Author's note:
I've spent a good portion of my time editing all the previous 10 chapters, including correcting for grammatical/spelling errors and tweaking certain scenes. Call me a perfectionist, but this project is my baby and I want it to read well for everyone. Also, special thanks to DuCree for PMing me Roger's parents' names. I've corrected them accordingly and I really appreciate the help!
Those who have yet to vote, please head over to my profile and cast your vote for Roger's fate. Thank you!
WARNING: This chapter contains explicit, shota, homosexual content. Reader's discretion is advised.
Review responses:
Siren Child - Thank you for your continuous support! And no, you're not spamming me at all! I really appreciate your feedback and your fangirling. There is no such thing as too many reviews ;) I'm glad I could get you to fall in love with the Fayt/Roger pairing. That means a lot to me as a writer. Yes, I'm involving the Sanmite Republic majorly in this story because they really deserve more attention than what the game has showcased.
Wanderer - Hey, glad to see a loyal reader back as well :) I'm glad I haven't lost your support after my years of absence. Not sure if that's hesitance in your tone regarding the Cliff/Nel pairing... if it is, I hope I'll be able to change your mind eventually. Yes, Fayt is a little prig, isn't he? Well, that's already changing ;) Ah, yes, Albel. Dear, sweet, Albel. Always good for some laughs.
Guest - Oh! I'm glad you left a review :) It's always nice to know I'm doing a good job so far. Thank you for your support and I'm glad I could make you happy with my story. Yes, anyone with Roger is rare as it is, but Fayt/Roger? Super special ultra rare indeed. Happy to know I've peaked your interest in Albel/Roger too.
The Stars Told Me So
By Dark Interval
Chapter 11: Cross My Heart
Stifling silence hung thick in the air; dark shadows cast upon the walls and ceilings from the dim glow of candles. Within the common room of the Huxley residence and family inn, sat Surferio's chief, Sanmite's Prime Minister, and head of the family himself, Aznor S.T Huxley. The Menodix was going through a few reports while his wife, Forte, busied herself with a cross-stitch pattern opposite him. Such moderate, quiet activities would have seemed reasonable in light of exercising courtesy towards their slumbering patrons. Unfortunately, the Huxleys hadn't had guests for months, not after the isolation policy had been put in place – no one came by Surferio anymore. So, it couldn't be a matter of respect. No, their reserved behavior was due to something else entirely, a forced state of normalcy, a calm before the storm.
Suddenly, the front door slammed open, striking the wall next to it so hard, the surrounding structure trembled. Forte jumped in fright; Aznor, however, remained calmly seated and never once took his eyes off his documents, unaffected by the dramatic entrance of their unexpected guest.
"Aznor, what's the meaning of this?!"
A furious Fellpool stood at the entranceway, shaking a rolled up piece of parchment in his fist.
"Are we to roll over and give into the demands of those… those tyrants?"
"Ah, Defense Minister Malroy." Aznor pushed back his chair and greeted his good friend. "What brings you here this late at night?"
"You know damn well why I'm here."
The friendly smile on the Menodix's face fell. Without breaking eye contact with Malroy, he called out to his wife.
"Forte, my dear, would you give us some privacy?"
Not needing to be told twice, the demure humanoid gathered her things and left the two ministers to their devices. Malroy crossed the room swiftly and took over Forte's spot, glaring daggers at his friend across the table. Inwardly, Aznor sighed, having predicted his Defense Minister's rage before he even issued that report. He supposed this discussion was inevitable.
"Malroy, if you have any reservations regarding Sanmite's current position, I'd be happy to discuss them." He smiled and settled back down, placing his monocle over his good eye as he returned to his work. "Honestly, you're overreacting. It's just a slight change, but I'm sure everyone will get used to it."
"Don't give me that bullshit, Aznor! Something smells fishy, and it's not my breath."
The Fellpool raked his claws across the table, baring his fangs. "After all, I find it hard to believe that the very guy who drafted our Isolation Policy, went ahead to sign a war treaty with Airyglyph!"
"A peace treaty," Aznor corrected, gazing up at the younger minister calmly.
"The Sanmite Republic cannot sustain itself for long and recent exports to Airyglyph have greatly improved our economy. Why, just this afternoon I saw young Vellion and his family hard at work in the fields. My friend, this treaty is necessary to safeguard Sanmite interests."
"Oh the clauses are fine," Malroy drawled unhappily, "except this."
He unrolled the parchment and slammed it onto the table. A particular number was circled in red. He jabbed at it mercilessly.
"Section 5, #13: The Sanmite Militia, compromising of its Winged Cavalry, Elementalists, and Siege corps, is to provide military assistance to Airyglyph if required. Obviously, since you stepped down and gave me the position as commander, this concerns me."
The Menodix couldn't resist a smirk. "Getting cold feet, Malroy?"
"Up yours, Aznor."
The Fellpool retrieved a note from his coat pocket and slid it across the table. Aznor unfolded it and read its contents with a worried frown. Malroy licked his paw and brought it up to rub at his dark brown hair – an action he tended to do only in the presence of a familiar, mainly because it embarrassed him to enact such feline tendencies. However, it took many years of friendship for Aznor to know that Malroy was actually extremely nervous and agitated.
"That missive came in this morning, shortly after the treaty was officialized," Malroy explained. "I'm tasked to send a unit to Duke Vox to aid in Airyglyph's wartime efforts, but…"
He held his forehead in his hands, miserable. "Crap, Aznor… I don't know what to do, I – "
Malroy stopped short, noticing a very familiar brass helm at the end of the table. He could never forget its peculiar design when he first met Aznor during their adolescence. He could also never forget the young, crazy troublemaker of said guy's son, who inherited that particular helm from his father and wore it like a second skin.
"How'd you get that?" he whispered. "I thought Roger disappeared…"
And then it all made sense.
"… Airyglyph coerced you, didn't they?"
Aznor couldn't keep the act up any longer. He buried his face into his hands with a heavy sigh. It was then that he appeared much older than he really was, revealed to his friend how tired and despondent he felt deep inside. The sudden vulnerability of the usually stoic and resilient village chief unnerved Malroy greatly.
"They have my son," Aznor choked, utterly defeated.
The impact of that statement shocked the Defense Minister into silence. It had simply been a guess; he had no clue how true that actually was. Since the night of Roger's disappearance, their people had combed the streets of all of Sanmite's villages in a desperate attempt to locate the young heir, but when their efforts yielded no results, many had assumed the worst.
And now, it was too late.
Malroy touched his Prime Minister's shoulder, sympathetic.
"Break the alliance."
Aznor reeled from anger. "And give up my chance of ever seeing my son again?!"
"One person for the lives of many is unreasonable! Aznor, you know that!"
"Do you expect me to sit idle knowing my son might die?!"
"More than your son will die if you let this continue!"
The two friends glared at each other, neither backing down from their positions. Both understood where the other was coming from, that the interests of their nation took precedence. But Aznor's undoing, more than his love as village chief and Prime Minister, was his love as a father.
"Malroy, you'd do the same if it were Lucien or Lezard in Roger's place."
That hit a sore spot. The Fellpool said nothing; he knew when to give up – whenever the stubborn Menodix got like this, there was no pacifying him, and even if he refused to admit it, his friend was right. As a father himself, he understood Aznor perfectly, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
"… Young Melt and his family are part of the first unit to be dispatched. Airyglyph specifically requested for our Elementalists and Winged Cavalry."
He hesitated, expression pained as he made one last-ditch attempt to get through to the elder.
"Vox wants Peterny. He's asking us to slaughter members of our own territory. Do you not see the madness in this?!"
However, when his speech failed to evoke a response from the silent Menodix, Malroy sighed and rose to take his leave. Though he understood his Prime Minister's reasons, he was disappointed – the purpose of the Republic was to resist the theocratic and autocratic rule of their neighbors, for their ministry representatives to come together and pass policies through mutual discussions. Unfortunately, Aznor failed to uphold their policy of democracy this time. Instead, he had single-handedly written off the Sanmite Republic's freedom and doomed them all.
Malroy paused at the door to spare one last glance over his shoulder at his friend and beloved chief. There was nothing left for him to say.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Aznor."
He shut the door behind him, leaving the Menodix to his troubled thoughts. Forte stepped out from the shadows and approached her husband. Sobbing, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, while he stared intently at the helm he held so protectively in his hands. They remained like that for what seemed like hours, wishing that the howling winds outside were the sounds of laughter from a mischievous child on his way back home.
Kirlsa's Iron Stomach Tavern was quiet that night, not at all surprising following the events that occurred at the Kirlsa Training Facility last afternoon. The news of Shelby's death spread like wildfire, and the entire squad of Black Brigade soldiers charted off to the various infirmaries was enough to get the citizens of Airyglyph worried. An entire cavalry compromised in a single afternoon - what did that spell for their kingdom now? Were Aquaria winning? Even if they weren't, it certainly appeared that Airyglyph wasn't fairing any better in comparison. Could this be the work of those strange engineers from Greeton? Had they done away with the Black Brigade's late-lieutenant?
Regardless, the people of Kirlsa no longer felt safe in their hometown. It was rare to see anyone out of his or her homes this late at night. So, it was quite baffling to the bartender to have a customer patronize his tavern at all.
"What will it be, sir?"
The tall, cloaked figure paused by the counter. "A bottle of sake, worm. Do not keep me waiting."
The stranger's voice and air of authority sounded unusually familiar, but the bartender didn't think much of it and indicated at the various empty tables for his guest to take a seat. As he prepared the man's drink, the dark figure chose a seat at the far end of the tavern, pulling the hood of his cloak further forward. He caught himself using his gauntlet-encased arm and cursed his negligence. Thankfully, that little slipup went unnoticed.
Albel's eyes darted to a wanted poster on the wall nearby and immediately looked away in disgust. Two million fol for his capture? Bah! As if any of these unskilled worms could take him on – he'd carve their tongues out of their mouths faster than they could so much as scream. Nevertheless, this new development was disconcerting – what did it leave him with? He couldn't return to the castle… what was he to do with his life now?
A bottle of sake and a saucer were placed on the table. Albel wasted no time in pouring a generous amount for himself and downed the sweet liquid in one gulp. The alcohol burned a path down his throat, a sensation that he was all too accustomed to and welcomed with relish. As he poured himself a second helping, he pondered over his current predicament. He was a traitor to the nation, a criminal, and a disgrace to the proud Nox name… though he had always viewed himself a failure from the start. If his father were still alive, he was certain he would have killed the old man from disappointment.
'Why did I let those maggots go?' A memory of a grinning Menodix child flashed through his mind and he stopped to frown. '…Why did I let the little fool go?'
The tavern door swung open and a Storm Brigade soldier sauntered in to sit by the counter. The man ordered himself a mug of ale, but Albel paid the newcomer no heed.
'I saved that foolish brat because that imbecile Shelby failed to understand the value of that humanoid. That maggot would have killed him and ruined our chances for victory.' Seemingly satisfied with that explanation, Albel brought the saucer to his lips and tipped its contents into his mouth. 'But you didn't capture the little fool. You still let him go.'
He choked on his sake.
The tavern door swung open again.
Albel collected himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his good hand. Forget it – there was only so much he could do to continue fooling himself. The fact of the matter remained: he had protected the little brat and let the whole sorry lot go because… he had given up. That realization should have shocked Albel, but strangely, it didn't. Perhaps a small, secret part of him had unconsciously accepted that explanation a long time ago.
The war was dragging on meaninglessly, he wasn't interested in a kingdom that treated him as coldly as the barren mountains it thrived upon, he was tired of constantly proving himself to conceited old men who only ever plotted to get rid of him, and the only person who ever showed genuine, unbiased concern towards him – actually saw him for himself – was in love with someone else. And of all miserable creatures the humanoid picked, it had to be that amateur swordsman from Greeton.
Someone sat at the table next to him, but Albel was too upset with an imaginary Fayt Leingod to exact his hatred upon anyone else… even if they were cutting into his quiet, personal bubble of solitude. His grip around the sake bottle's neck tightened; could have shattered it with his claw if he so wished.
For fuck's sake, Roger was his! He saw him first!
Albel tipped the bottle, only to realize he was all out. The grimace on his face was one of self-loathing rather than displeasure.
It was only here, hiding out in this dingy tavern and mulling over his unrequited feelings over a young boy like a bitter, angsty, lovelorn teenager while desperately trying to get drunk on alcohol, that he realized how far he, Albel the Wicked, had truly fallen. He didn't even know how the bloody hell it started. The little fool was no different, no more remarkable than the many other young men and women he had bedded – annoying, expendable and unimportant. In fact, the brat was foolish, obnoxious, rude, loud… But for all his undesirable qualities, the humanoid had addressed him with nothing save genuine admiration; treated him kindly and interacted with him with an open heart. He had forgotten the last time anyone looked at him in a way that wasn't fear, hatred, or lust. And as such, he didn't know how the hell to deal with any emotion that wasn't one of the three above.
"Worm, more sake!" However, the bartender failed to respond.
Albel directed his gaze to the unattended bar counter before frowning. Then, his gaze raked slowly across the tavern and its limited patrons, all of whom were innocuously sipping their drinks. He sighed inwardly, rising from his seat.
How bothersome.
Faster than the eye could blink, Albel kicked his table straight at the Storm Brigade soldier seated next to him. The man reacted quickly, unsheathing his sword to cut through the old wood. Then he surged towards Albel, bringing his blade down in a powerful strike. Bored, Albel jerked his head away and drew his katana from its sheath halfway, countering the attack before delivering a swift kick to the soldier's gut, sending him crashing into a table at the far back. The ex-captain didn't even need to fully draw his weapon.
"Humph. Pathetic."
Someone tried to attack him from behind, but preempting such shameful methods were not entirely difficult. Side-stepping with his back to his opponent, his swift reaction no doubt left his opponent momentarily stunned. Using his attacker's momentum against him, Albel withdrew his blade and spun behind the soldier to deliver a brutal strike at the back of his neck with the hilt of his katana. The man crumpled forward and the wicked one let out an unimpressed scoff.
"If you're trying to apprehend me, at least pretend to put up a fight."
He turned around just as another blade made to slice his neck. He backed away from the relentless soldier. The young recruit went at him in rapid strokes, but for all his efforts, Albel simply dodged the blade by leisurely back-stepping all the attacks. If his attacker could see the blasé expression beneath his hood, the man would have been gravely insulted.
The soldier made to stab Albel's shoulder, but the sword-master saw the move a long time coming and evaded it without a hitch. The blade tore through the material of his cloak, catching in its folds, and with a smirk, Albel threw the thing off, twisted the cloth around the blade and yanked the sword out of the stunned soldier's grasp. Weaponless, the man quaked in fear as he gazed into the terrifying vermillion eyes of Glyphian's deadliest, number one assassin. Albel backed him against a wall and pressed his blade against the man's throat.
"I killed my lieutenant. What makes you think I won't do the same to you?"
"P-Please…" the Storm Brigade soldier pleaded weakly, shaking. Albel's eyes narrowed dangerously, a cruel smirk pulling at his lips.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kill you where you stand."
"I'll give you two."
Woltar stepped into the tavern, meeting Albel's furious stare head-on, unflinching. By now, the defeated Storm Brigade soldiers had collected themselves. The old count placed his hands within the sleeves of his robes as he dismissed them curtly.
"I will speak with the traitor alone. Stand guard outside and await further instructions."
"Sir!"
Once the last soldier stepped through the doors, Woltar surged forward with remarkable conviction and grasped Albel by the elbow of his good arm. Before the ex-captain could so much as hurl insults at the old Storm Brigade Captain, or demand to know his intentions, Woltar had steered his rebellious charge towards the nearest table and sat the young man down.
"Old fool, I'm in no mood to listen to your meaningless prattle – "
"Silence, boy!" Woltar boomed, assuming his authority as guardian for the very first time in years. The move effectively shocked Albel into silence. The usually calm and amiable disposition of the old count was gone, and the real face of the ruthless Storm Brigade Captain finally revealed itself.
"If it wasn't for that vow I made your father, you'd be rotting in prison for all I care. You, Albel, are a disgrace to Airyglyph and to your proud family's name!"
Woltar forced down his anger and breathed through his nose, momentarily shutting his eyes.
"… which is why I'm presenting you an opportunity to redeem yourself."
Slight surprise flashed across Albel's eyes before they narrowed in suspicion. The old man was giving him a second chance? He wondered how precarious, how impossible his path to redemption had been laid out for him. Knowing these shameless mercenaries, they were probably wishing for the earth and sky.
"I'm listening."
"We have acquired the cooperation of the Sanmite Republic in Airyglyph's wartime efforts. Therefore, we have no use for those Greeton engineers any longer."
… What?
"And how did you achieve that, old man?" Albel pried, distrustful of this recent development. Though he ought to be thrilled… right? After all, this was the vision he had originally planned for their kingdom's ultimate triumph over that wretched Aquaria … but what was this irksome feeling in his chest?
"How we went about it is none of your concern," replied Woltar coldly. "All you need to know is that if you successfully carry out His Majesty's request, your treachery will be overlooked and your sentence revoked."
So, they still needed his skills after all, a valid point. He wasn't the best swordsman in all of Airyglyph for nothing. Plus he figured there was no harm in taking advantage of such a 'generous' offer to clear his name. But still, bending the law and throwing him a bargain like this, these people must have been truly desperate to come to him for help.
"And what might that be?"
Woltar leaned forward to hiss into his ear. "Kill the Greeton engineers; Aquaria must not complete that weapon. And," he fixed Albel with a piercing stare, "capture that humanoid. We need the Prime Minister's son alive."
Albel froze in disbelief. Roger… was the Prime Minister's son? All this time… His grip on his katana hilt tightened. So, they had coerced the humanoids into an alliance after all, and now he was tasked to secure the bait.
But could he do it?
'Thanks, Albel… Thanks fer savin' my life.'
… yes, yes he could. He wasn't weak.
"A simple undertaking. When do I start?"
"Immediately." Woltar rose to his feet and shot the ex-captain one last warning stare. "This is your last chance, Albel. Do not disappoint me and your father again."
Roger bounced merrily along the cobblestone roads of Aquois, his brand new helm bobbing up and down with his movements. It was navy blue and forged in likeness of a shark's head. After Fayt had told him he registered a license for him at the Craftsman's Guild (and a million happy kisses later on Roger's part), they had rushed to Peterny's workshop first thing in the morning to begin work on a new helm to replace the one he had lost at Kirlsa. The Menodix was reluctant at first; after all, his old helm had belonged to his pops, but with Fayt going on about how it was "his responsibility as a boyfriend" to make sure he was "well protected", Roger found himself giving in with a dramatic eye roll and shake of his head. Honestly, the guy was being way too protective. Still, it was a pretty nifty helm.
Nel watched the carefree child before shooting Fayt a knowing smirk. After she and Cliff had walked in on the slumbering boys cuddling each other on Fayt's bed earlier this morning, the cat was finally out of the bag. Unfortunately, that also meant that a thoroughly amused Cliff didn't let poor Fayt hear the end of it, much to the latter's aggravation.
"It suits him," she teased, "I have to hand it to you, Fayt. You know your boyfriend well."
Fayt blushed at the emphasis of that title, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. Their relationship was more or less official, but he still couldn't get used to it like the way Roger had so easily accepted it. Ah, the beauty of innocence…
"Thanks. I think it suits him too – it's cute."
"Well I think it's stupid."
Roger bristled and whirled around to glare at the Klausian.
"Ya callin' me stupid, ya big moron?!"
"I was referring to your stupid helm, but sure – let's just go with that."
As the two began their daily bickering session and attracted the stares of curious on-lookers, Nel shook her head and folded her arms with a heavy sigh. Men.
"I really wonder where they get their energy from. If neither of us stop them, I swear they can go on forever."
Fayt laughed; he couldn't agree more. Then again, he wouldn't trade Roger's spunk for anything in the world.
He took his time to survey the beauty of his surroundings, still unable to get over the rich splendor of Aquaria's sacred royal city – Aquois. When they had stepped through those towering gates but a few minutes ago, Fayt and Cliff were immediately overcome with awe, rendered speechless. Aquois was truly magnificent, picturesque in its unadulterated beauty, and like Nel had said, a true gem of Aquaria. The crystal-clear waters that ran through the city sparkled with a virtuous quality; lush greenery lined the streets and peaked over rooftops; buildings and cobblestone roads shimmered under the light of the late-morning sun; and citizens went about their lives peacefully, carefree. Aquois was like the holy land desperately sought out by pilgrims in stories, a fantastical oasis hidden between reality and illusion. Just standing here made Fayt feel more calm and peaceful than he had ever felt in his entire life.
"I don't think I'll ever get tired of saying this: Nel, your kingdom is beautiful."
"Indeed," she replied, a wistful smile on her face. "That's why my people are doing all they can to ensure this beauty is not lost to enemy hands."
"Airyglyph, huh?" Cliff approached them and Nel nodded sadly. He tipped her chin and she managed a small smile for him. Fayt watched their exchange, knowing. Roger tugged on his pants and they shared a look. It was now or never.
"Nel," the Aquarian faced him expectantly, "I'm ready to begin negotiations with the Queen."
Her jaw dropped. "Fayt, are… are you sure?" He nodded his head, expression resolute.
"Airyglyph's tyranny must stop. It's clear to me now that the only nation that can put an end to this madness and bring about true peace is Aquaria." He shot Nel a hesitant smile. "I learnt that from your loyalty, Nel. I'm with you 110% of the way."
"Fayt…" What could she say? She was moved beyond words. Even Cliff watched his charge with growing expectancy.
"During this journey, I've met many people – ordinary people – who are fighting hard in their own way to protect their dreams." An image of a frail Ameena flashed through his mind. "And it made me think about my being here and what I too wish to protect."
Tentatively, Roger's fingers brushed against Fayt's and he held onto the boy's hand firmly.
"This war is hurting everyone: the ordinary people of Airyglyph are starving for their soldiers; Aquarians are dying with their lands raped; and the Sanmite Republic's isolation is cutting back into them because they aren't a self-sustainable community."
Cliff, Nel, and Roger waited on Fayt with bated breath.
"At first I was just going to run away from it all, but then I realized: sometimes, you're the only one that can make a difference – he gazed down at the Menodix tenderly – no matter how small you are. And if it's something that can help people, you've got to give it a try."
Roger grinned and hugged Fayt's leg tightly, his tail wagging in unbridled joy. He knew it - oh he just knew it! Palmira had given him an angel after all. Just then, he felt himself lifted off the ground into Fayt's protective arms. The older male stared intently into his eyes and Roger felt his cheeks heat up.
"I learnt this from someone much braver than myself." He tilted the helm back and pressed his forehead against Roger's. "I promise: I'll do whatever it takes to end this war."
"'Atta boy, Romeo! I knew you'd come through in the end," teased Cliff before casually wrapping his arm around Nel's shoulders. "So, now that that's settled, when are you going to take us to see this queen of yours? I was hoping she'd be hot myself."
Nel groaned inwardly and gave him the biggest eye roll of the century. Fayt she more or less trusted with basic diplomacy, but Cliff… The doubtful expression on her face was never more painful than it was right now.
"Cliff, whatever you do, please don't say something like that in front of Her Majesty."
He waved her concern off. "Bah, come on! You know I didn't mean it… it was a joke." Three pairs of eyes narrowed at him in suspicion and he returned their stares, bewildered. "What?"
Roger and Nel shared a look. "Maybe if we ignore him long enough, he'd disappear."
"Agreed."
Nel stepped out of Cliff's hold while Roger wriggled out of Fayt's embrace. They walked on ahead, leaving the two men behind. Cliff stopped gapping after he fully processed what just happened.
"Hey, come on you guys, I was just kidding!"
Fayt chuckled; pleased to see his so-called bodyguard shown up by his own love interest and a kid. "Well, you got to admit it Cliff, you had that one coming."
"Save me the sass, kid." But his frown soon melted into a proud smirk as he clapped Fayt on the back.
"Hah! What you said back there? Cool, kid. Real cool. Looks like something good came out of being that brat's boyfriend, aye?" He nudged Fayt, who pushed him away with a laugh. "Though what happened to that precious UP3 you used to always worry about?"
Fayt shot Cliff a mischievous smirk. "First of all, I already had a feeling you agreed to help Nel behind my back."
"Sca-ree…"
"Second…" he trailed off as he watched the pair in the distance. Nel was nodding her head while Roger chatted animatedly about something, utterly carefree. His eyes honed in on the wide, enamoring grin on the young Menodix's face.
Back on Hyda IV when Sophia had asked if he liked that Foxtail girl on the beach, he had replied that he didn't because it was ridiculous to fall in love with someone you just met. But now, as he looked at Roger and thought back to their very first meeting in Arias, he realized that that notion wasn't as absurd as he initially thought, that there were some things, or some people, who were perhaps simply meant to be. Gender, race, age, or circumstance, none of those really mattered as long as it felt right.
"When the time comes for us to leave, even when I may never see him again, I want to go knowing that I've done all I can to protect his future. I've made up my mind."
Cliff followed the direction of his gaze and hummed in approval. "I couldn't have said it better myself."
"Hurry up, you two!" Nel waved.
"Yeah! We ain't got all day ya know?"
Fayt and Cliff grinned at each other before breaking into a run.
"No! Out of the question. Absolutely not!"
The four were on their knees and had their heads bowed in respect, but there was no mistaking the annoyed scowls on each of their faces. Roger looked this close to hurling some discourteous insult; Cliff's fists were shaking so hard, Fayt feared the Klausian would pound the infuriating magistrate's face in. And he thought his frustration was bad…
Earlier, upon their arrival at the audience chamber, Nel had barely gotten past introductions before a middle-aged man named Laselle rudely interrupted her. The noble was quick to criticize and if he hadn't been an important figure of the court, Nel would have socked him. And here they thought they were supposed to have a peaceful, undisturbed audience with the Queen, not deal with a stuck-up, prejudiced royal advisor.
"Roger's skills are commendable. Do you doubt my report?"
"Report? This humanoid wasn't even mentioned in your report!"
Nel glared at him. "Roger –she stressed – is here on personal obligation, specifically to offer our researchers and the Greeton engineers assistance."
"A humanoid? Assistance? Hah!" Laselle waved her off with a dramatic flap of his sleeve. "What can a humanoid child do besides break things? Aquaria cannot afford to take responsibility for a member from the Sanmite Republic – our relations are strained well enough. No, take him back to the woodlands from which he came."
Aside, Roger was fuming as he glared holes into the carpet. What did this jerk take him for, a rodent?! He was describing him and his people like they were nothing but common, uncivilized creatures! Oh, he was aware of the underlying prejudices many harbored towards his race, but this dumb aristocrat really took the cake.
"So you're going to turn away help when it's being offered?"
"Watch your tone, Zelpher," Laselle warned, sizing her up. "You may be Her Majesty's personal aid, but I am her advisor."
"That is enough, Laselle."
A new voice penetrated the tense atmosphere, even and commanding in its regality. Crimson eyes set upon a pale, lovely face, which had been shut throughout the argument, finally opened to regard her waiting audience. The woman's elaborate headdress and royal robes were ample indication of her royal lineage. Nel backed down and returned to her knees. Laselle cleared his throat, collecting himself.
"Forgive me, my queen. I meant no disrespect." At the nod of her head, Laselle turned to address the party of four, doing his best to suppress his displeasure. "Lift your heads. Her Majesty will speak now."
"Welcome, engineers of Greeton and son of Huxley, to the Sacred Kingdom of Aquaria. I am the Queen of this country, Romeria Zin Emurille." Her eyes took in their expectant stares. "Now with the introductions out of the way, let us commence discussions. I assume you know why you are here?"
"You require our assistance in completing Aquaria's Runological weapons," answered Cliff plainly. Romeria nodded.
"That is correct. As you may have heard, our country is at war with Airyglyph, and the war is not going well for Aquaria…" She reached down and retrieved a thick, leather-bound book from the side of her throne. Then, she opened it and flipped to a page she had previously marked out. "This calls to mind Chapter Fifteen of Ikelos' Book of Prophecies, a book that contains the holy teachings of Apris."
Fayt, Cliff and Roger offered each other confused glances, but when the earlier shrugged, they returned their attention to the Queen and Holy Mother. She held the book up and read from its pages.
"Chaos in the holy land. The chaos shall spread catastrophe, and from that catastrophe shall be born a new maelstrom of war." She closed the book and regarded Fayt and Cliff with quiet desperation. "It is our belief that this prophecy is about to come true. And we believe that you are the savior that the prophecy speaks."
Fayt bowed his head, eyes wide in disbelief and heart thumping madly. His fingers upon his knee clenched. Savior…? Prophecy? He had only agreed to come along and give some general advice, but he was totally unprepared for the drama behind the entire situation. This was so overwhelming… he barely passed his tests back in school, but over here, he was being compared to some sort of god.
Sensing his apprehension, Romeria rose from her throne and descended the steps, conviction radiating off her in waves.
"Our country is now embroiled in a war with Airyglyph. Our beloved neighbors, the Sanmite Republic, are engaged in a self-destructive cause to contravene the bloodshed. Unless something is done, innocent citizens will perish…"
And then, the Holy Mother did something no one had ever seen her do before: she went down on her knees before Fayt and took his hand in hers. She bowed her head before his startled eyes.
"We beg of you to lend us your strength."
"Your Majesty…" Laselle whispered in wide-eyed astonishment. Even Nel was gaping at the scene. Cliff and Roger felt equally uncomfortable, but maintained their eyes on the ground while Fayt… well, how could anyone say no to that?!
"Please, Your Majesty – " he stuttered, thoroughly flustered and humbled from her attentions. It was obvious how much Romeria deeply cared for not just her people, but the fate of the many innocent lives scattered across the continent. "I… I don't know what we'll be able to do, but we will do all we can. That's why we came here."
Romeria released Fayt's hand and sat back on her knees. She turned her solemn gaze to Cliff, who nodded at her in reassurance, then allowed it to fall to the youngest member in the room. Roger gulped and inclined his head to face the Queen's regal stare. Remembering all the times his pops drilled him on the proper manner of speech with important figures of the state, he took a deep breath.
"Yer Majesty, as Nel has mentioned, I'm good with machines and my people are well-vested in the mystic arts, similar ta yer Runology, which I might add, the engineers may not be entirely familiar with." When Romeria continued to hold his gaze, he took it as a good sign to proceed. "I can bridge the gap and offer advice ta yer researchers. I'm here on my own free will. I want ta help my people; I'm here ta fight fer peace too."
Romeria's gaze traveled from Roger, Cliff, and Fayt before allowing herself this one moment of weakness: her shoulders slumped forward and pure relief rang in her voice. She bowed deeply, humbly.
"We are in your debt."
Laselle approached his beloved Queen and helped her to her feet. Then he turned his attention to their guests and indicated for them to rise.
"I believe your journey has worn you out. You may freshen up in the palace baths before joining our researchers in the Runological Weapons Laboratory." He looked to Nel, all previous malice seemingly forgotten. "Nel will show you to your rooms. I'm afraid we uphold strict, virtuous conduct in the palace, so all of you will be entitled to a room each."
The group was dismissed and when they were back out in the hallway, Nel motioned them to follow her as she led them back to the first floor. They entered the corridor at the extreme right. She indicated at the four rooms closest to her.
"The first room's yours, Fayt; Cliff, the second, followed by yours, Roger. Mine's the fourth." She offered them a kind smile. The guys noticed the Aquarian had been in a considerably more positive, amicable mood after they agreed to help her country.
"I'll be at the chapel performing worship. Come find me if you need anything or have any questions."
Roger raised his arm to get her attention. "Yeah, I have a question!" His big, innocent eyes sparkled. "Didn't that mean jerk say summin 'bout baths? Where's that?"
Nel had to resist a chuckle. How could she forget? Humanoids, especially Menodixes, had a penchant for personal hygiene. They loved baths and they loved playing in water even more. In a way, they were like kids.
"Up the stairs and down the right. It's a huge chamber, you can't miss it."
"Thanks! See ya!"
And he was off like lightning, potentially even faster than when he smelled food. Nel shook her head good-naturedly, offered the two men one last parting smile before heading off. They watched her figure disappear around the corner and it was only at that moment when Fayt released a loud sigh of relief and slumped forward, all that previous tension from meeting the Queen dissipating in waves. Man, what a day!
Cliff laughed. "So what are you going to do? We have about… an hour to spare? I was thinking of checking out the chapel."
"Chapel?" Fayt shot him a cheeky grin. "You can't share a room with Nel, so you're hitching her in the chapel. Cliff, you sly dog." He threw the Klausian's own words back at him and Cliff reddened slightly, much to his amusement.
"Gah! It's not like that. I just figured that with the whole of Aquois looking like a scene straight out of a painting, their chapel's got to be something amazing." He folded his arms proudly. "I'm an atheist myself, but I'm interested in the art."
Fayt regarded him skeptically. "You? Art?"
"Hey, don't go doubting my creative flair. I'll have you know that I'm quite the artiste."
"Really now!"
"Ho sure!" Cliff thought back to an old conversation he had with Mirage. "Mirage and my leader said that I'm 'the kind of guy who always thinks with his emotions before his head'. I guess that makes me an impressionist."
Fayt felt his respect for the blonde crumble. "I don't think that's what they meant…"
But Cliff ignored him.
"They also said that I'm 'always looking at pretty women', which I guess was their way of praising my keen sense of aesthetics. Not bad, huh?"
Fayt sighed. He missed Roger's company already.
"Ahhh… This is the life…" Roger sighed in pure bliss, chin deep in warm water and a wet towel on his head. Scents from the minerals in the water mingled with the Palmira petals floating on the surface.
Nel hadn't been kidding when she said he couldn't miss this place – it was huge. Even the tall, ivory double-doors with its gold-plated handles stood out amongst the other chambers in the castle. The bath was divided into two sections: the male and the female side, each half blessed with a gorgeous view which overlooked the royal city and the lush hills and meadows in the distance. Now, Roger wasn't sure about the female side (he admitted he had been curious, but his conduct as a 'real man' stopped him), but it probably wasn't that much different from the male's bathing chambers.
Pristine marble floors were polished so meticulously, one could see their face in it; the bath was like a giant pool, with a long bench to the side for people to place their clothes atop; and water flowed into the bath via a number of aesthetic fountains and sculptures. One of the sculptures was the goddess Irisa with her cup of ever-flowing water; another was the goddess Palmira holding up a basin overflowing with water and Palmira flowers. There were many more religious deities, but Roger wasn't familiar with the rest. Finally, looming over the entirety of the bath was a magnificent stain-glass window with the image of the Goddess Apris in its center. The strategic placement of the window against the sunlight made it seem like Apris was radiating a kind of divine glow, surrounded by her angels. He couldn't help but look at those angels a little longer.
'You're an angel, ya must be… Palmira sent me an angel…'
Roger frowned, crimsoning at the memory of his own words. Had he really told Fayt that? How embarrassing…
The faintest wisps of steam rose from the waters and Roger removed the towel from his head to pat it against his cheeks. Getting pretty warm… maybe he should – his eyes darted about the empty baths mischievously – Nah! He dunked his whole head underwater and resurfaced, flicking his ears to get any excess water out. Then, he started splashing around the giant bath, wetting the surrounding marble floors, giggling to himself. He brought his hands together and was just about to see if he could squirt some water high up into Palmira's basin, when an amused voice stopped him.
"Do you mind if I join you?"
Fayt padded across the now wet marble, his boots removed and his usual charming smile set upon his face. Roger swam towards the edge where the man stood.
"Come on in! The water's great," he grinned in return, only to stutter and regret his forwardness immediately when Fayt turned around to remove his shirt.
As the figure-hugging material slipped away to reveal more skin, Roger couldn't help but stare shamelessly at the swordsman in a mixture of desire and envy. A broad, muscular back that rippled as he removed his clothes; a trim waist; toned arms – not too big and not too skinny – All in all, Fayt, having just come into manhood a month ago, was really doing a pretty swell job maintaining that physique all young men and girls would kill for. He wondered if he too would be able to look this good one fine day… well, he'd have to get taller first and then -
And then the pants were gone, and all Roger's brain could process were the words, "Nice ass".
Blushing, he lowered his gaze, only to grow frustrated at himself for reacting that way. It wasn't like he hadn't seen a real man's body before… he was a guy himself after all. That, and he had already seen Fayt spar shirtless twice, and felt his strong heartbeat beneath that firm chest when they had kissed for the first time. Plus the guy was his boyfriend for crying out loud. He had rights. He could look. Fayt was his and he'd be seeing and touching that body of his a lot more anyway.
That thought unfortunately made Roger even more embarrassed and frustrated than before. He'd never viewed Fayt under such a promiscuous light before; he'd only ever fallen for the guy because of how cool, brave, witty and masterful he was in combat. He admired him…
"Canon ball!"
Fayt jumped into the bath, drenching the Menodix completely. Roger's ears flicked madly, his wet hair flat against his scalp. He glared at the older male.
"What are ya tryin' ta do, ya dummy?! Drown me?"
Fayt surfaced, laughing. "Sorry, I forgot you were – he raised his hand and lowered it into the water – you know."
"Grrrr! Just ya wait, mister high-and-mighty. I'm gonna be taller than ya someday!"
"I was just kidding." Fayt swam towards his little lover, trapping him against the wall as he lovingly gazed into the boy's fiery eyes. He dipped his head and bumped noses with Roger. "Besides, I like you just the way you are."
Roger huffed, but even he had to admit that he couldn't stay angry with Fayt for long. He placed his hands on the man's strong forearms, unable to stem the excited flutter of his heart. Was this really happening? Were they really… together now? Though he acted carefree about the whole thing, this was new to him. Sure, he liked to look at pretty girls, but he never actually considered dating anyone. Relationships were the last thing on his mind, especially when adventure took precedence. And then there was the war…
But here he was, dating an engineer from Greeton who he barely knew for more than three, four days. By no means was Fayt a girl – heck, the guy was as real a man as any man could be, and seeing as he was a real man himself, he figured them being together made perfect sense. But still…
"Hey, Fayt? Are ya sure 'bout this, 'bout us?"
"Roger, I've never been more sure about anything else in my whole life." He anxiously sought Roger's gaze. "Are you… are you having second thoughts?"
Roger shook his head frantically. "No! It's just…" he bit his lip, wondering how to phrase his words. "My people are sorta ok with this kinda stuff. In my village, guys gettin' together ain't uncommon… I'm just wonderin' how ya feel 'bout this, Fayt."
Fayt's expression softened into one of understanding. So, Roger was asking him how his people would regard their relationship, if it would seem wrong. Well, for one thing, if Professor Leon and Claude's secret affair suggested anything, it was that Earth, despite its sophistication and technological advancement, was still far less open to homosexual relationships. In addition, the idea of consummating with a humanoid was an increasingly rare practice, which would explain the sheer lack of humanoids at all apart from their own planet of origin. So, was there anything wrong with his and Roger's relationship? Well, he could think of many things: their gender for one thing, their race, how their relationship itself was clear violation of the UP3, not to mention their age difference… though Fayt figured that wouldn't be an issue after a few more years.
"How do I feel about this?" he echoed before cupping the back of Roger's neck to pull the boy flush against him. "Frankly, Roger, I don't give a damn."
His lips crashed onto his young lover's, massaging them expertly with his own. The skin was soft, yet slightly chapped, much like he remembered from their make out session the previous night. Gods, how he loved this boy.
Roger squirmed in his hold and moaned loudly, parting his lips to grant Fayt's eager tongue entrance. Granted, they were both new to relationships and neither had any substantial experience in the opposite or same sex before, but damn him if he was going to lose to Fayt just because the guy was older and taller!
Roger fought for dominance as he climbed onto Fayt's lap, using his weight to anchor the swordsman against the bath wall as he devoured his mouth like a starving man. Their previous night of kissing and experimenting had it benefits and it didn't take long for Roger to turn the tables and leave his boyfriend moaning in bliss when he drew his bottom lip into his mouth to suck on it fervently. His tail wagged excitedly underwater, pleased to have evoked such a response.
Meanwhile, Fayt felt like he was in heaven, euphoria clouding his mind. He was so far gone, he just let the humanoid take charge, enjoying the pleasure the boy was giving him. While Roger had his hands firmly planted on his shoulders, Fayt's began to wander beneath the water, sliding from the child's waist to run them over the soft curve of his ass, up and down his supple thighs, his back… anywhere he could touch, really. It was intoxicating. The smoothness of Roger's virgin flesh reminded him once again that the boy hadn't undergone puberty yet, and so it took everything in his willpower to hold back and not venture into more pleasurable territories, no matter how much he wanted to. He liked to think that he had at least some self-restraint…
Until he felt Roger's tail rubbing against him, and oh gods…
Fayt broke the kiss and practically shoved the confused Menodix away.
"That's enough. We should dry up and get dressed."
"But – "
"Roger, we're making out in front of religious idols. I don't think things can get any more inappropriate."
"But earlier ya said – " And that was when Roger looked down into the crystal-clear waters and felt his cheeks heat up. Oh… Oh.
A few seconds of silence later and Roger was back on Fayt's lap. The swordsman was absolutely mortified.
"What are you doing?" he hissed, fighting down the blush on his cheeks.
Didn't the Menodix know the sort of effect he had on him? The mischievous grin on the boy's face really wasn't helping and that damned tail was still rubbing against him, and…
"I can think of a way ta make things even more inappropriate…" Roger teased seductively. Fayt felt all calm rationality leave him at that instant.
Fuck it, he had permission.
He leaned down and bit hard into one of Roger's furry ears, making the boy cry out in both surprise and pain. Gods, it hurt – but then that hand rubbing up and down his tail felt so good, and when Fayt grasped its base and teasingly ran his fingers on the underside, the pain he felt earlier suddenly didn't matter anymore. Roger squirmed in his lover's hold, but every time he tried to jerk away, those teeth held him in place. He felt the sharp sting, but with Fayt increasing the pace of his stroking to a maddening level, he was powerless. Roger clung onto the man for dear life, trembling, panting, and moaning the swordsman's name in delirium. What was Fayt doing to him? He hadn't touched himself this way before… or in any way for that matter. Everywhere felt hot. So hot…
And then, the pleasure stopped.
Roger gazed up at Fayt through half-lidded eyes, cheeks thoroughly flushed. He keened in want.
"Wha… What was that…?" Whatever Fayt just did, felt amazing and he didn't want him to stop. He got a low chuckle in return.
"A lucky guess," Fayt breathed against his ear before shifting slightly. "And it looks like it did the trick."
Roger felt something hard and thick bump against him and to his mortification; he realized he was hard too. He squeaked in shock when he felt a pair of hands sneak under his ass to grasp hard at his cheeks.
Fayt lifted Roger out of the water effortlessly and placed him on the edge of the bath before surging up to claim the boy's delectable lips once more. What started out as an innocent lip lock soon turned passionate, as Fayt alternated between biting and sucking on the Menodix's already pouty, kiss-swollen lips. A strangled sound escaped the confines of Roger's throat as he fought against the older male and tried desperately to keep up at the same time. Fayt was being really rough with him and it hurt, but it also felt really good and he was so confused, and…
"Nngh!" He threw back his head and shut his eyes in absolute bliss when Fayt's mouth latched onto his neck, biting and sucking the area just above his pulse point.
Nails dug into his shoulders. Fayt pulled the gasping boy flush against him, so tight that Roger could feel the older male's heartbeat against his own flesh, their passion mingling as one. Fayt's lips trailed down Roger's body in open-mouthed kisses, loving how smooth and toned the boy's flesh felt under his ministrations. His tongue snaked out and flicked a small pink nipple, which earned him another one of the boy's delicious, addictive sounds.
"F-Fayt..."
"You wanted this," Fayt growled against his throat while Roger did nothing but murmur the words, "Please, please, please…" over and over. He didn't even know what he was begging for. All he knew was that he never felt anything quite like this before and he wanted, needed more.
Thankfully, Fayt knew what he wanted.
He kissed his way down the humanoid's sweet flesh, relishing in his lover's ceaseless moans. Roger arched his back in abandonment. By then, Fayt was halfway out the water while Roger lay on the marble floor in a boneless heap, grasping at Fayt's hair as the man went lower, shuddering, panting, begging over and over for more, for him to stop, for him to quit teasing him, for release…
Then, Fayt – cruel, merciless Fayt – blatantly avoided the humanoid's throbbing shaft to plant greedy kisses on his inner thighs. Roger wanted to scream and kick his stupid boyfriend in the head, but was caught off guard when Fayt suddenly grabbed his thighs, placed his legs over his shoulders, and lowered his face to lick teasingly at his tight, virgin hole. Roger's eyes flew open and he immediately covered his mouth with his hand, face burning from humiliation. Wha… What the heck was the guy doing?! It felt weird… and it made him feel dirty… But when Fayt's tongue penetrated the tight ring, Roger allowed himself an unmanly squeak, toes curling from the pleasure. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and every inch of him felt so hot as he lay pliant and shuddering while Fayt had his way with him.
Roger felt the wet muscle swirl around his tight hole, breath hitching every time it licked at nudged at his entrance. Thrust in and out. Moved up to trail teasingly over his tight little balls. Descended once more to resume eating him out… And then, with one final slurp, Fayt pulled away to smirk down at the twitching mass of fur and hot flesh beneath him.
"You ready?" he whispered seductively as he lazily stroked Roger's smooth chest.
Roger's eyes darted down to his lover's impressive length in panic. He wasn't stupid; he knew what came next. Those books he and his friends had sneaked away with when they were younger, taught him as much. But…
"N-No way! Ya won't fit!"
Fayt placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt.
"Roger, what do you take me for? A pervert?"
Roger in fact wanted to accuse his boyfriend that yes he was indeed a pervert. So what if the swordsman was handsome and sweet on the surface? Beneath all that charm, Fayt was nothing but a big pervert… who apparently had a thing for his ears and tail, now that he thought about it. However, before he could let Fayt have a piece of his mind, the man grabbed his tail and tugged it in a way that drove him crazy with want. All intelligible words died on Roger's lips. Fayt let out a dark chuckle, voice dripping with desire.
"I have something else in mind…" He guided the Menodix's tail to nudge its tip at his sweet, willing hole. "Something we will both enjoy very much…"
And then something exploded behind his vision when Roger felt his own tail enter him.
Oh God...
The wriggling appendage nudged something deep inside him, something that made sparks dance before his eyes. Fayt didn't even need to do any work. The tail just kept going on its own, thrusting and twisting mercilessly, fucking the young humanoid senseless. Roger's eyes rolled with pleasure. Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth. So good, so good... and with his own tail...
Fayt grinned evilly. "Who's the pervert now?"
Roger's resolve crumbled. He shut his eyes and moaned in rapture, uncaring if anyone else heard him or if the stone goddesses around them sent him to hell for this.
"We've tried everything, but we just can't seem to get it to – "
The door to the Runological Weapons Laboratory slammed open and four heads turned to face the source of the disturbance. Roger stood at the entranceway with a sour expression on his face, his clothes disheveled as if they had been thrown on hurriedly… which pretty much had been the case really. Fayt had left him in the palace baths to bask in the afterglow of what was probably the best make out session of his young humanoid life, while he sashayed out of the room smug and thoroughly satisfied. That perverted jerk.
Roger took a step into the lab and winced. His ass hurt like hell.
"Glad you could finally join us, tiny," said Cliff with a smirk. "We were wondering when you'd show up."
Discretely, the Menodix shot a none-too-innocent Fayt an annoyed glare, but soon dropped it. He'd give his boyfriend a piece of his mind later.
"Lost track of time. My bad." He took his place amongst the group. "So… what's up?"
"Roger, this is Dion Landers," Nel introduced. "He's Chief Researcher of the Runological Weapons Development for Aquaria."
A bespectacled young man with shoulder-length black hair stepped forward and bowed in greeting. Like all runologists in the kingdom, he had on their customary black-and-white robes.
"It is my pleasure to meet you, young Huxley." He straightened up with a polite smile. "I am Dion and as I have told your friends earlier, I am honored to work with you and the Greeton engineers."
"Howdy!"
This man seemed really nice, rather effeminate too. He looked around Fayt's age and it was a wonder how someone so young landed himself such a top-level position in Aquarian society. Also, Roger couldn't help but get this nagging feeling that he had seen him before. Come to think of it, this Dion guy sort of resembled that little boy in a few of Ameena's pictures… Nah! Those were painted in Airyglyph. It was probably a coincidence.
"Shall we get started then?" Dion indicated at the prototype – a large, steel contraption resembling a canon, except more sophisticated in its design. Bending down, he removed the panel, which concealed the mechanism's interior.
"As I was saying, we can't seem to get the weapon running for more than three seconds. As soon as we power her up – he snapped his fingers – shut down."
"I see…"
Fayt crouched down and scrutinized the design construct. Everything seemed fine… the weapon wasn't that different from most electronic devices on Earth really. In fact, he was quite impressed with such levels of technology considering the civilization level of this planet. It didn't take him long to pinpoint the issue.
"Hey, Cliff. Look at this."
The blonde peered over Fayt's shoulder and frowned. "There's your problem – he gestured – your conductor's fried."
Dion pushed his glasses up his nose nervously. "Y-Yes, it has always resulted that way. We believe it's due to an overlook in the weapon's design."
"The design's fine, just your conductor." Fayt rose to his feet to regard the researcher. "What's it made of?"
"Aluminum."
Cliff shook his head. "There we go."
"Have you tried using copper?"
Dion blinked slowly. "Copper…? Of course! Copper would make the perfect conductor."
"Copper alone ain't gonna cut it, guys," said Roger, who was nosing through the weapon's interior. Absently, he heard Dion commenting that they "never could find anyone small enough to pilot the thing" but chose to ignore it because he was going to grow bigger one day, dammit!
"I'm guessin' yer runology's sorta like our magic, and that's a natural form of energy – it's wild." He pointed at a few valves that had corroded. "With a whole lota energy passin' through this thing at one go, it'll still overheat the weapon without a proper coolin' system, good conductor or no."
He folded his arms and beamed at them proudly. "I'm in the middle of designin' a portable canon myself, so I know."
Fayt and Nel stared at the child, wholly impressed. Even Cliff had on a rare look of approval on his face. Though that portable canon of his sounded quite worrisome… and dangerous… and insane…
"Looks like someone out-geeked you," whispered Cliff into Fayt's ear.
"Shut up."
"That does make a lot of sense!" marveled Dion, eyes shining. Clearly the advices offered by these three men were nothing short of invaluable. "Roger, was it?"
"The one and only!"
"I would like to look at your blueprints for that 'portable canon' of yours. Perhaps we could improve on the cooling system for the runological weapons based on your designs."
Nel voiced her approval. "Well enough," then she turned to Fayt and Cliff. "The Kirlsa mines are rich in its supply of copper. We can gather a team and extract about a ton of copper ores from there."
"Sounds like a plan."
"But," she cautioned, "Since our escape from Kirlsa, Airyglyph has beefed up security around those parts – more guards, more weapons, eyes and ears everywhere."
"A welcome party! That's more like it."
Nel shot Cliff an exasperated stare. She still questioned what she saw in this guy till this moment. Then again, a little positivity went a long way. Though she had a feeling Cliff's enthusiasm was bordering on suicidal.
"I'm comin' too!"
Three pairs of eyes looked down to the Menodix, who had already unsheathed his axe in his excitement. Fayt gave him a worried stare as he lowered himself to the boy's level.
"Roger, didn't you hear Nel? There are more soldiers patrolling the area." He shook his head. "No can do. You're staying here to help Dion. Your ears and tail are dead giveaways and your safety is my priority."
"But – "
Fayt grabbed Roger's chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted it up so that he could meet the boy's stare.
"I almost lost you once and I won't let it happen again. Stay here where I know you'll be safe – please."
That was when Roger realized things were different now. Fayt cared deeply for him and now that they had accepted each other as boyfriends, they had to draw the line of danger at some point. Fayt had practically tortured himself with self-loathing after he had failed to protect him back at the Kirlsa Training Facility. He wasn't going to do that to his boyfriend again. Plus there were benefits to splitting the work – they would be more productive if he stayed to help Dion, while the rest went to gather the raw materials.
He gave in with a sigh.
"Fine, ya win." He went on tiptoe to give his boyfriend a peck on the lips. "Just promise ta come back alive, or I swear I'm gonna dance on yer grave."
Fayt chuckled. "Cross my heart."
Author's note:
Two Fayt/Roger moments in a row? I'm on a roll! So, for all you Fayt/Roger shippers out there, this one's for you! I hope the sexual scene was alright for you guys (hmm define 'alright'). It was my first time writing something like that, so hopefully it was a decent attempt. Also, if you guys were wondering where I got the 'portable canon' reference from, it's Roger's in-game "Shield and Canon" attack skill.
Important! I'll be leaving the country for a while and as such, I wouldn't be able to stick to my 1-2 weeks update schedule. I can't promise when you can expect the next chapter, but do click on the 'follow story' button if you wish to be notified as soon as I do update. If you've enjoyed what you've read so far, or feel that there are certain things I can improve on, don't hesitate to pop in a review. I love receiving feedback and I love reading what you guys have to say, even if it's something simple like a pat on the back.
Thank you for your kind attention and Au Revoir!
