He had done a terrible thing. It all had gone so wrong, right from the start.
It had been his full intention to stick to the plan as discussed when they approached the inner sanctum of the ancient temple at Camlann. Perhaps his heart had wavered at the thought of sealing himself off for an indeterminate number of years, never knowing when (or if) he'd open his eyes again. Perhaps he was not entirely convinced that putting his dear comrades' lives on the line – shooting them straight into the very heart of malevolence, into an uncertain fate – was the right choice of action. Perhaps the truth of what had happened in Camlann those eighteen years ago, of why the world had been brought to the brink of desolation, had shaken his resolve. Maybe it was the entirety of all those things combined, brought to a terrible break at the sight of Gramps, fused into a warped tumor on Heldalf's skin.
No matter how deeply he cut into Heldalf, how many times he plunged his dull sword into that rotted heart, he could not separate the two of them. Perhaps Siegfried would have been the wiser choice after all. This was clear enough in hindsight. Heldalf died bloodied and laughing, and didn't even have the decency to look surprised about it.
He came back to himself eventually. He felt Mikleo's arms around him, felt Mikleo's slim body shaking with sobs. Mikleo had been through so much today. There was the matter of his heritage, his uncle's final curse. The matter of his mother, not even recognizing her own flesh and blood, fading away as yet another sacrifice in this whole sorry tale. Gramps. The malevolence here was surely making him ill; Sorey could feel the grip of it in his own chest, and it was certainly all the worse for a seraph. It wouldn't be right to ask him to sacrifice himself today, or ever again. Sorey wrapped his arms around him, crushing him close to his chest.
He heard a dragon's roar, and an answering pulse in his chest. He heard Rose and Lailah shouting for him. Rose would have to tend to those duties now, Sorey thought with some measure of guilt. He didn't like making other people clean up after his own messes, but a shepherd reeking of malevolence wasn't going to help anyone. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Mikleo's head, and rested his cheek there for a long moment before prying Mikleo away from his embrace. It was as painless and straightforward as removing a limb with a butter knife.
"Go," he whispered to Mikleo, over the roar of malevolence and Maotelus' anguished shrieks. "Rose is the Shepherd now. You've got to go help her and-"
Mikleo's eyes flashed at him, and Sorey's heart ached at the passion there just as it ached at the telltale slitted dragon pupils. His hands gripped Sorey's arms, and he would not be moved.
"How many times do we have to have this argument?" Mikleo hissed at him. "I'm not leaving your side. Not now, not ever."
Sorey allowed himself a smile. He reached down to where he felt Maotelus raging between this plane and that, and grabbed hold of him as he would a naughty pup. It was quite easy to assert his control, and take his power as his own.
If he could just go back to where it had begun – standing under Elysia's skies at night, Mikleo in his arms, bathed in moonlight – he knew he could set things right. He would face the world with more wisdom, with more strength, with more will. He had the might of a bound god, and Mikleo at his side, faithful and steadfast. He would make everyone see sense. He would make everyone stop fighting. He would make everyone respect the seraphim again, and everyone would live side-by-side. But malevolence was spawned by a heart in conflict, and as Sorey had come to realize, contradiction was a part of the human condition. Surely seraphim could never be expected to deign to live alongside a species whose very existence was poisonous to them – and whose driving urge throughout the centuries was always to subjugate and use and take, and take, and take. However, they could be taught, and Sorey would teach them. He would use Maotelus' power to teach them to be more selfless, more deferent. And if they would not be taught, it would be a matter of imposing a better state of things.
The fabric of space and time here was quite threadbare, thanks to the years of wear and tear from the miasmatic haze of malevolence and Maotelus' rages. Experimentally, curiously, Sorey reached out with his newfound power, and tore a little hole. It grew bigger, and bigger. Sorey looked to Mikleo, and extended his hand. Mikleo took it without hesitation, even over the screams of their friends, as if in the far distance.
Hand-in-hand, they walked through the rip, and back to the beginning of things.
Elysia was just as they remembered. They, too, were just as they remembered: blithe and carefree and so ignorant of what awaited them.
Sorey didn't exactly know what he was planning to do by coming here. Was he going to lurk out of the shadows, deliver a cryptic warning, and then vanish back into the mists of time? If Sorey knew himself – and he liked to think he did, still, at least a little – it would be a suitably dramatic enough display to give him pause.
Dramatics were off the table when they bumbled into their earlier selves within the Mabinogio Ruins, as casual and confused if they were simply running into someone at the market. They must have looked very ragged and pathetic. Without hesitation, with only the barest of explanations, their more innocent selves escorted them to their hideout within the ruins: a cozy little room with a half-collapsed window that looked out on the mountain range and the sprawling blue skies. Books were stacked on handmade shelves, and a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor served as their cozy little nest when they were too exhausted from exploring to head home for the day. (They used to have a hammock, until it broke in an...an incident, and they'd never gotten around to fixing it until...well.) It was just as Sorey remembered it.
Sorey slumped down heavily in that little nest, breathed in the familiar scent, and was off to sleep in an instant. It had been such a long, long day.
He slept deep, thankfully too deep for dreams. A tantalizing, sweet sound roused him from his slumber. It was a sound Sorey was intimately familiar with, in more ways than one. And oddly, he seemed to be hearing it in more ways than one. Sorey cracked an eye open, just in time to see back-then-Mikleo slipping his tongue between his-own-Mikleo's lips.
Well, Sorey thought, that wasn't a bad thing to wake up to. It wasn't a bad thing to wake up to at all. Mikleo gave another sweet sound, and Mikleo answered with a moan. His-own-Mikleo's tunic was unfastened down to his navel, and back-then-Mikleo's hands roamed across his white skin, tracing the dragon scales that had begun to form on his ribs, fingers moving to rub at his nipples. His-own-Mikleo's head fell back, his mouth dropping open in a long sigh at the feeling.
Sorey managed to tear his eyes away from the scene, with effort, and spotted his past self spectating as well. His past self caught his eye, then smiled and gave a little excited thumbs-up. Sorey agreed with the sentiment, but it seemed kind of unfair to just sit here ogling when he could be helping both Mikleos feel good. This was a goal that he could dedicate himself to, even as he was now.
Sorey shifted into a seated position, and scooted over to where the Mikleos were caressing each other. Sorey felt like he was intruding on a work of art in progress, but both Mikleos fixed him with such a needy look that he was helpless but to obey the call to action. He carefully relocated his-own-Mikleo into his lap, and stroked a soothing hand down his chest as back-then-Mikleo saw to the fastening of his trousers.
His past self took up his responsibilities in the scenario as well; positioning himself behind back-then-Mikleo and rubbing himself against his backside. His-own-Mikleo lolled his head against his shoulder, catching his eye and wordlessly pleading for a kiss. As if Sorey would ever be able to deny him. He swallowed the delicious moan that tore from Mikleo's throat as back-then-Mikleo took his cock into his mouth to suck. Sorey's eyes were half-lidded as they kissed, so he could watch the exquisite scene unfolding before him: Mikleo's beautiful cock, between Mikleo's pretty lips and sliding into Mikleo's wet, soft mouth. He could feel his soul being purified at the very sight of it.
Back-then-Mikleo moaned thickly around his-own-Mikleo's cock, and Sorey looked up just a little to spot his past self sliding slicked fingers inside of him. If Sorey recalled correctly, they always kept a bottle of oil or three on hand in this little hideout of theirs, for urgent situations such as these. Sorey groped blindly around the pillows where they sat, finally finding the bottle stashed there. Back-then-Mikleo seemed to support this course of action, and helped Sorey slide his-own-Mikleo's trousers down all the way and off his long legs. His past self gave an appreciative purr at the sight, and removed his free hand from fondling back-then-Mikleo's cock to give the other Mikleo's thigh an appreciative squeeze.
It was difficult to slick up his fingers while trying to satisfy his-own-Mikleo's starving mouth, while groping at his chest, while sneaking glimpses of back-then-Mikleo's tongue swirling on his-own-Mikleo's cock. It was difficult, but it was a fully worthwhile endeavor, and Sorey was rewarded with the blissful look on his-own-Mikleo's face as he slid one, two fingers inside of him. His other self offered his help; reaching out reverently to stroke at his-own-Mikleo's neck, down the center of his chest, tracing the lines of his pectoral muscles and rubbing his thumb over a pink nipple. His-own-Mikleo bore down on his fingers greedily, even as back-then-Mikleo leaned forward to keep his cock within reach of his mouth. Sorey managed to get a third finger inside of him before he saw those slitted pupils flash again, and then his-own-Mikleo was seizing his wrist and dragging his fingers out and away so he could slot Sorey's cock into place. Back-then-Mikleo pulled off sucking that pretty cock just long enough to cast an impatient look over his shoulder, wriggling his ass at Sorey's past self expectantly. Both Sorey and his past self shared a look of understanding, and then set to work satisfying their eager other halves.
The stress of their journey, the danger and imminent death at all times, had made his Mikleo express his emotions more freely. His-own-Mikleo was so wonderfully loud as Sorey's cock rubbed and thrust inside of him, and the example he set seemed to inspire back-then-Mikleo to moan and whimper that much more under the caresses of his past self. Sorey couldn't help but slide his hand into that silky hair he remembered so well, smoothing it back from his face so he could see those gorgeous eyes, and see the stretch of those swollen wet lips as he continued to work. His past self, too, continued to work; pounding into back-then-Mikleo hard and fast, the lewd slapping of skin on skin echoing off the stone walls, just like the sounds of their moans.
Unsurprisingly, his-own-Mikleo was the first over the edge; pleasure washing over him from both sides and wringing every last drop of him into back-then-Mikleo's waiting mouth. Back-then-Mikleo followed soon after, exhausted from being taken from both ends, and collapsed into his-own-Mikleo's very comfortable and welcoming (in his own educated opinion) lap. The squeeze of Mikleo's body – both bodies, both Mikleos – allowed Sorey and his other self their blessed release.
Panting, sweaty, and in a confusion of duplicate limbs, Sorey searched for the hand he knew so well. He found it, and another, and another.
The past was not theirs to take. But they could face the future once more, together.