A/N: SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! LOVE THIS EPISODE SO MUCH! ALSO IT'S THE LAST ONE BEFORE THE MAJOR PLOT TWIST! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! If you can't tell, I am excited by this. So let's begin, shall we? Bold-italics indicate a flashback. Here we go!
Disclaimer: This series. I do not own it. Princess Tutu belongs to people who are not me. That is all.
Chapter 21: Remembrance
A week had passed since the entire love letter incident and matters had only continued to deteriorate with the infected prince. His behavior had grown increasingly erratic; enough so that people not involved with the story were starting to notice something was off. Mr. Katze had been the first, but the anthropomorphic feline had assumed, as usual, that it was related to love in some way. Yet now other students were noticing as well which had caused them to stop shunning Fakir as much. The growing rumor was that the whole reason that the young knight had gotten in trouble in the first place was because he had noticed something off about his friend, had confronted the other teen over it, the white-haired teen then deliberately provoked him, and finally his temper had just snapped. It still didn't excuse shoving the shorter teen out the window, but they now felt sorry for him more than anything.
Needless to say, this annoyed the dark-haired young man. He didn't need their pity! Ahiru had pointed out that, at least if they were noticing something off, chances were it would be harder for him to seduce his victims. They would be warier about being approached. He couldn't deny that this was true. Anything that cut down on the Raven Prince's efforts to steal young women's hearts was welcome as far as he was concerned. Furthermore, Kraehe was now focused almost entirely on the corrupted prince. She didn't even bother to taunt the blue-eyed girl anymore and completely ignored Fakir. The young knight was seriously starting to wonder if she had even known what the effects of raven's blood would be in the first place. She certainly wasn't acting as though everything was going according to plan. If anything, she seemed increasingly uncertain and afraid. It was puzzling, but the green-eyed teen had no time to spare on working out whatever her issues were. He was still determined to find a way to save his friend.
That day had been a half day of classes, so Fakir immediately made his way to the used bookstore the second school let out. However, once again every book he selected had had its ending torn out. He wasn't even finding the useless ones anymore and it was worrying him immensely. Once he worked through his first pile he set them aside on a nearby stool and started to brood over the problem. 'In order to find a way to return Mytho to the story,' he reflected as he rested his forehead on his folded hands, 'I've just grabbed whatever books struck me as being potentially useful. So…why do I always choose books whose endings are missing? Why? What meaning is there to these torn books? I…' He was snapped out of his fretful thoughts when he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a woman's voice exclaim lightly, "Found you!" The troubled young knight raised his head as he vaguely recognized the voice and started trying to remember who it belonged to. Then whoever it was kissed him on the cheek and he stiffened in discomfort. He turned to glare sharply at the one who had kissed him before his eyes widened in surprise and he gasped softly.
"Raetsel," he murmured in amazement, "Is that really you?" "It's been a while, Fakir," his surrogate older sister greeted with a smile, "You've grown into quite the handsome young man since the last time I saw you." Fakir hadn't seen the older young woman in at least three years since she moved out of Charon's. Like him, she had lost her parents when she was still too young to look after herself, and the smith had taken her in. She was a good eight years older than the dark-haired teen, though. His parents had been forced to explain to him that she wasn't really the older man's daughter when they'd first been introduced. In fact, she was actually a distant cousin on his mother's side. As far as he knew, she was his only remaining blood relative. After his parents' deaths, Raetsel had done her best to help the sandy-haired man care for his traumatized new charge. She would do everything she could think of to cheer him up when he fell into a foul mood. "Raetsel," he breathed faintly before a soft smile crossed his face. He had missed her.
"What are you reading," Raetsel asked her adopted younger sibling curiously as she tried to get a look at the last book he had opened in front of him. "Nothing much," the dark-haired young man replied as he shut it without turning away from his sister. He still was having a hard time believing she had come back. It wasn't as though she'd left on bad terms when she'd moved out, but there had been a sort of finality to her departure when the then 20 year old had walked out the door. "Why did you come back," he demanded quietly. The brown haired woman smiled down at him, "Several reasons, I suppose. One of which was that I missed my cute little brother." Fakir flushed faintly in embarrassment; he wasn't cute! "And the reason you sought me out was," he prompted as he fought down his blush. "I was hoping to spend some time with you this afternoon before stopping by Charon's for a visit," she replied, "But if you're too busy I suppose I can just go ahead on my own."
"No, its fine," the young knight replied as he got to his feet, "What is it that you wanted to do?" "Oh, this and that," Raetsel flapped her hand carelessly as a quiet laugh emerged from her lips, "I was thinking we could just see where our feet take us." That was fairly typical of his surrogate older sibling. It wasn't that she was careless or carefree. She just wasn't the best at making plans and tended to make things up as she went. Still, a break would probably do him a lot of good considering how stressed out his failed research combined with the growing mystery surrounding the mutilated books were making him. "Okay," Fakir nodded as the soft smile from earlier reappeared, "Let's go." The indigo-eyed woman laughed lightly, grabbed his hand in hers, and pulled the young knight after her as she made her way out of the bookstore. Neither noticed the speculative look on the old storekeeper's face as they passed by.
"So how have you been," the woman asked as they looked through the window of the cheesemaker's shop at the samples he had set out. "Well enough," Fakir replied vaguely. The last thing he wanted to do was tell his surrogate older sister about the problems the story was causing him at the moment. He didn't want her getting involved. "So what about you," Fakir inquired as she looked inquisitively at several other shops, "How have you been?" "Life has been interesting," Raetsel stated wistfully, "Living on one's own isn't easy, of course, but I've managed well enough. I made several new friends around where I live. Still…some of the changes recently have been unexpected. Not unpleasant, really, but they certainly managed to catch me off guard. Some of them I am still working on resolving to be honest." "If there is anything I can do to help…," the young man started to offer before his sister patted him on his head, much to his annoyance. "You're sweet," his adopted sibling teased lightly before smiling gently, "If I do end up needing your help I will let you know, all right?" "Fine," the young knight sighed.
They checked out a few more shops before Raetsel spotted a flower shop and her face just lit up. "Ah, they look so pretty," she cooed, "Let's go take a look." The young knight rolled his eyes, but agreed. His surrogate older sibling intently studied the flowers on display as he looked on with a slight smile on his face. He had missed spending time with her. The violet-eyed woman soon grabbed two flowers and held them up beside her head. "Which of these do you think suits me," she asked with a grin; she'd grabbed a yellow one and a pale lavender hued one. He wasn't really the best at things like this, but he liked the delicate look of the lavender one. The yellow one was too flashy looking for his taste. "That one," the young man replied as he pointed at the flower in her right hand. His sister giggled lightly as she turned to face him and lowered her hands before twirling the chosen flower in her fingers.
Fakir smiled back at her fondly; he'd forgotten how much joy she got out of such simple things. "I'll take a bouquet of these," Raetsel told the shopkeeper as she turned to approach the counter with the lavender hued bloom held out in front of her. "An excellent choice," the woman running the store beamed as she moved to fill the order, "Are they a present for someone special?" The young knight could have sworn the smile on his adopted sibling's face froze for a few seconds before she laughed lightly and shook her head. "Not in that sense, no," she replied lightly. "Very well," the shopkeeper nodded before she handed over the completed bouquet, "There you are!" The brown-haired woman paid for her flowers before turning to look back at her younger brother and smiled, "Let's head back to Charon's." The green-eyed teen nodded and murmured, "All right."
They hadn't made it far down the street when he heard a familiar squawking cry. "Hm," he wondered as he looked up and almost shook his head in exasperation. It was Ahiru. For some reason she seemed to be fighting with a bush of all things. She could be so weird sometimes. "Hey," he called out and she froze before looking back at him. "Ah, Fakir," she yelped awkwardly, "Umm…" Raetsel wrapped her arm around his as she leaned forward inquisitively, "Are you a friend of Fakir's?" Fakir looked down at his sister in confusion. Why was she so interested in whether she was his friend or not? Not to mention there was how excited she seemed to be over it. It made him uneasy…particularly since the red-head was far more than a friend from his perspective. If anyone could pry the truth about his feelings for the girl out of him it would be his surrogate older sibling. She was good at that.
The diminutive ballerina yelped in surprise, "Eh?! Um, well, that is.. I don't know if you'd call me a friend or a…a…well… I was out with my other friends just now," the blue-eyed girl stammered before laughing uneasily, "We were all on our way to have ice cream together." She then turned back to the bush and started to excuse herself before freezing. Fakir had a sneaking suspicion the red-haired ballerina's friends had just abandoned her. No doubt as part of yet another matchmaking plot on their part. They'd already attempted two others since the whole love letter fiasco. "Um, they were just here…," she mumbled as she turned back dejectedly and Raetsel giggled. "You're quite an interesting person," the woman observed before introducing herself, "My name is Raetsel. What's yours?" "I'm Ahiru," the duck-girl replied with a friendly, yet still somehow awkward, smile.
Raetsel walked over to the diminutive ballerina and grasped the girl's hands in her own, "Miss Ahiru, we're going back to Fakir's house right now. Would you like to come with us?" "Wha…," Ahiru gasped in shock and a scowl crossed the young knight's face. As much as he enjoyed spending time with the red-head, Fakir wasn't entirely comfortable about her being around the rest of his family. Mostly because he already got the feeling that Charon at least suspected that his feelings for his female friend had changed and with his sister in the picture… This just had terrible idea written all over it. "Raetsel," he started to protest, but she cut him off lightly. "Oh, it'll be fine," the indigo-eyed woman countered as she glanced back at him before turning to the blue-eyed girl once more, "Right?"
Unfortunately, one of the other things he had forgotten was how firmly his adopted sibling could latch on to an idea once it crossed her mind. Yet he remembered now and reluctantly admitted to himself that the only thing he could do was try to avoid treating Ahiru as anything more than a friend. The young man was good enough at fooling the diminutive ballerina, but she was pretty oblivious as it was. She tended to miss when his mask slipped. Raetsel on the other hand…not so much. This was going to be an ordeal… Fakir scoffed lightly as his scowl darkened before continuing down the road towards home. He heard the red-head's light footsteps as she ran to catch up before matching his pace. The young knight had no doubt that she was completely confused as to who his sister even was. He'd never really talked about his childhood with her or really anything about his past. 'I'm going to have to explain things to her at some point, aren't I,' he considered before sighing in annoyance, 'Great…'
Most of the walk back was silent up until they were just approaching the house. "I'm impressed you managed to find where I was," Fakir commented to his sister idly. "You can't hide anything from me, Fakir," she replied with a giggle. He really hoped that wasn't true because there were a number of things he didn't want her finding out about. Not just his feelings for Ahiru, but everything involving the story he was caught up in, too. "In our house there's still," the young knight started as he reached out for the door handle, but was cut off when it suddenly opened from the inside. Charon stepped out and smiled softly as he noticed his son, "Welcome back." The dark-haired teen smiled slightly in amusement as he turned to look over at Raetsel knowing the smith hadn't noticed her, and the older man followed his gaze. "It's been a while, Charon," the brown-haired woman greeted. His father stared at his adopted daughter and breathed in surprise, "Raetsel!" "Do you mind if I come in," the violet-eyed woman inquired as she walked up to the doorway.
The sandy haired man naturally had no problem and nodded before stepping back to allow the girl he'd partially raised to pass. However, before she fully crossed the threshold a soft patter of drumming caused the woman to freeze in confusion. Uzura was also in the room and she was curious about this new person to enter her life. "Who do you look good with-zura," the little puppet demanded. The young knight's sister gasped slightly in surprise at the sudden question, and the green-haired puppet soon reached her own mistaken conclusion. "A new love-love-zura," the little girl exclaimed gleefully before she started beating her drum again. "Could she be yours, Charon," Raetsel asked bemusedly, but both the smith and his son replied with a simultaneous head-shake of denial. The child-like puppet was not something that was easy to explain. She was family…and yet she wasn't. "Uzura is Uzura," Fakir stated vaguely as he cringed slightly at the persistent racket. He really hated that drum.
Charon soon noticed Ahiru's presence and greeted her politely, "Good to see you again, Miss Ahiru." "Um, hello Charon-san," the diminutive ballerina replied politely, "It's nice to see you too." Fakir left his friend with the rest of his family to go upstairs to get changed out of his uniform. There was no risk of either of the two adults learning anything about how his feelings had changed from her considering she was completely clueless. It was safe to leave her alone with them, so long as she remembered to keep quiet about all things story related. Thinking of that particular detail, he was quick about changing into his favorite outfit and returning to the kitchen. Raetsel had apparently set about making a pot of tea while the smith and the red-head chatted. "And then Pique told me to just do my best," the blue-eyed ballerina was saying as the young man walked back into the room. "It's good advice," the older man smiled. "Yeah," his young friend replied before hesitating a bit then sighing, "Only then I tripped and fell on my face and Mr. Katze got angry again."
"What are you even talking about," the young knight wondered as he sat down at the table. "Ah, Fakir," Ahiru whipped her head around in surprise before laughing uneasily, "Ah, I was just telling Charon-san about how class went today." "I see," he replied evenly before glancing over at his father and shrugging, "You don't need to stop on my account." "Eh," the red-haired girl blinked in confusion, "But you were there for part of it… Won't you be bored?" "You know full well how focused I am in class," the young man rolled his eyes with a slight smirk thrown her way, "There's a lot going on that I tend to miss. You, on the other hand, are so easily distracted that you catch those things when I don't." "I'm not sure if that was a compliment or an insult," the blue-eyed ballerina grumbled with a sulky look. Fakir's smirk widened, but he remained silent. Technically, it had been a backhanded compliment but he wasn't telling her that. It was more fun to make her wonder.
"My son has a bad habit of teasing the people he is close to," Charon stated with an amused smile, "If he teases you this much then it means he's fond of you." "Eh," Ahiru yelped. "Charon," Fakir protested in irritation. Did the man really have to reveal that little character trait of his? Now teasing his younger friend was going to just make him feel awkward and embarrassed. 'Thanks for spoiling one of the few bits of fun I get to have these days,' he grumbled internally as he looked away from the red-head's inquisitive stare. "It's nice to see you are making more friends," Raetsel observed as she poured the first cup of tea and set in on a tray before starting to pour a second cup, "I remember when the only friend you had was Mytho." "I'm still not the best at dealing with people," the young knight admitted reluctantly, "Ahiru's really the only other friend I have."
"That's too bad," his sister sighed as she brought over the tray and set the first two cups before him and the smith; she then returned to pour the last two for her and the diminutive ballerina as he continued, "I was hoping things would get better for you when you entered the Academy." "Oh yeah," the young man mused, "I haven't seen you since Mytho and I entered Goldkrone Academy, huh?" "That's right," the brown-haired woman replied as she carried the tray back over, "I was really lonely then." She then set one of the cups down in front of Ahiru with a polite, "Here you go." "Thanks," the red head replied shyly. Fakir noticed her whispering something to his friend, but couldn't quite make out what it was. All he knew was that whatever it was caused the last of the tension lingering in the blue-eyed girl to drain away…right before she started to spaz. "Big sister… I mean," she yelped, "It's not really like that, I…"
Fakir did owe the girl a bit of an explanation of his actual relationship with the woman, and so started to speak. "After my parents died and Charon took me in," he clarified, "She was like a mother to me." He started to drink his tea when he heard Uzura ask, "Big sister is different from love-love-zura?" The young knight made a soft noise of conformation, but didn't otherwise respond. He was enjoying his tea. The little puppet started to continue, "Then Raetsel is love-love with Charon-zu…" The smith cut her off by slapping a hand over her mouth as she continued to try and talk and laughed lightly, "Come on, Uzura!" The dark-haired teen glanced over at the squirming puppet and sighed slightly in exasperation. She just wasn't letting this love thing go. "How flattering," Raetsel smiled, "Does it look like that?"
The indigo-eyed woman laughed softly and then finished quietly, "Wouldn't it be nice if that was true…" "You shouldn't tease your elders, you know," Charon scolded gently. "Treating me like a child, as usual," the young man's adopted sister countered, "I'm old enough that it wouldn't be strange to be getting married now, you know." Fakir and Ahiru looked on the two adults' interactions in growing confusion as the older man laughed lightly. "To me, you haven't changed at all," he told the woman he had raised, "Just like you were when you played around with Fakir and Mytho." The brown-haired woman rubbed lightly at the lipstick stain on her cup as the sandy-haired man spoke and the young knight could have sworn he saw a sad look flicker across her face. However, it had vanished before he could be sure. She then turned her attention to her younger sibling, "That's right! Where's Mytho?"
Both teens tensed slightly in response to that innocent question. "Oh, yeah, he's at school," the young man replied casually, "He's engrossed in ballet, after all." That was only partly true. The raven controlling his friend had continued with attending ballet lessons, and was quite good. However, it was also clearly only doing so for the sake of appearances and to be close to its prospective prey. Fakir tensed even more at Raetsel's next words as she reflected, "You always used to be with him, saying you'd protect him, too!" If there was one strain on his relationship with his surrogate older sister it was that she had never taken his devotion to Mytho seriously. She'd always treated it as though he had been playing a game with the ageless teen.
He couldn't entirely blame her as she was unaware of the story affecting the town, or how intimately both he and Mytho were involved with it. That didn't make her casual treatment of the matter any less irritating, though. "I will protect him," the young knight snapped irately before pushing his temper back. He stood and glanced over at his sister as he inquired much more calmly, "You're spending the night, right?" "Don't worry," the indigo-eyed young woman assured him, "I'm planning on staying at the water mill." That made sense considering she knew full well it was going to have been legally turned over to him when he turned fifteen. Back when they had all lived together his younger self had promised her she could stay there whenever she wanted once he officially inherited the property. As that time had already come and gone, she was clearly taking him up on the offer he had made back then.
"Well then," Fakir stated calmly, "I'll walk you there." "Thank you," Raetsel smiled politely as she stood and looked over at Ahiru, "but I'd like to take a walk with Miss Ahiru." "Huh," the red-head jerked slightly in surprise, "With…me?" The young man frowned uneasily; he wasn't sure why his surrogate sibling was so interested in his friend, and it made him anxious. The blue-eyed girl had no idea he was in love with her, so that particular secret was safe. However, she did know about Mytho's situation and the story. If the woman asked the right questions it was possible that the younger teen would let something slip that he'd rather his sole remaining blood relative not know. Yet he couldn't find any reason to object that would not raise questions about why he was objecting.
"I see," he murmured while glancing at the startled ballerina, "If that's what you want." "Eh," the diminutive ballerina yelped before looking at him warily, "Is that really okay, Fakir?" "Why wouldn't it be," the young knight shrugged dismissively as he did his best to mask how uncomfortable he really was. He'd just have to hope that Ahiru could either keep her mouth shut or that Raetsel wouldn't think to ask her about the corrupted prince. The red-haired girl still looked uncertain, so he sighed and shot her a teasing grin, "It really is okay, idiot." "I'm not an idiot," the blue-eyed ballerina snapped back with an adorable scowl. His sister giggled in amusement at their interactions, "You are just so cute together." "It's not like that," they both protested simultaneously before staring at each other in surprise which only made the indigo-eyed woman laugh harder.
Once Raetsel calmed down, she and Ahiru left to walk towards the mill. To the young man's surprise, she'd taken the bouquet she'd bought with her. The way she had been acting when she bought it he had thought it was supposed to be a gift for Charon or something. Then again, their interaction at the table had been more than a little awkward. He got the feeling there was something he was missing, but he wasn't sure what. Fakir wondered briefly if it was worth it to head back to the bookstore to do more research before deciding against it. It wasn't as though he'd been having any luck and he was not eager to be faced with the mystery of the ending-less books again. It was inevitable considering he couldn't exactly stop his research without breaking his word to Mytho, but that didn't mean he couldn't try to put it off as long as possible.
Instead, he decided that he would practice his sword-work for a while and headed out to the stable to fetch the Lohengrin Sword. He'd hidden it out there after he'd caught Uzura messing with it one day. She was a puppet, so it wasn't like she could accidentally kill herself. However, the edge was keen enough that she could still lose a limb or something. Not really fatal considering what she was, but also not something he wanted to have happen. She was human enough that such a thing was likely to be extremely traumatic. So he'd moved the blade and hidden it to keep it out of her reach. Unfortunately, Raetsel's question – and latter casual treatment – regarding Mytho and his relationship with the other teen had gotten him thinking about everything again. By the time he reached the stable, and fetched the blade, his doubt and depression had already started to take him over once more.
Parsival had offered a friendly whicker when his human walked in and the young knight was not so far gone in his depression that he neglected to offer an equally friendly pat on the neck. The gelding lipped at the young man's hair which prompted a mock irritated scowl from the teen. "I don't know why you keep doing that," he muttered as he scratched the horse on his forehead which prompted the equine to half-close his eyes in sheer bliss, "You can't eat my hair and you know it. Silly animal…" Fakir drew back after a few more seconds of scratching to retrieve his sword, yet once he had the blade he hesitated and sighed. He may have intended to practice, but now that he had retrieved his sword he found that his motivation had faded. Instead he flopped back down into the straw piled in the corner of the stable and lay back to stare blankly at the ceiling for a few moments as he tried not to brood. Lohengrin's sword rested on the straw next to him and the increasingly dejected teen picked it up, held it over his head, and stared at it pensively. He gave into his natural inclination at last.
'Protect him, huh,' the young knight mused in frustration, 'How do I protect him? Who is it that I have to fight? Kraehe, the Raven, Mytho himself? I don't know anymore.' He reflected on Mytho's plea for salvation from the raven's blood infecting his heart, and the false Mytho's insistence that the young man no longer had a reason to be involved in matters. That his role in the story was over and done with; naturally, he was inclined to go along with the desires of the true prince and not the raven controlling him. Yet that didn't mean the raven had been entirely wrong. 'The battle is beginning,' Fakir admitted as he gazed up at his blade, 'The story is progressing…whether I'm there or not. But besides my sword I have…nothing.' Though that might not be entirely true; the incident with the ghost knight certainly indicated that he may possess some sort of ability to connect with unfinished stories. Yet as he considered that he tensed as a surge of terror pulsed through him and he sat up sharply. Whatever that power was it gave him a bad feeling and he didn't want it! 'I will protect Mytho,' he vowed once more, 'With this sword."
Seconds after reaffirming his promise, the door to the stable opened and Ahiru burst through with an eager, "There you are!" Fakir looked up at her in confusion over what she was doing back already as she panted for breath. Had she run all the way back from the mill? What could have driven her to do something like that? He didn't have long to wait to find out. "Fakir," she exclaimed once she caught her breath, "I heard from Raetsel-san that the stories you write come true!" The young man stiffened in shock as her words sent another surge of terror racing through him and his memory pitched in by dredging up something he had long forgotten; the frenzied cries of a conspiracy of ravens and his parents' agonized screams. "What," he whispered tensely as more and more memory fragments flickered through his mind. "If you really have that power," the red-head continued obliviously, "Then if you wrote a story where Mytho is saved…"
She trailed off as the increasingly traumatized young knight surged to his feet with his head still bowed. "Fakir," she inquired concernedly. "What are you talking about," he ground out in a deceptively calm tone. Ahiru clearly had no idea why he was so upset, but tried to clarify. She had no idea that her words would fully open the floodgates holding back his repressed childhood memories. "Well," she explained uncertainly, "I heard that when you were little, the stories you wrote came true, so…" Fakir's pupils contracted sharply as the barrier his mind had erected out of self-defense years ago suddenly failed and he began to remember it all. Why his parents had died, why he was so uneasy about writing anything more than schoolwork, and why he most likely was able to see the end of the ghost knight's story. They were all connected because the red-head's words were absolutely true. His stories had possessed the power to affect reality…and it was a power he despised above everything else because of what it had taken from him. One he had desperately tried to forget and had buried long ago along with all memories associated with it.
"Be quiet," Fakir ordered quietly as he struggled against the desire to just shut down under the flood of traumatic memories that were swamping him. Ahiru recoiled slightly at the sheer iciness of his voice, but still she tried to protest, "Huh? But Mytho…" "Shut up," he snapped before squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He needed to get inside before his resistance failed entirely, and he could feel himself faltering already. The shaken young man walked forward briskly and shoved passed the red-haired girl's stunned form. "Shut up," she repeated incredulously as he walked away, "But… Why are you talking to me like that?" The young knight ignored her as he focused almost entirely on moving forward. It was taking everything he had to keep from collapsing on the spot and curling into a ball. "If I could do something to save Mytho," the diminutive ballerina persisted as she followed him back to the door of his home, "I wouldn't ask you to do this, Fakir!"
He managed to register those words and paused momentarily after opening the door. He just barely managed to focus long enough to hear what she said next, "But right now I can't do anything, so…" Normally, he would have been more understanding because he honestly felt the same way. However, his memories were doing a far more effective job of torturing him than the ravens ever had and he was so very close to breaking. So he lashed out at the one person he loved more than anything. "I told you to be quiet," he snarled viciously as he glared back at her over his shoulder before continuing coldly, "I will protect Mytho as a knight. I won't take orders from you!" Fakir then slammed the door shut behind him before falling back against it and sliding to the ground as his resistance failed. He started to breathe heavily as he stared blankly at the ground while clinging with a white-knuckled grip to his sword. He could no longer see or hear anything other than his lost memories playing out before his eyes. The young knight was lost in the grips of a post-traumatic flashback.
At five years old, Fakir was a precocious child. He already knew how to read simple books and was just starting to get the hang of writing. His parents were extremely proud of him, yet his father was somewhat uneasy at how strong the boy's affinity for stories was. His own parents had watched him carefully when he was young and just learning how to read and write. He had never displayed a particular affinity for such things, though, and they had relaxed. When he was older they had told him that their family occasionally manifested a particular talent. The ability to write stories that could become real. It was regarded as a cursed ability because of the damage a long dead patriarch of the bloodline had caused before his death.
It had been so severe, and his children and grandchildren had been so deeply ashamed, that they had changed their surname and struck the old man's name from their family tree. When children were born they were watched carefully for any signs of this budding ability and then carefully guided away from writing. It was safer that way, his parents had told him, for everyone involved. It was for the best. Now his own son was displaying some of the signs his parents had warned him about and he was worried. Could Fakir possess this accursed power? If he did…what should he do about it? Somehow, it seemed wrong to him to suppress his son's natural talent even if it was supposedly dangerous. The five-year old was so happy when he was reading, though, and his wife was so proud of his intelligence. Surely there was no harm in letting him do as he wished for the moment.
Six months later, Fakir wrote his first story. It was a silly little tale about a family of mice living in the walls of an old home and their conflict with the cat that lived with the family of people who owned the place. It ended with everyone becoming friends in the end. Basically, it was the sort of thing you would expect a child to write, and that should have been the end of it. Yet some days later, rumors started to spread about how one family's cat had stopped hunting the mice in the house and merely purred contentedly when they scampered across the floor. The family had resolved the problem by adopting a second cat who had no qualms about decimating the mouse population. The ineffective cat was passed off to a neighbor who loved cats and was such a neat freak that his house didn't have that many mice. Oddly enough, the formerly ineffective cat resumed her remorseless persecution of the few mice that did live in the neighbor's house. It was only the mice in her old home she wouldn't harm. Strange as it was, most of the townsfolk thought nothing of it. The only one to be bothered by the rumor was Fakir's father. It matched part of the story his son had written. Yet he still did nothing to restrain the boy's writing. All he did was warn the child to be more careful about what he wrote. The five-year old didn't really understand why, but still agreed cheerfully.
More time passed, and the boy continued to write. His father started to notice a pattern where bits and pieces of the child's stories would come true. They were harmless things. A dog who had been notorious for his absolute hatred of cats suddenly befriending a specific feline. He would still attack all other cats, but his favorite cat would always remain unmolested to the point that the dog would defend him from all other dogs in town. A duckling in one of the parks who had been left behind when her family moved to another pond miraculously found her way to the right pond in spite of her having no knowledge of where it was. True, the duckling had nearly died several times making the crossing from one park to another, but she'd still made it. All were things that could easily be explained away yet Fakir's father knew what was behind all of them. His son's stories were changing reality. Because the stories he wrote were happy little things with barely any conflict worth speaking of this wasn't really a problem. What worried his father was what would happen as the boy grew older and started learning more about how stories worked. He knew his child was a good little boy who only wanted everyone around him to be happy. With any luck he would stay that way. The man resolved not to act unless it looked as though one of his son's stories might cause harm.
Fakir's godfather, Charon, had stopped by for a visit with his adopted daughter, Raetsel, just after the boy turned six. "So have you written anything new," the smith asked his godson with a smile. "Yeah," the six-year old nodded eagerly, "About a bird who loved to sing and whose songs made everyone who heard them happy!" "That sounds nice," the fourteen year old girl smiled down at the little boy, "Can I read it?" "Sure," the little boy chirped before running off to grab his new story. "He's such a bright child," the sandy-haired man observed as he turned to the boy's parents, "And has such a vivid imagination. You must be very proud." "Oh, we are," his mother nodded with a fond smile, "He has so much talent! I wouldn't be surprised if he grew up to become a famous author someday." "Providing he doesn't develop a fondness for tragedies," his father mumbled grimly. Charon gave his childhood friend a puzzled look before turning to the man's wife inquisitively. "He's convinced that Fakir's stories are becoming real and is worried about the consequences," the woman replied dismissively.
"I have a very good reason for my concern," Fakir's father protested in an insulted tone, "I told you, that power runs in my family and it has a very nasty history from what my parents used to tell me when I was young." The smith requested a run-down and listened intently as his friend complied with his request. "I can see why you might be worried," the sandy-haired man confessed, "But surely you realize Fakir would never fall into that sort of behavior. He's got a good heart." "I know," the other man sighed, "That's why I haven't done anything. I still can't help worrying though." "Hopefully Fakir didn't end up inheriting that from you as well, dear," his wife teased. "Ha, ha," her husband replied drily, "Very funny, love." Further conversation was cut off by an eager Fakir returning with the two pieces of paper his story was written on which he all but shoved into Raetsel's hands. "Read it," the little boy demanded. The three adults chuckled as the amused teenager obeyed; the six-year old could be quite insistent sometimes.
Ten months passed and Goldkrone was in trouble. A plague of ravens had infested the town and were terrorizing the inhabitants. People couldn't leave their homes without risking being attacked by the bird-like demons and cut to ribbons. Several people had already been killed and a few lucky others managed to escape with only being badly wounded. Fakir was unaware of the fatalities that had occurred as his parents had been very careful not to bring them up around him. Yet he did know that they were being hurt, and that bothered the almost seven-year old child. He wanted to help somehow. He wanted to make the ravens go away and he spent weeks puzzling over what he could do. He was still only a little boy after all. It wasn't until a week after his seventh birthday that he had an idea. The boy could write a story and get rid of the ravens that way!
He'd started reading adventure stories over the past year and had become enamored of the image of the heroic knight. 'Maybe,' the child mused as he stared out the window at the ravens flying overhead, 'I can write a story about myself. I can make myself into a hero and defeat all the ravens all on my own! Mama and Papa would be so proud of me!' His mind was made up. He would start writing a new story with himself as the hero. He knew full well that his stories sometimes came true. His father had talked to him about it six months ago and warned him to be very careful much as he had when the boy had been only five. Now that he knew why, he put far more effort into making sure nobody would be hurt by what he wrote. He kept his stories happy and conflict free even though he thought it made them a bit boring. Now, though, now he had a good reason to write an adventure story like the ones he read.
Fakir fetched his quill, inkpot, and a piece of paper before settling down at the dining room table. "Are you writing another story, dear," his mother asked as she poked her head in from the kitchen. "Uh huh," the little boy nodded. "Show it to me when you're done, all right," she requested as she went back to what she was doing, "I love reading your stories." "Okay, Mama," the seven-year old agreed. She was really going to like this story since it was going to save the town. Slowly and painstakingly, he started to write. "Once upon a time," he mouthed silently as he wrote, "there was a quiet town full of happy people. They had little to worry about and went about their days in peace. Then one day a cloud of evil ravens came to town. They didn't like how everyone was happy and peaceful. They attacked the people of the down and drove them into their homes. They couldn't go out without the ravens going after them and many people got hurt when they had no choice but to go out for food and things. No one was happy anymore and the people lived in fear of the ravens which made them very happy. This was what they had wanted."
Fakir paused and thought carefully about what he wanted to write next. This was the important bit that should give him the strength he needed to take care of the ravens swarming the town. He had to get it exactly right. He then resumed his narration once he made up his mind of what he wanted to have happen next, "But there was one person in town who was not afraid. A young boy named Fakir was angry at the ravens for making everyone sad and refused to give in to fear like everyone else. He told everyone who would listen that it was silly to be afraid of the ravens. 'I am a child,' he said to anyone who would listen, 'And I'm not afraid. Why won't you stand up and fight them? The ravens can be defeated if you are willing to fight back!' The people still weren't willing to fight and the boy grew upset. 'Fine,' he declared at last, 'I'll fight them by myself if I have to!' Fakir challenged the ravens and they grew angry at his lack of fear. They all came after him at once, but the boy was still not afraid. He fought back and defeated all of the ravens that had attacked his home town easily. They weren't so tough after all. The people were amazed by his victory and were so very grateful to him for saving them all. He had become a hero, peace had returned to the town, and everyone lived happily ever after."
Fakir was certain that his story would let him defeat the ravens and smiled happily as he drew his story to a close. Yet the second he lifted his pen after writing the final word everything went wrong. The part that came true…wasn't the part he wanted. He was hoping that his story would make him into a hero strong enough to fight the ravens. Instead it called all the ravens in town to attack him in his own home with him still a powerless little boy. The bird-like demons crashed through the window and fell upon the frightened seven-year old who only had just enough time to scream before they were on him. By all rights, he should have died then but his parents were both in the next room and they did not hesitate to act to save their son. "Fakir," his father cried as he charged the ravens with an old sword clutched in his hand, "Hang on, son!" "Get away from my baby," his mother shouted as she shoved passed the ravens and pulled her terrified child into her arms before trying to run for the door.
Yet the ravens would not be denied. They wanted blood and they would have it one way or the other. The bird-like demons fell upon his Fakir's father first and swiftly overwhelmed him for the man was not experienced at wielding a blade. Nor was the weapon he was using particularly sharp. However, he still tried to fight back long enough to give his wife and son a chance to escape. Sadly, his efforts were for nothing and he soon fell lifelessly to the ground; his deathly pale flesh cut to ribbons by the ravens' razor-like feathers and claws. He'd never stood a chance. One obstacle taken care of the ravens turned their attention to the fleeing woman and child. She fell even faster than her husband for she had no weapon to defend herself. Yet even as their vicious beaks and talons ripped into her, she continued to shield her son with her own body. Even though she knew it would cost her life she would not let them harm her child. Poor Fakir was powerless to do anything but watch as his parents sacrificed themselves to save his life.
The ravens did not stick around long after Fakir's mother fell sheltering her son and flew back out the window they shattered. The stunned child was pinned under his mother's lifeless body and simply stared blankly into space as his mind shut down under the horror he had witnessed. Only one thought repeated itself over and over. 'They're gone,' his guilt ridden brain repeated endlessly, 'My parents are dead. Why? This wasn't supposed to happen. Why did they have to die?' Eventually, Charon and several of his family's neighbors came in and gasped in horror at the sight that met them. It was the smith who found the dazed boy lying under his dead mother and pulled him out before carrying him back to the others. "At least Fakir survived this tragedy," one of the neighbors sighed in relief before looking at him sympathetically, "Poor little guy. Looks like he's in shock." "He just saw his parents killed in front of him," one of the others shot back scornfully, "Of course, he's in shock." Fakir shuddered as the word 'killed' registered and his godfather set the traumatized child down where he stood unsteadily.
As the older man embraced his godson, the boy stared at his parents' shredded corpses and shuddered again as a new thought entered his mental mantra, 'My parents are dead because of me. My story did this. This is my fault. I killed my own parents. It should have been me lying dead on the floor…not them… It's all my fault…' Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fainted dead away as everything just became too much for him to handle. His mind and body had completely shut down in a desperate attempt to cope. When next he awoke he remembered nothing of his ability to create stories that could become real or of how his parents had died. He still knew they were dead, but the how had been completely blocked out. In order to shield itself from the crushing guilt and self-loathing his actions had caused, his mind had blocked out not only the memory of their deaths but all memories of the times he had used the power that had caused it. All that remained was a lingering sense of guilt that would never entirely go away, and a strong aversion to writing stories.
Charon had stumbled across his son's shell-shocked form and rapidly knelt next to him in concern. "Fakir, can you hear me," he called softly as he lightly grasped the young man's shoulder, "Fakir?!" The traumatized teen cringed away from the sudden physical contact, but didn't respond further. The memories just wouldn't stop repeating and he was starting to hyperventilate as the stress they were causing built. The smith realized Fakir needed to calm down before the shock he was experiencing drove him completely mad. The older man recalled that he had an old phonograph stashed in the attic along with some old music cylinders. Perhaps that would be enough to call his son back to reality. The man hesitated no longer and set about retrieving the machine and its attachments, bringing them back down to the kitchen, setting it all up, and set it playing. The soothing melody of the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata sounded out through the room and, gradually, the young knight started to relax.
The first sign that he was coming out of his shocked state was a deep shuddering breath before he curled in on himself even more. "Fakir," Charon tried again, "Can you hear me?" Slowly, the young man nodded in reply before muttering hoarsely, "Give me a minute…" He took several more deep breaths before uncurling and leaning back against the door with his eyes shut. He looked utterly exhausted. "Are you all right," the smith asked uneasily, "Why where you in such a state?" "I remembered something I would have rather not have," the shaken teen replied quietly without opening his eyes, "And I wasn't able to handle it. I…can't really talk about it right now. I'm sorry…" "Don't be," the older man soothed, "Whatever it was clearly gave you quite a shock. Take all the time you need." "Thank you," the young knight murmured as he cracked his eyes open slightly to reveal they were still a bit glazed before shakily struggling to his feet. "Are you sure you should be standing," the sandy-haired man cautiously, "You still don't look that good."
"I'll be fine," Fakir shot his father a weak smile before his face fell back into an exhausted expression, "I'm going up to my room for a bit. I just…really need to be alone for a while…" Charon nodded slowly and watched as the shaken young man unsteadily made his way for the staircase in the hallway. If he had known just what it was the teen had recalled he would have been far more concerned and far less willing to leave his son alone. Witnessing his parents' deaths at such a young age had been far more damaging than anyone could have guessed. His young mind had never truly recovered from the shock he had experienced back then. The scars had never healed, but since he didn't remember the incident he was shielded from feeling it. Now that shield was gone and he was struggling to come to terms with it all. The one upside was he was in a much better state to cope with the trauma as he had matured considerably since the incident took place. Yet the damage was not going to go away anytime soon. Perhaps it never would.
Fakir managed to make it up to his room and staggered over to the shelf running under his window before sitting heavily on the ground. He leaned back against the books resting on the built in piece of furniture and groaned in exhaustion. The young knight was no longer trapped in his memories, but that didn't mean they had faded away. They were still lurking in the back of his mind; haunting him. He soon realized he was still clutching his sword desperately and leaned it on the shelf he was sitting against. The teen winced as his hand cramped in protest of being clenched for so long, and he started to rub it idly as he mentally prodded the memories that had overwhelmed him. They didn't seem particularly inclined to do so again without some sort of trigger and he relaxed slightly. At least he didn't have to worry about them creeping up on him at random.
However, his relief soon gave way to a crushing sense of despair. He was directly responsible for his parents' deaths. How was he supposed to live with that?! The young man moaned softly as he allowed his head to fall forward as he gave into his self-loathing. Under the circumstances, he felt he deserved to feel miserable. 'I really can't do anything right,' he admitted to himself bitterly, 'I never could. It isn't the story that's making me fail…it's my own incompetence.' He lost all track of time as he wallowed in despair and ended up sitting motionlessly with his head resting on his folded hands for several hours. It wasn't until evening that he finally stirred slightly as a sense of foreboding surged through him. Seconds later his memory decided to screw with him even more and threw Ahiru's words from when earlier back at him. When she had claimed she wouldn't ask him to write if she didn't feel useless to help Mytho herself… "What is this awful feeling," he muttered before he scowled bitterly, "The power to make stories come true? A power like that, in me…" Denial had worked for him as a coping mechanism for years, so it was no surprise that he fell back on it once more as he whispered harshly, "What nonsense!"
He vaguely registered Uzura's love chant as he muttered to himself, but didn't react to it. The little puppet would do what she would do and he wasn't going to bother scolding her anymore. There was no point. Fakir would have continued to ignore her except that she suddenly called out his name, and he raised his head as she burst through his door. "Could it be that Mytho is love-love with Raetsel-zura," the little girl asked cheerfully. The young knight immediately snapped out of his mopey state at that. The one thing that would always be stronger than his depression was his desire to protect. Even if he was useless at it and always had been, that part of him would not be denied. 'The Raven Prince is going after my sister,' he realized grimly, 'I won't let this stand!' The dark-haired young man slowly reached out and grabbed his sword before standing. "Where are they," he demanded quietly. The green-haired puppet looked up at the grim teen in bewilderment, but replied, "I saw ravens by the water mill-zura. Ahiru said Mytho and Raetsel were there before she changed and ran off-zura." As relieved as he was to hear that Ahiru was already there, Fakir was still determined to act. He was a knight and so he would do what he could to protect those he cared for.
The young knight rushed out of his home with his sword clutched in his hand and promptly started to race straight for the old mill. As much as he trusted Ahiru to do everything she could to save Raetsel, she was his family! He'd never forgive himself if the red-haired ballerina was unable to reach his sister in time and the false Mytho actually managed to claim her heart! If he had to he'd fight the corrupted prince himself to buy the magical ballerina as much time as she needed to break through the raven's spell; even if it killed him. Soon enough, the young man caught sight of a familiar black shadow that looked vaguely like a wing. He could also hear voices speaking. As he drew near he realized the one currently talking was his surrogate sibling and his eyes widened as he registered her words. "I may still be in love with Charon," he heard her admit brokenly as he drew near, "When I think that, being with him is so hard and so painful!" "Charon," he gasped in shock as he emerged onto the street the confrontation was taking place on. He gaped slightly as it registered that the indigo-eyed woman was wearing a wedding dress and veil. Just what was going on?!
Fakir could only watch as the pillar of ravens burst out of the ground below Raetsel and carried her into the air as she cried out despairingly, "I don't want to doubt myself anymore!" That was a sentiment he was painfully familiar with, but he had never realized it had been tormenting her as well. He hadn't realized the woman had possessed such strong feelings for the one who had raised them both, but it explained much of her odd behavior since she'd arrived. It also explained why she had moved out after he left to attend the Academy. She couldn't bear to be alone with the man who continued to ignore her feelings. "Raetsel," Fakir whispered sadly. He realized this was something he wasn't going to be able to help with. The young knight was even more prone to giving in to such feelings than his sister was. There was no way he'd be able to pull her out when he couldn't even pull himself out. He was going to have to rely on Ahiru's boundless hope. After all, it had worked wonders on him in the past. Perhaps it would be enough to save his surrogate sibling as well.
Fakir continued to observe uneasily as matters progressed. "That's right," the Raven Prince declared triumphantly, "If you love only me…" "If I love only Mytho," Raetsel repeated faintly. "That's not right," Ahiru protested as she continued to dance, "That's a mistake, Raetsel-san!" "You should love only me," the false Mytho snarled over the magical ballerina, "And hate everything else!" Yet the red-head was not deterred and she scooped up the veil that had fallen from the woman's head when the ravens had raised her up before continuing to dance. "Both of those are your true emotions," she insisted before challenging the distraught woman, "But is what you're trying to get right now also a true emotion?" "True and false have nothing to do with it," the corrupted prince yelled angrily, "It is just loving someone because you want to be loved! That's why she is lost in doubt over to whom she loves…" The blue-eyed ballerina cut the raven off fiercely as she proclaimed, "That pain is how you really feel! Open your eyes! You want to be happy with the person you love the most, right?"
The raven pillar that had been carrying his sister ever closer to where the Raven Prince stood suddenly froze as she started to cry and sat up. "I weighed their loves against each other for the sake of my own happiness," the brown-haired woman admitted sorrowfully, "In order to escape the pain of my doubt, I wanted Fakir to write a story for me!" Fakir stiffened at this admission as the tormented woman continued before burying her face in her hands, "Even though I knew it would hurt him! I'm a horrible person…" "Everyone wants the person they love to love them back," Ahiru insisted as she danced on, "It's not bad to feel that way! I'm sure it's painful to be lost between the two. But even if you run away from it, you won't be able to escape the pain!" Somehow those last words managed to reach Raetsel and the pillar started to lower her back to the ground as she sobbed quietly. "You," the false Mytho snarled angrily at being thwarted before screaming, "Should simply love only me! Raetsel!"
The young knight had looked on long enough. Raetsel was safe for the moment, but the Raven Prince had still crossed a line and that was not something Fakir was going to just let go. He stepped between the two females and his corrupted friend with his sheathed sword held out in front of him as he glared furiously at the other young man. "Mytho," he snarled," I won't allow you to hurt Raetsel!" A half-maddened chuckle escaped the tainted prince as an insane smile crossed his face and he exclaimed harshly, "How interesting!" The dark-haired young man tensed as a blue-black flame burst out of the pillar at the raven's feet and spiraled up around his body before solidifying into a dark version of the Prince's sword. Slowly, the false Mytho descended to the ground before spinning gracefully into his stance with yet another chuckle. Malachite green eyes narrowed as their owner grasped the hilt of his blade in preparation for his possessed friend's attack. "Stop," Ahiru suddenly cried out from behind him, "You two shouldn't be fighting!"
As nice a sentiment as that was it wasn't exactly realistic. The raven controlling the prince wanted the green-eyed teen dead and was willing to do whatever he could to bring that about. Including strike him down personally. Fakir knew that, the raven knew that, and the red-haired ballerina was the only one who didn't seem to get it. Before she could protest further, though, the Raven Prince summoned a circle of raven warriors to surround the unconscious form of his sister and the magical ballerina supporting her. Clearly, the corrupted prince intended for them to fight without interference from that quarter. The young knight glanced back at the two females in concern before turning back to face his possessed friend. "Mytho," he demanded quietly, "Using Raetsel like that… Don't you feel anything?"
The raven gave that half-maddened chuckle again before declaring as he launched into a pirouette to attack, "I was trying to save her!" The possessed young man swung at the taller teen's head, but Fakir's reactions were still sharp. He bent backwards into a handspring and gracefully flipped back out of range before falling back into his ready stance. However, before he could react further, he was caught off guard when his ankles were seized by two raven warriors that partially emerged from the ground. Typical for a raven to cheat like that, but it did mean he wasn't going to be able to dodge the next attack. As the Raven Prince leapt high into the air to strike down at the trapped young man, the young knight tensed and tightened his grip on the hilt. He was going to have to try something risky.
He vaguely registered Ahiru calling out his name on concern, but was more focused on timing the raven's descent…and swiftly drawing his sword to slice into the warriors holding him in place before swinging his blade back up in time to block the raven's strike! "Trying to save her," the malachite eyed teen snarled incredulously as he strained to hold the block, "Don't be so selfish!" "Well then," the false Mytho taunted before snarling, "What can you do? Worthless knights shouldn't talk big!" He then sprang backward and spun back into his own ready stance. Fakir grasped Lohengrin's sword tightly as he grimly acknowledged that this was going to be a fight for his very life; more so than any other before. The Raven Prince didn't just want him dead…he loathed the very sight of him. "How pathetic you are," the raven mocked with a cruel smile before launching into a rapid series of attacks, "How long do you mean to go on shaming yourself wielding a sword that is little more than decoration?!" The young knight barely managed to dodge each one and didn't even have time to strike back. Then again, he didn't really want to. Harming Mytho's body was not his goal.
Again, the young knight heard Ahiru cry out but didn't register her words. Simply surviving the Raven Prince's vicious attacks was taking all of his focus. Fakir finally managed to bring up his sword to block the last strike and strained to hold in in place. "You can't even make yourself hurt me," the raven declared gleefully. "This sword isn't for striking you down," the dark-haired teen countered tensely before turning his sword to show his corrupted friend what he had become, "Wake up! Remember your true self!" The white-haired young man gasped and staggered backward as his eyes suddenly started to flicker between red and gold. His desperate attempt actually seemed to be working and the green-eyed young man's expression softened as he called out to the other teen, "Mytho…" "Stop it," the now golden eyed teen pleaded weakly before his head fell forward and he started to shake. "Shut up," the trembling young man growled lowly and lashed his sword out to the side before repeating more loudly, "Shut up!" Uneasily, the young knight watched to see who would win the struggle between the raven and his prince. He hoped that Mytho would be strong enough to prove victorious even though he knew such a victory was likely to be only temporary. He just needed to know that his friend was still in there and still fighting!
However, it was not to be. "Shut up," the false Mytho screamed as he suddenly lunged forward. Fakir desperately tried to bring his sword up to block the maddened blow and half-succeeded. Yet he hadn't managed to tighten his grip enough, and he winced as his blade flew from his hand. Before he could move to retrieve it another raven warrior materialized behind him and pinned his arms back before forcing him to kneel on the ground. At the same time, the Raven Prince screamed furiously as he raised his sword over his head to strike the final blow. The dark-haired young man swallowed hard as he realized that this was it. He was going to die at the hands of his possessed friend yet he could feel nothing but sorrow. He grieved the pain he knew his prince would suffer knowing that he had struck down his friend. He grieved that he had failed to save his friend. Most of all, he grieved over leaving Ahiru to face whatever may come on her own. Yet he did not look away as the dark blade descended. He was not afraid to die – even though it broke his heart – and would face his end head on.
"Fakir," Ahiru screamed in horror. Yet before that final blow could connect the dark blade stopped inches away from the young knight's tense grimace and started to shake. Fakir gasped faintly as he realized the other teen's eyes had once again flashed gold. Mytho choked weakly as he staggered backwards before gasping harshly, "Stop! Don't hurt Fakir, you raven!" The raven warrior that had been restraining the malachite-eyed young man suddenly dissolved and he looked up at his friend hopefully, "Mytho?" "Run," the white-haired teen ordered desperately before a black whirlwind swirled up around him, "Don't… Don't come near me!" Seconds later he vanished as his strained grunts and gasps continued to echo around them for a few moments longer. "Mytho," the red head breathed sadly as the ravens surrounding her dissolved as well. For the moment, the battle was over though the dark-haired knight was unwilling to call it a victory.
A faint grunt emitted from the formerly unconscious woman resting in the ballerina's lap reminding the teen that it hadn't been a total loss either. "Raetsel," he murmured as he turned to look at her in concern and swiftly walked over before kneeling next to her. At least she was safe. "Raetsel," he repeated softly as he met her sorrowful gaze. "Fakir," she whispered as tears welled up in her eyes, "I'm sorry. I…I…I was only thinking of myself. I forgot everything but my desire to escape my pain… I tried to do something that would hurt you… I'm sorry." Fakir looked down at her with a gentle smile as he told her, "It's all right. It's not your fault, Raetsel." His sister's tears finally spilled over as she fell back into an exhausted slumber. At least she knew he didn't blame her for all that had happened that day. "Even though Raetsel was suffering so much," Ahiru murmured softly, "She said this to me. 'Be gentle with Fakir,' she said. Raetsel-san didn't want to hurt you, did she?"
The young knight didn't look away from his surrogate sibling as the girl he loved spoke. It was true that Raetsel had been the one to tell the diminutive ballerina about the past he had forgotten. It was true that if she hadn't done so, the blue-eyed girl wouldn't have come to him begging for him to write a story to save Mytho. It was true that if the red head hadn't done so he wouldn't have remembered the trauma he had buried so long ago. Yet he realized he wasn't angry with either of them. He couldn't be. Ahiru hadn't known any better and he was well over his old habit of getting angry with her for being ignorant. It wasn't fair to her. As for his sister, she had been desperate, suffering, and drowning in her own despair. Fakir knew what that felt like more than anyone and so he couldn't be mad at her for it. His depression was gone for the moment, and so he could think clearly. In that moment, it occurred to him that maybe there was something more he could do than simply fight. It would be hard and would be far more painful than anything else he had undertaken up till now, yet for Mytho's sake… Perhaps he should at least try. The young man suddenly stood and turned away much to the magical ballerina's surprise. "Fakir," she exclaimed quietly. "Take care of Raetsel," he requested softly before walking away. He didn't bother to retrieve the Lohengrin sword. Somehow…he got the feeling he wasn't going to be using it anymore.
Fakir ignored both Charon and Uzura once he got back home and headed straight for his room. With a shaky sigh he pulled out an old quill, an inkpot, and several sheets of paper and laid them on the desk-like portion of the shelf that ran under his window. He then turned up the lamp resting on the wooden surface before sitting down and leaning slightly forward on his crossed arms as he stared down at the paper lying there innocently. His memories started to stir in the back of his mind and he brought one hand up to his forehead as he shut his eyes to reflect over everything that had happened. He remembered Ahiru's words just before he'd left her and Raetsel behind, he remembered Mytho's struggle to prevent the raven inside him from harming his knight, and he remembered the girl he loved simultaneously pleading with him to write a story to save their friend and admitting to her own feelings of helplessness; of being useless. "What," he murmured softly, "Can I do…"
The newly recalled memory of his younger self staring blankly at his parents' corpses flashed once more across his mind's eye. Only this time, Fakir did not fall back into the shocked state that had overwhelmed him earlier. He still felt the same pain and horror he had earlier when those memories returned but this time… This time he fought them back and his eyes slid open slowly. They then widened in realization as he finally picked up the old quill. "That's right," he murmured softly as he started to write, "I used to have the power to change things. I can write Mytho's story and change the ending…" 'I don't know if this will even work,' the young man admitted to himself as he hesitantly spun forth word after word, 'I don't know if this will make things better, worse, or not affect anything at all. Still…I have to try.' He wrote and wrote occasionally pausing as he struggled to force back the memories of his parents' deaths. It took him most of the night, but he finally finished the story. He sighed in relief before his eyes fell shut and he fell forward on his desk in a deep sleep.
The next morning his return to awareness was slow. At first all he noticed was that his back ached fiercely and he drowsily wondered why. Then he heard Charon's surprised voice from outside and woke up fully as his words registered. "Raetsel," the man had said. Fakir staggered to his feet and picked up the story he had written before running down the stairs. He had to see if his sister was doing any better than she had been the night before! "Raetsel," the young man called as he ran outside before his eyes widened in surprise as he noticed a strange man standing behind her along with Ahiru. Raetsel smiled at her younger sibling kindly as she asked, "Oh, did you write a story for me?" The dark-haired teen shifted slightly at that, but didn't actually respond. He had written a story, and it had been in part because of his surrogate sibling that he had written it…yet it wasn't about her. It was about Mytho.
"Charon," the brown-haired woman was saying, "I…I'm going to marry Hans." The red-head looking on gasped in surprise as the smith replied kindly, "Is that right? Congratulations." "Raetsel," the green-eyed young man murmured in disbelief at how fast her feelings had cleared up. "You see," the indigo-eyed woman admitted, "I think I wanted to properly say goodbye to you, Charon." She then reached out and pulled the story the startled knight was still holding loosely out of his unresisting grasp as he finished, "But I'll take this. Thank you." "I didn't write about you," Fakir confessed quietly, "Whatever decisions you came to were all your own." "Even then," Raetsel told him with a soft smile, "I used to love reading your stories. I'm glad you are able to write again, Fakir. You have a real gift for story-telling." "Mm," the young man smiled back faintly, "Take care…"
Ahiru moved to stand next to her taller friend as he watched his sister walk away thoughtfully. Charon had already headed back indoors, so it was just the two of them. "The story didn't come true, did it," she asked hesitantly. "I guess it didn't," he replied with a faint smile. He wasn't too upset by that surprisingly enough. It wasn't as though he even knew what he was doing. It would take time and effort to discover if he still possessed the same ability, though the fact that he had seen the ending of the ghost knight's tale gave him some hope that at least some remnant lingered within him. "I thought I'd try writing," Fakir admitted softly as the red-head suddenly turned to look at him in surprise. "What," she inquired with a wide eyed gaze. "Mytho's story," he concluded with a soft smile. The blue-eyed girl smiled up at him in relief, "I'm glad…"
"Oh," he murmured quietly as he turned to look down at her, "That I'm willing to give writing a try now?" "Well, not exactly…. It's just that you were so upset yesterday," the diminutive ballerina started to ramble guiltily, "and I didn't understand why at first but then Raetsel told me about what happened to your parents and I felt really bad for even bringing it up. I never meant to hurt you like that, Fakir…" While it had certainly been painful and traumatizing to remember everything all at once like that, the young man didn't want her to blame herself for something that wasn't really her fault. "You didn't know," he smiled gently, "I can't really get mad at you for not knowing any better. Besides…I'm mostly over it…" "Mostly," Ahiru suddenly looked concerned. "It was a bit of a shock to regain all those memories at once," Fakir told her as he ruffled her hair, "I'll be fine, though, so don't worry about me." The diminutive ballerina scowled up at him for messing with her hair like that, but relaxed. This time he wasn't even lying. He would be fine.
A/N: SKLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Sorry. Next episode is yet another of my favorites and I am looking forward to writing it. This chapter went well, but I just realized there are some things I have never really addressed beyond writing it off as being Drosselmeyer's fault. Namely, Ahiru being the only one to use Japanese honorifics; believe it or not, I actually have a reason for that. I meant for it to be a charming idiosyncrasy of hers. No one really reacts to it because part of Drosselmeyer writing her in involved him making it so everyone just wrote the habit off as just one of her little quirks. Why does she do this? How does she even know Japanese honorifics when she lives in Germany? There is a reason for that too, but it is tied into head-canon that has nothing to do with this particular story. All you really need to know is I have a hard time believing that Ahiru's true self is a duck for all that the anime tries to convince me otherwise. So I came up with an alternate explanation. You will get to learn the details in future Tutu fics. Trust me, there is going to be no shortage of those. This series has kind of taken over my life… Well, I will see you all next chapter… SKLEEEEEEEEEEE! Present day edit: You know, for a moment, I was thinking I might actually not have anything I needed to fix… Then I find two typos. Those were the only errors I found…but it was still two too many! Grrrrr!