Author's note:

Alright, maybe I did miss the deadline by about a week, but at least the next part came out in May as planned. This one is longer than the last, and I hope you guys enjoy it! I'll see you in the author's notes below.

Review response:

xeranii - Ah, my most loyal reader and reviewer! Glad that you noticed and liked the little habits Nel has been emulating off Cliff. I would like to think the two are rubbing off on each other in a sweet, couply way. Thanks for the enthusiasm! I can't wait to see how I write Crosell too lol... it's going to be a huge challenge that's for sure. Maybe even my biggest one (of this arc) so far! Nothing beats the battle scene at the concluding chapters of "The Stars Told Me So" though, so I think I'll be fine. Mostly. Hopefully. And bless you on your feedback on Albel and Roger's relationship. I worked really hard to try and portray their connection with each other, and I'm relieved to see that it not only worked out, but that you actually found it "beautiful". Sheds tears. I will work harder to create a more well-rounded cast than the original game! I love SO3 so much, it's my longest fandom (like, 15 years)!

Resonance of Faith

by Darkinterval

Chapter 7: Convergence

They arrived at Kirlsa an hour before sundown – a remarkable feat considering the extensive length of silent disagreements and cold, incriminating stares exchanged between the (mainly) male members of the party. Everyone had been on edge, as if one innocent comment or a glance too long would lead to another power struggle; but Albel behaved himself since the last row, even waited patiently (for Albel's standards anyway) by Peterny's South Gate when the others decided to take advantage of the town's advanced facilities to upgrade their weapons – and they mostly had Roger to thank for that. Like Cliff observed, the guy actually listened to the brat. It was really weird. And the uncharacteristically gentle look in Albel's eyes, which made him look like a lovesick puppy whenever he talked to Roger, certainly didn't help things. Actually, it was extremely subtle, arguably a figment of one's overactive imagination, but Cliff was sharp and noticed these things. He just didn't want to start another war between dragon boy and king of the UP3.

Kirlsa's copper stone surroundings and crisp evening air crept just over the horizon. Somehow, the town always seemed so painfully nostalgic, like its people were trapped in time, yet blissfully content in their ignorance, a memory trapped in a burned-out photograph. But Kirlsa's salvation lay in its children, the way they played on the streets and weaved between alleyways like a breath of life, a kindled spark to offset the dreary mundane. It reminded Fayt of autumn back on Earth: the winds were chilly, but the atmosphere warm and hopeful. Everything was brown and red, but not a single fallen leaf was in sight. He wondered if Airyglyph knew what autumn felt like.

A troop of Storm Brigade soldiers greeted them at the gates, spears in hand. Nel raised an eyebrow in interest. Well, this was new. Considering the situation at hand, this was not the kind of warm welcome she had in mind. It was Albel who stepped forward to address them.

"Lower your weapons, fools. Or did the old man fail to inform you of our intent?"

His callousness, although rude and entirely unnecessary, appeared to have the opposite effect on the soldiers, who visibly relaxed. Perhaps the default nature of Albel's grating personality lessened the anxiety they all felt towards the coming conflict, that things weren't that different and shouldn't have to be.

"My sincerest apologies, sir, but Count Woltar has ordered us to step up our defenses after the attack on Surferio," the Storm Brigade soldier explained, saluting the young knight. "Shall I announce your arrival, sire?"

"... I'll tell the old fool myself," said Albel, secretly pleased that at least some of Airyglyph's knights still respected him. He gave a curt nod. "As you were."

"Yes sir!"

Albel bypassed them and made a beeline for the Count's mansion but stopped abruptly when somebody oh-so-conspicuously cleared their throat.

"And where are you going?" Fayt shot him an expectant stare, his hand on his hip, feet tapping impatiently on the stone ground. "You can't just dump us here in the middle of Kirlsa and expect us to know what to do."

Albel was inclined to reply that in fact, yes he could, but he was pressed for time and he didn't feel particularly up for tormenting his rival after that grueling trek across Aire Hills. Instead, he returned Fayt's glare with a cruel smirk of his own.

"I'm a Glyphian, worm; and this is Airyglyph territory." He indicated at their surroundings with a flippant wave of his claw. "Don't expect me to bunk in with the likes of you. We may be on the same team, but I have standards."

Fayt rolled his eyes so hard, he felt a headache coming on. Despite Albel's fall from grace, his unfortunate past and recent losses, the man's ego really was something else. It wasn't a far cry from Roger's now that he thought about it. Maybe that explained why the two got on so well.

"Fine, whatever," he replied, not in the mood to argue. He was tired. They all were. "Where do we stay then?"

Albel indicated at an all too familiar shoddy-looking building with a fine claw. A weather worn flag of Airyglyph hung over the entrance, fluttering in the breeze.

"The Kirlsa Inn should suit you nicely; creaky floorboards and cold drafts, a dead rat under your bed if you're lucky – just like home, hmm?" he said with a mocking tilt to his voice, eyes narrowed in vague amusement. When all he received were hard, unimpressed stares, he turned away with a shrug. "I have taken care of your accommodations. Do with it as you will. Tomorrow's journey will not only be a test of strength, but also will. The Marquis is not known for his mercy."

Satisfied with their silence, Albel turned away, but felt a sudden tugging at his skirt. Looking down, he wasn't at all surprised to find himself staring into a pair of big brown eyes. They shone under the light of the setting sun and Albel struggled against his instincts to show anything but kindness to the little fool in front of his colleagues.

"Hey, ya gonna join us fer dinner? Nel says we're probably gonna eat at the Tavern, but I can't drink nuttin' so I guess I'll just have milk. Wanna come?" Roger asked in his usual boisterous yet naive manner, as if he did not just rudely invite an uninvited guest directly into his social circle without consulting the rest first. Fortunately, Albel was better at reading social situations, especially if they concerned him and his generally unwanted presence.

"Bah! The crap they serve can hardly qualify as dinner, let alone edible enough to pass as food, but…" he paused, harsh features shifting into a soft, awkward smile. "Thanks."

Cliff leaned down to whisper into Nel's ear. "Wait, did that guy just say, thanks? Tell me I'm dreaming." Her only response was a smirk. Well, he had her there.

Albel quickly stalked away before anyone could read too much into his words, his long bound hair and skirt swishing with his movements. The group watched their 'leader' leave with vaguely irritated expressions on their faces, before turning to each other.

"Now that Uncle Scrooge is out of the way, what next?" Cliff scratched the back of his head, at a loss. "Too early to hit the hay, and I for one have no plans on paying the Count a visit if Albel's hanging around, so…"

"Simple, ya big lummox! We stock up on food," Roger interrupted with a proud grin. "If we're gonna scale treacherous mountains and face off against the biggest and scariest dragon known ta mankind, not ta mention do tons of walking, then I wanna make sure I don't go hungry!"

Cliff groaned. "Are you serious?"

"Geez, 'course I'm serious!" Roger pouted. "I was thinkin' apples, maybe some pies or three… gotta have some bread too – Hey, ya think we got enough fol fer a travel sack?"

"For what?"

"Ta store all the food, rocks fer brains!"

The sigh that escaped Cliff's lips was a long suffering one, while Fayt simply shook his head at the boy's antics. "Do you always only think of food?" he asked with a little laugh. Roger blinked up at him adorably. "Well… yeah! What's wrong with full bellies?"

Fayt couldn't resist rising to the bait.

"Nothing," he replied with a sly grin. "Depends on what you plan to stuff it with... I could help." He ended with a wink and Roger's face turned so red, he could melt on the spot.

O-Oh. Touché, Fayt Leingod.

"If you two are quite done flirting," Maria interrupted a little too snappily, as she shot Roger a warning stare that caused him to flinch back, "then I suggest we get started." Her gaze swept across the party. "Any volunteers?"

Nel sighed, sensing the girl's wrath. After what they saw that night in Surferio during the kingdom dance, it didn't take a genius to figure out that Maria was jealous. She didn't know what sort of relationship the younger girl and Fayt shared, or how Roger fit into the whole picture, but it really wasn't her place to pry. It was obvious that Fayt still very much cared about Roger, and much as she disliked the idea of someone else coming between them and their relationship, perhaps it was for the best. After all, Fayt wasn't from their world, and she would rather Roger feel sad now, than have him cope with heartbreak for the rest of his life. It really wasn't that different from her and Cliff.

"I'll go with Roger to gather supplies for the trip. I have some old contacts here, so we should be able to get things at relatively low prices," she said, hovering over Roger protectively, while shooting Maria a deceptive smile that spoke of an underlying warning to watch her attitude. "We'll have Mirage come with us as well – she turned to said woman kindly – that is, if you don't mind? Roger and I could really use an extra set of hands."

Mirage nodded with a smile. "Not a problem. Lead the way."

"... Alright," Maria relaxed and dropped her hands from her hips, satisfied with their cooperation. "Cliff and I will gather information on Crosell from the locals. See what they know. With any luck, we'll have a better idea what we're up against."

Cliff turned to Fayt expectantly. "What about you? What're you going to do?"

Fayt mulled over his (limited) options. After upgrading his sword in Peterny earlier, there really wasn't any reason to pay Kirlsa's workshop a visit, but… He fingered a small device in his pocket discreetly. The sand in the hourglass was slipping through his fingers. Days faded in and out with the passage of the sun. And yet, he hadn't been able to complete the one thing he started on, since he crashed landed on this strange new world, embarked on an even stranger adventure, where he met the strangest, most wonderful boy he had ever known.

I'm running out of time.

"You guys go ahead. I'll catch up. I-"

When he lifted his gaze, Roger had been staring at him, something about that shy smile making his words unnecessary, unneeded in this place where time stood still, and they could go back to the beginning.

Roger was bored.

Between visiting general stores that all pretty much looked the same and picking produce and herbs that didn't appear that different from each other despite their fancy-shmancy names, Roger very quickly found out that Kirlsa was boring, he was bored and food alone wasn't going to cut it. He knew he wasn't built for such domestic tasks – he was a real man for crying out loud! But that didn't mean he disrespected the ladies; after all, making meticulous choices and carrying all that stuff – that was dedication. And focus. And he didn't have that. But he wasn't going to admit it. So, taking pity on the kid with the attention span the size of a pea, Nel had let him go on pretense of 'scouting for suspicious behavior' with a knowing smile. Apris bless her.

And that was how Roger found himself wandering aimlessly around the quiet little mining town, no less bored than how he felt 15 minutes ago. Geez, this was agony. He had passed that same outfitter twice and –

And then a swish of purple flashed past, before darting down a narrow street. Only one person he knew wore purple and Roger was on them in seconds, grinning wide at the prospect of bothering Albel into madness, clumsily tailing him as fast as his little legs could carry him. He wasn't one for stealth if a few upturned crates and clattering of trash proved anything, but he wasn't going for espionage (that was more Nel's thing) and his target didn't seem to care anyway. In fact, if he wasn't so busy dusting his pants off, Roger would have noticed the look Albel was giving him over his shoulder. The concern was somewhere beneath the exasperated grimace and haughty raise of his eyebrows. But Albel turned around and continued walking in long strides.

"You're embarrassing me," he tossed over his shoulder. And maybe he was, but Roger refused to let Albel have that one.

And so, their little cat-and-mouse game continued. Albel would visit shop after shop and Roger would hang back at the windows pretending (very badly) to be invisible and interested in the stuff on display. When Albel met up and made quick exchanges with old colleagues, Roger would peek over a wall and eavesdrop like an eager child at Christmas. Of course, the soldiers would notice and make attempts to point him out, only to receive a subtle signal from Albel to just drop it and pretend he wasn't there. That made the soldiers even more confused, but hey, they weren't going to question Albel the Wicked about his life choices. And when he entered a small eatery, Albel purposely took his time eating his slice of apple crumble and had to conceal a snicker at the knowledge of how hungry the Menodix probably felt while watching him. Served him right though. He was the one who wanted to keep up this ridiculous game. Roger really was innocent. Albel was sure he didn't even know what stalking was.

However, when he reached the entrance of an old pub, Kirlsa's shaddier and rowdier counterpart to the Iron Tavern, he stopped and turned to face a barrel standing in the middle of the street. Yes, Roger had decided to tail him in a barrel. And to any onlooker, he would appear to be talking to one. Thankfully Kirlsa was called a ghost town for a reason.

"This is a pub, little fool, off limits to even you. You can't come in."

Predictably, the barrel lid flew off and Roger emerged, pouting. "Why not?" he whined. "I'm boreeedd… and no one would notice me anyway!"

Albel sighed. "Yes, they will. Now go bother someone else for the next two hours."

Roger's ears drooped. "I take it yer ain't comin' fer dinner?"

Albel hesitated. "The invitation was… appreciated."

"Oh."

Disappointment. Albel had learned to deal with that all his life, but something about seeing it on Roger's face really didn't sit well with him. It made him feel uncomfortable and something-that-felt-like-guilt-but-wasn't, crawled into his chest. Dammit. He was growing soft. He hated this. He hated Roger. He needed a drink. Preferably a really strong one. Maybe three.

As luck (or maybe not) would have it, he noticed smoke coming from the chimney of a nearby workshop. And to make things even more perfect, guess who was busy striking metal inside? Normally, Albel wouldn't throw his rival a bone, but emotions were something he couldn't deal with and Leingod could probably do wonders to make the kid not feel so fucking disappointed, while he figured out his heart.

"It appears Leingod's slaving away at the workshop." He pointed at a window and sure enough, Fayt's silhouette and blue hair could easily be seen moving back and forth. Hair that striking was hard to miss, really.

"Why not you go see what he's up to? Then break it while you're at it." He chuckled cruelly at his own joke, but before he could comment further, Roger had happily bounded off, his playful giggles bouncing around his skull and once again, reminding him of his solitude.

"Please work, please work…"

The device gave two beeps and lit up; a holographic screen popped up and asked for an access code. Fayt gave a loud whoop.

"Yes! Fayt Leingod, you're one handsome genius."

"Access denied. You have entered an invalid access code. Reboot commencing in 10 seconds-"

"Wait, no, uh- "

A moment's scrambling and a few frantic tweaks later, he managed to disable the security system and leave the device in its default public setting. Initially, this was supposed to be a science project and certain precautionary measures had to be taken to ensure copyright, least someone else stole credit for his tech before he got it patented; but now, things were different. Fayt didn't even care if he had nothing to turn in for his assignment. There were just other things that were more important to him than an 'A+' on paper.

A delicate copper chain was melded on next, and as he waited for the metal to cool, Fayt picked up a thin metal rod with a sharpened tip the size of a pencil and wrapped one end in a piece of cloth. Then, he squatted in front of the workshop's fireplace and stuck the tip into the flames. Once it glowed a bright red, he removed it and placed the heated tip to the flat underside of the device, scratching in a series of letters. Every time the metal cooled, Fayt would repeat the heating process, the neat cursive strokes gradually taking shape. When he was finished, he tossed the rod aside and blew away the excess dust and tiny bits that gathered. Finally, he took a wet cloth from a bucket and pressed it onto the metal, smiling in satisfaction at the hissing contact between hot and cold, of a job well done, the end of a chapter and the beginning of a new adventure.

'I can't like Albel because I like ya, Fayt. It's always only been ya. Fer as long as possible. I wanna like ya fer as long as possible…'

Fayt's fingers around the device clenched. No doubt Roger's journey would grow to be an interesting one. He just wished he could stick around for the ride.

Suddenly, the workshop door creaked open and a head with long blue hair poked tentatively inside. Maria surveyed her surroundings with a purpose, until her emerald gaze landed on the man she had been looking for. Fayt quickly pocketed the device and rose to his full height, studying Quark's leader curiously. Was it him, or did Maria seem a little off? Like, more motivated, yet less in control. If Fayt could be honest, Maria was an enigma; he could never figure out what she was thinking, anticipate her actions, understand her motives. She was bossy, arrogant, incredibly intelligent and resourceful; but she was also fun, passionate and a skilled gamer. Maria Traydor was as graceful and beautiful as she was deadly. In other words, she was perfect. If Sophia was around, she would have probably played matchmaker and nagged him into making a move and fast. Girls like that didn't come by easily, and girls that shared things in common with him were even more of a rarity. And really, Maria was great. Fayt liked talking to her, hanging out with her, swapping knowledge and stories. He just didn't like her enough to take their chemistry further.

"I thought I'd find you here," said Maria with a smile as she approached him in confident strides. "Though I thought we already made the necessary improvements on your sword's structural balance and handling. Did you need to make some adjustments?"

Fayt chuckled at her curious expression. "Nah… just a personal project. What's up?"

Maria hesitated and her face immediately turned shy. "Fayt… could we talk outside? It's important."

Well, that was strange. But Fayt wasn't one to question her intentions, especially when she had come all the way here and asked so openly. "Um, sure. Ok." Really, what else could he say?

He followed her out the door, past houses and giggling children, until they arrived at an old bridge overlooking a rushing river. Fayt remembered this place: the path led to the Bequerel Mines. Maria paused at the middle of the bridge to gaze out at the tranquil scenery, an unreadable expression on her face. Fayt watched her approach the edge, before settling on the old wood, feet dangling over the side. He followed her example and the two sat side by side in comfortable silence. A bird landed on the railing near Maria's head and chirped happily. She watched it, a wistful smile on her face.

"It's so peaceful here… I can see why you have difficulties leaving."

Fayt hummed absently. "Mmm-hmm…"

When Maria failed to elaborate, he decided to jump straight in. "So… what did you want to talk about?"

"Well…" she looked away and cleared her throat awkwardly. "It's just that with all that's happened, we never actually got a chance to talk. Seriously speaking. All that you've learned mostly came from that rushed explanation in the palace and for lack of a better term, 'on field practice'. As leader of Quark and the person responsible for dragging you into this mess, I feel you deserve a proper explanation, an open and honest one without frills and barriers."

Maria's words took him by surprise. This was a softer, more considerate side of her. As opposed to how they first met, Fayt actually felt that Maria was addressing him as more of a friend than a mission objective. He supposed, like the rest of their party, they had really come a long way together. She seemed to understand his feelings because she offered him a genuine smile.

"So… don't you have something you want to ask me about? It can be anything, really. About anyone."

"Well, ok," Fayt pretended to mull over the question a bit. "When did you become aware of your power?"

That caught her completely off-guard and it showed on her face. "That's a strange thing to ask, considering where we are now." Maria's expression turned intrigued. "Why do you want to know?"

"I mean, I'm curious, I guess?" said Fayt, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish. "I found out because everyone told me, so I was wondering how you figured it out."

Maria closed her eyes and seemed to be struggling with herself, a frown creasing her features. For a moment, Fayt wondered if he had offended her and overstepped some boundaries, but Quark's leader eventually took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

"... All right. I'll tell you. It was seven years ago." Old, faded visions snapped into focus in her mind's eye. Distorted voices buzzed in her head like static. "I was 12 years old, living with my parents on Federation Station #17. My Father was a Federation officer, and my mother was a research scientist working on that station. Since both of my parents worked, I never got to spend much time with them, but I was happy. We were happy. That is, until the war with the Aldians took all that away…"

She could still hear the blaring distress signal in her dreams, could still feel the tremors from the blast whenever she walked along her ship's corridors.

"They attacked the station, and we had no choice but to evacuate – everyone that is, except my father." Maria paused there, that information an emotionally difficult one to relay. "We had a plan though: my mother and I would leave first, and my father would meet us at Arakh – he promised. But the situation changed; the Aldians pursued us and eventually overtook our vessel. My father stayed behind to fight, while my mother ushered me into the ship's remaining escape pod. I was distraught. Everything was happening so fast…"

"And that was when she disclosed a secret to me that she had planned to take to her grave... they weren't my real parents. I was a research test subject and they were tasked to protect me." Maria blinked back tears. She could still hear her mother's voice, almost as if she was right next to her and all those horrible things hadn't happened. "My mother's last words to me were this: You're very important! You must not give up. You must survive! You have the power within yourself." She shook her head. "But at that time, I didn't understand what she meant. How could I?"

Fayt gazed at Maria in a mixture of sorrow and disbelief. Finding out her parents weren't her own, and then losing them at the age of 12? That must have been tough. He had a newfound respect for the strong, independent woman.

"I'm so sorry…"

Maria shook her head, wiping away a stray tear. "Don't be. Anyway, my escape pod was due for Arakh, and all that time I kept wondering what happened to everyone else on board that ship. But on the 10th day, I received a warning that an unidentified ship was approaching my location." Her eyes immediately lit up at the memory, a fond smile spreading fully across her lips. "It was a Klausian battleship, as I later found out, and the people who went out of their way to save me, were none other than Cliff and Mirage."

"I see… so that's how you met," said Fayt, sharing in her amusement. Maria appreciated that. It became easier to divulge her past the more she went on, and the company definitely helped.

"That's right. I was taken to the Klausian home world. I no longer had any place to go home to, so I joined their organisation. At that time, Cliff was the leader of Quark, the infamous anti-Federation group that you know of today. He took me in, raised me, taught me how to fight and fly. We would assist planets affiliated with the Federation or unaffiliated planets pressured to join. In other words, our primary role was to act as an intermediary," she explained excitedly as the memory took her, reminded her of happier times, times where things were much simpler, and problems seemed so minuscule compared to what they were facing now. "I learned a lot. I'm… forever grateful to them."

"So how did you become leader?" asked Fayt with a wry smirk. "I can't imagine you-know-who stepping aside so easily."

His comment made her laugh. "Well… there was an incident. And it just so happens that incident is also the answer to your question." She straightened up and launched into the next part of her story.

"It was 4 years after I joined Quark. We were on our way to Rion when Cliff discovered I was accessing the Federation's database. I was looking for information about my parents, but more specifically, what my mother's true work entailed and why all the secrets. Cliff chose not to confront me about it. Said that it was his way of keeping an eye on me, but not letting me know they know, you know?"

Fayt burst out laughing and shook his head. Classic Cliff.

"I can imagine that."

Maria shared his sentiment with a soft giggle of her own.

"Anyway, shortly after that, we received a distress signal from an unknown ship. However, when we warped to its location, it was a trap. We were attacked by the Invisible, a Federation battleship. Their equipment and technology far outmatched our own. Our team had been compromised and Cliff was forced into a corner knowing we had no chance for escape." Her expression hardened and turned cold from the memory. "We were going to die."

Fayt held on to Maria's every word desperately, but when he noticed her struggling again, he allowed her time and space. This whole conversation was probably very difficult for her and if her reaction earlier was any indication at all, he was the first person she ever confided with in six years!

"That was when I remembered my mother's words. I couldn't give up, I had to survive. And it was in that life and death situation where my powers manifested." Maria reached out to the sky, fingers splayed open like she was channeling her powers the same way Fayt did when he defeated the Vendeeni, the same way she did against the Invisible two years ago.

"With my ability to manipulate all matter and energy, I managed to amplify the magnitude and intensity of our quantum torpedoes and took down the Federation battleship in a single strike. Over time, I began to learn methods to exert a small amount of control over it. I still haven't been able to reproduce the power that took down the Invisible, but after that incident, everyone wanted me to become the leader of Quark." She paused when she noticed her companion's awestruck silence and flashed him a cheeky grin. "What's wrong? Are you surprised?"

"Well of course!" Fayt exclaimed, snapping out of it. "And I have the same power too…"

Maria nodded sagely. "That's right. And if everything that has happened so far isn't enough to convince you, then I have proof." She turned and looked him dead in the eye. "I investigated the research facility where my mother was working at to find out about my own birth. I found what I was looking for, and something else: a report of a terrifying experiment."

Fayt had a bad feeling about this. "Research facility?"

"The lab where my mother worked at that time was a symbological genetics research facility inside district 16 of Moonbase," Maria explained.

"But that's where my dad-"

"Correct," she finished for him. It really wasn't rocket science. "The Leingod Research Facility. My mother worked for your father as one of the lab assistants there. I was a test subject at that lab, scheduled for disposal – I still don't know why. She rescued me. That's how I learned there was another subject that underwent the same symbological modifications just like me… you."

Despite what he already knew to be true, that news was still a shocker. If Fayt wasn't already sitting down, his knees would have given way.

"But why?" He whispered fearfully. "That kind of experiment is forbidden!"

"That's why I want to rescue your father, to ask him directly," said Maria with sudden conviction, rising to her feet. "To ask him why the experiments. Why I was looked upon as nothing but trash in his eyes, meant to be thrown away. Why two people who loved me had to go through all that and pay the price with their lives. Why I had to live such a lonely life…"

As she went on, her voice grew progressively sadder, the spark in her eyes lost. A quiet, desperate anxiety fueled by years of loneliness, dominated her speech. There was so much pain, sorrow and anger reflected in Maria's soul, it dragged Fayt to his feet as he closed the distance between them. Placing his hands on the girl's trembling shoulders, he gave them a firm squeeze, emerald meeting emerald, sealing their exchange with a promise.

"I understand, Maria," he said with a smile. And he really did. He got it now. "Let's rescue my father. We'll ask him… together."

However, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. Because Maria had closed her eyes, leaned forward, and placed her lips gently upon his own. There was a sudden rustle of leaves, but Fayt stayed there, against the rise and fall of Maria's chest, too shocked to move, and time slipped out of place.

Fayt shoved the younger girl away and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. His emerald eyes had gone impossibly wide, confused and horrified by what had just taken place, his head swimming with a series of disarray thoughts and questions. The uncomfortable buzzing in his cranium reached a crescendo. Did Maria just– What the hell just happened?

"Maria, what did you do?"

The question hung in the air, echoing in their ears with a dawning dread, like someone had just crossed the line and was only just realizing the repercussions of their actions. At first, no one spoke, both coming to terms with the kiss and what it meant – well, for Fayt at least. Maria however, had her head bowed, blue bangs obscuring her eyes as she let out quiet sniffles, shoulders trembling. And Fayt hated that, he really did. He disliked it when girls cried, worse still if he had been the cause of it. He had only reacted out of instinct, because he knew what a kiss on the lips meant and he knew he didn't feel the same. But the same couldn't be said for Maria, and from what he gathered from her story – her past, anger, sorrow and loneliness – Fayt knew that he needed to help her understand.

"Oh no, no… Maria… Hey," he soothed, gently cupping her cheeks and getting her to look at him, thumbing away her tears. "Hey… it's ok, please don't cry…" He offered her a kind, gentle smile, seeking her gaze like a flower seeking the sun, chuckling softly, nervously. "Because… because if you cry, I really, really don't know what to do."

It was like dejavu; and in that instant, Fayt felt like he was talking to Sophia again and they were back on Hyda IV. But Maria was a little different than Sophia, because unlike his childhood friend who experienced real relationships, read romance novels and cried her eyes out while watching crappy soap operas, Quark's leader never had the chance to lead a normal life.

"I thought… I thought you liked me," she said between hiccups, trying her best to compose herself but failing miserably. "We seemed to get along… you even said we made a great… great team. I spent… four years reading up about you… learning about the kind of person you are… searching for you… I felt that we have this connection."

Oh boy. Fayt really felt like a complete jerk.

"Maria, I do like you," he assured her, doing his best to sound as sincere as he could. "But as a friend."

"Well, I don't!" she shrieked, though it came across as a defeated whine instead. Dammit, why did it hurt so much? "I like you, Fayt. As a… a…" She paused, struggling for the right term.

Fayt sighed, helping albeit reluctantly, "A boyfriend?"

When Maria did nothing but simmer in bitterness and embarrassment, Fayt decided to approach things from a different angle.

"Ok, ok." He conceded, "What do you like about me then?"

Maria blinked rapidly in surprise at the sudden question but was quick to reply. "You're captain of your school's basketball team, you won the Intergalactic Pro League Gamers Championship three years in a row, you have top grades in your cohort but you're extremely lazy and–"

"Uh, that's nice and… kinda creepy that you know so much about me, but I'll have to stop you there," said Fayt with a serious stare. "Maria, I asked what you like about me, not what you know. Do any of my achievements mean a thing to you? My personality? My flaws? What?"

Maria gnawed at her lower lip. "I like… your… reaction time? When you fight."

Fayt sighed even louder this time. On one hand, he felt relieved Maria's feelings were both superficial and misplaced; but on the other hand, talking to her about relationships and something as simple as what she liked was frustrating as hell. And so, being the ever patient and nice guy he was, Fayt decided to break things down for her really slowly.

"Maria, you don't like me. You never did. And before you start arguing with me about how I'm wrong, I just want you to know that liking someone for their reaction timing really doesn't make sense like, at all."

She blushed, mortified by her confession, but at the same time appeared less uptight and insecure about herself and the awkward situation they found themselves in. Fayt took it as a good sign to continue.

"You're lonely because you've lost so much, one after another. Then, you find out the two

people you loved weren't even your real parents… you must've felt that you've been alone all your life. To top it off, you have your powers, which made you one of a kind, until you met me. Finally, you found someone who was just like you. It gave you hope and suddenly things weren't so dark and scary anymore." Fayt shook his head sadly. "Now, I wouldn't go so far as to claim that I understand how you feel, because I never had to go through what you did. But what I do know is that you can't cling onto someone who's equally damned, and call it love."

A beat, then it was Maria's turn to sigh. Fayt… made a lot of sense. For someone who had his head up in the clouds so much, the Earthling possessed a surprising amount of insight. Maybe it was this place and the things he had seen; they changed him, molded him. Now she felt like such a fool. Perhaps he was right. Maybe all she needed was a good friend to show her the way.

"I'm sorry for what I… for what happened earlier," she apologized, averting her gaze nervously. Thankfully, she knew Fayt was too carefree a sort to hold grudges, or even understand the meaning of post-confession awkwardness. "We, ah, still cool?"

He grinned and tugged her hand into a friendly shake. "Yeah, of course!"

"Great." Maria withdrew her hand and held it against her chest. She was still worrying her lower lip. A sudden doubt filled her eyes. Something still bothered her.

"How will I know?"

"Huh?"

Maria braced herself as she repeated, "How will I know if I like…" she swallowed. "If I love someone?"

And Fayt smiled at her innocence, answering the younger girl the same way he had answered his childhood friend all those moons ago.

"Right here," he said, taking Maria's hand and placing it over her heart. "No need to overthink things, ok? You'll just know. Don't worry, you'll find them. One day."

Maria sniffed and wiped away the last of her tears, before meeting Fayt's eyes with a smile of her own. "Is that how it was with Roger?" she asked, genuinely curious and for the first time, happy for him.

At the mention of the Menodix's name, Fayt's heart clenched as did his fingers around the device in his pocket. A bushy tail. A bright, oversized helmet, and a vision of a small humanoid boy grinned and waved to him before drifting away, his last expression, a wistful smile, turned towards the sun. They had a good run.

"Yeah." He bowed his head, placing a hand over his heart. "I just knew."

Since his imprisonment, Albel never thought he would pay his guardian a visit, much less see the old bastard again; but here he was, sitting pretty at the manor dining room and nursing a glass of red wine after a fine cut steak. Absently, he thought about Leingod and gang and the poor excuse of dinner they were probably having now and chuckled beneath his breath. How sad and truly pathetic.

"Seeing as it is almost impossible to make you laugh, I'm rather interested to know what it is you find so humorous."

Woltar entered the room, flanked by two guards, both whom he immediately dismissed at the door. As soon as the large oak barriers boomed shut, the King's adviser and Captain of the Storm Brigade made his way to the head of the long table in calm, measured strides. Albel followed his movements with narrowed eyes, jaw clenching and claw flexing, digging into the old wood on the underside of the table, leaving marks.

"None of your business, old man."

"On the contrary," Woltar replied, exhaling a soft and contented sigh as he slowly sank into his chair. "Loathe as you are to concede, you are my ward and thus, your business is my business." His gaze travelled to the weapon strapped to Albel's side, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. "Such as how you suddenly came to possess the legendary Crimson Scourge. I take it its power and reputation have been more of a burden than a blessing."

Recognition flashed across Albel's eyes and with an infuriated growl, he lunged forward, drawing said weapon so swiftly, Woltar barely had a chance to blink before he found the sword's blade buried deep within the hardwood in front of him, the sharp tip mere inches from stabbing through his lap. However, the old sage didn't so much as flinch and that pissed off Albel even more. Sly bastard. Woltar had foreseen these series of events and orchestrated the whole thing somehow. Deep within his soul, Albel knew the old knight was incredibly dangerous, ruthless in his cunning and experience on the battlefield; but this… this felt too calculated to simply pass off as something nonsensical as fate.

"Come now, boy. Surely you would have anticipated I had a word with his majesty, before you were pardoned and released from your sentence?" said Woltar with a patronizing smile. "Besides, I do not see any reason for complaint; after all, here you stand, master to the most terrifying weapon ever to be forged in this world. I think I need not elaborate the fact the sword found you worthy."

Albel gave a contemptuous snort. "All I had to show was how much of a disappointment I was, and suddenly I'm worthy." He retrieved the Crimson Scourge, stared at his face reflected in the blade's gleaming surface, and shook his head. "Bah! What does it matter? I'll be dead tomorrow and the last of the Noxes will fall to The Marquis."

Woltar studied his ward with a pensive frown. Did Albel think so little of himself, even now?

"Tell me, Albel. Are you here because the sword told you to, or because you want to?" he asked.

The humorless bark of laughter that followed said more than what he feared to be true.

"What difference does it make?" said Albel spitefully, going on the defensive. "Freedom? Choice? I never had those. Every decision I've made, every path I have left… they all lead to the same place, the same cruel punchline – I'm only here because someone else wants me to be."

Woltar gave him a pinched expression. "You are quite the drama queen. That being said, if it is not you who would face up to Crosell, then who?"

"Old man, are you going to tell me to do this for the greater good?" Albel sneered, losing his patience. What he didn't expect however, was the unsympathetic scoff that left his guardian's lips.

"Hah, greater good? I do not think you care." Woltar fixed his ward with a cold, unfeeling stare, so grave and indomitable, it made Albel freeze, like a boy who suddenly regretted going against his father out of mere spite and childish pride. But as soon as it appeared, all that hardness melted away to be replaced with the somber features of a regretful old man.

"No, I do not believe you need that. You do not need honor. Pride and ambition, you have no use for them. You do not need orders and you do not need guilt." He rose from his seat and moved to stand face-to-face with the wary knight. Albel stayed on his toes; years of experience taught him that the old Storm Brigade Captain was more than what he seemed. But all his thinking flew out the window the moment Woltar bridged the gap and years of second-guessing with a pair of firm hands on his shoulders.

"Whatever you choose to do, that decision is yours. When your father sacrificed his life, it was to protect yours." He smiled and it was one of kindness. "Albel, the future and its infinite possibilities - they all belong to you. It is your life, boy. Do not let anyone tell you what you want and how to lead it."

Albel lowered his gaze, mulling over the old man's words with an intense frown upon his brow. My life? If only he knew what he wanted out of it. If only he knew who that person was in the reflection of his sword–

Someone was shouting.

Actually, make that many people were shouting and a very loud someone was trying to shout over them.

Confused, Albel and Woltar shared a look, before the two Glyphians were on their feet, shuffling through the foyer and out the mansion doors. They descended the garden stairs, Albel taking two steps at a time, irritation increasing tenfold the closer he got to the entrance. He was immediately greeted with the view of a dozen Storm Brigade knights huddled together, struggling and talking down to something a lot smaller than the impression their loud, high-pitched voice led others to believe. Idiots. This better be worth his time or–

"Ya numbskulls! Do ya have any idea who I am?!"

He knew that voice.

"Look, kid. I couldn't give a shit if you're the Prime Minister's daughter–"

"Prime Minister's son!"

"But this is Count Woltar's estate, and the lord and Sir Albel have given strict instructions to bar all unauthorized persons from entering the premises."

What followed thereafter, was a pitiful, heart-breaking whine; a cross between desperate and pained.

"Please, I just wanna see him… I wanna see Albel! It's important, I needa talk ta him! Please… please…"

And the moment Albel roughly shoved the last guard aside, he was immediately assaulted by the sight of a trembling little Menodix boy, eyes full of tears. Then, the wave of pain started. A sharp pang went straight through his chest, multiplying through their bond, and Albel had to do everything in his power to force the excruciating feeling down, with nothing to show for his troubles save a slight grimace.

"Forgive us, sir, but the kid wouldn't–"

"Leave it."

A pair of fluffy ears perked at the sound of that familiar voice. As soon as Roger noticed the stoic ex-captain staring straight at him, he threw himself at his legs and the flood gates opened. The child sobbed uncontrollably, mumbling gibberish, steadily soaking up the front of Albel's skirt with snot and tears. Startlingly, the wicked one didn't seem to mind; instead, ignoring the questioning stares from his fellow knights and guardian, Albel gently scooped Roger into his arms and entered the mansion without another word.

"It… it's F-Fayt… He… he and… I s-saw…"

"Shhh…" Albel hushed, whispering in his ear. "I know. I feel."

He swore on his honor, Leingod was going to pay dearly in blood.

Albel poured himself another glass of wine, swirling the liquid absently as Roger managed through his recount on Fayt and Maria's romantic exchange no less than an hour ago. It was… unexpected to say the least, detestable at most. No words were necessary; he already knew through their bond; but the poor boy needed an outlet, a way to get all the hurt and confusion out, no matter how miserable and painful the entire process was. If one asked the ex-captain if he actually cared enough to listen, Albel would have quite frankly said 'no' and be done with all things blue hair, self-righteous and from outer space. But because this was Roger, he couldn't ignore him even if he wanted to, both nature-wise and his own budding sense of personal duty.

"And what would you do now?" he finally asked, the question burning at the back of his skull since the boy started his emotional waterworks. Funny, he never thought he would use those two words in the same sentence when it came to Roger.

The humanoid's ears drooped as he fingered the bed sheets, releasing a shuddering breath. "I… I can't go back," he whispered, not when he's there. And Albel understood well enough, downing the remaining contents of his glass.

"Hmm. You can't stay here, fool."

Woltar's disapproval could already be felt an entire hallway down… and he was out of wine. Fantastic. He crossed the room and pulled out a small flask of sake and a saucer he had stashed away in a chest at the foot of his bed. It had been years since he last stayed in the mansion. Fortunately, his stuff were still here and, he noted with approval, untouched.

Albel returned to his little table by the window, uncorked the flask, and poured himself a generous amount of sake onto the saucer. He brought it up to his nose, gave a quick whiff, and tipped the liquid into his mouth. Wonderful. The burn was welcome at the back of his throat. He could feel the stress and pent up tension in his muscles slowly ebb away. Roger watched him with curious eyes, fascinated by the simple act, drawn to the man's elegance and grace. The scent of yeast and sweet fruits filled his nostrils.

"Hey, what's that? What'cha drinkin'?" he asked, pointing at the pale, ceramic flask. "Smells amazin'! Can I try?"

Albel openly snorted. "It's sake. And trust me, it smells better than it tastes. Best to keep your curiosity to yourself, little fool." Despite saying that, he had already gathered his things and moved to sit next to the child on the bed. Roger's eyes sparkled with something childlike. "Really?" And before the Glyphian swordsman could fully process the implications of that remark, Roger had shot forward, grabbed his full saucer, and downed everything in one gulp.

Albel was too busy smirking at the little boy who had immediately started coughing from the alcohol he had just shot back, to worry about how Zelpher would react to the knowledge of him allowing a minor to drink. Then again, she didn't have to know. And the idiot was the one who stole his sake anyway. It served him right.

"Bleargh! What is this stuff?" Roger's face looked like he had just swallowed a bag full of lemons. "It's like I just drank lead! I smelled berries. Where's the berries?!"

"Let me rephrase this in a manner your diminutive brain would understand," said Albel patiently. "This is a drink for real men, not for foolish children like you. Now go back to the inn."

But that was obviously too easy. Albel knew it would be, so he wasn't at all alarmed when Roger shot him a defiant stare and snatched the ceramic flask from his hand. A little warning voice in his head told him to stop the brat right now before they both got into trouble, but a bigger, selfish part of Albel wanted to see the little Menodix drunk out of his mind… And so, he remained silent, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, as he watched the boy put the flask to his lips and gulped down every last drop of the clear liquid. No doubt it was burning his throat and stomach, but Roger showed a surprising amount of resilience for someone so young and small.

The humanoid thrust the flask into Albel's waiting hand with a grunt of triumph, breathing heavily. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Roger wondered if he had been baited somehow; but the more emotional, foggy part of his brain brushed that thought aside as soon as it entered. Nah...

"Hah! Who's the real man, now?" he announced proudly in between his panting, jabbing at the Glyphian's chest with a finger for emphasis. "Guess I ain't a foolish child after all, huh?" His face was red and his gaze helplessly unfocused. Roger was most certainly, hilariously, drunk.

"So you've proved," Albel drawled, an odd mixture of affection and irritation in his expression… until a nasty smirk crossed his face when he suddenly realised he was the one who had to deal with the consequences of Roger's stupidity and answer to a possibly livid Nel Zelpher and her friends. As if they didn't already have enough reasons to hate him.

"... It's late, little fool. I'll walk you to the inn." But a small hand shot up and grabbed his wrist before he could even push off the bed.

Roger had his head bowed; eyes focused on a single spot on the blanket. A look of concern and annoyance peeked through Albel's raised eyebrows. The child refused to meet his stare.

"Hey, Albel," Roger began slowly, unsure, like he was trying to put a series of complicated thoughts into words, but the alcohol really wasn't helping much. "Why do ya call me 'little fool' all the time? Do ya… I mean, I know ya call everyone a fool 'cuz ya probably mean it, but…" He raised his head and his gaze was immeasurably sad. "Am I… really a fool to ya? S'that how… how others see me? S'that why Fayt… why he..."

Roger couldn't complete his sentence, but he didn't have to. The sake was long forgotten the moment he felt a pair of strong arms – one warm and hard with muscle, the other bulky and cold as steel – wrap protectively around him, pulling him onto an equally firm and warm lap. A pair of lips ducked down to whisper in his ear, low and hoarse from their intimate position, the feel of Albel's body heat a smoldering furnace against his own.

"Listen well, for I won't repeat myself." Albel pulled him closer until they were chest-to-chest, and Roger released an involuntary moan. "You are no one's fool but mine alone."

The older man's words made him smile. By this point, Roger found it hard to focus his attention on much, except for Albel and how safe he made him feel, how close they were, his small body pressed shamelessly against Albel's bigger one – and why wouldn't he want to focus on that? Everything else seemed to be a waste of energy and brain cells. His head felt odd… floaty. His body felt pleasantly numb, the area between his thighs uncomfortably hot and tingly… Had he felt this way before? Maybe. He couldn't remember. But it was better than the burn in his throat and the shitty feeling in his chest at least.

"Mmm, Albel," Roger moaned, fingers trailing down the length of the older man's gauntlet, purposeful. It was his turn to cock his head and whisper into Albel's ear. "Y'know, it's just us… why don't ya take off the claw?" The intoxicated look in the boy's eyes could only be described as incredibly sexy. "I wanna get a good look at ya…"

Albel fought back a growl and the impulse to throw Roger onto the bed. Oh yes, he was going to introduce alcohol as a staple beverage in the Menodix's diet from now on.

A few quick clicks from hidden latches, and the metal gauntlet clattered onto the floor. Its owner hardly flinched. That wasn't going to be used tonight if he had anything to say about it. Roger himself wasted no time in touching the exposed flesh greedily, running his fingers over smooth skin and hard muscle, tracing the intricate lines of the swordsman's dragon tattoo with a careful intimacy that bordered on grossly indecent. The mark of the dragon coiled around Albel's left arm, across his left pectoral and shoulder, and ran along the entire length of his back only to seemingly disappear in a graceful dip. Just like before, the mark glowed and thrummed with a hidden power wherever his fingers touched – it never ceased to fascinate Roger. Vermillion eyes watched him intently in the dark.

"What are you doing, my little fool?"

The finger stilled as dark brown eyes blown wide with desire, met Albel's own.

"I wanna see where it ends," Roger breathed into the quiet of the bedroom and Albel's gaze turned heated. He ran a thumb along plump pink lips that parted easily from his touch.

"Do you really?"

And in Roger's hazy mind, he only had one thought.

Yes.

Roger's lips crashed clumsily, hungrily against Albel's, taking the ex-captain by complete surprise. They fell onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and labored breaths; clawing fingers, too many clothes. Roger was on top of him, his body moving sensual patterns over the other as he desperately sought for more contact, his swishing tail rubbing against a certain area below the Glyphian's waist. Albel returned the favor by bucking his hips to meet Roger's own growing need, chuckling darkly when the boy keened against his lips. Still, Roger refused to let up. The kiss was messy and clumsy, but eager in his enthusiasm. There was something highly surreal about the entire situation, or maybe Albel was just finding it difficult to come to terms with the sudden turn of events. He had pinned for this boy for so long that when he was finally presented with the opportunity, years of experience in bed didn't mean a thing, and Albel was still figuring out how to breathe.

"C'mon, ya call yerself a real man?" teased Roger between playful nips and kisses. "Show me what'cha got."

Oh, Albel was not about to be shown up by a cheeky 12-year-old child.

He sat up and took control of the kiss, cupping the back of Roger's head as he forced his tongue into the boy's willing mouth. Albel massaged his shy, innocent tongue with his own, curling and sucking on the sweet thing languidly. The swordsman's thirst was insatiable. Roger's helmet slid off his head and clattered to the ground as he leaned back, his hands scrambling behind him to hold his weight, his chin tilted up to take in as much as Albel's desire as he could. Despite the strain from his new position, Roger discovered he enjoyed being used like this, to fulfill the older man's needs – and to his utter embarrassment, he realised the obscene moan that broke the air and filled his ears, was his own.

They broke apart long enough for Albel to flip their positions and shove him back onto the bed. Hands roamed and mouths tasted. Euphoria clouded Roger's mind to the point he didn't even protest, much less realise when Albel had unhooked his overalls, until the straps pooled at his hips. His shirt followed next and Roger really did shudder this time – from the cold or excitement, he wasn't sure – as he felt more than saw Albel push the fabric up to his chest, exposing a pair of pretty pink nipples. They peeked at him enticingly; Albel gazed at them in lust, completely mesmerized when they hardened under his smoldering stare, twitching in need. Roger squirmed and writhed beneath him.

"Mmm… ah… Albel, q-quit teasin' me already!"

Well, since the brat asked so nicely…

Unable to resist, he reached out and ran a finger over each rosy bud, relishing in their softness and Roger's breathy moans. He teased the sensitive flesh, circled around and pinched them with his fingers, before lowering his head to give each nipple a flick with his tongue. It earned him another of Roger's delicious sounds. Then, he took the entire thing in his mouth and sucked hard, alternating between the two and lavishing equal amounts of attention on each precious pink bud. Roger keened and panted in want, tossing his head side to side from the stimulation. Both his nipples were swollen and aching pleasantly in seconds.

Albel wasn't the drunk one, but he felt increasingly lightheaded as he fondled and kissed his way down the boy's smooth chest. He brushed against Roger's need, groped and teased it playfully, and the child gasped from the pleasurable stimulation, but Albel was cruel and decided to drag out their foreplay a little longer. His hand moved to squeeze the boy's firm ass and Roger nearly screamed from frustration, his neglected arousal a throbbing need trapped beneath rough fabric. Albel groaned from the sight. It was intoxicating. He had wanted Roger for so long and by Apris, he'd have him!

When Roger started to rut shamelessly against his thigh, Albel paused to remove his own tunic, giving the intoxicated humanoid boy under him an excellent view of his chiseled chest and well-defined abs, tight and perfectly sculpted from years of grueling military training and combat. Roger's breath caught in his throat as he watched the swordsman's beautiful body descend over him once more to claim his lips in another passionate kiss. Albel found it impossible to stop. The boy tasted divine. Sweeter and more addictive than any sake he had ever drunk. The more Roger curled around him, the harder and faster Albel felt himself fall and before he knew it, his kisses turned gentle, each caress lingering longer than the last. All he could feel was Roger and Albel longed for this to last. Roger felt his eyes slide shut, submitting fully to the man above him and sighing into the kiss. Their bodies danced and moved in sync between the sheets. Fingers tangled into his hair. It felt like paradise.

Roger…

His eyes fluttered open. The masculine body above him appeared slighter, sun-kissed. Long dark hair receded into short blue. The ends tickled the skin of his cheeks and the warm smile that greeted him, so full of love and adoration, was not Albel's but the one whom his heart yearned for.

Fayt?

Emerald eyes sparkled from the light of dim candles. The kiss on his forehead felt soft and reminded him of sunshine, of a much simpler and happier time from days long past. The man from the stars mouthed three simple words, but they were words Roger would have killed to hear him say again right now. The swordsman he loved laughed as he cried.

Fayt…

Albel's fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear and tugged down. Roger stiffened and the fog cleared.

No… stop…

"Stop!"

Roger shoved Albel off him, or rather he tried to, but the guy was indomitable in comparison, so he settled for pathetically beating the man's chest instead. "Puh… please s-stop… stop! I don't want this! I don't… I–" He crumpled against the pillows and buried his face into his hands, sobbing. Albel sat up and immediately placed a respectable distance between them, his concern made evident by the deep frown on his face.

"What is it?"

What's wrong?

It was the first time Roger saw the Glyphian swordsman look so affected, so worried about him, and it made him feel all the more worse on what he was about to say.

"I'm a terrible person," he choked on his tears, shielding his eyes from the world with the back of his hand. "Ya c-care about me… so much… but all I see is him and I can't–" Roger pulled at his hair and screamed. The tears fell faster. "I love him, Albel! It's always only been him. But I'm not… I'm not bein' fair to ya…"

Albel's eyes slid shut in defeat. His soul was in turmoil; bitterness, resentment and jealousy painted his heart a dark black. After everything said and done, the Menodix still chose that bastard Leingod over him. He was sick of being the runner-up, rejected, but he forced those feelings aside before they could take hold of him and run through their bond. Roger didn't need the added emotional burden now.

"No, little fool. You're drunk."

And before Roger could even begin to protest, Albel grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to his chin to conserve his modesty. The kind gesture touched something deep inside his heart. It was too much for the humanoid boy and a fresh wave of tears sprang to his eyes. After all the hurt, even at a time like this, Albel still found a way to defend his honor at the cost of his own. He really is a knight, Roger thought sadly. And I don't deserve him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into the blanket, guilty and ashamed. The pleasant effects of the sake were beginning to dissipate. "I've hurt ya and I don't know how ta make things better..."

Albel sighed. "I'll live. But if you think this will keep me away, then you're sorely mistaken. Leingod is still an imbecile with a hero complex, and I've sworn to protect you with my life."

Roger felt inclined to point out that made two of them with the hero complex, but refrained from it and smiled against the warm blanket instead. He didn't care what others said about Albel – he was the strongest and kindest person he knew and for some crazy reason, the man loved him. It was at this point when Roger wondered how things would be like if he hadn't fallen for Fayt first.

"Hey… Albel?"

"Mnn."

The heat from Albel's body next to him and his scent felt so comforting; and before he knew it, his eyes began to drift shut, fingers curling in the blanket.

"Can I stay here with you tonight? Please?"

A pause, then a shift of the mattress, before he got his answer in the form of one Albel Nox blowing out the candles and pulling the covers over their naked bodies. Albel curled his body protectively around Roger, while the later snuggled against his chest with a grateful sigh.

"Thanks," he murmured. A hand stroked his cheek.

"Sleep now, little fool. I'll have a guard inform Zelpher on your whereabouts."

And Albel did just that, the guard leaving as quickly as he came, an obvious question hanging in the air about a certain Menodix naked in his bed, which he refused to address. Outside, the currents picked up and a gust of wind blew past, causing the branches of a nearby tree to tap against the window like fingers, like someone trying to keep him awake even as twilight faded into dusk. And Albel thought then of the strange situation that circled his, Roger's and Leingod's relationship, the paths converging in hurried, overlapping lines that culminated at one point, at where they now stood, within reach but far apart. His hold around Roger tightened, afraid to lose; a calming beacon in a raging storm, a sweet innocence that only he possessed, convincing Albel it always was and could only be him. But thoughts of Crosell and his fate plagued him, of the coming morning that could very well be his last, and it wasn't until Roger's breathing evened out into a deep slumber, when Albel finally closed his eyes. Those thoughts stayed with him still.

To be continued...

Author's note:

I consider this a 'progressive filler', if anything. Not a lot has happened in terms of plot, but character relationships have definitely escalated and I'm rather proud of how they turned out.

We finally get a glimpse into Maria's past and her feelings involving Fayt. And hey - here's that bedroom action I promised! Nothing too explicit, at least not yet at this point of the story. I guess you could call it a slow burn (I should update my tags with this)? Anyway, Albel finally has his moment with our little Menodix, even though the circumstances weren't a hundred percent favorable. Still, I wouldn't have ended this chapter any other way, and I'm happy with it.

If you enjoy my story, please leave a review! I love talking (a little too much) and reading what you think :)

Until next time!