The day the Christmas trees went up in Sanctum, Gotou was running errands. He tended to avoid the Elyos capital city, because it was where most daeva camped out in the months following the great cataclysm, where they went from players behind screens and keyboard to actually inhabiting their avatars in Atreia. As such, it was always a busy place, but there were only a few places where he could pick up the items he needed from the Artisan's Guild, and the only place busier than the city suspended in the clouds was Oriel's main plaza.

It was just as busy as he'd expected, but this time it was something resembling organized chaos. Shugos of the Black Cloud Trader's guild were scurry around, organizing it with some of the larger legions that had formed in the wake of the cataclysm. Gotou kept off the main pavilions, but stopped along the outer edge to watch as several sorcerers and a few clerics tried to assist with the decoration of the tree, and it was more entertaining than anything he'd seen in a while.

It was weird, to think of Christmas. It would almost be three months since he last saw Masayoshi, illuminated by the light of Siel's heart. He rested his forearms on the intricate metal railing and stared at the tree, and forced himself to think of nothing but the tree, its thick green branches being decorated by small baubles and glittering aether-induced lights. It helped, whenever he thought of Masayoshi, to focus on something else - he'd learned that, because otherwise the grief might swallow his heart whole.

Gotou straightened and stepped away from the railing. Several female daeva ran by, in identical outfits dyed to match the upcoming celebration. Atreia had its own version of Christmas, Solorius, with its own customs and traditions - which just oh-so-nicely seemed to align with the holiday that the former players had brought with them from the real world.

It wasn't the "real" world, Gotou chided himself as he set out at a steady jog down the paved street. It was just another world, because now this one was just as real as any other.

The crowds thinned out further away from the central plaza area. Sanctum itself was a huge floating city, suspended on currents of aether far above the Elysian soil. The city was separated into three main parts, two of which were joined by a series of arching bridges in which the only thing that separated you from a nasty fall were a few, hip-height guardrails. All daevas had wings, large white feathered wings that could be summoned at a moment's notice, but the ability to sustain flight was based on the amount of aether in the air, and if there wasn't a lot, all you could do is glide on the thermals until you found a safe place to land.

Aether was untouchable, unknowable - yet they could sense it. Midorikawa - the former Flamen Green, and the head of the small yet widely-known Flamengers legion - had likened it to the Force, and Gotou had decided he accepted that comparison. After all, only daeva could use and manipulate it, and daeva were a such a small portion of the population that the regular people of the land (formerly, NPCs) saw them almost as gods.

The Artisans' Guild Hall was busier than Gotou expected, but not nearly as crowded as the central plaza. The building was huge, built to contain all the different crafting associations that existed within the realm, and as he turned down a hallway he was hit by the wave of heat that rolled out of the smithy's corner.

The regular bang of hammer and anvil echoed from the weaponsmithing area. Gotou stepped inside and was greeted by a wall of heat that made him break into a sweat instantly. "Anteros!" he yelled as he entered the room, and a few daeva who were learning the art of weapons crafting glanced over at him, before resuming their work.

Anteros was a short, squat daeva who had ascended after his hair had gone white. He was currently standing on a stool, arms folded as he shouted insults at a young daeva struggling to enchant a weapon. Gotou stayed a respectful distance back, one hand on the sack he wore over his shoulder, waiting to be acknowledged. "I've come for my weapon," Gotou said when Anteros finally glanced at him.

The old man nodded, and stepped away from the workstation, leaving the frustrated daeva to continue to work on his enchanting skill. "You're that templar lad," Anteros said, and Gotou nodded his head. "Ah, your sword."

"That, and I have some supplies I was asked to retrieve." Gotou pulled a short list from his bag and presented it to the master craftsman, who took it and glanced over it as he walked toward the end of the room. Gotou waited a moment before following, although he stopped by the unmanned desk.

"You aren't a smithy," he eyed Gotou. "Are you, son."

"No sir." Gotou said patiently. "Just running an errand, and checking on my weapon. It's made earning my keep a little difficult." His sword had shattered on the scales of an armored frillneck, a beast stronger than he'd expected to run across as he traveled in the unmapped territories. Purchasing things, such as weapons and armor had become far more difficult now that there were limited supplies and resources, so Gotou had opted to take the weapon for repair.

"I bet!" Anteros barked a laugh, and then waved his hand above his head as if using summoning magic. "I believe I had an apprentice working on it for you, let me call her." Even as he spoke, a blonde-haired female daeva appeared from around the row of workstations. "A templar best forges a templar's weapon," he said with another laugh. "Aariniel, have you finished with this daeva's weapon?"

The blonde daeva hesitated - she was carrying a shield, and she glanced to Gotou. Aariniel stared at him for a moment, and Gotou thought that maybe she blushed, although the heat of the smithy painted a rosy flush on everyone's face. "I can check," she said. "I think I finished smelting a sword yesterday, are you Gotou?"

"I am," Gotou said. He glanced to Anteros, who still held his list. Aariniel hefted the shield - a gorgeous round silver shield, emblazoned with a legion crest - onto the table, a finished product.

"I'll go check," she said, rubbing her shoulder and going back the way she'd come.

Shortly later Gotou was holding his sword - new and old at the same time, its blade freshly sharpened, polished and clean. It felt even better balanced in his hand, if that was possible, and lighter than a weapon should feel. "It's fantastic," he told the apprentice, and Aariniel did blush this time, as Gotou sheathed his weapon and buckled it about his waist.

With a heavy bag and a light money pouch, Gotou bid the crafting master farewell, and started back down toward the main part of the city at a much more sedate pace. He was on no one's timeframe but his own, and now that he had a weapon again he felt much more secure.

He passed a trio of Shugos, balanced atop each other in a Shugo ladder, trying to hang Solorius wreaths and swag along the main boulevard. Gotou smiled but didn't stop to watch, they were wobbling like something out of a cartoon, but determined. He was planning to stop by the trading post, where a large bulletin board sat. It was a place to pick up jobs and quests, as non-player characters ceased to exist. Most of the jobs were large ones, that would require top-ranked daeva in groups or legions to conquer, but every now and then Gotou could snatch a job that didn't require a large party to complete. He usually avoided the Sanctum trading post like the plague, but since he was already here...

Then Gotou saw a familiar tuft of tawny hair, spun gold by sunlight.

Gotou stopped walking mid-stream, causing several daeva loaded down with decorations to almost run into him. He ignored their indignant huffs as he half-turned, scanning the crowd but seeing nothing that popped out at him. Gotou's heart had leaped for a moment - but it had settled back into his chest. "He's dead," Gotou said quietly to himself, firmly. "One with the aether."

He bypassed the trading post, after all.

"Oh, thank you, kind daeva," the shopkeeper said. He couldn't have been older than Gotou, but the soot that smudged his face made him look worn and haggard and much, much older. He had been the one who had posted a job for a daeva, requesting supplies from Sanctum. The regular people of the land couldn't access the aether stream, and thus utilize the teleportation pads that would take them to Sanctum, so blacksmiths and artisans often had to rely on daeva to act as intermediaries, purchasing raw goods for them. "I've been waiting a long time for fresh supplies."

"Don't mention it," Gotou said, the sack he had worn over his shoulder now sitting on a low table in the open-air shop. He wasn't particularly fond of Heiron; the area had fallen even deeper into decay in the passing months as the routine of daeva completing quests trickled to a stop. However, it also meant that the people of the land who relied on daeva's intervention, were in far more need of his help than other areas.

There was also, often the threat of Asmodian interference. Rifts between the two halves of the world still opened with some regularity, and not everyone was as keen on the truce that had been issued. Being sniped and attacked by Asmodians was just a hazard of the job, and fortunately Gotou had gotten quite good at dealing with that. The shopkeeper thanked him again as he pocketed his reward money, and Gotou stepped out of the small building and into the dim light of mid-day.

He adjusted his sword at his side, his shield on his back. He wasn't wearing his heavy armor, that had been inventoried. He moved faster in leather armor - he wasn't raiding, or fighting in the front line battle against the Balaur, so the good, plate armor had been shelved for a lighter set. It was good for running errands in, and as long as he didn't get mobbed, he'd be fine. Gotou set off down along the footpath at a steady trot.

Gotou would do his best to avoid the combined Solorius/Christmas celebrations. They only reminded him of something he couldn't have, now - and it was all the better to stay out and away until they were through.

It was raining in the mountain pass that led down toward the fishing town of Jeiaparan Village. Gotou stopped under a rock shelf overhang to wait out the storm. The mountain passes were treacherous even when the weather was nice; shades of daeva cut down in battles past would haunt the paths, waiting to engage unwary travelers in mortal combat. Gotou tended to avoid this region for that very reason, he was terrified to see a familiar face among the legions of the dead.

The rain was cold and steady. Gotou sat down but did not make himself comfortable, the only concession was to unstrap his sword from his side and lay it across his lap. It was dangerous in these parts, and he did not like to be caught unawares.

Every now and then he'd see someone sprint past, trying to hurry through the deluge. He had nothing but time, he'd wait out the rain.

A few travelers wearing cloaks headed through - they were in a hurry, clearly, but not sprinting at full-tilt. They were dressed for inclement weather - heavy, fur-lined cloaks and weapons held at the ready. Gotou shifted slightly, rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. They didn't get really cold weather in Elysea, the snow and the winter settled on Asmodae. There was a very good chance that this was a band of Asmos. Whether or not they were hostile, that was another story.

They did not slow their pace, though, and passed without incident. Gotou let out the breath he was holding, but didn't move his hand from its resting position on the hilt of his sword.

Jeiaparan Village was not as busy as he'd expected it to be, but the rain had flushed out all but the most inspired to be present. Heiron didn't get much of a winter; just rain - and the steady downpour slowed finally to a consistent drizzle. Gotou stopped in the local tavern, hoping for a hot meal and maybe a bed for the evening. They were very full with travelers, and while a hot meal was a guarantee, a dry bed might be just a bit beyond their reach. "There's a loft," the harried wife of the tavern owner said. "And dry hay, that's all we have left." It would have to do.

The cloaked travelers sat on the floor nearest to the fireplace, hoods down and expressions guarded, and as Gotou had guessed, they mostly had blueish hue to their skin. The Elyos gave the small band of Asmos wide berth, and while there were no open hostilities at the moment, there was a general pall of unease. Gotou found an open seat at one of the long tables next to another hooded figure, and seated himself, keeping an eye on the Asmos.

"Solorius greetings," the hooded figure said, and Gotou grunted an acknowledgement. He didn't care to speak or be social any more than necessary; besides he had a strange feeling about the situation, and he'd rather concentrate on trying to decipher what the Asmodians were saying. "You know, they mean you no harm."

Gotou propped his chin in his hand. "You know that for certain, do you?" he said idly, turning to thank the Shugo who brought him a hot flagon of something mulled.

"I should hope so, I've been travelling with them since before the rift. They're just a group of adventurers wanting to see the other side of Atreia now that the armistice is in effect."

"Must be nice," Gotou murmured, although he had no desire to rift across the shattered world and explore the dark and wintery side that the Asmodians called home. "To be so bold as to waltz this deep into enemy territory."

"They aren't our enemies any longer, Gotou-san," the hooded figure said insistently.

"No, but centuries of conflict can't be undone in the span of weeks." Gotou folded his hands around the flagon, and felt a sudden chill wick down his spine. He glanced sharply at the figure. "What did you just call me, daeva?"

It had to have been a trick of hearing, the background chatter of the tavern, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with daeva and people of the land - but the way that the figure turned a little, away from him, shoulders stiff - maybe he hadn't misheard.

Gotou lunged to the side, grabbed the back of the hood and yanked. It cause a bit of a clatter as the figure yelped, and half-turned, one hand on his familiar tawny hair, grasping for his fallen hood, eyes wide in the torchlit tavern. Gotou stood abruptly, face pale and mouth open, his sudden movement strong enough to shift the bench he shared with the others in the tavern.

"Uh," Masayoshi said, hair curled long around his face and head. "Hello, Gotou-san."

It was still raining outside, the sky gone dark with twilight. It never got fully dark on this side of the world, twilight was the deepest night, although the heavy cloud cover ensured more darkness than night ever did. Gotou staggered out through the door of the tavern, one hand over his mouth, eyes wide and heart beating wildly. He felt like he was going to be sick, too hot and overheated, and he couldn't be in the stifling close quarters of the tavern a moment longer.

He stood away from the door, in the rain and stared out at nothing for a long moment. Then he half-turned and looked back at the tavern.

The hooded figure - Masayoshi - was standing in the doorway, under the small awning, hood still pulled down around his head and expression deeply concerned. His hair was longer even than Gotou remembered, still the same golden tawny shade, but he had it pulled back at the nape of his neck, although bangs still escaped and fluffed around his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't - you just walked into the tavern, I didn't expect to see you here, Gotou-san, and I-"

"You're alive," Gotou said, voice shaking. "You're, you're alive."

He felt like he was going to hyperventilate, all the emotions crushed into his chest expanding all at once. Gotou turned his face up to the sky, the cold rain keeping him grounded. He looked back to Masayoshi - who looked scared, frightened of him and his reaction, standing sopping wet out in the rain and Gotou wiped the rainwater from his eyes, gestured for Masayoshi to come over.

"Gotou-san-?" Masayoshi asked tentatively, stepping closer. He didn't pull his hood up, and the rainwater started matting his hair almost immediately.

"It's you," Gotou said. "It's really - it is really you, right?" He stared at Masayoshi, and Masayoshi blinked at him, looked at him closely.

"You're taller than I remember your character being," Masayoshi said. He made a noise of surprise as Gotou caught him by the front of his cloak, pulled him in close and then set both his hands on Masayoshi's face to hold him still and kiss him.

"You're real," Gotou said again, voice breaking.

"I am," Masayoshi said, his hands on Gotou's face as well. "I am real, Gotou-san, and I won't leave you again."

Masayoshi made a small surprised noise when Gotou shoved him down into the hay. He'd dragged Masayoshi behind him, one hand tight in the front of his cloak, ensuring that he would not be able to slip off, to vanish into the night as if he never was. He'd pulled Masayoshi up the ladder into the loft above the stables, where the only sounds at the moment were the farm animals braying softly beneath.

He stared up at Gotou as Gotou straddled him. His eyes were tired but happy, and the light in the loft too dim to truly catch and show the color. That was okay, Gotou knew the color of his eyes well, had seen them in his dreams these many weeks, months. "Where," Gotou said breathless, rainwater dripping from his hair and down his jaw. "Where-?"

Gotou didn't have the breath to complete the question, because he kept dipping his head to kiss Masayoshi, to test that he was really, really there, that this wasn't some fatigue-induced hallucination.

Masayoshi brushed his hand back through his hair and stared up at Gotou and smiled, laughed. "I missed you so much," he said, as Gotou rocked on his knees, small strands of hay sticking everywhere. "I love you, Gotou-san."

"Shut up," Gotou said, and kissed him again, fingers working on the clasp of Masayoshi's cloak.

He'd dreamed of this, so many times; admitting it finally in the open, knowing that what he felt here was reciprocated in kind, but Gotou's throat closed up and mouth was dry, and he couldn't form the words. Instead he worked at the fasteners and catches of Masayoshi's tunic - he wasn't wearing his armor either, and the clothing was foreign in origin. Asmodian. He could only hope that he could convey the meaning now in other ways...

"Gotou-san," Masayoshi said, trying to stop Gotou's hands. "We should, we need to talk first-"

"Please," Gotou said, surprising himself at the way the word sounded coming from his throat. "I need this, Masayoshi, please-"

His kisses were flavored in desperation, now - and Masayoshi stopped trying to stop him, met his mouth with the same need, the same fury. Tunics and leggings and light armor were shed, dropped into the hay at their sides, and Masayoshi said, eyes wide, "I don't know how, I've never-" and Gotou kissed him to quiet again and led him.

And he'd never, either, with another man but he knew enough; and as Gotou sank down onto Masayoshi, his back arched and lips parted, he felt too full, stretched open, complete.

They listened to the rain pattering atop the roof, heavy now again. Masayoshi kept brushing his fingers through Gotou's hair, and Gotou could barely keep his eyes open. They hadn't spoken in a while, waiting for heartbeats to calm and sweat to dry.

"I didn't want to believe you were dead," Gotou said finally, his voice strange and raw. He had his head resting on Masayoshi's shoulder, and it felt warm and right. "Everyone kept telling me otherwise, and I ... I didn't want to believe them, but-"

I saw you die.

"I don't know what happened," Masayoshi said. "I woke up in the mountains, in cold and snow and my weapon was gone." He hesitated a moment. "It turned out I was in a very remote region of Asmodae, and ... Every time they killed me, I respawned in the mountains there, not back here."

Gotou's eyes opened, he started to sit up but Masayoshi held him tight, kept him down. "Every time they killed you," he said in a strangled tone. Masayoshi was a daeva, like he, which meant he'd respawn, he'd appear at a resurrection point but it didn't take away the pain of the death. A new rage lit in his stomach, he was going to find each and every Asmo who hurt Masayoshi and make them regret it.

"Gotou-san," Masayoshi said softly. "I'm here now, I made it finally." They breathed in silence together, and Masayoshi said, "I'm sorry for what I said."

"For what?" Gotou said, confused, drowsy, content.

"We fought, before I..." Masayoshi's voice trailed off, and this time when Gotou tried to sit up Masayoshi let him. "I'm sorry."

"If anyone should be apologizing, it's me," Gotou said, looking down at Masayoshi. He leaned on his hand and rubbed his nose, felt how exhausted he was. "So let's just forget it, okay?"

"Yeah," Masayoshi said, as Gotou laid back down next to him. He smiled happily at Gotou, and Gotou couldn't contain himself and smiled back.

When Gotou next saw the Christmas tree, up in the central plaza of Sanctum, it was fully decorated and lit. There was a huge crowd of daevas, all sizes and colors crowded around a small platform, and an excited Shugo danced around, wearing a red fez and holding a matching red paper megaphone. He was yelling into it, and his voice reached Gotou as he took the long way round the plaza.

"The festival of Solorius is upon us, nyerk! Wishes and dreams may all come true, daeva!"

Masayoshi glanced over at the plaza, slowing his pace just a little, but Gotou's hand tightened on his. Masayoshi looked to him and Gotou said, quietly, "I already got my wish."