+ Fallacy, a 100themes Challenge +
Sarehptar
Theme: 25, Trouble Lurking
Characters: Kharl, Rath, Raseleane, Cesia is mentioned
Pairing: Rath/Cesia if you look at it with a microscope
Warnings: None
Need to Know Info: None
Title Provider: Wasteland (10 Years)
Turn and Tremble, be Judgmental, Ignorant to All the Symbols
He feels the power all throughout him, from the tips of his booted toes to the strands of his limp blond hair. It runs like liquid but is so much warmer, and in all his veins at once, fire and ash pulse almost painfully. It is so completely Rath that he almost falls where he stands. And he is the not the only one stunned. There is one collective stilling; every set of eyes in their crumbling castle closes, each set of lungs takes a shaking breath. He hears the rush before he is ready to move, but he joins them without questioning his own actions.
Lord Rath…Lord Rath… It is endlessly repeated in somber whispers, and as he follows the maids and fighters, it starts to sound almost like a mantra. It sounds like a plea, and sounds like a prayer. The Fire Dragon bates his beaded wings in the sunlight, casting a glow like drying blood over all their faces; over Rath, who smiles and who dies as he stands before them. In the end, it is Raseleane who approaches him, not Cesia. The wind demon seems almost frightened, almost ashamed, and when the Dragon prince's garnet irises meet her own gold, she is the first to turn away.
The Dragon Queen is infinitely gentle and infinitely distant with him, as if she is a clumsy fool approaching a flighty deer. Rath does not sneer, but Kharl knows that her delicate treatment infuriates him more than anything.
"Rath," she begs and scolds, "why didn't you treat your injuries?" He is covered in minute scratches, red lines chasing each other over the pale skin that seems paler in comparison to his black clothing. He says nothing, doesn't even bother looking at her.
"Someone go get—ah, Rara-sensei, you're here." The gentle blue-eyed queen tries to smile for him, but it is false and faltering and he can't bear to return it.
"Mi'lady?" He bows gently, taking the shaking hand she offers more to reassure himself than anyone.
"Please take Rath and care to his wounds." Her voice betrays none of the helplessness that roils in her eyes, and none of the fear, a fear she cannot even explain, that is unfurling inside her.
"I don't need a doctor," the black-haired Knight snarls, and there is an undercurrent of destruction and death in his tone. Raseleane moves to chide him, but the words stick in her throat, and it must be the look in her eyes alone that changes Rath's mind. His eyes burn with barely suppressed but cold fury, and he laughs. He laughs cruelly, too loud for the silence of the moment and too darkly to be taken well. Even the smile on his face is mocking, and something just seems wrong about it all.
Without a word, he falls in behind the doctor, taking slow, deliberate steps that click on the stone walkway and echo uncomfortably. Kharl trembles and cannot stop himself. They can both feel Raseleane's eyes on their backs, and something about the concern in those blue depths is almost painful. And then they are back within the thick marble walls of the castle, ignoring the spun-gold tapestries that rustle in their passing. It is only when they have turned down a closed corridor, far from the Dragon Queen's quiet gaze, that Rath snaps to a stop and refuses to take a step farther.
"I don't need you," he hisses, and the malice and the sheer condescendence in the words is frightening. That is not Rath's voice. When Avis turns to meet the narrowed garnet eyes, his heart presses hard against his throat—because the glittering intelligence and self-assurance in them does not belong to his son. The utter disregard, the biased hatred and the lust are feelings foreign to both of them, and he knows (knew from the very first moment and refused to believe!) that the creature before him is a hollow shell, the puppet of a power such a young boy could never hope to stand against. For a moment, Kharl longs to close the distance between him, to rip at that body until he's deep enough to tear the monster out. He stands still, smiles sheepishly, and lets the remnants of Rath vanish into the depths of the castle.
In his wake, the barest of spiritual traces worms beneath the Alchemist's skin, and though he tries so hard to ignore it, the lurking, dark pressure of the Demon Lord leaks into his mind.
"I don't need you," the voice says again in the echoing corridor.
Oh God Rath, you do!
Theme 26: Tears
"I'm a fool," she murmurs, but her roseate eyes echo different words.