Well, it's been a long time since I uploaded anything. And it's another really long chapter. Sorry about that. I kind of cut a few scenes a bit shorter than I wanted to keep from over kill. There is a small warning with this chapter. There's some slightly graphic death scenes involved so this chapter. Hopefully nothing worthy of changing the story's rating... Anyway, I finally got to upload this! Yay.
*~Number Five~*
"Florian, please hold still," Pamela said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. The replica wrinkled his nose, but it was the only protest he made while restraining himself from squirming away. This was the third time this week Pamela had to stitch a seam back together on his clothes. Silk and delicate robes were not designed to keep up with Florian's ever growing sense of adventure. His restlessness had already cost them a few pairs of pants and shoes. The woman was starting to think they should find something more productive for the boy to do with his energy, but no one had the time to assign him with a task aside from basic studies. She sorely wished that they had the luxury of her staying at home and taking care of him full time so she could keep him busy. However, the chaotic movements of the Order wouldn't allow her with all the reorganizing of staff that had to be done. It was clear by now the Commandant and the Six-God-Generals would not step down or be dissuaded from their destructive course. Maestro Tritheim had all but assumed the role of Grand Maestro himself while he attempted to fill empty positions of Oracle Knights and other staff members that had left in support of Mohs' New Order of Lorelei. Soothing the fears of the public was also a high priority while debates raged over recent developments surrounding the Score and new course Aldrant had taken. Honestly, all of it was a little too much for Pamela to take in and tried her best to remain focused only on her duties and left the philosophical debate to those better studied in scripture.
"Ow!" Florian squeaked when her needle pricked his skin and nearly jerked away, but the matronly woman gently held him in place.
"I told you not to move so much," Pamela said with a tiny chuckle at the sulky look on his face. She sighed and decided the best course of action was to simply remove the over vest from Florian's robes and repair it later. Carefully she folded up his collar so she could unbutton and lift the fragile, green material from his shoulders then smoothed it back in to place. Lighter and better able to move, Florian flapped his arms to test his new freedom. He smiled happily up at Pamela and approved of her alterations. "Goodness, you've lost your hat again, too, haven't you?"
"No," Florian said, "I took it off because it kept falling. It's on the bed." Pamela nodded, pleased he hadn't lost or destroyed more clothing. She fondly tidied his hair and adjusted the ornaments his longer strands of green were strung through.
"You should take better care of your clothes," the woman said.
"They aren't my clothes," Florian said, avoiding shaking his head for fear of his hair being pulled while she tended to it, "They are Ion's. I don't have any clothes." Pamela paused a beat at the reminder.
"That's true, isn't it…" she mused distractedly, wondering if they should petition for some clothes better suited for the replica's increasingly rowdy games. Once satisfied with his appearance, she stepped back to inspect her repairs. It was strange to see the white and green embroidered robes without the ceremonial mantel over his chest, but somehow it better suited Florian. "Still, try hard not to rip them again, ok?"
"I'll be careful," Florian promised impatiently, "Can I go now?"
"Have you finished Maestro Tritheim's assignment?" Pamela asked, not fazed at all by the frustration in his eyes. She knew he had been well behaved all day and she had kept him at home helping her so it was understandable he was getting antsy, but she also knew once he scampered off to play on his own she wouldn't be able to get him back to the books.
"Yes," Florian said with an affirming nod, "I did it just like he said to." Pamela smiled. She didn't need to worry about him lying to her or checking his work like she used to with Anise. Florian had only tried to lie to her once in order to get out of taking a bath and he had been so instantly guilty afterwards it only took a second questioning before he broke down with the truth.
"Go on then," Pamela said, "And, remember not to leave the church grounds." Florian agreed again and waited for her to step out of the way before making it to the door and running off to find something fun he could do. Pamela sighed softly, knowing sooner or later they would need to teach him not to run. Since the boy had discovered his ability to cover large distances so quickly, he practically ran everywhere he went.
The blur of white and green was common place now in the Order. No one batted an eye and merely stepped out of his way while Florian breezed past. Not all approved, but most knew the child meant no harm and it was strangely refreshing to see someone feeling enthusiastic about anything. Once the Order members had gotten past the initial shock of Florian's presence in their lives and the loss of Ion, they had come to recognize him as the child he was rather than some abomination of fomicry. He had quickly grown to be a lovable enough charge after the Tatlins taught him how to be friendly and not fear everything that moved. And, as long as Florian was in his comfort zone, he was fairly bold and outgoing but normally kept to himself. Among the clergy it was well known anything too foreign or sudden would send him scrambling for safety until it had been properly explained to him.
Of all the Oracle Knight units, the Fon Master Guardians had been the most distressed about his appearance in the Order and the quickest to warm up to the child. Many, Florian had noticed, were girls for some reason and fairly young. None were quite as young as he or Anise, but not adults. He had found them to be terrifying in the beginning with the way they would swoon over his strange, childish way of talking and shyness. Now he found most of them to be very likable since they always said kind things to him and were known to periodically bring him treats from the town. Florian had been happily introduced to different snacks and candies as well as small puzzle games they let him borrow. Puzzle games were especially enjoyable and he was always well rewarded by praise when he finished them and returned the solved toy to its owner. Thus, the Fon Master Guardians' wing was normally the first place the replica went when he earned free time to himself.
The wing was more a series of connected rooms that all emptied into a common area were announcements were made and sessions called into order by the higher ranking members. Pamela had explained to Florian that there were different types of Fon Master Guardians. Those that worked as a unit under the Fon Master's orders and those that served as personal body guards, like Anise. The unit was a fairly small, elite group in the Oracle Knights that, without a Fon Master, served little purpose. It was only natural the masterless guardians had grown restless and contests among their ranks or mindless wandering was very frequent these days. This meant they had plenty of free time to fawn over their little Florian.
"Florian," many of the girls chorused happily when they spotted the dark green eyes peeking into the common room's doorway. He suppressed the urge to flinch back at all the sudden attention, and smiled at the guardians.
"Hello," he said politely as he entered the room, standing near the door and knowing from experience they would flock to him so further entry was not necessary. Soon enough he was surrounded by several girls all bearing similar over vests to what Anise wore. While they had no distinct uniform aside from mantel design, there were some requirements to their attire so they could be recognized as an official branch of the Order. Florian tried to return the individual greetings to the girls, but it was hard to make sure all of them got equal amounts of attention.
"Ah, your clothes are different today," a tall brunette in lavender commented before chuckling, "Did you tear them again?" A stouter blonde girl didn't give Florian the time to respond; they all knew the answer.
"I bet Pamela scolded you," she said, voice thick with a Sheridan accent, "You're always doing that lately. What do you keep getting yourself into?"
"There are birds in the trees outside," Florian said as if it wasn't obvious, but wasn't foolish enough to assume they didn't know. He was acutely aware of the fact things that were new to him were actually considered common sense by most. "I read that they lay eggs this time of year. I want to see the eggs… But I'm not very good at climbing."
"That's dangerous," one of the older girls pointed out. She didn't out right scold him and seemed more amused than concerned. "What if you fall out of the tree or cut yourself? We don't want you to get hurt and make yourself cry again." Florian ducked his head shyly and blushed, having recently been told outright crying was frowned upon for a boy his size even if his age didn't match his body.
"I… I won't cry," he said with no confidence at all. The boy wasn't quite used to physical pain. Even though he had become more rowdy and ran about it was rare he actually fell or hit anything so bruises and minor cuts were still unfamiliar to him. With little to no tolerance for pain built up, the slightest of injuries would cause his eyes to sting with tears. The girls only chuckled at him, knowing better, and Florian tried to ignore their amused swoons about him being embarrassed.
"How about if we get a bird egg for you?" the tall brunette asked. Florian's eyes widened with concern and alarm at the notion and shook his head so fast it made his long strands of hair whip about his shoulders.
"The book said mother birds will run away if you touch the egg," Florian said urgently, "Then the egg can't hatch without its mother and it will die." The tall girl was a bit surprised by the degree of his concern before chuckling at him and ruffling his hair.
"You're such a good boy," she said warmly, "You're right. We shouldn't do anything that might hurt the birds, but you also shouldn't do anything that might hurt yourself." Florian blinked at the hypocrisy he saw in her words.
"But all of you have a dangerous job and do things that might hurt you," he pointed out, "Things that would hurt more than cuts and bruises… Don't you?"
"W-Well, that's different," the stout blonde said in her comrade's place, "We only do that because it's for the greater good."
"Is it… ok for people to be hurt if it's for the greater good?" Florian asked with another concerned frown. The girls winced collectively at the philosophical question the boy raised. Sometimes it alarmed them how he could pull such deep thoughts out of thin air and voice them with that baby tone.
"Oh, Florian, that's hard to answer…" the blonde admitted, looking to the others helplessly. No one seemed to know how to describe such a complicated idea to the boy that even they barely had a grasp of.
"Why?" Florian asked innocently, surprised by their reactions.
"It has to do with a lot of adult concepts and moral implications," the older girl finally said cautiously, knowing that the wrong wording could send the boy into a flurry of questions none wanted to answer. Sometimes talking to Florian was like walking on egg shells. There was only one phrase she knew would stop him in his tracks. "You'll understand when you're older."
"But…" Florian started to whine, his argument dying even as his brows furrowed with dissatisfaction. For some reason that seemed to be all most people could tell him and he couldn't ever summon the courage to push the matter hard enough to get a straight answer. His only further protest was his cheeks puffing out in a pout.
"Florian, would you like to play?" a soft spoken, pink haired girl offered to distract the boy, "I have something you might like." Florian internally wrestled with himself, wanting to sulk out his frustrations, but he knew it wouldn't do any good and he was curious now. He relented with a small nod as his expression softened while he focused on her. Smiling, the girl retreated to her room so she could fetch a toy, the turquoise tail of her uniform flapping behind her. The other Fon Master Guardians had to suppress a sigh of relief now that Florian's attention was diverted to something better suited for a child.
"Here," the pink haired girl said happily as she returned, holding a small box in her hands. Now that the object of question was in sight, Florian moved forward a few steps to meet the girl. Once at his side, she removed the lid and showed him the oddly shaped blocks of wood inside. "It's a puzzle. But not just any puzzle," she paused for dramatic effect, "You have to put it together so it makes a statue of a star."
"So, it isn't flat?" Florian asked, his eyes fixed on the puzzle pieces as if already trying to decipher its configuration. The guardian chuckled and shook her head.
"No," she said, "It's pretty hard so don't worry if you can't get it. I hope you'll try it though." The replica bobbed his head up and down excitedly. If he was able to solve a hard puzzle then maybe they would give him extra praise and even the Tatlins would be proud of him for it.
"I want to try," he said enthusiastically, "I'll be careful not to break it."
"Ok," the girl said, "I'll let you borrow my puzzle. Bring it back when you're done." She replaced the lid on the box before handing it off to the green haired boy who clutched it close to his chest. He grinned happily at her.
"Thank you," he said with a slight bow.
"Maybe that will keep you from climbing trees for a little while, hm?" a girl in brown and olive clothes said more than asked.
"Just until I finish it," Florian said honestly as he smiled at the girl, not realizing she was teasing him. The others giggled at his naiveté. "I'm going to go now. Good bye." He was rewarded with a high pitched chorus of farewells from the Fon Master Guardians. Waving, he retreated from the room to find a nice, quiet place he could get to work on his new project. It was no great mystery to anyone where he would end up. Originally the room had bothered him deeply, but the Fon Master's vacant bedroom had become a bit of a hangout for him when he didn't want to be disturbed by others. No one would question what he was doing there and it was extremely rare anyone had any need for entry into the room.
Florian hummed softly to himself as he shut the door behind him with one of his feet, not wanting to take his hands off of the puzzle any longer than necessary until he had it safely placed on the desk. He walked around to sit in the chair, scooting it forward so his chest was against the corner of the wooden construction. He gripped the box almost affectionately as he removed the lid and tilted it so the contents spilled across the table without losing any pieces off the edge. He kicked his legs contentedly in time with his humming as he began to assemble his puzzle. Time lost all meaning as he worked and would only stop if his body had some sort of natural need to take care of then promptly returned. The puzzle was more difficult than what he had become used to. The lack of pictures also removed key clues to where each piece should go but he wasn't deterred in the least by a challenge. Florian actually found that the harder something was, the more accomplished he felt when he was finished.
Eventually the boy pushed himself back from the puzzle, admiring his progress and happy to see he was half way finished. Proud of himself, he decided he could take a little break before continuing. Florian rose from the desk and stretched hard until he felt his spine pop into place. His legs were a bit stiff and he was mildly amused by himself for not noticing the time that had passed while he worked. Surely it was dark by now but he wasn't willing to head back home just yet. The boy decided to stretch his legs by walking around the room since venturing outside might lead to someone taking him back to the Tatlins before he was ready.
He paused by one of the paintings on the wall and tried to place what it might be depicting. Obviously the woman floating in the picture was Yulia Yue and the massive object behind her had to be the original Score before it had been split into the fonbelt and the seven fonstones. Florian shivered at the thought of the Score being so massive and wondered what the fonstones orbiting the planet said on them. It was a bit unnerving to think that there was still so much they didn't know about Yulia Jue and whatever bits of the Score lingered above the atmosphere. Aside from a few myths and legends in scriptures, she was a mystery despite her fame.
Florian's thoughts were shattered when a loud crash interrupted him. His body instinctively dove for the bed and he scrambled beneath the frame. His heart beat wildly in his ears. Every muscle tensed when he saw broken glass on the floor. He hadn't touched anything. He hadn't broken anything. How could such a thing happen? A soft thump caused Florian's body to go cold when he saw two feet firmly plant themselves on the floor near where a window had been. He had to cover his mouth to keep himself from whimpering outright while his body trembled. The shoes lightly tread across the floor and Florian could hear a soft snort of contempt as they neared some books that were arranged on a shelf.
"Not in an obvious place, hm? I guess if Van is interested in this book it wouldn't be something they would just leave out anywhere…" He could practically hear a sneer forming while the stranger spoke. The voice was very young and male, but, most importantly, Florian knew that voice. Somehow he knew it was lower and a bit louder, yet identical to one he heard very often. His fear subsiding to curiosity, Florian slowly edged himself out from under his hiding spot to the opposite side of the bed where the intruder was standing. He very carefully lifted his head so he could peek over the mattress. Before him was another young boy in long, dark clothes with green trim. They were tightly fitted to his slender, lithe body yet still seemed like they would provide optimum mobility. Orange and yellow bands around his upper arms trailed off into two long ribbons with circular rings at the end. His chest had two dangling, orange and yellow seals of some sort held onto his uniform by silver, circular pins. His dark green hair had been swept forward from the back as if the boy had been bent over so long his hair stuck in that position. The most striking feature about the young man was the strange mask on his face that looked like an embroidered bird beak to Florian.
"Ah…" Florian started, working his lips and only managing a soft squeak. He hadn't realized until then how dry his mouth was. The soft sound was all it took for the intruder to spin around, arms raised in a defensive position and his hands clenched into violent fists. His sudden movement caused Florian to duck down behind the bed.
"Who is there?" the other boy demanded, voice filling with irritation at being caught. He didn't expect anyone to be in the Fon Master's room at this hour. When no one answered he narrowed his eyes under the mask and cautiously edged forward to check the scene of the squeak he heard. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't the Fon Master himself pressing his back against the side of the bed and hands clasped tightly over his head for safety. The intruder stumbled back yet remained in a defensive position.
"You're dead!" he cried out in anger and alarm, "How are you…?" His question died on his lips as he finally was able to get his mind to catch up with himself. He chuckled, but the sound was cruel and mocking. "Oh, I see… another replica. So, they're going to replace him with you. Figures."
Florian meekly glanced up at the boy, frightened but something about this person still drew him closer. He tried to speak again but his throat refused to make any actual sounds. He pressed himself hard against the bed when the dark cloaked boy moved closer to him, practically towering over Florian.
"I bet you're actually just trash, too, thrown together at the last minute by Mohs," he sneered, "Well, maybe I should put you out of your misery before you can get attached to this disgusting world." He reached down and roughly grabbed Florian's collar, yanking him up into a standing position and ignoring the soft cry of protest. "Consider this my mercy to you…" Florian could only stare at him with wide eyed confusion and horror as the intruder pulled back his fist then buried it in his stomach.
Florian gagged as air was forcefully thrust from his lungs and he doubled over. His legs gave out and the other allowed him to crumple to the floor on his hands and knees. His face was to the floor as he tried to regain the ability to breath. Tears filled his eyes but he didn't sob as he sat there, stunned and hurting. "Wh… Why?" he managed to wheeze out.
"I told you," the boy said coldly, "This is my mercy to you. This time I'll do it in one hit so it won't hurt." He waited for a reply, but all Florian did was tense up and began muttering something incoherent under his breath. The attacker snorted and decided that the child was too scared now to do anything as he moved forward and grabbed a fist full of soft green hair, pulling the child's head back so he would be able to have one, clean shot at the fragile throat. He ignored the strange, distant look in the replica's eyes, assuming the fear had caused him to lock up. The fist pulled back again, this time twisting over on its back and straightening into a fleshy dagger. A bright light under him was the only warning he had before white hot pain raced through his body and he felt himself flying into the far wall on the other side of the room. The would-be murderer instinctively tried to roll to his feet, but he collapsed to a kneeling position as his whole body burned. "No way… a Daathic Arte?" he hissed out.
Florian was just as surprised as the other boy was, staring at him as if it was he who had up and decided to fling himself into the wall. The attacker growled at his own stupidity for not thinking the other replica could use such artes even if he was a newborn. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen other Fon Master replicas use Daathic artes, but he didn't recognize the power Florian had used. He narrowed his eyes, knowing now it would take a little more effort than planned to kill this child. He rushed in to attack, launching himself into a combo of punches and kicks that were distinctly lacking in Third Fonons. With a squeal of alarm, Florian ran from the attack, scrambling away as fast as he could. He wasn't followed instantly as the other remained still just long enough to reach a conclusion how his power could be so diminished that the younger replica had escaped him at all.
"You…" he started slowly, voice rising with anger, "You cursed me with a fon slot seal!" He snarled and launched himself at the boy again, hands raised to capture the younger boy's thin neck and squeeze. Florian gasped in horror and raised his hand instinctively, light flashing around him again as a glyph filled the entire floor of the bedroom. The older boy skidded to a stop in horror before trying to run from the room, recognizing the size and style of the glyph this time. Everything went white.
Florian slowly opened his eyes and was stunned to see the other boy lying on the ground face first and motionless. He stared at the child in shock before looking down at his own hands as if they had acted on their own and were the real culprits. He hiccupped softly, remembering the throbbing in his stomach and the fear that had gripped him moments before now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Sinking to the ground again he began to sob. He refused to budge while he cried, wondering why no one heard the noise and came to find out what was going on. Surely there had been some kind of sound or light given off to alert one of the knights, but nothing happened. When he had run out of tears and it didn't look like anyone was coming to rescue him from this situation, he turned his watery eyes to the prone figure on the floor.
Slowly and cautiously he scooted over to his attacker. When he was confident the other boy wouldn't be moving anytime soon and was still very much alive, he carefully knelt and turned the boy over. Frowning at the mask, he removed it; his eyes widened to take the face in but he was strangely unsurprised to look at his mirror image. Somewhere deep inside of him he had recognized this boy the moment he heard that voice.
"Another Fon Master replica…" he breathed out in awe. Florian's fear was instantly gone as he focused on what such a discovery meant for him. Pamela had once mentioned that because he and Ion's birth had been similar that probably made them like brothers. So, if the same was true here, that would make him a brother, too, by definition. It was a strange idea, Florian thought, of having a brother when neither had biological parents. However, Pamela seemed very insistent on the idea, so he eventually accepted it as true. From his understanding brothers were supposed to take care of each other and he wondered why his sibling had been so set on hurting him.
He mulled over his options for a long time until he noticed a strange, red substance leaking from the hairline of the older replica. Florian gasped in horror at the sight of blood, scrambling back as he fidgeted for some sort of solution. He knew nothing about treating others, but he at least had the sense to know he needed to stop the bleeding. Without thinking much beyond that he rushed out of the room to collect what he assumed were necessary healing supplies.
Everything ached was the first thought he had. Wounds were not uncommon for him and he was fairly certain he would have no trouble shaking them off if not for the splitting headache. For now he remained still and tried to show no signs of being aware of his surroundings. He determined he was on a bed. From the softness and lack of drafts or dampness he doubted it was a prison bed but surely he had been captured. His body was sore but he could already tell it was nothing he couldn't fight with once his headache subsided. Escape would be easy enough no matter where they placed him, but it was humiliating to have been captured at all. It took all his will power not to clench his fists at the thought of that stupid looking Fon Master replica. If he hadn't lowered his guard this wouldn't have happened. He should have assumed any replica that Mohs would decide was worthy to serve him would be capable of using high level artes. What bothered him most was that this replica had used two powerful Daathic Artes without showing any signs of fatigue. There was a strong chance that Dist had perfected his replica technology and created a stronger version after the seventh one.
Soft padding of feet near him caused the boy to refocus his attention on the room. The footsteps were accompanied by a strange sloshing noise and stopped next to the bed. The halt was followed by a tiny thud of something heavy being put on the floor. He could feel eyes on him, but refused to move unless he sensed danger until he could figure out some more answers or knew he would have the advantage to attack. Just because he hadn't heard guards didn't mean there weren't any. More sloshing and dripping noises followed and he wondered what his captor was planning. Something wet and warm was slopped across his face. With a cough and yelp of alarm he sat up despite his efforts not to react.
"What are you doing!" he raged as he ripped the drenched rag from his face, glaring at the other green haired child. Florian gave a start and his mouth dropped open in a little 'o' of surprise as he took a step back. "Idiot! You should at least wring it out first unless you're trying to drown me! I should… ugh." He slumped forward as his head spun again. Florian shifted uncomfortably and fiddled with the edge of his robe.
"Your head was bleeding," he reported softly, "There's a bump… I'm sorry. It's my fault…" He allowed his apology to trail off when he noticed the seething glare he was being given between his assailant's fingers.
"You took off my mask."
"It was in the way…"
"You saw my face."
"I've seen it before," Florian reported bluntly, "It's mine, too." He took notice of the other boy clenching his fist around the wet cloth so tight that water drained from it onto the bed. A silence fell between them as they reached a stalemate.
"M… My name is Florian," the younger replica said, forcing his friendliest smile that usually resulted in a kind greeting from others. He wasn't used to the kind of hostility he could sense from the other boy and wasn't sure what to do other than be friendly.
"What number are you?" the other asked shortly.
"N-Number? I don't remember…" Florian admitted. It had been a long time since he was referred to by a number even by Mohs. Generally he had defaulted to some sort of insult or simply called the child replica. "But, um, what's your name?"
"You don't want to know my number?" the other asked with a wry chuckle as if being asked his name was something funny to hear from another replica like him.
"It doesn't matter," Florian said, voice soft but honest and blunt as usual, "We're the only two left now, right?" The older boy let out a short, amused snort at the child's logic.
"I'm called Sync the Tempest," he said, "One of the Six-God-Generals." He watched for Florian's reaction, assuming the child had at least heard of him and the others. The child blinked and thought over that a moment before nodding in acceptance.
"It's nice to meet you," he said, smiling cheerfully the way he had been taught to greet knew people. Sync narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He had seen the recognition briefly in the other replica's eyes.
"Why aren't you scared? I tried to kill you," Sync said. Florian looked down.
"I am scared," he admitted, "What you did hurt but… what I did hurt you more." The other replica nearly rose to his feet as if insulted, but was too dizzy to do more than sit up straight.
"You only won because I lowered my guard," he snapped before narrowing his eyes and looking down at himself, "Although, it was my own foolishness. I should know better than that. It's disgusting... Pathetic." He almost flinched at the sad, worried gaze the younger boy gave him.
"You were bleeding," Florian said anxiously, "I've… never made someone bleed before."
"In this violent world, that's rare," Sync said with a dark chuckle, grinning with that horrible irony again, "You really are just the Order's little pet now, huh? What a cute life."
"I don't understand what you mean," Florian said, frowning at the oddity of sarcasm, "But if you think I am cute, you must think you are also cute. That's called narcissism, right?"
"You're irritating," Sync said rather than trying to argue or explain his words. He had enough experience with being a new born replica and seeing Dist's experiments to know it was a waste of his time. Florian was startled and sulked at the insult but didn't know how to argue against an opinion. Sync shifted when he noticed the growing dampness against him and looked down at the cloth in his hand. "What were you even trying to accomplish with this?"
"Pamela puts a warm cloth on Oliver's head when it hurts," Florian explained, still sulking unhappily. Sync chuckled again in a way that made Florian uncomfortable.
"So, you were trying to make my head feel better? What a good little boy you are to try and make your enemy comfortable," he said. Florian frowned. He doubted that was a compliment.
"Enemy?" he repeated unsteadily, "An enemy is… Why are we enemies?"
"I tried to kill you, right?" Sync said more than asked, "That doesn't make us friends. Besides, I bet you've taken sides with Anise and her band of idiots."
"You know Anise?" Florian asked, eyes widening. Sync grinned, hoping to spark some anger into that overly sweet, innocent face on the younger replica's face. He leaned closer to the other boy.
"I've tried to kill her a few times," he said smugly, "So, yes, you could say that." Florian reeled back at that statement, eyes going wide in horror and something Sync wasn't expecting at all. The younger replica hesitated a moment before he moved closer in concern.
"They must have beaten you up a lot," Florian said, not seeming to consider Anise and her friends as being killable. Sync quirked a brow as he stared at the other before wondering if he should feel insulted. He sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair, hesitating when he felt an absurd amount of stick on bandages glued to his green spikes.
"Wh-What is this supposed to be?" he gawked, wincing as he ripped one out with a small tuff of his own hair.
"They stop bleeding," Florian explained calmly, flinching at the millionth glare Sync had given him, but was becoming used to it.
"I know what they're for," Sync ground out between mildly clenched teeth, "I mean… Why are they all over my head?"
"I wasn't sure where the cut was… your hair is very thick and it all sticks out funny so it's hard to look through," the naïve boy said, "So, I just put a lot on." This time he was able to avoid the rage on the God General's face by finding the ceiling very interesting at that moment.
"You really are an idiot!" Sync snapped, "There's no way you and I were created from the same source! I refuse to have any relation to someone as stupid as you are." His anger dissipated at the pitiful look he received from the little boy and nearly flinched back himself this time when he saw moisture in Florian's eyes.
"I… I just wanted to help," Florian said unsteadily, voice hinging on tears, his gaze hurt and upset. Sync was mostly just glad the other hadn't started outright crying. How he hadn't been caught yet was a miracle but he was fairly certain if Florian went into a sobbing fit someone would hear and come to check on the child. "Because… you're my brother, aren't you?"
That stopped Sync in his tracks. His expression blanked yet again, floored by the younger replica's rationale. The concept of disposable trash like him having someone call him brother was a ridiculous notion. Florian's blush and discomfort told him that even the other child knew it was silly, but seemed to want to believe it.
"We're replicas," Sync said slowly, "We don't have families. We aren't related or even actually born. We're just things created to be used."
"I know," Florian admitted after a small beat, "I know that, but Pamela said…" He sighed and looked up at Sync, meeting the equally dark jade gaze. "I think having a family sounds nice. Why not?"
"Because," Sync began angrily as if it was obvious but he actually didn't have much to back up his argument. He had simply never thought of having a family. Since Mohs had dubbed him as useless for his purposes and Van took him in, he had only concerned himself with how stupid the world was and how everything was meaningless. His bitterness had never even allowed the concept of family to graze his thoughts. None of the other God Generals even mentioned theirs so it had always seemed pointless. He internally cursed when he saw that Florian was still waiting patiently for his explanation. "Ugh, it doesn't matter," he finally said irritably, "We just aren't brothers."
"Oh…" Florian was disappointed and it showed on his deflated expression. Sync briefly thought about smacking that pitiful look off the child's face, embarrassed one that was identical to his own would have such a stupid expression. However, that would have no doubt resulted in more tears and potentially summon knights that he wasn't quite ready to deal with yet.
"Why didn't Mohs program you like the other recent Replicas?" Sync said more than asked with a grunt of irritation, looking away from the source of his anger even as he addressed Florian, "At least he could have made you less babyish."
"Program?" Florian repeated slowly as if the word was foreign to him. He wasn't terribly well versed in technology since Daath severely lacked in Fon Machines and he had been created to serve as a Fon Master. Scripture was far more important for him to have memorized.
"Yeah, program," Sync said, rolling his eyes, "So that you would know things without needing to be taught." He hesitated, only then noting how remarkably well Florian was speaking and functioning for a freshly made Replica. Most were barely better than infants unless programmed, but Florian lacked the soulless gaze and monotone of a programmed model. Perhaps he was a bit older than Sync first assumed. Mohs could have had him created as a precaution when the seventh replica started acting on his own. It irritated him that Mohs and Van would have kept something like this a secret from him. Not that it was any of his concern. Van had no obligation to tell Sync anything more than what was necessary for him to do his job, after all. Trash had no need for that kind of consideration.
"Are you ok?" Florian's soft voice derailed his train of thought briefly. His gaze slipped back to the replica in question. The more he thought about it, the stranger and stranger Florian seemed. Mohs had been very busy making a menace of himself. When did he have time to create and train a replica Fon Master in the past months? Dist had been too swamped with researching Hod's replication data to have taken the time to carefully construct one as well. Fon Master replicas required quite a bit more effort to successfully give birth due to the fact they were supposed to be capable of using all seven fonons. There was no way Dist was that good at multitasking. Sync had been convinced the idiot had some sort of attention disorder with how spastic he always was.
"How old are you?" the older replica asked instead of acknowledging Florian's concerns. The boy was a bit startled by the question.
"I'm not sure," Florian admitted slowly, "I was in that room a long time… Before that I was…" He frowned softly as his voice trailed off. Synch waited impatiently for him to continue. When it became obvious Florian didn't intend to he allowed a frustrated grunt to escape him.
"What?"
"It's a bad memory," Florian said, avoiding eye contact.
"What would you know about bad memories?" Sync asked venomously, sneering again at Florian, "Like a piece of trash would know anything about—"
"Trash?" Florian suddenly interjected sharply, causing Sync to pause. He wasn't prepared for the soft spoken, timid child to cut him off. His eyes locked with the equally dark jade gaze and felt as though he had been mentally pinned to the wall by the startlingly piercing stare.
"What's with you?" Sync asked, trying not to show his wariness. He couldn't take Florian too lightly. Especially not after how that had ended the first time.
"Trash… Why did you say that?" Florian asked, his intensity fading a bit but his stare was hard on the other replica. Sync hesitated at the question, wondering why that word struck Florian so. Was he sensitive to the fact he was a replica? Earlier in the conversation he had seemed very aware and accepting of what he was. If this was a weakness then the sadistic sodier might be able to have a little fun.
"Does it bother you?" Sync's lips curled into a cruel grin, "Even if Mohs picked you to be his little back up pet, you're still just trash. The seventh was the only one of us that mattered. The rest of us—"
"—are only kept out of pity to be used then thrown away," Florian cut him off again, finishing the sentence. His voice was soft this time but the words had stopped Sync cold. He felt a strange coldness wash over him and his smile faded into shock as he stared at his mirror image. Florian's gaze was no longer hard, but distant and thoughtful. "That's what he said… That's what Master Ion said to us."
Sync's mouth worked soundlessly, but couldn't bring himself to form an intelligent response while his mind spiraled. His mouth went dry when he reached the only possible conclusion but he had to verify it.
"How do you know that?" he asked, voice cold and glare harsh this time as he regarded Florian. The boy met his gaze unflinchingly but he was calm now. Sync was further irritated to recognize Florian had already realized and accepted the situation.
"You were there, too," Florian said slowly, a smile creeping onto his face. He shifted his robe, rolling up the sleeve to reveal a trio of scars on his arm that had to come from some beast. "Remember me? Do you? I remember you now."
"Y-You…" Sync chocked, not recognizing his own voice as it hitched in his throat. He clenched his fists around the blankets he was sitting on. It was entirely impossible he was alive. Van told the replica God-General he was the only survivor. He was vaguely aware that Florian was now chatting happily at him but he couldn't get himself to register what the words meant while his head swam with memories.
Everything was red. His fingers sifted through the red dust thickly coated over the hardened red earth he had landed on. The rocky cliffs he had barely missed in his fall were red. His skin, which had been pale before, was died red by the light sweltering up from below. His hands worked unsteadily through the dirt as if all the answers he needed could be sifted out of the gritty substance. Hesitantly he brought one hand to his face when it brushed against something warm, thick and wet—yes, wet was the word—and it was red, too. His eyes trailed down to where his hand had been on the ground, noticing the growing pool of liquid spreading out from under him. He shuddered, realizing that this was the liquid that had come out of Number One when he was made an example of. He wasn't sure what it meant, but knew that when it had come out of Number One, the other had stopped moving shortly after. Number One never moved again.
Was he leaking? Afraid of the answer but more afraid of not knowing, he looked down and followed the puddle to its source. A small, frail looking body lay broken beneath him. Its neck was twisted unnaturally and its arms were bent in places they shouldn't be. From torn skin a white shard jutted offensively from the crushed chest that could no longer rise or fall. Eyes were open, vacant, and the liquid seeped from them like soiled tears. The liquid was everywhere. Red was everywhere. He shuddered. Number Three would not move again.
Frightened that becoming immovable might be contagious, he pulled his frail body away. His skin burned in protest at being dragged against rocks and debris, but he ignored it until he was away from the red liquid. He pulled his knees to his chest, rocking unhappily as he tried to understand his surroundings. Nothing. He understood nothing. So he simply rocked back and forth. Back and forth. The redness was everywhere and all he could do was rock back and forth.
"Ah!" A squeak. A voice. The first sound he had heard since he had been declared garbage and was thrown into the world of red. He looked over and spotted something green. He craved the greenness. Anything that wasn't red. He reached out for it desperately and saw it move in response. Green eyes bore into him but he welcomed it. The other weakly worked its pale arms to push itself up. Once it had finally managed to remove its chest from the ground, it shuddered with a cough. Red liquid spilled from the mouth and a low moan followed. He recoiled at the red liquid. Number Two was going to stop moving soon, too. With a shudder he pulled himself away, ignoring the pleading stare the other gave him. He shook his head blindly, rejecting the other as he slowly forced himself to his feet for a quicker escape. His muscles protested violently and he buckled, but a nearby rock saved him from falling. Using the rock, he made his escape, barely noting the ragged gasps and whimpers he left behind. He wouldn't let the red liquid get him, too.
His hands were raw as his soft flesh grinded against the sharp rock walls for support. He ignored the pain, forcing himself away from the liquid. He had to keep moving. If he stopped he might never move again like the others. He only tore his eyes away from the wall when he heard a scream of agony. He turned his head in time to see the miserable heap of green come crashing down from above. With a meaty thud it collided with a cliff that jutted out just too far, but was unfortunate enough to survive the collision and even more unfortunate that its decent didn't stop there. Wailing and moaning it crumpled into rocks below, rolling towards the red light. He almost wanted to go to the edge and see where it landed, but a horrid wail erupted from below and he clung tight to the wall again. The screaming was like a never ending serenade of agony. He wished it would end, but it persisted and a foul smell slowly filtered up to his nostrils. He shuddered at the horrible sounds and knew it had to stop. He had to stop it.
Slowly, oh, so slowly, he crept along the wall. But there was desperation in his movements now. He had to stop the screams. The screams could not be allowed to continue. Gritting his teeth he worked his way from the wall, teetering on his feet as he stood by his own power. One foot in front of the other, he made his way to the edge and slipped down the rocky slopes. He grunted at the bruises and scrapes he acquired, but he had reached his goal. The smoldering mess of green was in sight. Still screaming despite its already raw voice, it burned. The red light had eaten its legs and had begun to climb the side of the broken body, leaving blackness in place of pale flesh. He started to move closer, but the heat became overpowering when he tried. He wasn't close to it but it still burned his flesh and lungs. Hissing in frustration he grabbed a rock and threw it. The aim was true and hit its target. Another scream accompanied by a sob as red liquid slipped from a gash left by the rock. He shuddered but wouldn't stop. Once Number Four stopped the screaming would stop, too. He wouldn't have bothered to count the number of rocks he threw even if he could. His arms and strength were exhausted, but eventually he made the final blow and all fell into silence again. His chest heaved from the exertion but he was satisfied no matter how much his limbs burned.
He staggered to the nearest wall and began his slow ascent away from the suffocating heat and red light. The silence was deafening now and a small part of him almost wished for the screams again. No, not the screams; silence was better than screams. He just wished for something else in this world of red. He gasped when his hand slipped against the rock he had been using as support and hissed in pain. A moan escaped his lips and he clutched his hand close. When he looked down he felt his insides knot and twist with horror. Red liquid seeped from his hand, trailing down his arm and collecting on the ground beneath him. With a shudder he collapsed in despair. Now he would stop, too. He clutched his arm close, curling into himself and rocking again. Back and forth. Back and forth. Soon he wouldn't be able to rock back and forth anymore.
"S-Synchron… rate," a soft voice stammered. He half heartedly glanced up at the shuffling noise he was now fully aware of next to him. Another green thing was there, crawling on all fours and staring at him thoughtlessly. "Synch… ron rate," it mumbled again. He could have screamed in frustration, realizing that this green thing hand no red liquid on him. But it didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered because soon he would stop mattering. The other didn't seem to realize how dangerous the red liquid was because when it saw the liquid, its eyes glittered and the green thing approached. He hissed in pain when the other's hands were suddenly around his wounded hand, but he didn't pull back or resist.
"Synchron?" the other mused as it regarded the hand and liquid. It was thoughtful before pulling the hand close to its face and licking the redness. Its nose wrinkled thoughtfully before continuing the action. He thought about pushing the other away because it hurt, but he was also fascinated by its fearlessness. This green thing wasn't wary of the red liquid at all. Slowly he uncurled himself and pushed his back against the rock wall, watching the one who welcomed the redness.
"Mmm," it eventually mused, seeming to take comfort from making noises like the ones who had spoken to them before. It had shifted up against his side, still holding onto the hand even though he had stopped licking the wound. "Mm, mmm, mmhmm," it continued, trying various pitches. The sound was strangely pleasant and he found himself trying to mimic it.
"Mmhm, mmm, hmm," he answered and noted the pleased look in the other's eyes. They hummed back and forth to each other, taking a strange pleasure in their obscure duet. He couldn't say he was happy or even content, but he was calm. Things were better now. His eyelids grew heavy and he shivered, trying to fight the growing sluggishness. He was stopping. He didn't want to stop. He didn't want to stop at all. But he couldn't resist it anymore and the red world became black.
Blackness was nice. It was nothingness. He felt nothing and it was wonderful. Stopping was such a great feeling he vaguely wondered why he ever tried to resist or feared it. He hoped the other would also be able to feel the blackness, too.
Then it was gone and everything was red again. His eyes snapped open so suddenly his whole body flinched. What happened? What was that peaceful world of blackness? Why hadn't he stopped? He felt a weight on his shoulder and looked down to see the green thing's head against him. It wasn't moving. Fear rushed through his body and he grabbed the other, jerking it harshly. He didn't want it to stop moving even though seconds before he wanted to welcome the other to the blackness. He didn't want to be left behind in the red world alone again.
"S-Sync…?" the other mumbled thickly as its eyes fluttered open. It groaned softly but moved and he let go of its shoulders, his fears lifted and a strange pleasure filled his chest. Relief? Perhaps that would be a good word for it. His lips did something strange and he felt the corners turn upward. The other blinked at him for a moment before it mimicked the action uncertainly. "Synchron rate," it said in greetings.
He was pleased by the greeting and 'hmm'd in return. His hand throbbed in reminder that he had been wounded and was surprised to see he wasn't leaking red fluid anymore. An ugly crust of some sort had formed and he thought for a moment to pick it away, but he was frightened it might release more of the dreaded substance. Perhaps this was the other's doing? He immediately felt grateful to the green thing and had to admire its strange ability to stop the red liquid.
Time had no meaning to either of them as they sat, grunting and humming at each other with a few improperly executed words they had picked up from their creators. The red world didn't seem so bad now even though it still hurt him, but he didn't want to stay there. He wanted to find the world of blackness again and perhaps there were more worlds beyond the redness? Eventually he edged his way back to his feet and reached for the other to follow his example. The other had to hold onto him to stay on its feet. He quickly realized the green thing's mobility was very low, but it was as determined to stay with him as he was to keep it by his side.
Their pace was agonizing but they began to climb up the slopes of the rocks. He had to do most of the pushing and pulling to get the other to the next ledge then they would rest. They both noticed each other weakening as time wore on and eventually they would slip into the world of blackness. How he longed to stay there, but for some reason he was always jerked back into the red world he was trying so desperately to escape. As his body began to grow weaker, he found himself resenting the other for slowing him down. He was growing less likely to help but he would always wait for the green thing to stumble to his side when he got too far ahead.
The other had grown quieter and made wheezing sounds when it breathed, but he ignored it. Eventually it stopped climbing, doubling over to brace itself against its knees while it wheezed. He grunted in annoyance and decided to press ahead. A soft squeak behind him made a low, irritated growl escape his throat. He didn't want to wait anymore. He wanted out of the red world now.
"N-No!" the green thing suddenly shouted, startling him. He knew that word. It was something their creators had yelled at them frequently when they did wrong. His brows knit in anger as he turned to yell something back at the other. His yell died on his lips as he looked up at a long, scaled creature glaring down at him hungrily. He didn't know what it was, but it terrified him. The beast's forked tongue flickered and two flaps of skin flared out from its long neck, making it seem bigger and more ferocious. It hissed at him before lunging.
He threw himself to the side on instinct, wincing as his already bruised body landed hard on some of the rocks. A whimper tore its way from his throat as he scrambled weakly from the monster's claws and teeth. He was vaguely aware of the other shouting again, but all he could see was the beast before him. He shuddered when his back pressed hard into a jagged rock and he couldn't recoil any further from the attacker. When he saw the creature raise its claw he shut his eyes tight as if to reject the inevitable.
A cry of pain rang through the caves, but it wasn't his. He cracked his eyes open to see the other standing in front of him, arm drenched in red liquid. Trembling, his mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to think of something to say to the green thing. A white light carved a pattern beneath the other as the beast approached again. Then he found the world of whiteness.
The world of whiteness was much briefer than the blackness. It was only fractions of seconds then it was gone and so was the beast. In its place was a smear of red liquid against the ground. The other wobbled unsteadily before slumping to the ground. He found himself grabbing its shoulders, not caring if his hands got covered in red liquid anymore. He prevented the other from slumping all the way to the ground and shook it with a grunt, but only received a whimper for his efforts. He shuddered in horror when he saw the weakening in his other's eyes.
"N… No," he mumbled out helplessly when he realized the other was stopping. "No. No, no, no!"
"Hmm…" the green thing mumbled weakly before smiling up at him. "S-Synchron… rate… Synch. Sync…" Then he was still. The red liquid continued to pool under them as he shouted over and over for the other.
"S-Sync…" he hoarsely repeated the green thing's last words. He shuddered unhappily as he realized Number Six wouldn't move anymore and he began to climb again, leaving his other behind in the world of red.
"You're… dead," Sync eventually mumbled, his voice barely audible. Florian didn't seem to hear and continued his babbling, unaware of the effect this revelation was having on his senior. "You're dead!" His shout resounded through the room, silencing the other replica.
Florian stared, uncertain how exactly he should respond to such a statement. He wasn't entirely sure Sync would care what he had to say, for that matter. The small God-General's shoulders shook from the pressure of his clenched fists and teeth. His eyes were full of rage and denial as his mind tried to understand how such a thing was possible. Number Six was dead. He had died in that Lorelei forsaken volcano. How dare this complete idiot even suggest he was one and the same?
"I waited for you," Florian said softly after a few moments, looking away and shifting anxiously on his feet, "When I woke up you were gone… I waited for a long time. Then Mohs came and… then I was in that room."
"For two years?" Sync nearly snarled, taking some satisfaction at seeing Florian flinch back, "That's impossible! Impossible! I would have noticed you. I would have found you before then! I'm a God-General and one of Van's closest subordinates. Mohs, that fat idiot, couldn't have kept you hidden from me."
"Two years…?" Florian repeated softly, "Then… the last Ion was the same age as me?"
"If you are Number Six—which you can't be—then you're older than he was," Sync all but spat at Florian, "He was Number Seven." Florian was shocked by this information. From what he had heard, Ion had seemed so much older than he was. Perhaps that was what happened when someone spent their life in the world instead of a room. Would he be able to grow up that quickly? Could he catch up to Ion and Sync now that he wasn't in the room?
"Don't make that face!" Sync objected angrily, "You aren't Number Six. You're just a defect who coincidentally has a scar on his arm. That's all it is!" Florian frowned.
"I remember you," he said, voice soft but determined, reaching out and taking the other boy's hand. Sync protested but was hesitant to lash out physically at the other replica now. He tried to pull back but Florian held on with all his strength as he tore away one of the martial artist's gloves, revealing the faded scar across his palm. "I remember this. This happened when I found you. You cut yourself on a rock."
"No!" Sync shoved Florian away, wincing when he saw the frailer boy collide hard into the wall. The younger replica faltered but was determined to stay on his feet. Silence fell between them. Florian remained against the wall. He wasn't sure why it suddenly mattered so much to him to prove himself to Sync now. Florian wasn't one to compete or accept challenges beyond a puzzle game. Why did he so desperately want to be acknowledged by Sync? Tears gathered in his eyes but he stubbornly refused to cry even if his emotions throbbed painfully in his chest.
"Your synchron rate was low… I remembered them assessing you before me. That's why you were thrown away, too," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
"Shut up!" Sync shouted furiously, trying to cling to his denial.
"My synchron rate was high… but I had slow mobility," Florian said, voice gaining strength, "I couldn't learn to walk as fast or as well as the others. Even now I'm kind of clumsy…" Even he was self aware enough to realize it. "That's why I was thrown away with you." His expression became sheepish. "I'm still not really sure what a synchron rate is… Mohs never explained it."
Sync winced at the truth in Florian's words. There was no other way for Florian to know these things unless he had been there. He shuddered when he felt something sharp and painful in his chest. An emotion? How long had it been since he really felt one? What did this one mean? It was familiar but he couldn't place where he had felt it before.
"I-I'm sorry," Florian said, taking Sync off guard as he looked up at the boy, confused by the worried and anxious expression on the other's face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
"What are you talking about?" Sync asked, summoning as much venom as he could, but it sounded weak even in his own ears. His voice wavered just enough for him to curse himself for such a weakness.
"You're crying," Florian pointed out guiltily.
"Crying?" Sync was horrified by the thought, but when he reached up to touch his cheek there was dampness. He hissed between his teeth, having always seen tears as weak. How disgusting! How utterly ridiculous! He stared hatefully at the tear stains on his sleeve. So these were tears caused by that strange feeling in his chest? For the briefest moment he was almost in awe of the fact he could cry. There was a strange novelty in crying for the first time and he laughed bitterly at himself. Florian winced at the joyless laughter, not liking the sound of it and uncertain what his mirror image might do now.
"Crying… So even garbage can cry, huh?" Sync laughed again. "Useless refuse shouldn't do something so stupid. It's not like we're real people anyway."
"Crying isn't something boys our age should do," Florian admitted slowly, repeating something one of the Fon Master Guardians had teased him about, "I try not to cry but sometimes it happens. Sometimes it just comes out… so I think it's natural for even replicas to cry."
"It's pointless," Sync said.
"It happens," Florian said, "I think it happens because I'm alive." Sync gave him an odd expression and he knew he wasn't communicating well again. He flushed crimson but continued to try anyway. "I'm alive so… maybe just being alive makes you cry even if you're real. I don't even understand what being real means… all I know is that I'm here and I'm alive. So I cry sometimes."
"So… crying is proof of your existence?" the God-General asked slowly, narrowing his eyes at the absurdity of it all.
"Do I need proof that I exist?" Florian asked, his brows knit in confusion. The innocent question unsettled Sync and he scoffed to cover the small shiver that went up his spine.
"It doesn't matter," he said, "Even if you exist, you're still just garbage. We're all garbage and so is this whole world. I hate the world and everything in it. I hate being a part of this world. I hope it's all destroyed."
"I don't really understand the world," Florian admitted slowly, "But there are things I like in this world… I like Anise, Pamela, Oliver, Tear, Luke, Natalia, Guy and even Mr. Jade. I like Maestro Tritheim and the Fon Master Guardians. I like the orphans who visit sometimes and being outside… If they were destroyed I would be sad."
"You're just naïve," Sync said, narrowing his eyes at the childish rambling.
"I'm… glad you're part of the world, too," Florian said as if not hearing. He smiled at Sync. "I'm glad we were friends even if you're a little scary now. I'm happy that I was able to protect you. Even if we're garbage I'm glad we were able to meet in this world. I've always wanted to meet you again."
Sync felt that horrible emotion swell in his chest again and winced, suppressing a small shiver as he stared unwillingly into those mercilessly honest eyes. His vision blurred and he cursed at what he now recognized as tears.
"Dammit, why does this keep happening?" he growled, "Stop that!"
"I'm sorry," Florian said fearfully as if he was the culprit of a horrible crime. He watched Sync scrub angrily at his face for a few moments, allowing him time to collect himself. The child began to shift nervously, his cheeks flushing as he fiddled with his robe, looking this way and that for some sort of answer or advice on what to do next.
"What now?" Sync growled as he eyed Florian's obscure body language. The younger replica looked down as if he'd been caught red handed and was ashamed.
"I… was wondering if I could sit with you," Florian admitted unhappily, "I missed you."
"Ugh! Do you have to say those embarrassing things?" Sync snapped, angry that Florian's honesty was making it so hard to have composure. He wasn't used to someone talking so affectionately to him. It made his stomach turn and his heart throb. The worst part was he could tell the younger boy meant each word he said. The pitiful look Florian gave him didn't help one bit. "Fine, as long as you promise not to talk anymore."
Florian bobbed his head up and down in agreement. Content that the child understood the deal and would commit to it, Sync shifted to the side to grant entry onto the bed. He grunted at the faint traces of pain he still felt in his head and body when he moved, but ignored it for now. Florian carefully maneuvered himself onto the bed and settled down next to Sync.
They didn't touch. They didn't speak. They just sat next to each other. Florian tried hard not to smile, but he was happy, strangely enough. He wasn't sure if he could say Sync was his friend or someone he cared about on the same level as Anise or the Tatlin's. But he was important. The young God-General was the first person he ever had any sort of connection to. Sync had been there when he was born. He was the one who had faced the hell of the volcano with him. He was the first person to care about whether Florian lived or died. He was important.
Even if things had changed and would continue to change.
Sync wasn't sure why he was pandering to Florian's strange whim, but he couldn't help feeling himself relax ever so slightly. There was a sort of nostalgia to it all even if it centered on the most horrific moments of his short life. When Florian wasn't paying attention he would glance over at the younger Replica. To believe Number Six was right there and had been locked away under his very nose all this time was mind boggling. It made him sick to his stomach but he couldn't identify the specific feeling that caused him such discomfort. The other replica caused him to have these strange, unpleasant feelings. He should just leave. By now the pain had subsided and he could easily grab Van's book and leave without looking back.
He didn't move.
Why? He chewed his lip, wondering what rooted him to the bed. He certainly doubted Florian had any intention of holding him prisoner or stopping him in any way. Not that the younger boy could even if he was technically the more proficient in fonon manipulation. Perhaps he had casted more than one curse slot during their scuffle? Sync had a feeling he would be able to easily work off the curse Florian had instinctively put on him. It wasn't very well constructed since Florian lacked both actual experience and the desire to do more than defend his own life when he performed the arte. Sync was far savvier with using curses and knew he would have noticed by now if another one was on him. So, why stay?
He still didn't move other than to shift his weight as if thinking about rising then choosing not to yet again. The God-General could feel Florian's eyes on him but refused to meet the other green haired boy's gaze. He could perfectly imagine that wide eyed, curious look on the other's face as he waited to see if his company was staying or going. Once satisfied that Sync wasn't leaving, he turned his face away as well but there was no doubt his full attention was still on the older replica. The thought of someone actually wanting his company that badly made Sync's heart wrench uncomfortably again; he had to resist putting a hand over it.
Maybe that was why he was staying, as pathetic as it was to admit. He rarely felt anything other than irritation, bitterness and, over all, emptiness. Sync almost clung to that empty feeling as if the lack of anything was all he had. He had never honestly felt much else but never thought anything of it. As sweet and gentle as Number Seven acted, he hadn't been all that different. Even the benevolent Fon Master Ion was a stranger to most emotions. People mistook him for being patient and serene, but the truth was that their precious Ion simply didn't know most emotions or even how to show them if he could feel such things. He almost sneered at the irony of it all and how stupid everyone was to be so easily fooled.
Then there was Florian. Even though he was obviously naïve and under developed, his ranges of emotions startled Sync. He couldn't understand the boy's babbling and passed it off as idiocy, but something about it unsettled him. The way Florian's eyes caught every single emotion and portrayed it openly for all to see. In the short time they had spent together Florian had been happy, sad, confused, hurt, suspicious, irritated, content and even embarrassed. Perhaps on some level Sync was a bit jealous.
A soft pressure on the bed next to his arm caused Sync to glare hard at the sleepy mop of green hair. Florian had curled up on his side next to Sync, eyes closed so he missed the warning snarl. The child soldier gave up glaring at someone who was virtually ignoring him and slowly realized Florian probably hadn't been to sleep at all that night and it was nearly sunrise. He almost chuckled wryly. How cute. Someone staying up to keep him company while he was unconscious?
There was that uncomfortable feeling in his chest again. This time he did put a hand over it and sighed. Perhaps, just for a moment, he could indulge Florian and his 'childhood memories.'
"Mmm," he suddenly hummed, not picking any particular tune. He felt Flroian shift next to him before a softer hum answered him. Both hummed back and forth even though they knew how to talk. At this point, for this moment, both were tired of words and didn't feel they were necessary.
Sync wasn't sure when exactly Florian fell asleep since he still hummed dreamily as if their 'conversation' was continuing. He rolled his eyes at the smaller boy and shifted off of the bed, sighing at the rising sun. He did a quick cavity search of the room, trying to be quiet so Florian wouldn't awaken. When he finally found the book Van had sent him for he tucked it in his clothes and reequipped his mask and glove. His gaze fell on the sleeping boy as he passed on his way to the window. He paused.
"I hate this world and everything in it," he said, internally scorning himself for talking to someone unconscious. But it was the only way he would be able to say something so humiliating out loud. "But I don't hate you. So I don't want you to be part of this world. When Van's plan succeeds… I'll come back for you. Wait for me. We'll leave this world behind together." With that he turned and left without looking back.
Slowly Florian shifted and sat up, staring after the God-General. He smiled, a tiny blush forming on his cheeks. He would wait just like he had always been waiting to meet his friend again even if he didn't entirely understand the meaning behind Sync's promise.
Months had passed and the world, along with the seasons, had gone through many changes. Anise was home and Florian couldn't have been happier. He'd been forced to relinquish her bed back to her but was rewarded with a bed of his own to sleep in. Florian had officially become a member of the family and he had spent much of the last few weeks informing anyone who would give him the time of day about it.
Anise was amused by his enthusiasm but it was hard for her to share it after everything that had happened. She had been aloof when she first returned even though the pigtailed girl put on a bright smile for everyone. Only Florian was fooled by it at first but even he began to realize something painful had happened at Eldrant. He didn't understand other people's emotions very well so he couldn't say anything, but she knew he was worried about her. It was hard not to know when Florian was worried. Anise figured he wasn't old enough yet but one day she would tell him. It wasn't like she was the only one who was apparently keeping secrets. Almost every day she caught him in the Fon Master's room staring out the window expectantly. Whenever she asked he only smiled and told her it was a promise. Odd, but even Florian was entitled to his secrets and she wasn't one to pry.
"Anise, it's time to clean," Florian announced happily, snapping her out of her thoughts. She groaned. His excitement only made it that much more irritating.
"I helped save the world; you'd think they would let me skip on chores…" she grumbled.
"But we'll do it together," Florian said brightly, "So it'll be fun." Anise wanted to argue that nothing could make cleaning her room fun, but she couldn't argue with that smile.
"Whatever," she huffed as she begrudgingly gathered her things. She frowned at the old travel pack which had collected dust. She'd never been able to bring herself to unpack it even long since their journey's end. Any day now she half expected Luke to come bouncing back into her life with a new adventure or emergency. Her bright eyes dimmed. "Luke… You idiot," she mumbled as she grabbed her bag with a sigh and hoisted it on her bed to unpack it.
Florian hummed to himself as he swept the floor awkwardly. Yulia bless him, he tried, but he was just so clumsy sometimes. He was only serving to push the dust around everywhere. Anise suppressed a sigh, realizing she would have to go over it herself later. Right now her most pressing concern was opening her pack. Why had she stuffed it so full? With a growl she braced herself and gave the tie on it a mighty yank. Gels, Lifebottles and Pancea went everywhere. Anise wailed in shock and frustration at the mess she had created.
A loud clatter in the center of her floor was deafening to Florian. He wasn't sure what it was about that particular sound which drew his attention but his eyes magnetically locked on the source.
A yellow, orange decorated mask lay on the ground.
Florian felt as though in that moment his whole world centered on that mask. Confused why Anise would have it, he walked forward and delicately lifted the familiar visor off the ground. He stared long and hard at the mask as if the owner's face might suddenly pop out from behind and surprise him.
"Florian?" Anise's voice was hesitant, almost cautious, "What are you doing?"
"What is this?" Florian asked faintly. He couldn't tare his eyes away from the mask to address her. Anise twisted the end of one of her pony tails uncomfortably, not liking how the possession of a God-General held his attention.
"It… belonged to an enemy," Anise said slowly. Florian's stomach turned to ice.
"An enemy…?"
"Don't worry about it, ok? He's dead so it doesn't matter anymore." Anise reached for the mask and was shocked when Florian yanked it away; flinching back from her as if she'd made some sort of move to attack him. Hairs on the back of her neck stood up at the look he was giving her. It was so foreign on Florian.
His dark green eyes were smoldering as he glared at her.
"Doesn't matter?" he repeated, voice soft but sharp as a knife, "Dead?" Anise felt her insides twist in knots at the accusation in his voice.
"Florian, what's gotten into you?" she objected, voice rising but coming out more distraught than angry like she had hoped. Could Replicas sense each other? How could Florian know? Why would he be this angry even if he did know? Sync was a creep!
"… It doesn't matter," Florian said, throwing her words back at her as he dropped the mask and left. She stared after him, stunned by his sudden anger and even more sudden departure. Anise looked down at the abandoned mask and bit her lip.
Florian's cheeks burned with shame at his anger towards Anise; who had only ever cared about his well being. His throat burned. His lungs burned. Everything burned as if he was back in that volcano again. Tears slipped down his cheeks and he didn't bother to hold them back no matter who saw him or what they thought.
Number Five would never move again.
So, another sad ending. I promise not all will end in death/sadness. I probably should have had a break between this chapter and the last one since it was pretty emotional, too. Maybe one day I'll put in a filler chapter. I hope I characterized Sync ok. I'm a little uncertain about his character but that was the best I could do trying to soften it.