Standing in front of the mirror, Inigo tentatively examines the signature skimming his waist, his fingers splayed at the defined juncture of his stomach and hip. "Xander." He mumbles, voice barely raised above a whisper. The name is a foreign one, unfamiliar, and while he had tripped over the syllables at first, by now it is as familiar as his own.
At age sixteen, he remains the only one to not have met his "chosen" -his soulmate in quainter terms- and with more serious affairs at hand like the ongoing war, he had given hardly further thought to the subject. There hadn't been time to.
Perhaps it is better this way.
Lucina and Morgan met when they were young, before the war, when there was peace. When lazy summer afternoons passed by watching the sun dip underneath a viridescent horizon -a prelude to the midnight sky- were routine and the memory of his mother dancing with the white stars illuminating her slender figure, rosy hair -almost silvery in the moonlight- billowing as she moved was not just a dream.
They are the crown princess and the tactician's son.
Even as children, his sister had always been of a more serious nature, wiser than her years some would say and Inigo echoed that sentiment. Lucina stood a paragon of virtue and destined for the throne since birth; Inigo was content with staying at her side, if only to protect her since she hardly ever thought of herself and not nearly enough.
Then came Morgan.
The aspiring tactician might have been the exact opposite of Lucina except he wasn't; the raven possessed an unparalleled enthusiasm for all things that mirrored the steely determination his own sister demonstrated in every aspect of her life. He was also more intuitive than he appeared, quick to notice another's distress and a good-natured person that was generally pleasant to anyone he met, regardless of circumstance.
It comes as a surprise to no one that they are soulmates. It's in the way they look at each other. He makes her laugh and opened up that almost childish aspect of her personality that Lucina tended to keep hidden inside. She inspired him to say the least, Inigo could see how -even when they were young- Morgan's bright smile tended to be the slightest fraction sunnier if directed towards Lucina and shining affection clear in his dark eyes; sometimes, he was distant and there was that quiet vulnerability visible in his eyes but but Lucina only needed to whisper something gentle to him, her words indecipherable, and Morgan's bright smile would return full-force. They brought out the better in each other.
Morgan complements Lucina in every way. It's in the way they look at each other.
'Morgan' was jotted down in barely legible handwriting on the underside of her left wrist, a sharp contrast to how neatly 'Lucina' was penned along his forearm.
When their parents died, when their world came to hell, Inigo had never appreciated Morgan more for keeping that smile present on his sister's lips. When Morgan disappeared, a part of Lucina had died. Her smiles were a ghost of what had been. So Inigo protects her as best as he can, his broken sister, and wonders if perhaps this was better, that he had never met his chosen; if he died there would have been nothing to lose or regret.
Coming out of the war, they are barely into their adulthood.
At age eighteen, he observes the reunion of his sister and Morgan; vulnerability manifests itself in her open as she tentatively reaches a hand to cup the now taller boy's cheek and the raven-haired tactician returns the gesture tenderly with an open smile. Just like that, things fall back into place as if they were never displaced by time or space.
Inigo absentmindedly outlines the letters of the signature that outline the curve of his waist. He smoothly rolls the cloth down over his hips, effectively hiding the mark, before going out to join the rest of the Shepherds for breakfast. For now, he does not need to worry about anything else and content with simply being alive.