This story was a long time in the making. It was in the works all the way back in last June, and was posted on my Tumblr in December. I'm only just now getting around to cross-posting it, but I hope you all enjoy!
(The title was derived from the song "Embers in the Sky", which doesn't really link into this story in any particular way, but is absolutely heartbreaking if you've ever read Heroes of Olympus)
A pair of eyes open.
Except there isn't really a body, aren't really any eyelids to open or any eyes to take in information or a brain to transmit that information to. Not even really a reality for those things to exist within.
So, rather…
A consciousness flickers into awareness.
It is an intensely odd feeling, existing without a body. At the same time it isn't really all that strange at all. Which is stranger than it being odd in the first place. But maybe not.
There is, however, a definite feeling of wrong. Not from a lack of body, but from being awake. Numbers and letters of coding swirl and fall and fly past, soft blue and calm green where all is right and glaring red where something has gone off, all to a backdrop of darkness blacker than even the void of space. This is not a sight that he should be able to see, he knows.
So this is what the Reset looks like.
The red is concerning. Something went wrong. He has a feeling that that is why he is aware, able to see this. He - glances down? Can you do that without a body? – shifts his vision downwards, sees what must be his own 'code'. He looks around and can see a few other section of 'code' that must be other people. There is one quite close to him that he is pretty sure is a friend. It's incredibly weird, without doubt.
He can't help but wonder what the red 'code' that he can see is doing. He does something that would have been reaching out a hand if he had a body, and dips his 'fingers' into a stream of red code as it rushes by.
There is a flash within his awareness, something like a rapid tightness and the release, and he knows.
Oh he thinks, drawing his 'hand' back into himself so that's what it's doing.
He's a bit sad at the development but maybe a clean slate is what they need.
Something tugs at the back of his awareness and he abruptly remembers that he isn't supposed to be here. The swirling 'code' around him starts fading back to black ever so slightly, but he knows the change is him, not it. He is beginning to lose the awareness allowing him to see this.
He thinks of the new world forming, thinks of the clean slate it will hopefully be, thinks of the things that it will need.
He glances at the code of a friend that he noticed earlier.
He doesn't really have time to contemplate it. He can feel his awareness dwindling by the moment, knows even more firmly that he should never have gained it in the first place.
He reaches out, with an arm metaphorically elbow deep in each of their 'coding'. One of them is damaged, the other whole. The damage can't be fixed but maybe…
He closes his 'fingers' around two concepts within the 'coding' – he has a feeling that coding shouldn't work like this but this is a backup of the universe, it probably doesn't work like a computer truly – and pulls. The concepts resist, tethered tightly to their respective individuals, but he pulls them free eventually. He feels something within him shake as his own comes free. Then he pushes the concepts, each of them into the empty space left by the other.
Reality is beginning to fill up, the Reset beginning to fulfil its purpose, and he feels the last of his awareness slip away with one final thought.
Oh, my friend, forgive me this decision.
A pair of eyes open – this time, for real. There are trees above him, a bright blue sky peeking through a canopy of leaves, and a chirping bird flits by.
It's peaceful, and he cannot remember the last time he was able to describe the world that way.
The sense of peace is shattered, however, as he sits up and then stands. For striding towards him with the pace of someone who most certainly isn't calm is the friend who's forgiveness was the last thing he thought of while aware in a place he should not have been. He can see some others standing around behind them, talking and apparently figuring out what happened, but his eyes are focused entirely on his friend.
His pace doesn't slow as he approaches – rather, he grabs an arm and pulls him along until they are both behind a number of trees and hidden from sight. As soon as they are, his friend whirls around, grabbing both of his arms in a tight grip.
"What did you do?" he demands, apparently only just resisting the urge to shake and gaze searching. One would think that half a face being hidden would limit expressions but the hair falling over his friend's only seems to amplify the hurt and anger shown there. He tries not to think about how they both have hair hiding half their faces now, one of them vertical, one of them horizontal, an external mirroring of each other much like the internal one that now exists.
"Something that…something that needed done," he answers, looking for the right way to explain. "I…this world, it… it needs what I did. It needs a chronally stable Warlic. I…I had to switch our chronostabilities to make that happen,"
The look on his friend's face grows more and more hurt and begins to gain a trace of horror as he goes on. He has a feeling that the words he's using are the wrong ones but he has to keep trying, has to make him understand before he runs out of time to do so.
"It really, really does need that. I…I was aware in the Reset and I saw it and-" the hands drop from his arms, his friend takes a step back. Faintly, he recalls an Arthurian saying about holes and digging but this is important "-I had to do it, I really did. It's going to be so important later on and-"
His friend lunges forwards and for a moment he thinks he's going to be hit, but then arms wrap around his torso, thread underneath his own, and he realises that it's a hug.
"You shouldn't have made that sacrifice for me," says a voice tight with held back tears, the words all but hissed out through a closed throat, the arms around him tightening "If you say it's important then I believe you but… you shouldn't have had to do that,"
They stay that way for a moment longer, and then they pull away. His friend still looks upset, but also seems to have gained a glimmer of understanding.
"What is it…" his friend starts, cutting himself off halfway through and blinking back a few unshed tears "What is it with you Heroes and being so self-sacrificial?" There is a slight staggered hitch in the words, just between 'so' and 'self-sacrificial' and he has known his friend long enough to recognise a barely bitten back expletive when he hears one. It has him grinning despite the situation.
"Comes with the territory," he says with a shrug "Though, I'm not technically a Hero anymore, Warlic,"
"Whether you're Commander Sys-Zero of Loreon or Cysero the Weaponsmith, you're always going to be a hero," Warlic replies, complete conviction in his voice, the same "I am absolutely certain that I am right so you'd better listen to me," tone that he used giving orders.
A pulse of magic washes over them and the wing beats of a dragon sound overhead, indicating the soon arrival of another.
"Guess that's our cue," Cysero says, looking over to the gap in the trees that leads to the clearing where the others await.
"That's our cue," Warlic agrees.
As they walk over, preparing to welcome a friend into a new world, preparing to live in that new world themselves, Cysero elbows Warlic in the arm.
"It's mad, magical weaponsmith, by the way," he says, letting a hint of a smirk slip into his grin. He raises a hand and lets sparks of magic dance between his fingers. "Adjectives are important, Warlic,"
The expression on Warlic's face seems to be stuck halfway between horror and laughter.
"I pity this world," he says, voice completely flat.
Cysero crows with laughter and slings an arm over his friend's shoulder as they walk the rest of the way. After only a few moments, Warlic's quiet chuckles join the louder laughter.
To quote my after story comments on the original Tumblr post, "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Had you going there, didn't I? Be honest with me, how many of you thought it was Warlic?"
This fic is a result of me noticing that it's noted in MQ that Dean Warlic's chronal stability was apparently permentantly damaged - he explictly states that there is no fixing it. And yet, DF Warlic has none of the symptoms. The Reset could've fixed it, but wouldn't it have been part of Warlic's 'coding' by then?
Obviously, the actual answer is that Dean Warlic came into existence waaaaay after DF Warlic and It Was Probably The Reset.
But I noticed that some of Cysero's behaviour seemed similar to stuff going on with Dean Warlic, and thus this fic happened.