, and splays out over the grass, soft and safe within the palace walls and at odds with the battlefield she knows her mother is on. Maka's thoughts stray from her parents' injuries she watches, healed with a staff's gentle glow, to the tension between them as they argue over who stays home to be with her. Her mother is the captain of the Winged Knights, a beacon of hope for their halidom of Ylisse in the seemingly ceaseless fight against hordes of Risen, soldiers raised from the dead, deformed and without a soul. Her father is an excellent fighter in his own right, but he ends up staying behind more and more.
Maka can't decide if she likes her mother being independent or resents her father for not protecting her mother more.
A shadow falls over her view of the wide sky, blue hair and blue eyes and a bit of dirt on one cheek. BlackStar gazes down with a look of intense concentration and she glares back. He reaches down with one hand, hovering near her face. She refuses to flinch, instead relaxing to allow her reflexes to catch him before he does- whatever it is he's going to do.
"Starlight Explosion!"
His finger flicks out and boops her on the nose and Maka can't help the twitch her face makes. Her hand is clasped over his wrist and she can see his face relax into a more placid expression. BlackStar pulls his hand away lightly and Maka's eyes catch on the emblem emblazoned on his exposed right shoulder, the Mark of the Exalt.
He flops down next to her, arms splayed wide and mouth quiet for once. His family is out there, too, she remembers. What's left of the royal court has taken to the frontlines, leaving behind only trusted advisors like Sid, the second prince BlackStar, his older cousin and heir to the throne Akane, and a small contingent of soldiers to act as guardians for the capital city. They're still for a few moments before BlackStar rolls over and tugs on her hair.
"C'mon, Mak, let's play some more."
She sighs and sits up, looking at Akane who sits across the garden. He has a book in hand and is lounging on the stairs that lead back into the castle. He's watched over them since they were both babies,, and has impeccable manners and the beginnings of a real combat expert. He looks up at her and smiles lightly, making a gesture with his hand to tell her they can keep playing, no need to come in yet. No one is at the palace to call them inside anyway.
BlackStar's hand sticks in front of her face and she takes it, getting yanked to her feet. She's handed a stick and another whacks against hers followed by a yell of 'Blazing Blade!'
She slips into a facsimile of a defensive stance she's seen Akane's retainer Clay take up and parries BlackStar's next attack. Maka wonders if Clay is nearby and has noticed. She would love to get swordsmanship lessons from him, if only to protect her family and the blue idiot in front of her, playfully snarling 'special move' names and using old stuffy language in an attempt to make everyone laugh and pay attention to him.
He may be loud and made for tomfoolery, but BlackStar understood her and knew the best ways to distract her.
"Is that all Maka the Sunborn has to offer BlackStar of the Raging Night!?" He winds up for another attack. "Radiant… DAWN!"
She smirks as she pushes all her worries for her parents to the back of her mind and joins in her best friend's antics.
TrainingBlackStar stretches as he walks the grounds of the castle, readying himself for a morning workout before his daily training with the soldiers. There's so much to absorb that he is always looking for ways to decompress. Making up fancy moves and naming them takes time his teachers do not allow. Between swordplay and magic lessons, he has little time now to meet with his friends except across the training arena. The fleeting dawn casts long shadows on the courtyard and he takes a moment to think back to time spent running across the grass, barefoot, with Maka and their other friends. It's only been a handful of years, but they all feel the weight of them heavily. Every time a messenger returns from the field, they wait and wonder whose turn it will be. Who will receive their parent's wedding ring or other memento? Who will be grieving next?
Not that the grieving ever stops. His parents had been among the first to fall, not satisfied with an idle life of royalty, preferring to be on the front lines, aiding their people. His mother's magic and his father's blade were practically legendary, but he wished he didn't have only the star-shaped Mark of the Exalt and a sword to remember them by.
The blade in question weighs his belt down. By rights, it should belong to Akane, the first born prince, whose father had wielded the blade before his. But Falchion chooses its own champion, and the famed Dragon's Fang is but a dull instrument to those deemed unworthy. Akane easily handed over the blade, Mark of the Exalt clear and steady in his left eye, picking up another heirloom blade, Mystletainn, in its stead.
BlackStar thumbs over Falchion's hilt, lost in thought until a thud and a clang reach his ears. Suddenly on alert, he grips the hilt, eyes snapping towards the noise. A grove of trees at the end of the courtyard bring his attention and he edges forward, wary of any Risen that may have breached the palace's walls. The noises are consistent, practiced, though, and when he gets close enough, he can hear small puffs of breath, exhales of exertion; Risen hissed and groaned more than breathed. When the small clearing in the trees is open to his view, his stance relaxes instantly.
There, with a training blade and armor strapped to various trees, is Maka.
"So Maka the Sunborn does rise with the dawn, radiant and terrifying."
His comment gets the end of her blade pointed at his neck. He remains still as the haze of focus lifts and Maka drops her sword arm.
"Prince BlackStar," she says, voice clipped. His eye twitches.
"You don't have to call me that…" She reaches for a small towel to wipe her sweat away and raises her eyebrow at him. He coughs a little, remembering the numerous times Captain Clay has directed all his friends to call him by his title. Clay, along with Sid, was sizing them all up for who would be BlackStar's retainer, his advisor and right hand. He'd always known, though, who he would pick if given a choice of his own. "If it's yo-" He cuts himself off, uncertain of potentially giving away his thoughts, and instead reaches for her blade, lying against a stump. His train of thought is interrupted by Maka's voice.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
He holds his tongue and Maka reaches out for the blade, elegant and long, maintained well, though the edge needed a whetstone. He appraises it, looking for any areas that may need reinforcement when something occurs to him.
"Haven't you named your weapon?" The hilt is bare of any insignia or script that was often etched with the user's house or a name.
Maka chokes on the flask of water she pulls from. "E-excuse me? My weapon doesn't need a name, Star! That's ridiculous."
BlackStar chooses to ignore her slight to focus on her using his name. "Sure it does! Names are powerful and make weapons more like partners than tools... AND you'll never confuse it with anyone else's!"
The look she gives him is withering. "Were your smallclothes stitched with your name or something?"
His jaw clenches and he tightens his hands on her blade. "Guess I'll just have to name your sword FOR you, then."
Maka jumps up and wrenches the sword from his hands. "Oh no, nonono. Get your mitts off my sword." In a flash, she's storming off into the burgeoning light of morning, away from the clearing and him.
"You should come up with some special move names, too!" he calls after her. When she disappears from view, he surveys the clearing. The armor is old and otherwise unusable, but the deep slices and punctures in some of them are clearly Maka's handiwork. He'd better watch his back during training today.
Maka's body is tired and sore, aching from all the hits she endured during today's combat sequence training. They'd been randomly paired up at various points of today's lessons and she had taken a beating while partnered with Patty, a relative newcomer that was straight up deadly with an axe. Her recklessness lent her plenty of power, but left a lot of holes for Maka to fill in their defense. By comparison, her second partnership with BlackStar has been easy and fluid. She had watched his earlier matches, wondering how in Naga's sweet breath he was not stabbed in preparation. Yelling 'special move' names and calling out to his opponents left him with far too many gaps.
Yet, he was barely hit. His partners were not picking up the slack to be sure. It wasn't until she stood alongside him that she saw his stance changing, opening and closing, tempting and then using that lure to strike the enemy. It was poetry in motion and Maka could only keep up. The final bout had them against the ropes, a team that was fresh and energetic, while they were tired and ready to crawl into warm beds. BlackStar never faltered, though the lethargy in his limbs was evident. He tightened his tendons and muscles and pushed through it, dispatching his mark with the practice sword and staying the hand of her opponent after she had tripped. A moment later and the battle was over.
"Haaa… saved again, huh?" she muttered. BlackStar only offered her a confused look and a hand up. She stood without his offered help and walked out of the arena. He had called out after her, but she just waved. She would get reprimanded by Clay for that one later, to be sure.
Thoughts about BlackStar's protective nature and battle style so at odds with itself could wait until she had a clearer head. Besides, she has some weapon maintenance to do.
Holier Than Thou"Maka!"
The scream wrenches her attention away from the jarring din of weapons clashing and the cries of soldiers and servants alike. The castle is in disarray, unarmed civilians running and tripping; soldiers trying to organize and hold the entryways, failing; Risen spilling through the gaps, reaching out and stabbing anything that crosses their path. Bodies are falling at an alarming rate, swathed in the colors of her kingdom and sanguine red, the last line of defense for the throne.
The voice, familiar and desperate, calls out again.
"MAKA!"
She ducks under a lance swinging wildly and runs for the source, tripping over a body, freezing when she recognizes Akane's retainer and her teacher, Captain Clay. His young face is slack with death and his eyes are dull. She shudders, but barely flinches when a calloused hand clasps around her upper arm, yanking her up and away. The doors close before her eyes as Risen descend upon the throng of bodies littering the great room floor.
"C'mon, stay with me, Mak."
She's running now, alongside her rescuer. "Star- Star, I-"
He shushes her as they near a corner and stumble to a halt, listening. The way is clear and as they continue, Soul, Kim and Jackie, the acolytes of magic and healing and another part of their combat training group, meet them. Kim, the cleric that has patched up many of their wounds during practice, has blood soaking into the sleeves and hem of her shift, hands slick on her staff; none of it is likely to be hers. Nevertheless, she speaks steadily.
"BlackStar, Harvar, Ox and Killik have gone ahead to clear the way. Akane was with Tsubaki and Liz. I didn't see Captain Clay with them." Maka shudders at the memory and BlackStar's hand tightens on her elbow. "Hopefully, the seal is ready to go when we get there," Kim says, words racing to leave her mouth as they run towards the secret room behind the throne. Maka remembers why they're here, what they're going to attempt and grounds herself by gripping the hand that has slipped into hers.
"Blair is going to send us off. Let's hope Patty and the twins will make it in time." Maka can see how BlackStar's jaw clenches, even through his words. The Rite of Awakening has never been attempted in this era and there's no telling if it will work the way they want it to. Playing with time and space is not for the faint of heart.
The group makes it to the tiny room behind the throne with only token resistance. The remnants of the Winged Knights, recalled to the castle after the fall of the royal family and their retainers are doing their best to give them time. Maka can only hope that it will not all have been in vain.
They form a circle around the intricate design laid out by Blair and Eruka, the most senior mages left in the capital. Both Akane and BlackStar offer a few drops of their own blood to begin the ritual and the seal begins to glow, the Mark on BlackStar's arm and in Akane's eye along with it.
They all clasp hands as the chanting begins, praying that the rite will take them to the time and place where they can stop this dreadful massacre, this one-sided war against the supernatural that seems to have no end. The light burns behind her eyelids, but Maka opens them as the sounds of battle draw closer to their small room. She can feel the tension in the air skyrocket and Soul is cursing under his breath to her right, dangerously close to releasing an actual dark curse. Maka looks to her left and sees BlackStar staring back at her, eyes serious as she's ever seen.
"-in the name of Naga and of the exalted blood, we ask for the divine dragon's power!-"
There is a shattering noise and between the lights and the unmistakable sound of Risen breaking through the doors- no doubt drawn to the arcane surge of magic power-, her eyes stay locked on bright blue and her hand tries to keep a grip on his but the rite or the Risen or something tugs at her and squeezes her and her left hand is suddenly empty and the world too bright.
Time after time"Is the blade not to your liking?" Maka stares at the elegant sword, silver and ornate, but sturdy enough for the job she now holds as a retainer to a royal.
"No, it is lovely, milady." She sheathes the sword, feeling a little stifled in the heavy lamé and the shield emblazoned with this kingdom's insignia. "Though I would like to meet with the blacksmith to obtain a whetstone. I don't want to have to wait to visit one to keep my blade sharp."
"How adorably industrious of you, my dear Maia," the princess responds. Maka follows her liege Lady Camilla, reminding herself of her new name, dyed red pigtails swinging in the cold and dark Nohrian air.
BlackStar holds his tongue when the second prince of Hoshido talks down to him about his behavior and lack of decorum. Prince Takumi is irritating if well-intentioned, but his never-ending suspicion sets BlackStar's teeth on edge. His homeland of Ylisse had been far more accepting of outsiders, though it could be argued that maybe that led to their downfall. As he returns to Sakura, the youngest Hoshidan royal's, side, he wishes he could figure out what went wrong with the ritual and how he had ended up in a foreign land, alone and without a single person even knowing of the continent he hailed from.
He had quickly learned to keep his mouth shut about Ylisse and Risen, dyed his hair dark and kept his Mark hidden. He had also taken on a moniker, just in case. Through his theatrics, he could relieve some of his own tension with it only chalked up to the chattering of an idiot.
"Lady Sakura, it is I, Orion Dark, here to serve your every need through the pain of my aching blood!"
Ylisse was never this cold. Maka feels the chill roll up her spine as the very sea begins to freeze. The Ice Tribe her lady Camilla had enlisted for this mission has ensnared their prey on solid gray waves and the bridge that rises between ships is an open invitation to engage the enemy.
Sailors are being ushered into the underbelly of the ship, but the obvious opponents are before her. A swordswoman, a priestess, and a dark mage. Interesting, dark magic is not a particularly common practice in Hoshido from what she knows.
Undaunted, she rushes ahead of her squad, heading directly for the priestess. No healing means no recovery for her enemies. An archer and a wyvern rider distract the swordswoman enough for Maka to slip by, but the range of the dark mage stops her in her tracks. Electricity crackles in the air and scorches the wooden deck at her feet. It takes time for her to break the line the mage holds, getting in range to strike him down.
Only, the dark hair can't hide bright blue eyes. Only, his outfit can't conceal the Mark of the Exalt on his shoulder when she forces her attack wide at the last second, and catches his cloak. Only, the magic that could be snapping around his fingers doesn't when his hands reach out to grab her wrists, firmly but without malicious intent.
She's frozen, not from cold, not from fear, but utter shock.
"S-star..?" her voice sounds breathy, foreign to her own ears and the hands on her wrists are warm and familiar. They tighten as the man pulls her forward, pressing the flat sides of the blade in between their chests.
"Mak…" the syllable falls heavily between them and the moment is broken when BlackStar's hands snap out to strike down a wyvern rider behind her. Maka's breathing starts to pick up pace, her brain flying to try and understand the correct course of action. She had sworn fealty to Lady Camilla and Nohr, yet before her stood her true ruler, her best friend, wearing the colors of her lady's enemies. Before she can make up her mind, an opportunistic fighter catches her eye behind him and she pushes and lunges forward, blade neatly impaling the brigand between the ribs, BlackStar standing to her side.
She can hardly concentrate on her apparent betrayal when a flare rises from the flagship. Surrender.
Maka gratefully falls to her knees, blade clattering at BlackStar's feet. The swordswoman from before runs up to his side and he covers his exposed shoulder.
"Orion! Corrin has ordered we bring this one to the main ship to receive judgement with her liege. Oh! Whatever happened to your arm? Lady Sakura should look at that right away!"
Maka tunes out whatever else the woman says, focusing on the familiar tones of BlackStar and how he handles her discarded sword with care. She lets her eyes close for a moment, when he reaches out to pull her to her feet.
BlackStar nearly vibrates with contained energy as Maka's sentence is doled out. Her liege had begged to be executed at the hand of her displaced sibling, but Corrin had shown mercy. He knew that they had to be careful; he was royalty of a different continent and could not give Takumi any cause to further suspect him as some kind of spy. He rather liked staying alive and he wanted to keep Maka that way now that they'd found each other. Her sword hangs from his belt and the weight is so familiar and comforting. The others in the Hoshidan contingent had been confused by his refusal to hand it over to the convoy manager, but he kept his ground.
When Maka is released, she makes eye contact for the briefest of moments, shaking her head subtly. He wishes he could hide his disappointment, but a small note stuck to his bowl of stew that night, written in the language of his home country sets his heart back to a furious beat.
He tries to be discreet, but that isn't his style and has never been. He arrives just as Maka leans against the railing of the ship's forward bow.
"Orion."
"...Maia." He wants to say her name so badly, wants to acknowledge that they know each other, but even at this time of night when the deck was nearly empty, it would be difficult to write it off. She's just like he remembered, if a bit older and with long hair dyed the color of her father's. She'd kept her pigtails and his fingers itch to tug on one. "How long.. Have you been here?"
"Months, years, I'm not even sure anymore."
"Same for me. I haven't found anyone else."
"Me neither."
He hums and unhooks her sword from his belt. "Here. I believe this is yours."
She takes it and glances at him, calculating. "What… not going to say anything?"
"Huh? Why would I say something about your sword?"
In the pale light of the moon, he swears she flushes high on her cheeks.
"Just… look at my weapon." She cups her chin and turns her head away. Intrigued, he lifts the blade and looks it over. A neat and sharp edge, a trim balance. The blade looks fine until his eyes catch on the handle.
"This is... Hey, you inscribed a name in the handle! Never thought I'd see the day... Wait… this looks really old and weathered. Which means you'd already…" Maka just turns further away, shoulders hunched. "Hah! You're awful! You gave me all that grief when we were young and yet you've named your weapon?"
Green eyes swivel around to look at him, equal parts incredulous and nervous.
"Look closer, idiot." Her hand pushes his face back towards the sword. "Read it."
And when he does, BlackStar is confused.
"But this says… this is my…"
"I know."
"You named your weapon after me? Wha… when? WHY?"
She takes the blade from his slack fingers, running her thumb over the worn letters that spell out 'BLACKSTAR'. Maka sheathes the sword.
She turns to leave and BlackStar curls his fingers into his palms tightly to keep from reaching out for her, keep her from leaving. This was something, wasn't it?
The sea breeze carries her words softly to his ears.
"Because you're a person I've always been able to trust, no matter what. I just… when we got separated, time after time, I wanted to feel like you were still with me, just so I could feel safe. This was… I just.. Well. I didn't mean to, honest, it just sort of-"
"Maia. Sunborn angel of war. We're here now, and your weapon and I will not leave your side anymore." Her face turns slightly to look at his and his heart lurches to see the glaze of tears threatening her green eyes. Unable to resist longer, he tugs on a pigtail. "I swear."
TrustAll that time, all those battles in Nohr, Hoshido and Valla, and their results had left their mark. BlackStar and Maka held new scars and were worn down, but the sight of the Dragon's Gate before them renewed their hope. It had taken some time to find once they had released themselves from the services of their noble ladies, but the unification of Nohr and Hoshido was proceeding well enough that they were sent on with best wishes.
BlackStar steps away from Maka, onto the seal. It looks different from the one they had constructed so long ago, in the room behind the throne of Ylisse. The Mark of the Exalt and the other essentials of the Seal of Flames are present, but there are other symbols that are strange to his eye. Somewhere between a cross and a claw, BlackStar feels dread as he lets a single drop of blood fall from his hand into the crevice of the seal. It glows as does his Mark and the lines of magic spread out from the seal to the open and empty gateway ahead. Without any incantation or prompting, the magic creates a film over the massive doorway, luminous and translucent. Forms and colors meld on the other side and there is no way to tell if it is Ylisse or some other continent.
BlackStar is about to turn to Maka, to reach for her and go through the portal anyway, when a voice enters his head.
'Heed me, Exalted One, for the path you tread is dangerous.'
Millions of questions burst into his mind, his doubts are laid bare to the omnipotent Voice. Were they making the right decision to move on? Were there others from Ylisse still in this world? Would the gateway bring them home? And when and where in Ylisse would they return?
'Peace, Exalted One, your friends are right where they ought be. Through the Gate lays a world of war and hate, drenched in my children's conflict and stripped of their love. Yet, it also holds the Key without which you cannot hope to return home nor continue your quest.'
"Falchion…"
'Yes, you must retrieve My Fang. It will create the path you seek, though caution you should take. It is a painful road to follow.'
"Any pain or danger, I'll shoulder it all."
'...Very well.'
A bright light filters through his eyes and as BlackStar turns to look at Maka, the magic-heavy film covering the Gateway stretches and engulfs him.
Maka wakes to a dark room, lit only by eerie torches. A man leans over her, leering. His complexion is grayed and devoid of natural life, eyes gleaming with dark magic as he chants and raises his hands. Roiling nausea begins in Maka's stomach and she struggles to lift herself up, but there are restraints and the flip-flopping stomach is blooming into a blinding pain that fires every nerve.
"To Duma, we offer this woman's soul!"
From what he's gathered, this 'Fear Mountain' had gained a new witch, an unusual one for the color of every witch's hair was unnaturally purple, not long ash blonde fading to blood-red. Other descriptions of the rumored witch heighten his growing concern and surety that the one he is searching for is atop the mountain pass.
'-eerie green eyes-' '-speaks in foreign tongues-' '-casts magic with a sword like a priestess-' '-wonder whose sword she stole. I hear it is engraved with-'
BlackStar has certainly heard enough. Now he just needs someone to show him the way.
This 'Deliverance' sure came in handy, he thinks. They're a formidable squad, taking down Terrors which BlackStar still thinks are not quite as creepy as Risen, but of course he can't tell them that. He's gathered that he is nearer to Ylisse than the last world, on the continent of Valentia to the west. However, the timing is entirely wrong as Ylisse is called Archanea and Marth is ruling his homeland, a thousand years before his time. Because it is all known history to him, he struggles to avoid saying anything that gives away the future to the 'Deliverance'. Thankfully, he never paid all that much attention to his history lessons.
Nevertheless, the man that will soon be king of a unified Valentia allows him to join his mission to topple the witch on Fear Mountain and save the people in the villages living in its shadow.
Alm is a decent fellow and BlackStar hates to take advantage of that kindness, but he needs some way to get to Maka and stop anyone from killing her.
"We're nearly at the top. Doing alright, Orion?"
"Heh, sure thing, Alm. I'm itching to get my hands on that witch."
Alm smiles wanely and continues on to consult with Lukas, his advisor, about their provisions. They are currently resting in the presence of Mila's stony servant, the local dragon-god's light protecting them from Terrors. The small temple is overrun with plantlife and the statue itself is missing an arm and its head, moss and vines growing over the rest of the body. It isn't his homeland's divine dragon, but BlackStar feels bad for the poor treatment the temple has received, brushing away the plants and debris he can reach. As his hand comes into contact with the statue, the overlaying Voice of Naga and who he can only assume is Mila seep into his head.
'Exalted One, you must follow this path alone. Heed my words and you will receive the Key.'
"I'm not leaving without Maka."
'Then trust in Falchion.'
Images flash through his mind, tunnel after tunnel, a sword sealed into stone, and flat green eyes. While Alm and the others are turned away, BlackStar slips from their ranks and Mila's protective light.
At the end of the corridor, will-o-wisps bathe the chamber in an eerie purple light. BlackStar treads lightly into the room, wary, his hand on the hilt of his sword and a spell on the tip of his tongue. The blade trapped into the floor of the room has a familiar shape and BlackStar gasps when he recognizes Falchion. He steps into the center, an arm's reach away from the blade when a shadow emerges from the back. The flames cast flickering lights across the witch's face.
"..Maka?"
Maka walks forward, expression vacant. "You shouldn't have come."
He edges closer to his true sword. "And why's that, Mak?"
A voice overlays hers, cold and gravelly, filled with vicious intent. "Because now you'll die."
Before he can even get a finger on Falchion, Maka's sword crashes against the one he had brought with him, simple iron and no match for the blade he had maintained for Maka in Valla that bore his name. She presses him hard, disengaging their deadlock and attacking again.
He defends, parrying and holding her from gaining the advantage.
"Maka…"
A moment of clarity reaches her eyes, though the weight of her offensive still bears down on him. "Star… I can't… you have to stop.. Me… or I'll…"
If it wasn't such a dire predicament, he'd be offended at her unsaid suggestion.
"Oh no, Maka, the Great Me isn't letting you go. I'll- We'll figure this out."
"Star, please-" The haze films over her eyes again and he's almost glad to not have to hear her beg him for her death. "Perish!"
She turns her blade just so and with one push, the iron sword he never named flies across the room. He jumps back to avoid her riposte, bumping into something. She advances, screaming, and his fingers reach back and touch metal that warms at contact.
'Trust in Falchion.'
BlackStar grits his teeth and pulls the blade from the ground with ease, acting on pure instinct, letting the blade guide his hand.
There's sudden stillness. Maka's chin is pressed into his shoulder, her breath running over his ear in puffs. Her sword, engraved with the nine letters of his name, rests gently on his back. She embraces him lightly even as he feels liquid warmth on his hands. Tears well in his eyes as her breathing stutters.
"I knew... I could... trust you."
"Mak..?" No, no he couldn't have- he didn't-
"Star."
They fall to the ground as her name crosses his lips in an increasingly soft and desperate chant. Falchion runs through her stomach, blood pooling from the irreparable wound. Her head falls limply to the side and he cradles her to himself, heedless of the hilt of Falchion pressing into his stomach under his chest plate. Tears hit her cheek and Maka does not stir.
'Trust in Us and yourself, Exalted One.'
"Huh?" BlackStar blinks, looking around the room. The purple will-o-wisps now glow golden and move in a circle above them. Falchion emanates the same light, as Maka is raised from the ground and his arms by the mystical force. The Dragon's Fang slips from her body and settles in BlackStar's outstretched hand. As the lights fade away and Maka floats back to the ground, he sets Falchion aside to catch her.
He doesn't trust his hands when they feel breath and pulse in her body, warmth in her skin. He barely trusts when her eyes slowly open as though from deep sleep. He wants to trust in her fingertips that graze his cheek in soft wonder. But he most trusts her voice, cracking along the seams and tinged with a wry happiness.
"You're always rescuing me… You must really like me, huh?"
He just lets out a shaky laugh and tugs her closer as he falls to his knees. His face his flushed and damp with tears as she reciprocates, circling his head and shoulders with her arms. Her fingers root into his blue hair, grounding him.
Spirited AwayThis time, they had tried to hold hands again, to not be split apart by the whorls of time and space. The dragon-gods, however, were not on their side. As Maka's hand slips through his fingers once more, he clutches Falchion, determined to at least not lose the Key.
"I'll find you! I'll never stop!"
The stretching and pulling of the dimensional space distorts his vision, sending a kaleidoscope of colors racing before him until he loses that last glimpse of ash blonde hair and determined green eyes.
It is not Maka he finds first, but Akane.
"Star, we've been over this. As long as we can, we need to stay anonymous to our parents."
"How can we just stand by while they're risking their lives? Again! Also, I'm older than you now with this time/dimensional travel business so quit ordering me around."
"I'm not asking you not to help. I'm asking you to wear a mask and lie low. And hide your Brand better!"
BlackStar just grumbles, snatching the mask from Akane's hand and jerking his rolled sleeve down. Akane had his own fixed to his face already.
"Alright, 'Priam', we'll play it your way. Call me Marth."
While his back was turned to collect information on the uprisings in Valm, their neighboring nation, Akane had exposed his true self to their family's inner circle. BlackStar thinks this very unfair but on his way to his cousin's side, he runs afoul of ruffians looking to overtake a village of priests and worshippers.
"Halt, fiends!"
It is so easy to slip into old habits.
"What the devil are you?"
Like using flowery words to confuse foes long enough to gage their abilities.
"One who has travels across worlds and will not be stopped by the meager likes of ne'er-do-wells such as you!"
"He's got rocks in his head- that's for sure!"
And allow those foes to underestimate him.
"I did warn you. Sacred… STONES!"
"Raauuurrrghhh!"
Footsteps beat the path and BlackStar turns to them, Falchion gleaming in the sunlight. When Akane rounds the last tree, BlackStar shouts out a greeting until faces he wishes he was more familiar with appear.
"Akane! Hey, over- wait, Uncle? Mother?!"
Maka swears it was easier to convince a Nohrian royal to defect from her own country than it is to get a villager to leave a dangerous militant operation. Crona, the villager in question, has convinced themselves to stay, however, and Maka, only recently a defector from that militant operation herself, prepares to go back in and drag Crona out of Medusa's clutches if she has to.
Medusa's information network was fantastic and despite not liking the woman, Maka can respect the power she holds over her troops. The straw that broke the wyvern's back was news arriving about The Shepherds, the group led by Akane's father. They were close, and if Maka could follow them, she was sure she'd be able to intervene before someone who shouldn't get killed, does.
Yet, the fact remains that she is standing in the shadows of Medusa's base, alone, armed only with her sword and grit.
She takes a steadying breath and shifts her hand to reveal the etching in the sword's handle. A rush of determination flows through her at the sight of the letters. The flutter of nerves and adrenaline anticipating the fight ahead is muddled though when Maka gets a peculiar feeling. Hand gripping the hilt of her sword, she whips around, only to come face to face with a decidedly non-hostile soldier.
"Oh gods, its you."
"Me?" the young man says, huffing long red hair out of his face. "I'm quite sure we've never met, Miss..?"
"Excuse me for being forgettable… Not that I expected less from you, Papa."
"Now wait here a- PAPA?!" Spirit nearly drops his lance and stumbles a few steps. "You are- I mean- my? Like Akane?"
Maka doesn't react at the news that Akane has revealed himself. Just makes it easier for her slip to be explained. "Yes. Your daughter. Now get out of my way; I need to speak with Crona!"
Maka makes her way quickly through the lines of tents, ready to find her barracks and speak to no one. It was unnerving to see the young and unscarred faces of her parents and their friends, dead to her for almost a decade now. Akane had been at her briefing, a steady presence while Chrom and Robin questioned her and brought her up to speed on their current mission. Spirit had been hovering near the tent's entrance and Akane had let her out the back to avoid confrontation.
Maybe tomorrow she'd be able to look him in the eye and show him mother's ring.
Mother herself, in this timeline, was still back at the palace, protecting the city and their borders.
Her thoughts nosedive into familiar territory, unpleasant memories and conjured scenarios for last moments she'd never gotten to hear about. Suddenly, a hand wraps around her arm and she is unceremoniously yanked through a tent flap. She isn't proud of the noise she makes, but the fabric her face is squished into is warm and worn, the scent instantly putting her at ease.
Arms wind around her securely, trapping her hands between them. There's a sigh and she pulls away a little to look into Soul's eyes, a little older and with darker circles beneath them.
"I'm so glad you're here. And in one piece."
"Ha! It'll take more than some world hopping to keep me away from the mission," she says. Soul quirks a sharp-toothed half-smile and jerks his head to the side.
"C'mon, the 'young master' should be finding out you're here soon."
Maka slaps Soul on the shoulder, but follows him back out into the dimming sunlight. BlackStar was here. Barely fifteen feet away, Soul sweeps into an exaggerated bow as he gestures to a tent that has a small star stitched into it in black thread. They hold in their laughs to avoid detection from the occupant and Maka socks Soul again when he raises his eyebrows suggestively at her as he walks away. It was good to have her other best friend back.
Soul is still silently overplaying his injury when Maka turns back to the tent. She takes a deep breath and pushes through the flap before she can tell herself it is a bad idea.
The lack of response is somewhat disappointing, but its cause is not. BlackStar is dozing on his bedroll, blanket twisted between his legs and tunic loose and askew. Maka inhales sharply to stay quiet. She quietly kneels next to him as he mumbles and twitches in his sleep. His eyes move behind their lids, seeing dreams, and Maka wishes they would open, but doesn't have it in her to wake him; they had so many dangerous adventures so far that his unguarded posture while napping is a welcome sight.
Gently, she brushes blue bangs off his forehead. Her eyes trace down his face, along his nose and between his light freckles and to his mouth, parted to let out small puffs of air. Maka leans forward, not quite sure what she wants to do. Her fingers twist a tuft of blue hair lightly between them and she whispers.
"Found you first."
Simple and clean
BlackStar opens his eyes blearily, the darkened tent above him slowly coming into focus. His nap was certainly successful if the bone deep satisfaction and relaxation is anything to go by. Something tickles his brain, nudging at his consciousness. He isn't fully awake just yet and could easily go back to sleep for the night, even if it means skipping dinner. Yet, the more his mind cranks out small thoughts, the more the hone in on the feeling that something other than sleeping has brought about this feeling of inner peace, this rightness.
He rises slowly to sit and glance around his tent. The contents are only just visible since the sun is now closing in on the horizon. He gropes for the small lamp at the side of his bedroll, snapping his fingers and zapping the wick with a little magic. The flame flickers happily, casting dancing shadows on the rough hewn fabric of the tent.
A small glint catches his eye and BlackStar stands too quickly, a rush to the head. He doesn't bother with shoes or to right his tunic or hair. He just grabs the small winged hair clips and bursts from his tent into the early evening.
He fairly sprints through the rows of tents, going to the only one that wasn't there the day before, near the outskirts of their encampment. A hastily stitched wing is present on the flap, needle still attached as though the one sewing it got fed up midway. The similarly shaped accessories in his hand bite into his palm the tighter he makes his fist. He stands there a beat until a voice drifts out from in flap.
"Tsu? Is that you? Look, I have everything I need for the-" The flap pushes back to reveal Maka, a real live Maka.
Everything stops for a beat, long and heavy, then fast-forwards as BlackStar crowds her back into the tent, hastily setting the lamp down and engulfing her. She's clutching as his tunic, too, barely avoids knocking over the lamp, and pressing her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder.
No words are really needed. It's a simple embrace, but holds meaning. The candle is much shorter and the flame a bit erratic when they part. His hands remain on her arms, ready to pull her in again, and hers curl around the fabric on his sides. Her long hair is blonde and loose, the fire playing with the color, warming it when it chases away the shadows of the night.
"Maka."
She steps closer again, tracing a scar on his face received during their time in Nohr and Hoshido. BlackStar's fingers run up her arms, catching strands of her hair and playing with them gently. Unsure what to say, he lets his mouth move before his brain.
"How I missed these golden tresses, spun soft. We've crossed worlds and time, together and apart, yet nothing did I miss so much as you and your sun-blessed hair."
Maka's face twitches between happy and annoyed, before settling on exasperated, yet fond.
"I can't say I missed your flowery rhetoric."
Still, she doesn't move away, so BlackStar winds his arms around her, smiling wide. "Hearken to me, goddess of mine heart! Our reunion has long possessed my thoughts and now the moment has arrived!"
Maka laughs a little and allows herself to be swayed on the spot in his excitement. He leans down to press his forehead to hers and she pinches his cheek as if to say, you idiot. But BlackStar catches her hand and cradles it, leaning into her palm and then slowly, turns to press a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist. Her breath stutters as it escapes her in a rush, "I was wrong."
He pauses. "What?"
"I was wrong. When I thought you were Tsu, outside, I said-" she holds her breath before releasing her thought in one go. "I said I didn't need anything else."
Her smile matches his, nervous, soft and new. BlackStar brings Maka's hand back to his lips, grazing her knuckles lightly, holding her gaze steadily.
The candle flickers once, twice more, then is extinguished, with maybe one hour left to burn.
The final months of conflict are difficult and drawn out, but BlackStar feels vindication that they've not lost a single member of their army. He's proud of the efforts his friends have made to protect their families and hope fills him that they can finally, finally finish their mission and keep the world from their own bleak future.
So when they arrive at the Dragon's Table, fighting and crushing the evil mastermind behind the Risen and the wars breaking out across the continent, BlackStar takes on the frontline. Behind him, Soul casts devastating dark magic, littering the field with crackling energy and swallowing Risen with sizzling, glowing seals. Kim's stave twirls, healing allies and bashing in enemy skulls while Jackie covers her with her ring of fire. Killik's axe and bow flash one after another, striking down fliers and slicing through armor. Kid, Liz and Patti are nearby; Kid sniping the Risen two at a time while Liz guides her pegasus deftly through the air and Patti runs through the throngs, dicing anyone not immediately downed by Kid's arrows. Somewhere else, Ox and Harvar head the cavalry force, flanking the opponent. Akane is with their parents, with his own role to play in their battle plan.
Maka is, to BlackStar, right where she should be. At his side, at his back, covering his openings and he does hers, they perform a deadly dance. Her blade, still inscribed with his name, catches the dimming sunlight and flashes of magic around her. Long ash blonde tresses tied in two with winged clips whip through the air in a halo of wild glory. The blackened blood of Risen speckles her armor and clothes, but the focus in her eyes is clear, clean.
She is indeed a warrior goddess from his point of view and what a glorious view it is.
To the last Risen, they fight, all of them, together.
When Grima raises its ugly head, they stand shoulder to shoulder. Ready to face their final test, the last battle that must take place to ensure their parents and their future selves live lives of peace and joy. BlackStar flicks the black blood off Falchion as Akane puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. The Mark of the Exalt in his cousin's eye seems to glow with their renewed purpose and BlackStar rolls his sleeve to expose his own Brand in solidarity, a quiet vow to see this through to the end.
Behind him, Maka pushes Soul towards Killik, smirking, before turning to BlackStar. Words feel superfluous, but he wants them anyway. She takes out a small cloth and wipes the blood off her own blade before sheathing it, hand running over the carved letters of his name. Something catches in his chest- his heart, his breath, he doesn't know. BlackStar tucks a finger into her belt loop and tugs himself closer to her, demanding her attention silently.
She softens her smirk and tugs on his chest plate, absently straightening it out.
"No dying, okay?" he mutters. She looks almost offended.
"Me? You're allowed to die even less."
"Listen, Mak, I- you-"
"Nope. You listen. I need you to stay alive. I need you to be there, in this world, this timeline."
Her hands have curled into the sides of his tunic tightly and his cover hers, loosening them from their death grip.
"I know." He brings them up and presses his promise into her scarred knuckles, hoping they reach bone deep. "I will be."
Her fingers slips past his cheeks and thread into his hair, pulling on the blue strands until their foreheads touch. Voice brimming with emotion, she continues, "And I need to be with you, in this world, and the next, and the one after that." Her breath mixes with his and his hands wind around her waist, finger catching in long hair.
"Any world," he murmurs, tilting his head, nose brushing her cheek.
"Every world," she echoes, sealing her promise against his lips.
Stand By My SideMaka turns a little, trying to avoid waking up. The sunlight filters through the lightweight drapery of her room in the palace, wanting to deny her an additional five minutes. So do the featherlight touches on her sides.
"Wake, sunborn angel of my heart for I bring glad tidings!" the owner of those touches whispers giddily. Maka makes a small groaning noise, trying to pull the covers tighter, but the hands are already on her sides. It only has the effect of bringing the source of the voice closer. "I must tell you before the darkness overcomes me that before the rising of the sun, my heart glowed with admiration of your beauty and grace." The voice begins peppering her shoulders with light kisses, nosing aside the straps of her nightgown. "This heart may be scarred with death left in mine wake, but I have been possessed of a single thought for some time." The hands securely wrap around her sides, squeezing a little bit. "I love you."
This, above all things, brings Maka to open her eyes wide, still groggy though they were. She was much less so than a few minutes ago. Brilliant blue stares back at her with trepidation.
"My blade is stained with the blood of my enemies, my soul with the blood of my friends… my family… and my entire world." He licks his lips, hesitant to continue. "And the only one in the multiverse in possession of the precious balm of love is you. Maka the Sunborn… will you have me as your husband?"
Something about the tone he uses flips the irritated switch in her head, as sweet intentioned his words may be.
"No."
Immediately, he recoils, full body retracting in on itself.
"Wha? B-but I thought… we… and you said… and I- Huh?" The abrupt change in the pacing and lilt of his voice is the key.
"BlackStar. I want you to be serious about this."
"Oh…"
He still looks like a kicked dog and Maka is very, very vulnerable to that expression. So she cards her fingers through his hair and tugs him closer again, absently rubbing his scalp in small circles.
"Now, please. Ask me again." He leans on his forearms again, hands slipping behind her back. His eyes watch her form the words before locking back on her green gaze. "Ask me like you truly want me to be yours forever."
"Maka, I love you more than anything else in this world. In any world. Marry me?"
His voice washes over her in its familiar cadence, calming her frustration. Sincerity shines through his expression and she can feel the slight tremor in his hands. Her hands cup his face, unable to withhold her grin anymore.
"I love you, Star. Yes, I will always be by your side."
"And I, by yours."
The smiles that split their faces are large and genuine, pausing only to allow a happy flurry of kisses and affirmations.
Pale blue hair bounces in pigtails held by winged clips. Green eyes dart into the room, still dim with the curtains drawn shut. The sun was up, so everyone should be up. Small hands reach for the knot on the drapes, tugging and pulling until the light streams into the room. There is almost immediate noise from the room's only bed, a large four poster, decorated in the colors of the House of the Exalt.
"Hoshiko…" a male voice whines. The little girl in question just giggles until a strong arm loops around her and pulls. Then she squeals.
She bounces off the bed and the hand attached to the arm tickles her. When she can finally breathe through her laughter and the hand retreats, she looks up to see her father, blue hair horribly messy and a silly grin on his face. "G'Munnin', Daddy."
"Good morning, sweetheart. How's my favorite girl doing?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over her cheek fondly. Before she has a chance to tell him how she snuck past Uncle So-So to get here, a cough comes from the side.
"And what am I, huh?" her mother says, her smile belying her pouting. Hoshiko's father just scoops them both up into a cuddle, smooching her mother on the cheek messily.
"You're my favorite partner… amongst other things." She flicks him in the forehead when his eyebrows waggle, but draws him in for a kiss on the lips. A peck becomes a set of longer (though still chaste) kisses. Hoshiko, however, has seen enough.
Struggling to escape her parents' hold, she shouts, "EEEEWWWWWW! Mooommyyyy, Daaaaaddyyyy, NOOOOOOO!"
When she breaks free, BlackStar and Maka watch her run out of the room on little bare feet. They barely hear Soul start to berate the girl for leaving without telling him when the door to their room is slammed shut. BlackStar leans back down, sealing his mouth over Maka's, revelling in their familiarity and the smile he can feel there. When he pulls back, he admires how the sun catches in her hair and adds a glint to her eyes that their daughter inherited.
Hoping Soul buys them at least another hour or two to themselves, he gives himself to the moment and Maka's hands, tracing his scars. His wife reaches for him and he obeys, letting her kiss his forehead, cheeks, nose, mouth, neck, mouth again. And again.
Suddenly, he's flipped, glorious warrior goddess of his heart above him. Maka grins as she sits up, straddling his stomach. BlackStar lets his hands run up her legs, pushing her gown with it. He smirks, as she lets him, eyes hooded to watch his expression. When he pushes the fabric up and past her stomach, he bares the peculiar scar from their time in Valentia. The cross-shaped discoloration sits where Falchion once pierced her on her stomach and back and he folds his hands around the fabric over the mark on her back as he bends to press a reverent kiss to her stomach.
"Bless Naga for you, for Hoshiko," he murmurs, the overwhelming feeling of guilt and gratitude raging through him as it does every time he sees the scars he himself had left on Maka.
"Bless Mila, too," she responds, directing him to sit up as she shifts back onto his lap. He hums in agreement when she takes his hands and press them against her abdomen. "Shall we tell Hoshiko today?"
The waters of guilt drain away and are replaced with a well of happiness at her words. The small bump on her stomach is only just noticeable to the touch, but fills him, both of them, with such joy, he can barely stand it.
"Yeah, let's."
Maka cradles his face and kisses him soundly, stealing his breath and his heart again. "Any world…" she whispers, pressing herself as close as possible.
"Every world," he echoes against her mouth, wrapping her up tight and dragging them back into the cushions.