The Gift of Foreboding
It's strange how quickly life seems to return to normal after events of great magnitude.
The afternoon sun streamed in through the windows at the back of the classroom, taunting its inhabitants with tantalizing warmth. In the second row was Maka, ever the diligent student, who was listening with rapt attention while to her left Soul dozed with eyes half-lidded, the epitome of disinterest. Black*Star grinned maniacally from the row behind them, barely stifling his chuckles as he drew a crude depiction of Excalibur with his snout caught in a bear-trap. Tsubaki looked on with the slightest smile, silently rejoicing that her Meister had found a quiet way to entertain himself. Down in the front row was Patty, happily constructing an origami giraffe, while a seat away Liz was hard at work painting her nails. Between them sat Kid, whose eye twitched as he tried to will the twenty-three on Sid's jersey to twist into an eighty-eight with little success.
Roland quietly surveyed the scene from his seat in the third row, hands behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. Despite his relaxed posture he was really quite uncomfortable. His right arm was still numb from the local anesthetic Nygus had used when she'd stitched up the gash Marcus had left him with as a reminder of their duel at the Ivory Tower Hotel. Nygus had jokingly chided him that if he made any more visits to the Dispensary he would end up looking like her, and with his entire chest bound in white bandages he was already on the right track.
But it looked like he wasn't the only one who'd made a recent trip to the Dispensary. One row down and several seats to the left sat Isabelle, with a bandage wound around her forehead, no doubt a trophy from the Battle for BREW. Jackson slouched next to her, eyes glazed over, aloof and disheveled. Some distance away from them sat Kyla, her clothes and dark blue hair pristine as always, looking almost smug in her recently acquired tan.
Beside her Sonya was fussing with a small piece of paper. Roland watched with a curious look as she folded it and passed it to Ox who, upon giving the paper a once over, passed it on to his partner Harvar. The note continued down the row in this fashion and eventually found its way to Kim, who leaned back in her seat to deposit it on Roland's desk with a smirk.
"Special Delivery."
Alexa gave her partner a curious look as he thumbed the folded paper open. He read it once and stole a glance at Sonya, who was nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt, before again turning his eyes to the neat script.
Roland-
Find me after class.
-Sonya
Note still pinched between his fingers, Roland returned his hands to their place behind his head. Though message was cryptic in its simplicity alone, it was the fact that he'd received it in the first place that piqued his interest. Sonya wasn't one to make advances. But before he could ponder this recent development any further Sid clapped his hands together and turned to face the class.
"And that's why I always bring morphine and a fire-extinguisher to faculty meetings." Crossing his arms over his chest he cast a punitive glance at his audience, daring a response. "Any questions?" At the stunned silence that followed he smiled. "Good. Class dismissed."
Roland lost sight of Sonya in the crush of students that carried him out of the classroom and into the hall. He stood for a moment, lost, before he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. It was Alexa.
"Hey, I need to get a book from the library. Wanna tag along?" Her hopeful look made him grimace.
"Sorry, I have to go find Sonya."
"Oh." Her eyes fell. "Well, okay. I guess I'll see you later then?"
He offered her a reassuring smile. "Count on it."
The swordsman sighed as his blade moved off down the hall, waving half-heartedly over her shoulder. Not the best note to start the evening on. Turning his attention back to the matter at hand he scanned the crowded hallway for Sonya, catching a glimpse of her at the far end of the hall. But as he approached she slipped around the corner and out of sight.
"Sonya?" He reached the spot where she'd stood. "Where'd you go?"
Stepping around the bend in the hall Roland saw the Demon Hoop walking briskly in the opposite direction, wavy brown hair bobbing with every step.
"Sonya! Over here!" To his surprise, Sonya broke into a run, the sound of tennis shoes slapping the floor her only response to Roland's call. "Hey, wait up!"
He started after her, running to catch up as the brunette tore down the hall and darted into an adjacent passage. The motion of his arms as he ran was pulling uncomfortably at his stitches, the countless bandages wrapped around his scarred torso felt as if they were restricting his breathing. Great day for a run, don't you think? His conscious chirped, eliciting a haggard groan from the swordsman. Girls can be such drama queens some times.
They wound aimlessly through the innumerable hallways of the academy, Sonya holding the barest lead on the battered Meister. Oblivious to the inquisitive and angry looks they received from both students and faculty the pursuit continued unabated. But soon the crowds in the hall began to thin and the two were left to the chase, their ragged breaths and piercing footfalls resounding in the well-lit corridors.
Then, suddenly and without warning, Sonya stopped running and ducked into an alcove along the wall. Roland slowed, his run becoming a jog and then a walk as he approached the Demon Hoop's hiding place.
Sonya stood towards the back of the alcove, panting with her arms swaying limply at her sides, beads of sweat clinging to her forehead. Her gaze followed the swordsman with uncharacteristic intensity as he approached, speaking between breaths.
"What was all that for?" As if his voice had suddenly snapped her from a dream her eyes fled from his and found their place at her feet, her cheeks taking on a familiar tint.
"I… I just wanted to know."
He placed a hand on her arm. "Know what?" Something in his gut tightened when she looked back up at him.
"If you'd come after me too."
Teal eyes half-lidded, Sonya stood on her tip-toes to wind her arms around his neck. Caramel eyes widened in shock but a hand found its place at the small of her back, almost by instinct, as Roland drew her close and dipped his face to hers. The Demon Hoop's sweet breath caressed his face for only a moment before he sealed her mouth with his. She whimpered into his lips, their pulses dancing wildly against each other through the skin that separated them.
The ache of his wounds seemed distant. So too did the sound of a closing door and approaching footsteps. The intruder probably would've passed them by without a glance if it weren't for a muffled moan from Sonya, which stopped them dead in their tracks.
"Roland?" The pair separated, hearts dropping in synch as they turned.
There stood Alexa, face almost as red as her hair, a hard-cover copy of The Terror hanging from her hand. Only then did Roland realize that they were barely ten feet from the open double-doors that led into the Library. Smooth.
Alexa swallowed, giving a sheepish laugh as she turned her eyes to the ground. "Sorry to interrupt." And before another word could be spoken she was gone, leaving only an awkward silence in her wake.
Sonya pressed her forehead to Roland's chest, mumbling into his shirt. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." He pushed her gently away, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear.
"I still feel bad about it though." She gave him an earnest look. "Go be with her. I've had enough of you for today."
He smiled and planted a soft kiss on the top of her head.
"Thank you."
"Well, this sucks."
Spirit and Death were sitting on cushions at either end of the Shinigami's tea table, which bore a striking resemblance to his mask. Little wisps of steam curled up from their tea cups while one of the Death Room's many stylized clouds crept along near the table's edge. Death's mirror towered over them, commanding an imposing view of the proceedings.
The masked deity gave his Weapon a curious look. "How's that?"
"Let's see…" The Death Scythe leaned back on his hands, staring at the sky-blue ceiling.
"The Kishin Asura has been released, and we have no idea where he is. Arachne beat us at the Lost Island and has BREW, so now Arachnophobia is harassing our regional bases in Africa and Eastern Europe." Death quietly sipped his tea as Spirit continued his rant, voice rising in volume. "Stein has gone not only insane, but AWOL, and kidnapped Marie! The Death Scythes in charge of South America and Africa have yet to return our calls, and as if that wasn't enough-!" He hiccupped, his eyes glimmering with tears. "Maka still hates me!"
Death gave a little sigh as Spirit collapsed into hysterical sobs, setting his tea cup back on its dish with blocky white hands that were much more dexterous than would seem possible. "While that might be the case, you're only looking at part of the picture."
"W-what do you mean?" Spirit asked, raising his head to drag his sleeve across his runny nose.
"It's true that, for the time being, Arachnophobia holds the upper hand and Asura still eludes us. But Raena's efforts to complete her war machine have been hamstringed by the successful capture of the Omni-Resonator and the Eye of Vengeance. Roland and his friends are all proving to be quite capable."
The Death Scythe huffed a sigh. "I guess."
"Oh stop being such a sour-puss Spirit!" The Weapon in question groaned and fell onto his back with a muffled thud as the Death God continued. "Anyway, I'm glad that Roland and Alexa managed to work things out and discover their Resonance Technique."
"Don't you think it's strange that Alexa's Resonance Technique is so similar to her older sister's?" Spirit asked, following a puffy white cloud across the ceiling with a dull look.
"It's not uncommon for siblings to share similar Resonance Techniques. But most of the time they also have identical Weapon forms, such as Liz and Patty. This is obviously not the case with Alexa and Claire." Death shrugged. "Who knows? I sure won't be losing any sleep over it."
A comfortable silence followed, Death quietly sipping his tea while his Weapon stared idly up through one of the Death Room's uppermost windows at a darkening sky. While the Shinigami shared the Death Scythe's concern about the worsening situation with Arachnophobia, he couldn't allow it to dominate his thoughts. As the Grim Reaper he had to manage the security of the entire world from his room atop the DWMA, a task that required that he always appreciate the 'bigger picture'. And as pressing as the threat of Arachnophobia may have been, it was still only a part of that 'bigger picture'.
"Wasn't Madeline supposed to make her report today?"
Death jumped a little, his train of thought interrupted, and took a moment to clear his throat before speaking.
"Yes, you missed it. There's an eleven hour difference between Death City and Cairo, so her call came very early this morning." Spirit levered himself back into a sitting position, giving his Meister an expectant look. "She's confirmed that Victor is the Black Knight, and now she's searching for Raena's hideout."
"Did she find out why Victor is involved in all this? I remember him being a little zealous as a student, but he was always so uptight about logic and reason, I have trouble imagining him falling to Madness."
"You have to keep in mind that Madness isn't necessarily manifested as an irrational state of mind. If you're trying to protect something you love, and you feel that you aren't strong enough to do so, wouldn't becoming stronger by any means seem a logical and appealing course of action?"
He let Spirit ponder that for a moment before continuing. The conversation was about to become very philosophical.
"The conflict we often are faced with when making decisions with far-reaching consequences is one of ethics. The difficulty of these choices comes from the delicate balance that must be struck between what is morally right or wrong. While the desired outcome may be more easily achieved through means that would require us to sacrifice our moral integrity, trying to reach that same outcome through 'moral' methods might be far more difficult or even impossible."
Spirit scratched his head in confusion. "I'm sorry Lord Death, but I don't follow. What does this have to do with whether or not Victor is crazy?"
Death steepled his rectangular fingers. "I'm not saying that he is. I'm not even saying that Madness is synonymous with insanity. All I'm saying is that I believe Victor was faced with a choice that he couldn't reconcile with morality, so he abandoned it for a code dictated only by unadulterated reason."
Spirit nodded slowly. "Okay, but that still doesn't answer my original question; why is Victor working with witches?"
Death answered, his voice darkening.
"The Tibet Incident."
There were several seconds of shocked silence before the Death Scythe spoke. "So… what you're saying is-"
"He won't let Raena use this construct, DEADE, for the purpose she intended. Instead he'll use it to finish what, seven-hundred years ago, I wouldn't. And there isn't a Butcher's Bill he's not willing to pay."
Spirit swallowed hard, his eyes falling to the contents of his still steaming cup of tea.
"I'm overwhelmed just figuring out how to deal with my Maka. I don't know how you keep track of all this stuff." He said glumly.
"That's why I'm the Grim Reaper and you're my Weapon." The eyes of Death's mask smiled as he patted the scythe on the head. "Don't worry about it too much. As long as we have the Magic Tools Victor can't go forward with his plan and Raena will only pose a marginal threat."
Spirit gave the deity a weak smile. "You're right as always." Second thoughts rebounded within the confines of his skull.
At least, I hope so.
The overcast sky stretched over Death City and threatened rain as Roland wound his way through the cobblestone streets. Despite all his earlier running the swordsman walked with purpose, his caramel eyes clear and his steps sure.
Though he and Alexa had managed to overcome their resonance troubles Roland still felt they needed to clear the air of any lingering resentments. They hadn't really talked about what had happened during the mission in Egypt, and Roland feared that if they didn't confront the root of the issue their wavelengths would relapse into mutual rejection. He knew that an awkward conversation was inevitable.
First he had to locate his wayward Weapon. Assuming that she had gone to the apartment he'd set a course for home, navigating the city's winding streets at a prodigious stride. But his progress was suddenly interrupted when he turned a corner and ran smack into a grocery bag toting pedestrian.
The petite girl practically bounced off him and probably would've fallen and spilt the contents of her bag had Roland not caught her by the elbows and kept her upright.
"Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going." He apologized sheepishly.
"No worries! I was kind of spacing out myself." Maka adjusted the grocery bag in her arms, emerald eyes smiling. "Hey, today's the first day I've seen you at school in a while. Where've you been?"
"Um…" Roland scratched his head, unsure how much he was allowed to tell the Scythe Meister about recent events. Death had never explicitly bound them to silence, but he thought it might be prudent to withhold the whole truth from his classmate. "I got hurt on a mission in Ireland, so Lord Death gave me some time off to recover."
"He's pretty considerate for a god of death, huh?"
"That's for sure." Roland nodded. "Anyway, sorry for almost knocking you over. I guess I'll see you around?"
Maka's pig tails bobbed as she returned the nod. "Yeah, sure-"
"Hey!" Both turned as Jackson jogged up to the pair. He rested his hands against his knees, panting heavily, speaking between breaths. "Roland! I've been looking all over for you!"
"What? Why?"
Jackson darted forward, grabbing Roland by the shoulders with wild eyes. "I need your advice on a very delicate matter."
"Heheh… well in that case," Maka began, trying to step around the boys. "I'll just see you guys later?"
"Wait!" Jackson halted her with an outstretched hand and a calculating look. "I could use an opinion from a third party. You stay put."
Her eye twitched in annoyance. The grocery bag occupying her arms spared the Demon Axe some serious head trauma. "Okay..."
"What's this all about Jackson?"
He hesitated, suddenly seeming to reconsider whether or not he really wanted to divulge his secret. His silence dragged on for several seconds before Maka, not eager to be kept from her studies, spoke.
"Spit it out alre-!"
"Isabelle kissed me during the battle for Lost Island and I have no idea what I should do." Jackson blurted, interrupting Maka for the second time that day. "Roland, you have a girlfriend, and Maka you…well…are a girl, so I thought you guys might be able to help."
Everyone seemed to blush in sync.
"Was it a…um…romantic kiss?" Maka sputtered, trying to shake of the flush that the thought of a Weapon/Meister romance brought to her cheeks. "Not as in a romantic situation, but… er… I mean was the kiss itself romantic?"
"Not really, I don't know!"
"Maybe it would be best if you just talked to her about it." Roland suggested.
"Are you crazy? She'd snap me in half like a twig if I brought it up!"
The swordsman rolled his eyes. "Somehow I doubt that."
"I think it's important that you know how you feel about her before confronting her about the kiss." Maka said firmly. "At least, if I was in her position, and I had kissed my Weapon out of the blue… I mean…" The blush returned as the boys gave her a puzzled look.
"Maka, what are you talking about?" Jackson queried, confused.
"N-nothing!" She said, flustered. "Look, Jackson, do you like Isabelle as more than a friend or Meister?"
"I…I guess I…um…." The Demon Axe trailed off. Roland and Maka waited expectantly for his answer, practically leaning forward in anticipation. "Oh! Would you look at the time!" Jackson glanced at his naked wrist, throwing the other two students a forced smile. "I just remembered; I have to go water the fish! See you guys later!"
Before they could interject he dashed away, disappearing around a corner as Maka gave a frustrated sigh.
"Jeez, what an idiot."
All was quiet in the sanctum of Raena's hidden keep. The eerie light of the human souls that hung gently in the air painted the stone walls with their mute color, but their chalky blue glow was distorted by the virulent red that drifted up from the indecipherable runes scrawled in concentric circles across the cold floor. At the chamber's center was an altar, a rectangular block of granite devoid of any markings, and laid out upon this austere shrine was inky form of DEADE.
The Doom Engine's chest rose and fell as it drew in breath from invisible airways, its featureless face turned to the ceiling in silence.
Beyond the runic circles and flush against the wall towered a high-backed seat, wrought from the same dark stone as the rest of the chamber. The throne was as plain as the altar that stood before it, featureless and angular, hardly a comfortable place to sit. But reclined in its clutches amidst her deep purple robes was Raena. The Raven Witch was leaning forward, fingers steepled, her elbows set against the squared armrests of her throne. Her eyes followed her Doom Engine's gently rising chest with the intensity of a scientist waiting for two volatile chemicals to react, as if she expected it to jump up from its slumber and tear the castle down around it.
It wouldn't, and she knew this. But if it had she wouldn't have been especially displeased, and by no means disappointed.
Despite Lila's hefty contributions DEADE was the brain child of the Raena alone. The soul of an especially obedient, complacent, and self-deprecating human, an industrial worker who had lived alone on the outskirts of Moscow, served as the foundation for the entire machine. The Raven Witch had set Lila to her labors at once; the Arithmetic Magic that would turn the soul of that forgotten man into a living computer would be her contribution to the salvation of her race.
The man's remains were cast out for the ravens to pick clean; DEADE's body would have to be built from scratch. And it was as Raena and Lila prepared to assemble the Doom Engine's form that they were approached by Victor.
They were by no means oblivious to his identity. Those who succeed in creating a Death Scythe earn close attention from the witches they've proven themselves a threat to. Being their most dangerous adversaries, this attention often is manifested in assassinations, and such an end was duly planned for Victor and two fellow Death Scythe Meisters. The group of witches tasked with their murder by the Witch Queen Mabaa followed the trio to Tibet before inexplicably losing their quarry.
For an entire month the assassins combed the icy country to no avail, only to receive a tip that the trio had been spotted catching a flight to Kyoto from a city on Russia's easternmost seaboard. Confounded as to how they'd gone from Tibet to Siberia without being noticed the witches rushed to intercept the three before they could escape across the Pacific and back to the safety of Death City.
The witch who would relate the subsequent ambush to her sisters at the Witch's Mass described them as… changed. Outwardly identical to their previous selves, their souls had been twisted into abominable, unnatural things. Even their minds had become cruel amalgamations of two that were now one. But this terrible price did not come without its boons.
Mabaa had charged seven witches with the assassination of three Meisters and their Death Scythes. One returned.
Raena shifted imperceptibly in her seat. She remembered. She remembered too well the frenzied whispers, the hand wringing. The fear. Witches fluttering about like distressed squawking birds, hens cast into disarray after an eagle snatches one of their flock in life-stealing talons. It churned her insides like sour milk, rose into the back of her mouth like bile. Six witches dead and before a reprisal could be mounted their prey scattered, two disappearing entirely and one taking refuge within Shibusen's West Europe Branch.
And then Victor appeared at her doorstep. Haunting and handsome, man and monster, an enemy. A sword whose name had been Gregory towered silently beside him. That same blade who'd claimed the souls of her sisters; now pledged to her in allegiance.
Her response had been a suit of enchanted armor, black as raven's wings, to protect him, to mark him as hers. Her vassal. Her Knight.
So with their ebon guardian standing watch, DEADE was given shape. Bone, sinew, muscle, flesh; woven together and wrapped tight round ashen bones. Neurons, nerves, synapses; all delicately laid and aligned by steady hands. Two hearts, three lungs, a scant digestive tract, a brain with Lila's magic carved across its folds. Blood of enchanted ambrosia coursed through valves and veins, ensuring that no cell was denied its drought of mythic power.
The procedure had been a smashing success. Never since the Heretic Witch Arachne's conception of the first Demon Weapon had such a formidable tool been marshaled against Death. But DEADE was just a machine. Death was a god. So something was needed to level the field.
Much to Raena's chagrin both of those objects were now locked away in Shinigami's personal vault. In other words, completely out of reach for any witch that might want them. But nonetheless a smile found its way to her lips, a plan already crystallizing in her mind's eye.
A gentle whir rose from DEADE's prostrate form and Raena sank deeper into her angular throne with a contented murmur.
"Soon."
The air trembled with the peel of thunder. Rain that had minutes before been a moist breeze now swaddled Death City in soaking sheets. Pedestrians fled from the slick cobblestone streets, the setting sun hidden behind tumultuous clouds. Even the gaudy Death Weapon Meister Academy seemed dulled, its three immense candles subdued motes of fire in the downpour.
But Alexa was safe from the deluge, curled up in one of the apartment's plush armchairs with a book resting open faced in her lap. She was barely a dozen pages into the thick tome but it had already lost her interest. Instead her head rested against her shoulder, an arm stretching out over empty space with her middle and index fingers splayed into a slight V. It wasn't that the book was boring; it was more that a recent discovery had proven far more interesting.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as a brilliant ribbon of electricity arced between her knuckles, rippling across the space that separated her fingers and filling the air with its crackling buzz. It was amazing; the thrill of energy playing along the cords of her arm and fingers, watching the shining string spring from her skin like some jagged serpent before clamping its jaws on the opposite knuckle. It would hang there like a squirming golden cobweb for a few moments before Alexa cut the power and watched the arc blink from existence.
"I didn't know that you could do that."
With considerable effort Alexa acknowledged her Meister with only a casual shrug. Why didn't I hear him come in? How long has he been standing there?
"Neither did I. It only started happening recently." She wondered if she could hurl a lightning bolt at him, or at least give him an unpleasant shock.
The sword stole a glance at Roland as heavy steps carried him to the chair across from hers. He must've arrived with the rain; his hair was dripping with moisture and his olive green T-shirt was several shades too dark.
"Maybe achieving Soul Resonance allowed you access to latent elemental abilities. Like Harvar, he's a …" Even from behind rain splattered glasses he could make out her disinterested look. They both watched in silence as another rivulet of electricity crawled across her outstretched fingers.
"It's a good book you know."
Alexa gave him a quizzical look. "What?"
"The Terror." He gestured to the open book in her lap. "It's an interesting story. The whole thing's an allegory for the conflict between western civilization and nature, but it's really fascinating."
She grunted in agreement, turning her eyes back to the neglected text. "Yeah, it's good so far. I just wish they'd describe the monster already." Her Meister chuckled.
"That's the point. The creature is difficult to distinguish from its environment, so the enmity the ship's crew holds for one is also felt by the other. That's why people are afraid of wild places." They fell into thoughtful quiet for a moment as Alexa mulled over what he'd said.
"I was just wondering why you went to the library for it. We have a copy here in the apartment."
"I know."
His brows furrowed in confusion. "Then why-?"
"Those are the ones your dad gave you. They aren't mine to read."
"Alexa, you…" He paused, shaking his head and standing. "Wait here for a second."
The Demon Sword watched with vague interest as her Meister disappeared into the hall that led to their rooms. A few seconds later he emerged, a small wooden box held reverently with both hands. Curious blue eyes followed the swordsmen as he approached and offered it to his blade.
"Here. This is for you."
After a moment's hesitation she gingerly accepted the offering, reaching out to take hold of the box. It was almost weightless in her hands, a couple of inches shy of a foot long and maybe four inches wide. Plain brass hinges and a simple latch held the lid in place, and overall the little rectangular box had an unassuming appearance. But lovingly carved across its face were three words that made the Demon Sword look up at her Meister with uncertainty.
-For my Son-
"Roland, I don't think-"
"Open it."
The words were barely an uttered whisper but the quiet conviction behind them forced her to oblige. With a flick of her wrist the latch came undone, the lid yawning open effortlessly at the slightest brush of her fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as the box revealed its contents, her voice hushed with awe.
"Oh my god, they're beautiful." She sought the swordsman's eyes with her own, confusion the most prominent of the brimming emotions evident on her face. "Why are you showing me these?"
"My father gave those to me when I was eight years old. Apparently they were a souvenir from his last mission for Shibusen." Roland squatted, balancing on the balls of his feet with his elbows resting on his knees. "I want you to have them."
"Roland I…" Alexa stuttered, at a loss for words. Luckily for her Roland was prepared to fill the void with words of his own.
"I'm sorry Alexa. I never meant to push you away or make you feel that I didn't care about you. Because I do care about you. I care deeply, not only because you're my partner but because you're my friend. And don't think for a second that my relationship with Sonya changes any of that. It doesn't matter how close I get to her or anyone else for that matter. You're my Weapon, probably the only one I can wield, but still the only one I want to wield."
He shot to his feet, eyes bright, speaking with newfound vigor as Alexa looked on in stunned silence.
"Because you are my other half! Without you I'm just me, Roland, the kid with glasses who likes to read and thinks too much. But with you by my side, in my hands, I can do great things. I can fight, I can protect the things I care about, and I can feel your soul. Alone I am just a Meister and you are just a Weapon, alone I'm just a boy and you're just a girl. But together, together-!"
Alexa squeaked as Roland took hold of her shoulders and brought his face within inches of hers, their breath mixing as little droplets of rain water fell from his hair to her face in the moment of quiet before he spoke again, his voice now subdued.
"...together we are a warrior."
The Demon Sword held her breath. This wasn't the Roland she had grown accustomed to, the Roland whose words only came in even tones, who never misspoke, who radiated calm and always thought things through.
This Roland was different. She remembered catching a glimpse of him in angry eyes when the swordsman had forced her out of his soulscape. The same one who had pursued her across the desert without hesitation or a second thought. This was the Roland of passion and impulse who was at once frightening and intriguing, like lightning trapped in a jar, and she feared that if she so much as cracked the lid he would break free and consume her.
So her eyes fell from his and sought refuge in the box that lay open in her hands. Once again she found herself marveling at its contents.
The box's interior was lined with rich red velvet, delicately cushioning the four feathers that were laid out side by side and end to end. Two were the most brilliant shade of blue she'd ever seen, splinters of a cloudless summer sky. The other two were a deep, vibrant green, like the sun bleached canopy of a lush rainforest. Against the dull red of the velvet the feathers looked absolutely tropical, as if they'd been plucked from the wings of some colorful equatorial bird.
And they were hers. A gift from her Meister.
She looked up at Roland, cheeks heating at his proximity. His face still hovered a few scarce inches from hers, his look expectant as he awaited a response. Coughing a little to mask her awkwardness, her voice was much less confident than she would've liked.
"I… uh…" She smiled sheepishly. "I got you a new trench coat." Roland blinked, taken aback. "Cause I saw your old one was kinda tattered… and stuff."
"Thank you Alexa." He clapped her on the shoulder and stood, his smile genuine. "Take care of those feathers for me, all right?"
"Yeah, for sure!" He was backing away, fading into the hall that led to their rooms, still smiling. And for all the happiness welling up inside her all she could do was smile back. I am his other half.
"Thank you Roland."
A/N: Alexa and Roland make up at long last. Huzzah for reconciliation. But the celebration looks like it will be short lived cause Raena's got a plan in the oven. But once again the question is raised; what happened in Tibet?
Next chapter, action! Canon character appearances! And disco?
Give me a few weeks to get this next chapter done. I'm in the middle of tech for a school play, and the day before yesterday some people dun went and goofed so we spent an entire workcall fixing their flats. Carpentry is hella fun. But enough of that.
Reviews are appreciated. And coveted.
A huge shout-out to all the awesome badasses who've already reviewed. You guys are the coal that makes this train roll.
-TheManInTheHat
