AN: This starts out pretty slow, but will certainly pick up in later chapters.

Part 1: Avalanche

Alasir

Alasir didn't need to look at his calendar to know what day it was. The date was so ingrained in his mind that he seemed to have developed a sense for when it approached. The usual melancholy washed over him, pooling heavily in his stomach as he watched the sun poke itself into view. He winced as its golden rays streamed through the window of his bedroom, the light instantly flooding the place. His head reeled with the effects of the alcohol from the previous night, pain heightened by the gleaming sun. A decade ago, drinking was the last thing on his mind. But in recent years, he'd certainly begun to understand the appeal.

He had been awake for a while, simply laying in his own misery instead of gritting his teeth and bearing the day for what it was. The only thing Alasir hated more than what the date meant was confronting his sister on the way out the door. It was to be expected, though. The house was hers, and he was a 'guest.' Hauling himself up to a sitting position, he decided to get an early start. With a bit of luck, he'd be able to head out before she woke up.

Swinging both feet off the moaning bed, he made his way to the restroom, passing the aged furniture that kept guard about the room. He looked both ways in the doorway, careful to keep his weight on his toes as he walked. After working his way down the hall, and lightly knocking on the door, Alasir swung it open, immediately greeted with his own reflection. Well, however much of his image actually fit within the restraints of the mirror. The top edge of the mirror cut off at his neck, leaving his graying body fit for inspection. He leaned forwards on the sink, dropping to the point where his face was able to stare back at him.

He wasn't as young as he used to be, that much was apparent by his hair alone. He ran a hand through the greying strands, feeling a twinge of longing for the vibrate red it once was. His hand dropped from his hair to his chin, fingers exploring the growing creases. Eventually deep green eyes drifted past his aging face to his stump of a left arm, cut off right above the elbow. He immediately rolled his shoulders and looked away from the mirror. Shaking his head, he reeled his mind in from the inevitable as he began his annual routine.

By the time he had showered and groomed, the dawn rays had faded from the sky. He ran a hand down his face, brushing the drying hair out of his eyes. The cold shower had froze the drink out of him, leaving him sober to face the day. Biting his lip, he drifted to the next room over.

The next part of his routine was both the hardest and the easiest. As he approached the wooden cabinet that held his armor, he could feel his steps growing lighter. Alasir realized he was out of practice as he slid on a layer of mail. The last time he'd worn armor had been a year ago on the same date, the struggle to actually snap and squeeze himself into the mess of pieces growing in passing. But the feeling once it was on was more than worth it. He was more than aware it was impossible to relive the past, but he'd be dammed if this wasn't the second best thing.

Surprisingly, his old armor seemed to fit him year after year. Truth be told his body structure hadn't changed much. He was still freakishly tall, hardened muscles still covered with a light layer of fat. Part of him questioned why he fitted himself into the old look every year, but as soon as he looked in the mirror he remembered. The gold and white armor seemed to take years off his face, which he fully appreciated. But that wasn't all, it also made him feel younger; strong, like he used to be. He traced his fingers up the swirling, intricate designs, and down the notches and dents caused by five years of combat. He stood tall in the mirror for a few moments, before tearing himself away.

He clunked his way down the stairs of his childhood home, his best attempts to be stealthy foiled by the weight of his armor and the creak of ancient wood. He didn't want to repeat the drama of last year, but it seemed he might not have a choice. Unfortunately, as he headed for the door, he heard his name on a familiar voice ring behind him and throughout the hall. Alasir sighed, turning to face his sister.

Helen had aged as well. If he remembered correctly, she was thirty-five going on eighty. Even though he was some nine years her senior, she still managed to look significantly older than him. While she would deny any accusations of the fact, she was a shut in, living off the money the Alliance had granted her for his supposed 'death.' Her skin was borderline translucent, seeming to glow in light and shadow alike. She was obviously overweight. The little clothing she owned no longer fit her properly, hugging her body in the most awkward ways imaginable. Her hair was in a constant state of disarray, gnarls and knots coating the ends that draped above her shoulders. While Helen's body had softened, her face had hardened. They'd both inherited a wide, strong jawline from their father, and prominent cheekbones from their mother. Both features only now seemed to take a hold on her appearance.

But she still retained some of the qualities he remembered from their childhood. Freckled cheeks, soft lips, a gleaming smile. They were just hidden and buried below the shell of a person she'd become.

"You're leaving again?" The tone in Helen's voice alone brought a sour taste to the man's mouth. Her eyes flickered up and down his armor, "And in that?"

Alasir knew he was unwelcome here, the hostility festering with each passing year. His sister had changed dramatically since his first visit, when she was filled with ecstasy to see that he was, by some miracle, alive. However, her feelings waned over time, her joy replaced by a deep resentment once she realized he was the one who needed to be cared for, and that he never returned to actually visit her.

"That I am." He retorted, scratching his shoulder and shifting his weight, heavy armor echoing around him. From the way his sister shot daggers at him now, he could only assume he'd done something to really piss her off, and he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what.

She remained poised like a cat, her body bristling with anticipation, "We should talk."

Letting out a sigh, Alasir realized his original assumptions about her confrontation were correct, "This is about last night?"

"Of course this is about last night!" She spat, "You can't just show up and ask to live with me. I don't care who you are, you can't just do that." Her eyes snapped shut and she pursed her lips.

Alasir made one last glance at the door before locking his eyes on his sister, "I'm your brother, I deserve some sympathy. I haven't even explained why I asked yet." He took a step away from his exit.

Her words were on him the second the last syllable left his mouth, "You don't deserve anything from me. You show up once a year purely to cause me pain. You should walk out right now and disappear again. Not like you haven't before. Fel, I don't even know why you keep coming back."

"Calm down, I never said you had to accept." He leaned on the wall, holding his hand up in a sigh of surrender. "You're over reacting. I should have known you'd deny me anyways, with how much you resent me. I shouldn't have asked in the first place, I'm sorry. I'll leave now, If you want me to." He gave her a half-hearted smile, only to have the expression melt off his face as she glared at him. She wasn't done with him yet.

"Resent you?" She tilted her head and crossed her arms, pushing her chest out and straightening her back. Taking a step closer, she questioned, "What makes you say that?"

He dropped his hand and raised an eyebrow, pushing himself off the wall, "I don't know, maybe the fact you've essentially spat on me the last few time I've come to visit."

"Oh, you hardly come to visit. You show up in the evening to drink, after you leave the next morning to stare at that stupid memorial all day. Then you pack your bags and leave. You hardly say a word to me at all." She stood her ground, arms folding tighter against her body.

Alasir stiffened. "You're changing the subject. You resent me."

Helen rolled her eye, dropping her hands to her side as they clenched into fists, "It's plenty on topic, unless our topic isn't 'Ways you've fucked me over.' You know what? Yes. I do resent you."

"Why?" He lumbered closer, glancing down at his sister. At this distance it was even easier to see their difference in height. Alasir always knew he was a beast of a man when it came to his height, but, compared to his sister, he seemed even taller.

When she didn't respond, he sighed, "Well, if your interrogation's over, I'll be headed out." He collected a few things, then turned towards the door, armor groaning under the sudden movement. It was not until his hand was on the doorknob did he hear her voice rising out of her throat like the plague.

"W-what makes me resent you? Is that seriously what you're asking?" Now that she was offered the chance, Helen spat venom, "I-I thought you were dead... Y-you, you vanished out of my life for five years, then you materialized on my doorstep a decade ago with the news you were still living, and that, hey, you're missing an arm and went through some very apparent mental trauma. And it's not like you're making any efforts to improve your situation or better yourself, either. When I offered to get you help, you declined. When I offered to house you, you declined. When I offered to do anything for you, you declined. And that's not the end of it either. You only show up at this exact date, once a year. That's all. No letters, nothing. You don't even make an attempt to converse with me while you're here. Then last night you make the astounding announcement that you want to move in with me. You can't expect me to take you up on that offer when I know next to nothing about you, Alasir."

She took in a deep breath, wiping her eyes as tears began to bubble up. "I just... Dammit, Alasir, you won't even tell me what happened. You fucked your life up, and you won't tell me how. If you want to live here I deserve to know what happened to my brother. I deserve to know more than you deserve to live here." Helen stomped her foot, the tears now flowing freely from her eyes.

"You won't even tell me how you lost your arm, or where you live." Her voice had dwindled from an angered roar to a pleading whisper. "Why are you holding so many secrets from me?"

Only when the room had been filled with Helen's quiet sobbing, instead of the echoes of her lecture, did Alasir come to realize he had begun to shake under her torrent. His head was hung low, any attempts to clear it having failed. Uncertain of how to continue, whether to reply, stand still, or just leave, he shuffled to her.

"Do you know what day it is?" He inquired, his voice lowered to the same volume as her last whisper. He extended his arm to rest his hand on her shoulder, leaning down to look her in the eyes. Helen was shaking almost as much as he was.

She shook her head, eyes still swelling with tears. In a single swooping movement, she burrowed into his chest, wrapping her arms tight against his back as she continued to cry.

Alasir frowned, patting her back, "Then we've certainly got a lot to talk about." She looked up at him with hopeful, watery eyes as she released her hug. Her head shook with a nod.

She followed like a ghost to the living room, where they both collapsed on the couch in a flurry of dust. The sun still beamed through the window, catching the dust and filling the room with floating light. He looked at her and she looked at him, and it was understood for Alasir to begin his story.