This is a LunethxArc fanfiction, and unlike my other story (Besotted) it is an extended one, with a storyline. This will be the first non-oneshot LunethxArc story...ever. I hope to be the main writer of all LunethxArc one day.

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It was over. Xande was dead, darkness was gone, and the four warriors of light had returned to their homeworld. They had agreed to take residence in Ur- it was close to both Kazus and Castle Sasune, and two of four warriors had called it home for most of their lives. They rotated between the other two homes fairly frequently, visiting and keeping in touch. Refia was continuing her apprencticeship with her father- and had quickly surpassed him, finding ways of mixing magic and metal to forge things never seen before. She quickly surpassed every blacksmith in Airworld, and frequently complained to the passing blacksmiths when they tried to get her to teach them.

She was a level seventy white mage. She doubted anyone would be willing to put as much effort into becoming someone as good at their job as she did. Her job level, like the rest of the warrior's, was over eighty. They'd all fixed themselves determinedly to their jobs- painfully basic, but they served them well. Refia, as mentioned before, was a white mage. Arc was a black mage, but only ever used the ridiculous hat when he didn't want to be recognised. usually impossible, due to the fact that none of the other warriors made any move to hide their identities.

Refia strongly suspected that Arc would rather have something to partially hide his face with, or at least overshadow it like the hat did. That had promptly ended when Luneth had asked him to not wear the hat all the time, because it was weird to not be able to see his best friend's face all the time. Refia sagely shared her theory with Ingus- the theory that Arc probably wouldn't have removed the hat if it hadn't been Luneth that asked. He agreed. Refia had felt quite pleased with herself then- Ingus was a brilliant soldier (and a Red mage) and tended to ntoice the small details that others didn't. According to Princess Sara, he'd been an infamous prodigy in the most difficult teachings of the soldier- he'd excelled in all aspects, including how to read a person through minute messages in their posture and expression. Apparently, one of the most difficult things. Ingus had most certainly formed essays of all three of them- and other allies- in his head, stored away until they needed to be read over for consultation. If he agreed with a character fact such as the one Refia had produced, then he likely had a hundred ways to prove and justify it. It was just the way he was.

"For the last time, no!" She screamed, utterly losing her temper at the most recent person to ask for apprenticeship. The dude quailed, and scrambled away.

She didn't think either she nor Ingus had realized just how fucking much Arc blushed before he abandoned the hat. Naturally, it was just strange for him to be embarassed as everything, and so she and Ingus began observing, aka investigating. Well, more like Ingus figured things out while she tried to catch up. Arc was indeed embarassed by the smallest of things, but those things certainly had a common factor. They were all involving Luneth in some way, shape, or form. The two warriors had come to quickly identify that Arc's entire mental and emotional state revolved around the silver-haired teenager, implying heavily that Arc was ridiculously close to him.

Luneth's mental health greatly focused around Arc too- but he was a lot more impulsive, brash, and possessed much more self-esteem. Therefore, it didn't affect him on the level that it affected Arc.

In general, Arc blushed whenever Luneth said anything remotely compliment-oriented. He blushed whenever he was named as his friend. He certainly blushed when Refia teased them in secretly investigative ways.

Ingus had apparently had the conclusion for a very long time, and had been brooding over it, when he quite randomly confronted Refia (when the two best friends had gone fishing) and told her quite abruptly that Arc was either gay or bisexual. He then left her to draw her own (correct) conclusions from that. She supposed it made perfect sense if she put Arc's love- certainly not a crush- into account. Rather than ranting over the unnatural factors of the information, she proceeded to wail over how sad and tragic it was that Arc 'was suffering from unrequited love' and 'always nursing heartache'. Suddenly, Ingus knew what area of Refia's mind had claimed the girliness that seemed so hopelessly absent from her tomboyish personality.

Before she could do anything, he swore her to secrecy. It was unknown where Luneth stood in the matter, and no person had the right to play with another's feelings in any potentially damaging way. With hesitation, she agreed.

That was a long time ago. And since then, Ingus couldn't determine anything more about Luneth's more secreted feelings other than the fact that he was definitely hiding some, and with astonishing skill. Arc's state, though, seemed to have gotten worse, if possible. The shy teenager didn't eat very much- enough, but not much. Luneth ate a lot.

Refia had a hobby of blacksmithing, and occasionally she would get Ingus to teach her some psychology. She found it interesting, certainly. Luneth didn't really do much except daydream, and training was a given for all of them. He tended to stare off into the distance and become absorbed in his own little world quite frequently, and by studying him, Ingus had determined that he thought about a wide variety of things. He made up for his utter rashness on the battlefield by thinking and probably analysing various topics and theories in his spare time. Luneth had proved himself to have a very wide imagination, and while Ingus was undoubtedly the strategist (and a good one) Luneth often made suggestions that had never occured to him, and with a little editing, would be admittedly fit into his plans faultlessly.

Ingus had had a rather surprising and interesting conversation with Luneth once- ironically, when he was poisoned and somewhat delerious. It was the only time he wasn't alert enough to constantly aggravate the boy non stop. A few choice comments had led to a round of philosophical banter, and when Ingus contemplated it later he was genuinely surprised by the integrity that some of his speak showed. Luneth evidently had a very intelligent head on his shoulders, but had trouble applying it to the things that it needed to be applied to. Ingus had been subtly working on that via manipulation through words: it was quite possible for an experienced psychologist such as himself to word his insults in ways that coaxed certain reactions from the manipulee. Luneth was definitely getting better at using his head in the right situations- Ingus could practically see the gears turning in his head now.

As for himself, well, Ingus didn't do anything except train. He didn't have anything better to do. Arc, at first glance, appeared to be reading all the time. But logically, that wasn't very possible, seeings as Arc certainly didn't buy new books and the book he was always seen with never changed. After some shameless, nosy prying, he revealed the previously unknown secrets of Arc's more quiet skills. All in all, Arc was a fabulous poet. Ingus had known a few poets in his life, and had determined that their psyche tended to include very poetic thoughts. Poets, more often than not, were quiet people who were much more innately vocal than outwardly. Meaning instead of talking verses of speech out loud, they did it in their heads, then if they found something they liked, might organise it and write it down as a poem later. Arc was certainly one of these people, and while he didn't write down some things, Ingus pried them out of him anyway. The blond was actually quite pleased to discover the younger boy's grace with words, it was something he'd never known before.

Luneth, being Arc's best friend of many years, probably knew that Arc was a poet. He very likely did not know some of the poetic thoughts that Arc thought. Ingus decided to spare poor Arc the embarassment, and didn't even mention to a person that he knew Arc was a poet.

Those had been times of battle and hiding, of running and dying. But they had invariably been times of peace.

Not like now. Not when danger loomed on the horizon- as clear to an educated soldier as the air he breathed. He said nothing, and if his companions noticed his sudden silence, they didn't comment.

Ingus was waiting for something. He was listening, observing, watching for the slightest of disturbances. In his typical style, he gathered details and snippets of things that other overlooked, and he weaved them all into a terrifying foresight that he hoped was wrong. It couldn't be, though. He had heard it in clips of conversation ("-Did you hear? The Tekkul merchants are two weeks late."" I heard the vikings have cut off all communications- I wonder what's going on?") and had smelt it in the very atmosphere.

There- he could almost see it. Like a dark cloud on the faraway skyline- soon it would cloak the world in its dark incarnation.

Ingus was sure of it. War was coming to Airworld.

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Okay, introduction done.

I'll be honest. This probably isn't going to be updated quickly- I have a life, upcoming overseas-ness, another fanfiction account, and a deviantart account. Basically, I have so much crap to do. I'm literally staying up till dawn every day to get things finished, or not sleeping at all. I've been on a schedule of 'sleep every two days' for the past week or so...ung.

This poem will play a big part in the story. Mainly, I just put it there so it would be somewhere and I wouldn't lose it. Me wroted it. .

This sanity is due to bend,

Twist and tear until the end.

I'm lost and trapped and can't be free,

I need someone to rescue me.

It's too late and time to fade,

Within this coffin that I've made.

Can you see the sky decay?

The echo of a silver day?

This tainted virtue of despair,

For which I hurt but always care.

Can you see the seasons turn?

The ashy stars of midnight's urn.

The way the darkness kills the pain,

And I never want to feel again.

If I should wake before I die,

Spare me this and let me cry.

Hear me plead if this is done,

Burning chasm of the sun.

Keep the tale from being lost,

Free it to the silver's frost.

Keep the fire blazing bright,

Keep the chasm from the the light.

Let loose the faceless when it's gone

And keep the silver rolling on.